#i don't have the vocabulary to properly describe just like.

[cetoddle-archive]

my heart aches so bad so constantly these days i just wanna plunge my hand into my chest, rip out my still beating heart, and tear it apart with my teeth

[neiptune]

i got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me

cw: 2k wc, blank blogs don't interact, hurt no comfort (ish), something is wrong and tobio can't quite put his finger on it, excuse the angst i promise i like him

Kageyama Tobio has never been particularly skilled at picking up on social cues but he’s certainly learned how to read your cues. It doesn’t mean he knows how to properly voice his concerns.

Your shoulders are tense when he describes how the training is going in agonizingly specific detail over dinner, the inflection clothing your good morning and have a good day hasn’t been particularly warm or affectionate lately, even when his body felt heavy from muscle fatigue, as if he was trying to move through mud, but he still suggested a comfortable movie night on the couch, you refused and went to bed early because you were tired. What could be possibly tiring you?

Tobio doesn’t mean to be an asshole but knows he can easily come off as one, so he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t get annoyed when you anticipate his usual goodbye kisses by briefly pressing your lips to his cheek, doesn’t investigate further when you start suspiciously timing your morning showers just perfectly to miss the exact moment he usually heads out. You still make him breakfast and pack his lunch and reply to his texts and pick up when he calls.

But you barely touch him anymore and it’s with a heavy heart that Tobio realizes that it’s almost never him that initiates physical contact anyway. It’s easy to melt in your hands and nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck and tighten his arms around your frame once you climb on top of him or gently cradle his face or start running your fingers through his hair.

You ask questions and reply when he asks about your day, friends, family, but you don’t smile as often and when you do it doesn’t even reach your eyes. He doesn’t remember the last time he heard your laugh.

There’s a weird feeling infiltrating his heart and it sucks that Tobio only realizes something is wrong when focusing becomes increasingly hard. He doesn’t see the ball or the court just as clearly, can’t think of how to run his team’s offense, suddenly forgets all the Italian vocabulary he’s worked so hard to master.

There’s an odd emotion that clutches his chest, it’s cold and it scares him because he knows that, whatever it may be, it’s his fault. Somehow, he has disappointed you. You, of all people. The person who moved across the freaking globe to support his career, who accepted to leave family and friends and life behind out of nothing but love. Fuck. What did he do? How did he do it?

Tobio wants to ask but he doesn’t know how. And suddenly his world seems on the edge of shattering, so much that he thinks leaving you alone and giving you time to figure it out on your own isn’t exactly proving to be a successful strategy. You’re drifting away and Tobio isn’t sure you aren’t already where he cannot reach you.

The apartment you share is significantly close to the gym and it came fully furnished. Yet you insisted on adding some little personal touches, dragging him to ikea over the weekend and asking him opinions on napkins, bath mats, duvet covers, dish towels. You’ve never been one of those people who ask for someone else’s thoughts only to follow your own taste in the end and that is why he actually felt invested enough to pick things he actually liked, albeit hesitating, hyper aware of just how differently you would’ve picked. But you never once faltered as he pointed towards the less exciting, not really colorful options.

“You’re back early” is the soft greeting Tobio gets as he takes his shoes off, leaves the gym bag by the door because he knows if he’s a second too late the courage will melt away and leave him a sweaty, timid, confused coward.

“I’m not very hungry but we have some leftovers you can heat up” your eyes have only shortly darted to him before settling on the show you’re watching on tv once more.

“I was hoping we could talk” he feels a weird lump in his throat and suddenly swallowing seems hard. Is his voice coming out weird too? It feels weird. Like he’s watching the whole scene from the outside, you turning to look at him as he mechanically makes his way to the couch, sits reasonably afar from you.

You look at him with what feels a weird mix of apprehension and distress. Are you anticipating the topic? Would you have preferred to be the one to bring this all up? But just how much longer did you want him to wait, exactly?

The tv is turned off.

“Yeah. Yes, we should talk”

Tobio recalls feeling nervous a couple of times in his life, maybe the worst anxiety he’s ever felt was the one creeping onto him the night before the 2021 Tokyo olympics. But this? This feels so much worse. It’s dreadful. There’s no outcome he can predict, only one he can pray against.

“Something is wrong and I want to know what it is” he knows he’s picked the wrong words, the wrong tone, from the sigh you heave. “I mean, I feel that something isn’t right. Please tell me how to fix it” and then, much more quietly, “I miss you”.

Your eyes soften at that but, much to his horror, also fill with fresh tears.

He’s made you cry before. Out of anger, frustration, petty arguments, sharp edged comebacks. But right in this moment Tobio feels you’re about to tell him there’s nothing to fix anymore, that it’s too late. Those are the kind of tears he’s never made you shed.

“What did I do?” his uniform sticks uncomfortably to his sweaty back, he didn’t shower in order to get home as fast as he could.

“You didn’t do anything, Tobio”

Well, that’s not exactly the truth, but he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Nothing you haven’t been used to throughout the years spent together.

“Please. I really want to understand” it scares me he wants to add.

“This is nothing I can hold you accountable for. It’s always been like this, after all”

“What has always been like this?”

“My place in your life” you smile sadly with a slight shrug of the shoulders “I always come second. It’s fine, I know I do, really. I guess it has just been weighing extra heavy lately”

Tobio blinks once, twice, genuinely surprised and even more confused. “I love you” he articulates slowly, as if to express what should be the most obvious thing on earth “the only person I love as much as you is my sister. But it’s different, she’s family”

“I would never expect you to love me more than it” you carry on as if he never interrupted “volleyball was there first, I get it. Please know I actually get it. But it’s just… not always easy”

Tobio gets that feeling he sometimes gets when trying to fall asleep, the oh-no-I’m-plummeting-from-a-fucking-skyscraper one. His body jerks the same way, an involuntary contraction to the last words he was expecting to hear. “I don’t understand” because volleyball is different too. It’s a comparison his brain can’t process the right way. You’re the person he’s in love with, volleyball is the one thing he has dedicated his entire life to. He doesn’t dare put you both on a scale.

“I know you don’t” you reply softly, cheeks now stained with tears that put a knife through his heart “and maybe it’s on me because what else did I expect?”

“I love you” Tobio scoots closer now, takes your hands in his “I will be better at proving you how much I love you” it sounds desperate and pathetic even to him as you shake your head.

“And I love you, Tobio. But you’re just… never here. You’re either training or staying for extra trainings or on the road or playing, always playing. You forgot my birthday, which is no big deal because I know how tired you were and it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. But then you forgot our anniversary. You forget the promises you make. You don’t come home for dinner or meet me at the restaurant or pick up the groceries. You can barely keep your eyes open while I tell you about my day” he watches you choke up on your words and it’s like someone is toppling a bucket of iced water over his head. So he was right. It is his fault. But he did worse than disappointing you, he hurt you.

“I just think… I need to go home for a while. I miss my family, I miss my friends. And, well…”

“I promised we’d travel home for our anniversary” he murmurs, realization hurting his chest and twisting his insides. He tightens his hold over your hands.

“Yeah” you offer another grim smile “yeah, you did”

Tobio has no idea how to fix any of this. He just knows he might lose you forever if you step on that plane without him and the thought alone is enough to make his eyes fill with tears too. “Don’t go. Please, I’ll make arrangements, take some time off, and we can go together. I promise-” he shuts his eyes the second the word leaves his mouth, disgusted. This is what he has sounded like for the past months. He feels sick.

“I have my ticket ready. I need to go alone, I think it will do me good” your thumb travels over his uncharacteristically chapped knuckles “I might even surprise Suga at his school”

But all Tobio hears is that you’re leaving. Without him. “Don’t do this. I need you” he flinches when you free one of your hands to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think that’s true, Tobio. I think you have one priority in your life and that it’s unfair to ask everyone else to be okay with being eternal seconds”

“I don’t love it more than I love you” he bites “it’s a fucking stupid comparison. It’s a sport and you’re a person”

“Would you stop playing if I asked you to?”

He stays silent, petrified. That question also feels unfair and so unlike you. “You would never do such thing”

You chuckle but there’s no actual humor in your laugh. It’s empty and so exhausted. “You’re right, I’d never. But that still isn’t the answer I would’ve hoped to get”

“So what, if I don’t give up on my entire life it means I don’t love you enough? Is this the yardstick by which you’ll decide if you’ll break up with me or not?” he hopes he seems angry because he’s desperate more than anything else. He feels inadeguate and, for the first time, wrong for you. Like you’re a perfect match but a one-sided one. Could he ever be a match for anyone, honestly?

“But I did give up on my entire life, didn’t I?” you lean forward, press your forehead to his shoulder because looking into his pained eyes is torture “for something that now feels like the shell of what we once had. You say you miss me but I’ve been missing you for far longer, Tobio”

He aches for the way your body shakes as you try to muffle your sobs, his arms around you don’t feel nearly enough. Tobio wishes he could rip his chest cavity open and tuck you inside, right next to what’s sure is a bruised heart. Maybe then you’d believe how deeply sorry he is. Maybe then you’d feel loved once more, you’d be safe from his selfishness.

“Don’t leave me” Tobio whispers it into your neck, lips grazing your skin. He wants to be better, knows he can be better. “I wouldn’t be who I am without you”

“I don’t want to stay and end up hating this, or you. I want to shield the love I have for you and I can’t do that if I stay here. It's like I'm... fading” your voice isn’t but a murmur “you understand, right, Tobio?”

He shuts his eyes, time and space and his house and the room you’re both in cease to exist. He doesn't. But he thinks the least he can offer, at this point, is understanding.

“Yes. I do”

[averixus]

on friday I decided I wanted to make better luggage bags for my wheelchair in time for my trip today (monday), so I spent the weekend in a frenzy and created these

lots more pics and info under the cut!

until now I've been using an off-the-rack under seat bag at the front (smaller than necessary, awkward to use) and random shopping bags bungeed to the axle at the back (impossible to add/remove items without taking them off and unpacking them entirely, not much volume for all that effort).

here's my old setup for comparison (although I can still add the backpack with the new setup too):

the old front bag attached by wrapping all the way over the seat, which made it difficult to remove. it was also unnecessarily small - there was a lot of wasted spare space behind and either side of it.

I measured up for a replacement to properly fill the available space. It's a simple but irregular cuboid - the top edge slopes slightly (because the seat slopes), and the top is narrower than the bottom (becase the frame is in the way at the top).

I designed mine to attach directly to the frame, rather than around the seat. at the back there are short straps with side-release buckles to wrap around a conveniently-placed bar on the frame. at the front are more side-release buckles, attached to make use of the buckles that were installed on the chair by the manufacturer (intended to attach a much smaller under seat bag).

the old bag just had one big compartment inside, so there was no easy way to keep small items accessible without them getting lost among everything else. so I added pockets to mine!

at the top, I made a panel the whole size of the top face, and attached it at a slight diagonal to make a shallow sloping pocket. I also added big flat patch pockets to both sides. and I added a piece of really thick cardboard as a base shaper so it wouldn't sag when full of stuff.

the rear bag was a lot more complicated. I didn't have an existing bag for this use at all, I'd been getting by with just bungeeing soft bags onto whatever bars I could reach on the frame.

I took a bunch of measurements and planned out my design. to make the best use of the space, it needed to wrap *around* the axle both above and below. so the end result is a slightly irregular cuboid but with a cutout at one side.

just above the axle cutout, there are short straps which clip around side bars on the frame to keep it in place. at the other end there are longer straps which buckle around the horizontal bar on the seat backrest, to hold it up.

I didn't add any pockets to this bag, because it's basically for luggage so I won't need to get at small things while it's still attached. more board in the bottom to keep the base in shape.

I would have used a double-ended zip for this one too but I couldn't get one in time (might replace it later). I'm also wondering about adding a shelf or something, to make it easier to squeeze things into the little above-axle space without falling back out.

on both bags I added a strip of old woven belt along the inside top of the opening, to help it keep its shape when the zip is undone.

I don't know enough sewing vocabulary to describe the kind of seam I used on them, but- I folded the edges in, right-sides together, and then topstitched over them. just one line of stitching per seam, but that line goes through each piece of fabric twice. raw edges still exposed on the inside.

I successfully took the new bags on a 4.5-hour train journey today, packed with a week's worth of luggage. and when I arrived, all I had to do was clip them off the chair and lay them on their backs, and then they can easily unzip like suitcases!

[weirdplutoprince]

What is Brazil like? What are your favorite things about it, least favorite things, and some day to day experiences that people not from there might not know about? Do you have any tidbits of culture you find interesting or are fond of?

Oh that's a big question! First of all it's huge lol. Unsure how accurate this specific map is, but if you google 'Brazil size' you find a dozen of these 'which countries fit in each states of Brazil' maps, so.

This is particularly relevant to everything I answer further ahead, because since it is so big and so culturally complex anything I say is just going to be a tiny speck compared to different regions.

And besides its size, Brazil had a lot going on colonization and immigration wise - meaning you have regions that have very notable communities from certain countries of the world. A famous example is that, if I recall correctly, we have the biggest japanese settlement of sorts outside of Japan. So that's something!

A funny side effect I can think that relates to this is that in historical novelas (live action television series that air daily and are known for melodrama and intensity) there is always a character that can be roughly described as 'The Sexy Irrevent Italian Immigrant' which is funny lol.

As for my favourite things I think the culinary is definetely a big one!!! There are so many dishes and they are so delicious all the time forever.

Brigadeiros are my favourites from all times, they're this candy made of condensed milk and chocolate powder, thats finished off with sprinkles. It's so yummy, you can also make it into cake filling and a million different things.

I also love Acarajé!! I think properly explaining what they're made off is a bit beyond my english vocabulary but just know its a fried dough that has yummy fillings and shrimp.

Otherwise I think I also like how warm and friendly people are. There's also this humour in how things are handled and seem which I think it's nice. Again, this is a perception I get from the region I live in, so I'm not sure. Though this is something people here tend to complain about when they go to other countries, so I guess it is at least some sort of significant cultural difference!

Least favourite things are the ever present fear of impeding violence and the blatant social inequality.

Day to day things hmmm. I have no parameter for how it goes out there, but I've heard enough stories that indicate this might be a thing: showering multiple times a day lol. I'm from a hot place so there is that, but this does seem to be a cultural thing as well. Like, I've heard of landlords from other countries complaining of brazilians that use 'too much hot water' because we shower a lot.

Just caring about cleaness a lot in general. Like, again I'm not sure which of these things are cultural outliners but from what I've heard, even things like. You go out, as soon as you go home you take off the 'going out clothes' and shower. And you avoid sitting on the bed sheets with 'going out clothes' etc.

Another thing is that is is very culturally acceptable to be late! To the point where being on time is at times more awkward. Like, say, if a party is said to start at 7 PM, people generally arrive closer to 8PM. I can remember a few birthdays I'd attended as a child where if you arrived 'on time' you'd basically be the only guest present and there would be this awkward air of 'Why Are You Already Here'.

I've also heard we say things we don't mean more? Like half heartedely making plans to go out with a friend or be there a certain day - but its kinda expected that neither side will follow through unless you constantly check up with each other during the days leading to it. I think this steems from a general need to be pleasant and friendly so people don't want to say they won't go or just outright refuse things without coming up with excuses etc.

And at last for tidbits of culture: CHILDREN BIRTHDAY PARTIES FUCKING RULE!!! HARD!!! Even if you're middle class or such it is not uncommon for parties to have trampolines, magicians, clowns, children entertainers etc. A shit ton of decoration, little gifts for the guests to take home (usually cheap toys or candy), themed birthday invitations, themed parties with decorated pannels, a shit ton of candy etc. There's even this sorta common agreement that even if you're bored because you'll be the only adult there, it is fun to attend children birthday parties because you'll eat like a king.

I think thats it!!! I hope that answers it! Thanks for the question :3

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero chapter 7

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pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: When you enter a dark building, you don't expect that you will face an enemy you haven't seen for a long time. One of them.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, zombies/monsters, blood, gory

author's note: Finally! I'm back with a new chapter, I hope someone is still waiting for the next parts ^^ because I'm going to keep writing it anyway. Thank you for your comments, likes and reblogs. It means a lot to me.

And English is not my first language, so probably many things are poorly described and the vocabulary is very simple. If you see any mistakes - let me know!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Chapter 7: The one with the Jaws

Day 738

You moved nervously in your seat, looking out of the car window towards the building that Ghost and Riley had entered some time ago. Time passed slowly, you seemed to have sat locked in the car for a good few hours. However, the still high-hanging sun made, if not reaffirmed, the belief that you hadn't spent much time waiting for the return of the two, now, closest living beings to you. You don't know yourself anymore who you were more worried about. Biting your lip nervously and still plucking at the already ragged fabric of your gloves, you continue to stare into the dark entrance of the building. You still can't see any light or movement in it. Nothing. Darkness. Ghost has told you to sit in the car. Of course, on the one hand, you perfectly understand his behaviour towards you. Seeing how insecurely you hold your gun, generally how clumsy you are and practically know nothing. And most importantly, he still simply didn't trust you - because he didn't know you. You understood this and sat there, stuck in the car, even simply for your own safety, but perhaps more so to make Ghost's job easier. At least he didn't have to stay busy and watch out for you. He could concentrate on keeping an eye on Riley and, more importantly, dealing with whatever was lurking ahead of you in the dark corridors of this building. But on the other hand, you felt frustrated because you felt that you were no longer who you used to be. You've re-learned how to live in these bizarre conditions, and you want to feel that you can be of some use, that your presence here is somehow important. Needed.

But at some point, it is a kind of relief that you don't have to worry about another day, about yourself. That you don't have to fall asleep praying for at least one quiet night and passing at least one hour, not waking up suddenly for any reason, any slightest unknown sound.

Now, the thought comes to you that you are already worried about yourself. Somehow, after all you've been through, all that has happened to you over the past months. You finally feel the sense and desire to somehow take care of and surround someone else with care. With that, you catch yourself staring at an empty open door, not just worried, just about your dog. But for someone who was just as much alive as you were.

Well, you're sure the dog will do just fine. Whatever he had to deal with there in that dark space. Whatever could stand hostile , against Riley. It certainly won't come out defensively in a clash with your dog. You've seen it, from the day you saw him, after those two years, there at the tower . Not only has he grown, he has matured because of his age. But he was simply well-trained. This was not only your small contribution because since he came to your house you took great care of his development and training.

But the dog's behavior around Ghost, how obediently it obeyed commands, how faithfully it guarded you and the man, how docilely it wandered past your or the man's leg, and with what aggression and persistence it tried to reach whatever was in the basement. This only reinforced your belief that the dog was being properly looked after. Ironically, the only winner in this new reality, in this new world, is Riley. Well cared for, fed, trained.

And most importantly, surrounded by respect and -

love.

With each passing minute, you slowly pull and tug harder and more vigorously at the already badly damaged glove material. Your lower lip is bitten so hard that it begins to bleed. Finally you admit to yourself that all this nervousness is due to such a trivial reason.

You are worried about that damn drunk.

About the man who wanted to kill you without even exchanging a word with you. But ultimately you are worried about Ghost. About the one who, despite everything, welcomed you into his home and let you stay.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of these thoughts. It's so stupid. To worry about someone who probably, if he saw your cold, emotionless and lifeless body. He wouldn't even spend a second thinking about who you were. Without any thought or pity for you. He probably wouldn't even look. He would just move on, as was his habit. Somewhere to a designated destination, a defined place.

Or maybe it was just a façade, maybe somewhere under that bizarre mask was a real, feeling person. Silly you, you hoped so. But that's what you shouldn't bother with, and most importantly, that's not what's most important in all this.

Survival. That's what matters.

Survival instinct. Primal, natural, just plain animalistic.

So as you slam the door behind you and try to bravely and vigorously walk to the building, you repeat one thought in your head. Your continued survival depends on this man, you must hold on to him. You can't let him die. Or worse, turn into one of them. With this thought, of simply surviving, you marched to the entrance of the building.

Because if Ghost were no longer there, any hope for any future was virtually nil. Rather, the pool of dumb luck you've had for the past two years has definitely run out. You won't be able to survive another dark and cold winter alone. You won't even be able to survive another month alone.

That's what you were sure of. You were never a strong and courageous person. And living in constant fear, with your heart rate perpetually racing, with adrenaline constantly high was not something you were used to. You didn't feel the motivation, the will to survive, the fight for each new day. Quite the opposite. All this, each successive sleepless night, the constant search for food, medicine, safe shelter made you feel immense resignation, chronic fatigue and, above all, a sense of the meaninglessness of your existence. Because it's hard to call life what you've been doing these past 24 months. Vegetation. Like a little calf left without its mother. No idea how to survive, how to live.

Holding a pistol in one hand, taken from the glove compartment of the car, and holding a small hand-held flashlight in the other. Slowly, being careful with every step you take, you enter the building. As soon as you cross the threshold, you are overwhelmed by darkness. It's not good. Shivers run through your body. Step by step you try to walk silently into the depths of the narrow corridor. On each side, left as well as right, there are doors.

Although it's daytime you can only see the places you illuminate with your flashlight, and in places through gaps in the door or some open doors, single rays of sunlight reach you. The building is also silent. It's definitely not good.

It's too quiet.

You can't hear the barking of a dog or the quick and heavy footsteps of a man. You slowly and steadily check each room, but only those to which an open or half-open door leads. There aren't many on the first floor. The rooms you check are usually empty, or there are isolated objects like a chair, a cabinet or a desk. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and usually carelessly placed somewhere in disarray in the room.

Apparently, the building stood empty long before Day Zero. Maybe that's not so bad after all. Placing your feet carefully on the dusty and dirty floor, advancing to the last open door on this floor you finally hear something. Stopping at the ajar door and holding your breath, you try to focus on the sounds reaching you.

Adrenaline and a rapid heartbeat make it difficult to hear exactly what is happening in the distance.

But you can definitely hear something.

Like the shifting of something on the ground, the steady and long clatter of something heavy on a dirty floor. As if someone was pulling something, moving something. Maybe some furniture was moved, or maybe it was-

What if someone gets hurt? Directing the small light of your flashlight at your feet, you walk towards the narrow stairs at the end of the hall. What if you wait too long in the car and something terrible happens?

As you hurry every two steps, you don't worry about them hearing you. Your ears are ringing more and more often. Your increased pace, not only caused by your sudden mounting fear but also by the effort of climbing the stairs at a fast pace, causes you to hear nothing but your own tired body for a moment. You stop for a moment between floors. Listening. If you hear this rustling, it means someone is there. There definitely has to be someone here. Alive.

What if someone attacks and Ghost gets hurt or the dog needs help? There is such a possibility. No. You hope not. It definitely couldn't be Riley. You quickly push away that terrible thought and climb the stairs again, skipping some steps to get higher faster. You finally reach the penultimate floor, and here the sound finally becomes louder, more audible.

Now you can hear it clearly.

Trying to calm down a bit and control your tiredness, you stop on the last step, trying to breathe through your nose, but your poor state causes the exhaled air to come out of your mouth, much too loudly. Despite your sincere intentions, you cannot remain unnoticed. The shuffling stops suddenly. As with breathing, the air remains in your lungs and your slightly parted mouth closes quickly. You hesitantly direct the light of your flashlight towards the corridor and-

It's been months since you last saw one of them. And that was from quite a distance. Long months allowing you to erase that monstrous image in your mind. At least wipe out a little of the horror that was your daily life in the first weeks. With each passing day, the number of infected - or perhaps already-dead, multiplied with each sunset. More and more.

Their screams, the inhuman sounds they made of themselves, it was something that not only caused a nervous shaking of your whole body. And so simply did not let you fall asleep, did not allow you to close your eyes at least for a few minutes.

Terror, mixed with fear. That was your everyday life then.

After that day, when you decided to end this agony, your miserable life - and what you failed.

Their horrifying screams stopped. At least for you.

And even today, you remember the first time you met them. The first contact with those things. It was something so terrifying, inhuman and unreal. That it stuck in your memory, permanently blurred in your brain, and the image stayed in your mind, probably accompanying you and will always be there. That recollection lasted with you, even though you tried so hard to forget it. Pretend it was a nightmare or a scene from a movie.

Day 10

You

It was one of the first days when you were left completely alone at home. No TV, no internet, and not even a phone. You couldn't communicate with anyone or get any information - everything stopped working. Suddenly, in one day. And the chaos outside only intensified, increasing with each passing day. You were so panicked and paralyzed with fear that for the first few days you didn't even leave the house, didn't even look out the window.

Until one late afternoon, when it seemed that the commotion outside the window was slowly calming down. When the sun had already hidden behind the horizon, and you were preparing to take up shelter again in the basement, in one quiet and seemingly safe place. Unexpectedly, you heard someone's familiar voice in the distance, somewhere in the yard behind the house. Distorted, not quite human. But nevertheless still recognizable and familiar.

It was Rose. It had to be her.

She called out to you, you clearly heard your name. Without waiting a moment, you dashed to the back door by the kitchen. With no hesitation, you turned the locks and grabbed the handle. You quickly opened the old wooden door.

Immediately after opening the door and crossing the threshold, you regretted your decision. On the terrace steps, stood Rose. Or something that tried to imitate her. In stained, dirty and frayed clothes stood a pale, hunched figure. In her hair, there was no sign of her signature-amulet, a red pin with a rose, from which she took her nickname. The lush, long and dark hair on her head was gone. She was almost bald, her pale skull surrounded by a thin light shell, her skin almost translucent, through which, a web of dark veins could be seen. Twisted, in a strange way, the figure slowly walked towards you. It clumsily took steps, and a low, penetrating screech could be heard through its open mouth, from which a bizarre, dark liquid flowed.  Long, bright claws protruded from behind cracked, scarred lips. Which with each passing second seemed to extend even further. As if sensing your silhouette, they became bigger, sharper.

Maybe it was just an illusion, maybe the monster in front of you just opened its jaw even wider. A strange grimace merged with a murky liquid - resembling old, dirty blood. Dark maroon drops ran down his angular jaw, staining the light-colored cloth and dripping onto the wooden floorboards of the terrace. Frozen with terror, you stand motionless, not knowing what the hell to do. How to act properly. Run away, attack, scream, cry.

Anything. Something.

Millions of thoughts run through your head. No action seems logical or wise. With no time for further deliberation, when seemingly Rose has already approached you at arm's length.  Stumbling over the threshold of the door, you retreat a few steps into the depths of the house. Holding the door, you try not to fall over and close it.  Cutting yourself off this way and being as far as possible from the strange figure in front of you. The monster is already close to the threshold, shouting louder, the sound rumbling in your ears, reaching so deep that you wince at the unimaginable pain the horrible high-pitched sound causes.

You feel as if something is tearing apart your eardrums, as if it is trying to reach the farthest recesses of your brain, slowly tearing it apart. With a last effort to suppress the pain, at least for a moment, you try to slam the door.

Rose, however, is quick enough to push its head between the door and the doorframe, driving its sharp teeth into you. The dark liquid splashes not only around her, but single drops fall on you as well.

You push the door with your whole body to prevent it from opening wider and the strange figure from entering the depths of your home. Which until now seemed to be the only safe place. With one leg you block the door so that it doesn't move towards you and let Rose in. With the other leg, you lean against the wooden floor to stop the incredible force with which the monster is trying to force its entry into the house.

For some reason, there is a brief moment when Rose stops attacking, and at that exact second, with all your strength and power, you push the door in its direction, trying to close it. The monster's neck lands between the door and the doorframe, so you cut off its air supply. Rose stops screaming and after a few moments you feel its resistance weakening. However, seeing the monstrous figure in front of you, it is with what fury, madness in hungry eyes she looked at you. And she definitely wanted to attack and bite you - and thus probably kill you. Your anger grew.

Seeing that the inhuman figure has lost consciousness and is hanging inertly by the door. You fall into a fury unknown to you since that moment. You start opening and closing the door. The figure falls helplessly between a small space on the ground. And you, with unimaginable and unfamiliar fury and force, close and open the door so that the monster's neck and head are struck by the wooden door and, bouncing off it, hit the edge of the door frame.

Full of anger, you scream louder and louder, feeling a burning pain in your throat. Blood mixes with a strange jelly-like liquid. Forming a bizarre mixture at your feet. Hearing a loud crunch and already feeling less resistance, you nevertheless continue to bang the door against the lying figure with vigorous power.

Finally you stop and, sobbing, sit down on the floor. Terrified, you wipe your face and, seeing the terrifying image in front of you, you crawl backwards into the farthest corner of the room. To be as far away as possible. Not to smell the horrible stench emitted by the inert body. To be as far away as possible and not see the pool of blood mixed with a viscous gelatinous liquid, infected pieces of brain and shreds of skull bones. You cower against the wall covering your eyes, trying to hold back loud sobs and fear.

That day you killed for the very first time. Unfortunately, it was not the last time. It was just the beginning.

Day 738

With your shaking hand you direct the stream of light from a small flashlight to the direction you thought strange sounds were coming from just a moment ago. Now, hearing nothing but your own breathing and heartbeat, you wonder if this sound was not a creation of your imagination.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

A pale, bony figure lurking behind one of the doors, now irritated by the small light from the flashlight, moves toward you. It rushes at you with a wide-open mouth in which long bright fangs shimmer, stained with the dark liquid you already know. You don't have a chance to do anything, it's happening so fast that you don't even think of pulling the trigger of the gun you hold in your hand.

The monster with high force hits you and causes you to fall on your back on the half-floor. The force of the impact is so great that all the air escapes from your lungs. Despite the loss of breath and the monstrous bou in the back of your body. Perhaps due to adrenaline triggered by fear, you try to fight back. With your hands you try to push the undead away. You hit it with your hands trying to at least push its distorted face away from you. You curl up on the floor, tilting your head from side to side. As you fall, a gun falls out of your hands and a flashlight, which also illuminates some stairs, dropped a few feet away from you.

Just so it doesn't bite you. If only its fangs dig into your skin, you're dead. It'll be end of you.

The monster opens its mouth wide, exposing fangs that have clearly been dipped into a living thing more than once. They're filthy, with pinkish bits of flesh visible in between. The dark substance lands on you. The undead spits blood at you and whatever the brown liquid coming out of it is. The stinky sticky substance is practically everywhere. On your cheeks, forehead, in your hair, on the fresh clothes you wore this morning. Writhing under this murderous form, you try to catch at least one breath of clean air, you try to move your legs to throw off your opponent.

All in vain.

You feel that you have less and less strength and soon you won't be able to push that overly contorted, monstrous face away. At one time it must have been a human being. But now, aside from its general physical features, it did not resemble a man, at least not a living one. It definitely hadn't been one for a long time. In torn clothes, without hair, with dark eye holes in place of eyes, with long and sharp fangs. With pale white, almost transparent skin, from under which dark veins could easily be seen. With each passing day, the thing that infected the human body transformed it more and more into a strange creature that only seemingly resembled a human. It looked as if the evolution of these creatures, instead of taking hundreds of years, had accelerated many times over. It was even difficult to recognize whether it was once a young man or an older woman. Maybe a teenager.

You can already feel your hands failing, losing energy and strength with each passing second. By the time the monster's face was close to your cheek, its breath could be clearly felt on your skin, and the penetrating odor prevented you from taking another much-needed breath. You stretch out your neck and tilt your head as much as you can to catch it, trying to make sure the figure above you doesn't bite you.

You close your eyes and pray in your mind to whomever, whatever god, that if at this moment, you'll end your life.  That it would at least take place quickly and relatively painlessly. You expect this bite to really hurt, maybe more than-.

To your surprise and confusion. You feel a thump, a push. A jerk and a sudden relief. The pressure of the body is no longer over you, your hands do not resist, you can move your legs freely.

You slowly turn your face away and carefully open your clenched eyelids. Somewhere nearby you hear muffled gasps and stifled squeaks. Ragging, tugging, tearing at fabric, some banging. However, the flashlight lies too far away to reach out and grab it. The building is too dark to see anything, whatever is happening further than a step away from you. Momentarily, all sounds stop. All you hear is your own heartbeat and rapid breathing, gasping. Not just your own.

Now that there's no adrenaline in your body, you slowly start to feel more and more pain in your body from falling down the stairs and hitting the ground. However, you don't have time to pick yourself up, to think about what hurts the most, if any bone was broken, and most importantly, if at some point the monster didn't bite you.

Before you have time to make any move to try to get up from the cold floor. Once again you feel the pressure on your body. However, this time it is softer. More human-

"Don't move."

It's Ghost.

"Are you broken?"

Asking this question, you feel him gently checking if your limbs are broken. Although you are still in shock you feel how efficiently and yet gently he touches first one hand then the other, gently squeezes and moves your arm, elbow checking if the joints are in place too. When you feel a gentle pressure on your right thigh you grimace gently, but try not to show any discomfort. When your legs are checked by him you feel him change positions and another sentence comes from his mouth.

"Now I'm going to touch your upper body, check your ribs and hips, okay?"

Without thinking, you nod.

Ghost grunts.

"Lucky me to have night vision. But don't pretend to be tough, kid, that fall must have cost you a lot. Tell me if something hurts you. I'll help you."

"O-okay, I'll tell you."

Fortunately, you don't feel any pain in your chest or hips. As Ghost checks your pupils and asks if you felt a bite and asks a few more questions about your wellbeing you feel yourself shaking with terror. The involuntary trembling of your arms, as well as the rest of your body, is out of control. Tears appear in your eyes.

"It's okay. Whoa, it's alright. I'll get you out of here and we'll go home. Hang in there a little longer. You did a good job."

Hearing these words you want to say something back but you're unable to, every sound trapped in your throat. All you can do is once again shake your head pathetically in confirmation. Ghost lifts you off the ground, doing it very gently and slowly. As if he is afraid that by any careless movement, you will break into millions of pieces. Despite your weight, he lifts you easily off the ground and without a word starts to walk down the stairs.

You sink your face into the hard material of his tactical gear, trying to control a sob. To your surprise, despite having you in his arms, the man walks with a quick and steady stride.

And extremely quietly. The rhythm you hear is a slightly accelerated pulse. His.

When he finally reaches the ground floor, he stops for a moment. Now that the corridor is lit up thanks to the open exit door, you notice Riley stopping by Ghost's leg. This puts you at ease. They both look fine and healthy.

"How are you feeling?"

Ghost's voice snaps you out of your reverie. He's different than before. Like he's more concerned, more nervous. Something is not quite right. Before you have time to answer anything, the man is almost running towards the exit of the building. Once you are outside, you squint your eyes, even though the events inside seemed to go on forever, it must have been a relatively short time, an hour at maximum, since you crossed the threshold and entered the darkness. It is very warm and bright outside, and the sun is still high in the sky. You involuntarily close your eyelids, the daylight makes you ache.

Ghost runs to the car at a very fast pace, and when he opens the car door he practically throws you into the passenger seat. He shouts to the dog, giving him a brief command to get into the back and, without waiting for the dog to react, he quickly makes his way to the car, getting behind the wheel.

Finally, as the car starts and pulls away, you open your eyes. Your eyesight has finally become adjusted to the day's prevailing brightness. Still, tears and something else prevent your eyes from fully and sharply observing the world around you. You feel that something wrong is happening. Something is definitely not right. So you try to find some clean cloth to wipe your misty eyes. Correct your vision to look at the man next to you in peace and figure out what's going on. Why he is acting so nervously and hurriedly.

But before you do, the answer to your questions you simply see.

You are covered in dirty brown blood.

Despite the blurry and blurry image from your tears, you look at the dark stains on your skin of your forearms and on the gray fabric of your clothes. In a panic, you start wiping your soiled skin against the fabric of your clothes trying to clean what has already dried on your body.

"Hey hey, take it easy, don't move. Try not to spread it, so it doesn't get into your eyes or into some wound on your skin."

Ghost grabs your arm with one hand and holds you down.

"Everything is fine as long as you're not hurt and nothing bites you - it's fine. Just stay calm. At home you will change and clean yourself up."

The rest of the way back you don't exchange a single word. You feel that Ghost looks at you every now and then but you don't have the courage to raise your head and look at the man sitting next to you. You stare at your hands placed on your knees which you clench nervously.

You try not to panic even more. However, you no longer know if you have been infected and the faster heartbeat, the slight nervous twitching and trembling of your limbs or jaw, are not due to the fact that you are already in transition. Or was it simply panic, fear and fatigue of the body after the horror you encountered in the building.

The way from the car to the house, and then how you found yourself in the bathroom, washed and changed into fresh new clothes. It was all like a blur. It's like you're not doing it yourself. Throughout this process, you are accompanied by Ghost's calm, subdued voice. It's how he reassures you, reiterates that everything is fine and that you should be careful to just wash the dried blood away and try not to smear it into your eyes or somehow into your mouth. Even when you are locked in the bathroom and slowly rinsing off the remnants of your recent struggle for life, the man's voice can still be heard from behind the closed door.

It's because of him that you don't panic even more. You don't do something stupid. Just calmly, like a robot that performs the actions programmed to it. You just simply do it.

As you now sit in the kitchen and warm food lands on a plate in front of you and hot tea steams in a mug next to you, you slowly return to reality. Beside your meal you notice a few pills.

Finally you lift your gaze and look at Ghost, who is leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and watching you closely.

"Thank you."

This is the only thing you can think of at this point. Grabbing a spoon you scoop up a large portion of food and without waiting for any response from the man you begin to eat, at the same time you take the pills left next to it.

The meal goes on in silence, Riley sits next to Ghost and, as if copying his behavior, with his head slightly bowed, does not take his eyes off you. It's as if they are both waiting to see if you are about to fall to the floor in pain, screaming loudly and eventually turning into one of them. Nothing like that happens so far. However, this thought, doesn't allow you to calmly finish your meal. What if your heart is about to stop beating, what if the poison was already slowly in your bloodstream and is systematically turning your blood cells into sticky dead brown clots. What if-

"Come on, it's time to rest. It's been a long and fucked up day."

Ghost walks slowly toward the hallway expectantly looking at you. Drinking the last sip of tea, you get up from your chair and move slowly toward your room.

And so the three of you, you, Ghost and Riley find yourselves in a small space, your cramped and small bedroom.

"Lie down and try to sleep-" 

Ghost interrupts his speech, because Riley nudges him in the leg with his head, clearly signaling to him that he's not the only one here.

"You little bastard." 

Patting Riley on the back, the man finishes his interrupted comment

"Of course, me and Riley will be here all night. We'll be watching to see if anything bad happens to you. Are you okay with that?"

"'Y-yes, I think so."

You answer and slowly lie down on the bed, as soon as your head touches the pillow you feel your eyes slowly closing.

"You really have nothing to worry about, if you were to transform it would have happened long ago, it never takes that much time."

Ghost's voice gets quieter and softer, everything seems to slow down. Your breathing becomes more steady. Your eyelids are heavy that you no longer have the strength to open them. Besides, the bed is so soft and comfortable that you don't even want to change it. With your last effort, before sleep has completely overtaken you, you add barely audibly.

"I know, it should be painful. It hurt so damn much back then. Now it feels good. I just- I was just scared. I didn't want to die yet."

You don't hear Ghost's answer anymore, as you fall into a deep sleep.

taglist:

@leviathanleva @chocolate-noodles @vmaxis@poohkie90 @ghostlythots @nobodys-coffee @famouscattale @youdontneedtoknow1226 @pimpinsins @justguessfan @novasilvae @pausbirudanlumbalumba @ella2497 @lunamoonbby @sams-pineapples @tonylagsagne @lurkinwbreexy @azkza @mooseblooddd @mroman0111

[orange-orchard-system]

I don't often speak about my semi-verbality, but I'm going to say this as a bodily semi-verbal system, since I've seen it misunderstood by well-meaning folks out there: yes, individual headmates can be semi-verbal or non-verbal.

[PT: yes, individual headmates can be semi-verbal or non-verbal. / end PT]

There's no good reason why they can't, and the reasons I do see tend to dehumanize or delegitimize headmates and systems as a whole. "They have different experiences –" so do any two people who share the same condition. "They can just switch –" not all of them can, and switching doesn't change their own inability to speak or difficulty with speaking, which is what these terms are describing. "You can just make new words –" what, you want us to coin niche words that won't do their job of properly communicating a headmate's disability due to being unknown, when there's perfectly acceptable words already in use you're gatekeeping for no good reason? "It gives people the wrong impression –" how so? No, really, tell me how individual headmates using these words to describe themselves somehow makes people misunderstand semi-verbality and non-verbality as a whole. How are we, a tiny subset of these communities that practically no one offline knows about, somehow "ruining" or "misrepresenting" our own disabilities. I'd really like to know.

There's no good reason for all this gatekeeping regular health vocabulary from headmates/systems, and I wish people saw it as the pluralphobic nonsense it is. In fact, this goes for other health vocabulary too, like d/Deaf, hard of hearing, visually impaired, etc (and yes, we're saying this as a system with bodily impairments in both hearing and vision). Why the fuck do systems have to give up words that accurately describe them just because they're systems? What, are we ~too complicated~ or ~too weird~ to accept? You can't be bothered to actually accept that people being many-in-one means they have – *dramatic gasp* – many unique selves with their own lived experiences and disabilities? You think having a disability that affects all of your self/ves makes you automatically better or more important than systems who don't? Demanding people stop doing something that helps them and doesn't hurt others for being part of a certain minority is – and this may shock you – shitty ol' bigotry. I won't stand for it any fucking longer.

[painted-bees]

Can you tell us about a time Magritte was surprised (in a good way) at Raf's behavior or vice versa?

aw, this is a cute ask haha

Let's see here... Raf is very frequently surprised by Magritte's behavior; she's not really like anyone one else he's gotten to know before, and the way she responds to obstacles and failure, he finds very inspiring. She's remarkably adaptable and doesn't have very high expectations of anything, ever. But--not in a cynical 'always expecting the worst' kind of way. Rather, she just seems constantly surprised and delighted when things go well, or something nice happens--and is very rarely upset to any significant capacity when things don't go as planned. A very, genuinely "it is what it is!" kind of person who'll make things work with the hand they've been delt. Magritte herself is just one big, ongoing, pleasant surprise in Raf's life haha

I guess there are two comics that already show instances where Magritte has been kinda taken off guard/surprised by Raf's playfulness

x

x

But she's also endlessly surprised by Raf's seemingly effortless gestures of support for her music. I mean, once she moves in, the guest room--her room--slowly finds itself furnished with more and more instruments and music supplies. Things that Raf purchases with no desire to use himself, but he knows Magritte will make excellent use of.

But beyond even this, she has been more than surprised on the rare occasions when Raf has gone out of his way to pull strings for her with regards to her musical career specifically. It's not something she'd ever dare to ask of him, but Raf gets really tired and fed-up on her behalf after seeing her try to seize opportunity after opportunity to get her work recognized, and receiving rejection after rejection. A lot of it is just due to the fact that she doesn't come across as very professional--unless you only listen to her music. Attempting to speak to her in a professional context, she seems incapable of composing herself properly for longer than a few minutes at a time before her own excitement unravels her. She's very giggly, and wiggly, and her vocabulary is unrefined and childish, and sometimes rather crass. She doesn't know how to talk about her own music, or how to explain her process in a way that makes sense to anyone who isn't her. She doesn't have a way to describe why she makes certain choices with her musical compositions... She comes off as very young, inexperienced, and unreliable.

And, though it frustrates him to no end, Raf can't blame anyone for reading her this way. After all, he was rather quick to do so himself when he first met her. It was only thanks to an uncharacteristic nibble of curiosity in the back of his mind that he felt there was more to Magritte and her music than first impressions led on. Sure enough, Magritte is the closest he's ever met to what he'd comfortably describe as a 'genius'. He hates the word, having been called a 'genius' for much of his life growing up and knowing that what he accomplished was only possible due to forfeiting his childhood to hours of endless hard work and practice--and the tyrannical manner in which his parents funded and 'supported' his career. But he doesn't really know what other word exists to describe Magritte's sheer aptitude for music. The way she approaches and applies certain concepts is not something that he feels can be taught, it's a unique perspective she has that he can't even fully understand. Her brain, it seems, is just wired differently. And she could change people's lives with that unique perspective of hers, the same way she has changed his...

If only she had the proper structures of support to back her up.

Raf does not like calling in favors, or being made to feel like he owes anyone anything. And so, when he goes out of his way, unrequested, to get her booked as a performing musician at one of Vancouver's many highly attended music festivals (on the condition that he also play and allow his name to be used as part of the promotional materials), Magritte is elated to tears and beyond words haha

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

okay so lately I've been thinking to post like fluffs or something and I already have a lot of ideas. So, I wanted to ask if you have any tips for new writers? I've been really inspired by your works and I wanted to start posting as well. <33333 (I'm new to asks so I have no idea if I did this right 😭 but tysm <3)

Me?!?! Little old me for writing tips?!?! I'm actually so honored, thank you so much 🥹 I actually put a lot of thought into this and all the different things I've learned along the way, so I hope this helps! And if you have any more questions, feel free to ask!!

Read. Okay, so I know that this sounds so cliche, but reading is literally a lifesaver for writing. I read a lot of fanfictions that pertain to the fic I'm writing to see how others did it and help guide the way I do it. Does that make sense?? I hope so 😭 Obviously don't copy anything, but like for my newest fic (that's coming out hopefully soon if I can beat this writer's block!!) rewrite the ending in every lifetime, I felt really inspired by @.forlix's setup for her fics and @astraystayyh's when the snow falls, we fall apart for act 3 of it. It also really helps broaden your vocabulary and allows you to get a feel for certain ways to describe body movements, tones, and facial expressions (something I've always struggled with!!).

Punctuation. I've always been SO BAD at punctuation because I was never taught how to properly use it at my school. Also, when I'm writing, I never use it because my thoughts are so flighty I feel like if I stop to put a period or something, everything will leave me. SO, I will always make sure to copy and paste my work into a free punctuation checker like Scribblr (it's pretty good, though there are a few things it will miss), but the one I like the most is ChatGPT. Like, I'm going to be so fr, it has SAVED my ass, but the only thing is you have to paste whatever you want punctuation checked, and if you don't want Chat to change the way you say something, just in parentheses say (Can you punctuate this without changing any of my words please). This will still check punctuation and spelling but will fit your personal voice.

ChatGPT. I literally don't care what anybody says; this resource is useful asf. Like, I use it for synonyms, definitions, and if I don't know the word I'm trying to think of, I'll input something along the lines of "Chan (word) his arm around her waist, leaning down to press a kiss to her head." (What would a good word be for the (word) above?) It's SUPER helpful for getting stuck on words like that!!

Ask for help. Like, I'm so serious, I will ask many of my very amazing mutuals (quite often, I might add) about the way I worded something, if my poetic quips make any sense, which way I wrote something sounds better, bounce ideas off each other; honestly, just about anything I can think of that has to do with writing, I have asked the amazing @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, and @luvtak. So if YOU need anything, always feel free to ask me or anybody else that you feel comfortable with :))

Feel it. Okay, so this is helpful for getting stuck on really deep emotional scenes. I would get so into trying to make it look pretty that I didn't get down into the actual emotions. It's really helpful to just set your computer down, shut your eyes, and imagine the scene. Feel everything they feel—the anguish ripping inside their very soul, the way it feels like an earthquake has just ruptured in the base of their spine, the universe seems to be tearing apart with every breath they take. I don't know, just me personally, I love anything that pertains to the soul and super dramatic emotions. It makes me feel a lot less alone about my deep emotions :)

Writer's jealousy. I had to write something about this because being an artist, you are always going to see somebody better than you, and that can cause some really nasty conflict inside of you. Sadly, there is nothing I can do to stop that, but I can say really try not to let it get to you and instead view it as a learning experience from those people and how they write. Also, never compare yourself to others because all writing, whether good or not, is your most vulnerable parts because it is unique to you. And also, try not to please everybody—I promise you won't be able to. The same way people pay millions for a piece of artwork, another person wouldn't pay a penny for; it's just simply the human mind, and that's okay. But this also ties into Write for yourself. Nobody else. Just yourself. When you're writing, try not to even think that somebody else is going to view it. It will allow you to write what you really want but also get you to be a lot more vulnerable.

The first draft is shit. I'm so serious, every single one of my first drafts has been shit, and that's okay. You just have to edit your way up to something readable. Like, if you don't like how you wrote something the first time, that's okay. The first draft really is just you telling yourself the story, while the second, third, fourth, fifth draft is you telling others the story lol.

I don't think that there is anything else, but if I think of something, I'll definitely add it!! I hope that this helped you at least a little bit!! Thank you so much for asking me of all people for writing tips; it did wonders for my confidence lol.

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 2, Wave 1, Poll 14

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Ashton Greymoore-Critical Role

Qualifications:

chronic pain due to literally shattering into pieces and being put back together with molten gold. canon nonbinary [he/they]. i don’t have the spoons for a ramble on their character arc but i am holding them gently in my little hands.

Has chronic pain and TBI and goes by he/they pronouns

They are canonically depicted with chronic pain. This a major part of their character development and how they interact with other characters in the campaign. The actor who portrays them is also bisexual and deals with chronic pain; Taliesin Jaffe.

Propaganda:

they’re a punk-rock punk rock!! he has cool quantum powers and a huge glass hammer!! they’re slowly learning to live with the mortifying ordeal of having people that care about them and that he cares about in turn!! what’s not to love

A literal jaded punk rock. They were soft once... and then they turnd into stone. His body was shattered and glued back together by his enby housemate with melted gold. They have a hole in their head covered with glass through which you can see the brain and the chaos magic that brought them back from the brink of death. They're Constantly in pain and sometimes they don't remember who they screwed over(they crime) and what their relationship is like with people. He's a barbarian and when he rages he warps time, space, gravity or probability around him. Strongest member of their group/family Bells Hells. There's strength, but there's pain. There's pain, but there's strength. I love him very much. I'm not enby, they still give me gender envy (just like every other of his creator's characters). His coping mechanisms are not healthy in any way and he means a lot to me.

See above. Also, Ashton uses he/they pronouns and is canonically aromantic.

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @hawkeyeloveshawkeye is the third submitter.

Robin Buckley-Stranger Things

Qualifications:

Canon lesbian and VERY heavily coded to be neurodivergent in some way (but it's the '80s so she's not catching a diagnosis any time soon). And by very heavily coded I mean literally says the words "I don't really have a filter, or a strong grasp of social cues."

Propaganda:

Canon lesbian with an iconic coming out scene! Is also described as hyper, knows a shit ton about languages (and in fact knows 4 including English) and films and rabies, is bothered by certain textures, is distracted easily but also notices a lot of smaller details, talks very fast, and doesn't have a good grasp of social cues. Also of note is that she mentions taking 6 months longer to walk than most babies, which is notable because developmental delays usually accompany autism. Robin is also noted to be less coordinated or balanced than her peers (to the point that there are a couple moments where another character reassures her about doing something requiring coordination) as well as being a "weird runner." This could possibly point to dyspraxia, which in addition to being it's own thing, is also known to have high rates of comorbidity in those who have ADHD and/or ASD. With all of this in mind, a lot of people see her as having ADHD or Autism, or even having them both. Again, it's not like she can just get diagnosed in the show to confirm it given the time period (hell, it's hard for people, particularly women, to get diagnosed even today). Additionally the lack of vocabulary to properly explain her experiences, or for other characters to do the same in regards to Robin is also due to the time frame (See: "she's hyper", "a weird runner". That being said the first time has the character saying it later befriend her and the latter ends up being used in a more fond manner. Even Robin herself mentions thinking that her whole life is "one big error", because, again she doesn't have any resources to show her what might be going on). As a nice side note, her friends generally treat her well, such as the aforementioned instance of reassuring her in an area she feels less confident in, and her friends in general enjoy her company and stick by her if need be, which I thought was nice (One of whom she has come out to, which makes it all the more meaningful in conservative small town Indiana in the '80s because... yeah.) Basically, there's a lot of evidence and also I just really like her character so here we are. Given season four is where a lot of this comes up, I am whacking away anyone who said she got annoying in season four.

[dedalvs]

Regarding the valar-Valyria question and patriarchy, I always thought that "valar" should be more properly translated as "people/humanity", as Daenerys in the book does believe Missandei's "valar morghulis" applies to her (vs the "we are not men" quip in the show) -- and that it was only translated as "men" in Common Tongue because Westeros is patriarchal. Your dārys/dāria answer the other day seemed to lean that way.

But I see that there are different words for people (issarori) and humanity (ābrar)? Are those words also adaptations of HV to describe Westerosi life? Or maybe valar used to be more gender-neutral and changed later?

The presence of one word doesn't necessarily change the definition of another word. When I'm coining words in High Valyrian, there are a number of checks I go through. For example, āeksion is "gold". That's the first word I created. There are a number of ways, both regular and somewhat irregular, that one noun can be turned into another of a different class. So, for example, āeksion is "gold", deverbative agents end in -io, so, somewhat irregularly, I created āeksio "master" (has to be irregular, since the two nouns have nearly the same declension pattern)—one associated with gold. I also check to see if there are any obvious derivations that can be made. So, for example, if āegion is "iron", then āegenka is "made of iron". Another check I make is to see if there's a paucal derivation that makes sense. Most of the time the paucal is simply a number (so qulbes is "chicken", and qulbin is "a few chickens"), but sometimes it can derive a new word (for example, sȳndor is "shadow", and sȳndrun is a few shadows gathered together, that is "shade"). Along with the paucal, the collective is also a potential for derivation. We already had vala and valar. So I created thew word for "woman" ābra. I thought if valar is something, ābrar is likely to be something, too. It has a number of meanings, among them human beings or humanity, in general. This is on par with riña being "girl" and riñar being "children". If you want to talk about any child in general, you use riña. You can do this with adults with ābra, as well, but it's more common with children. In referring to children, their age is remarkable; when referring to adults, generally, their age is not. If you look out at a busy market place, that's ābrar.

Importantly, nothing about ābra or ābrar and the way they're used has anything to do with vala or valar. Think about the words "hoodie" and "sweatshirt". They can technically refer to different things, but they don't have to—and if someone says to you, "Oh, can you grab my sweatshirt?", and you're like, "Where is it? I don't see one. Do I need to go to the closet?" because you're passive-aggressively thinking, "THAT'S A HOODIE, NOT A SWEATSHIRT!", then, well, aren't you just precious! But for most people, the existence of one word doesn't require the meaning of a previous word to change. It may change, but it need not. And, in fact, even if there is technically a difference between two words, that doesn't meant that everyone will acknowledge it. A bit of a different type of thing, but consider "We need less chairs in the dining room". Technically it should be "We need fewer chairs in the dining room", but especially in a casual environment, most English speakers will accept either with no difference in meaning between the two.

Anyway, when creating a language, it doesn't make a difference to me if a word for something already exists. Why not create another, if it makes sense? Maybe some people will use it and others won't. Maybe it will end up having a specialized usage. Maybe one will be regional, or one will be common for many years, and then the other becomes more common. I don't worry too much about it. It's nice to have a sizable vocabulary—a lot of paint on your pallet.

I hope that makes sense!

[windstir]

why strawberry crepe cookie is very autistic coded

by: yours truly, an autistic person who happens to like the pink cookie a lot! 🌸

the chart above is what i will be using as a base for some of the behaviors they express. though i'm letting you guys know beforehand that autism looks different in everyone (obviously) and that some traits might be influenced by traumatic events in your early years of life (like what happens with Crepe.)

most of the information has been taken from canon events and stories, and some other things are just based on my own interpretation of their dialogue and the few things we know about their backstory!

we will go in parts, describing each tab in as much detail as i possibly can ...

that being said, sit the fuck down, grab some snacks, and listen to me ramble about the little pink cookie, because that's what autism made ME do. some people solve math problems, i talk about my little pink thing while i rotate them around in my head like a microwave.

before i start: spoiler warning for pretty much everything regarding Strawberry Crepe Cookie and cookie odyssey.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

i. fixations -

the fixations tab is the easiest thing to explain from this mess, since it's most of their character: robotics!Crepe shows a high interest in wafflebots! being pretty much one of the few things they talk about freely (and something they're very passionate about as a whole) and being something that takes up most of their day and routine.

there are many parts where they start rambling about the bots, being most noticeable during the cookie odyssey (they have many of these moments during their parts of the story! 🎶)

(they also seem to be messy as mentioned by Clotted Cream Cookie at some point in odyssey, unless it comes to their tools! which is. something i relate to deeply lmao. i find organizing my clothes and things pretty boring, but i enjoy organizing my art supplies for example. relaxing activities ~ i'm not sure if it IS part of a fixation but i still think it deserves a spot.)

🌸🌸🌸

ii. noise sensitivity -

this is also easy to explain: they don't like noise. one of their "default phrases" is. just that. them complaining about the noise (and mentioning that their bots are more quiet, once again tying things back to their special interest/hyperfixation.)

and this new comment from the spring 2023 event.

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iii. aggression -

while also having canon arguments to back up this one, it can't really be used as a way to say "oh Crepe is autistic". why? because crepe has gone through trauma and was exposed to violence as a fairly young kid, specially since it wasn't really explained to them that what they did was wrong.

they are aggressive, having threatened others before ... but is it an autistic thing, or just a trauma response of some sort? i can't really tell, honestly. so i'm going to replace it with:

🦄🌸 the inability to properly identify their own emotions, something i've struggled with since i was just a little guy !!!! 🌸🦄

(or, in proper terms, i think it's called alexithymia! if this is wrong i will correct myself.)

when Pure Vanilla mentioned the time period they were alone (or with DE) they responded with: "well ... it WAS boring!"

boring, a word that seems to be quite common in their vocabulary and mine (especially as a kid, we're talking a 5-8 y/o child who struggled to properly identify their emotions and was pretty disconnected from them)

i remember always complaining of boredom, and i sometimes still mix boredom with sadness, understimulation ... you call it.

and the fact that they used the word "boring" to describe a (definitely) traumatic period of their life is. quite interesting to me!

were they truly bored, or were they sad? anxious? scared ...?

and then, once again, in the spring 2023 event, we get more of that:

it happens after the group of kids they're playing with don't listen to their attempts of communicating their discomfort and stress over the situation they're in, Crepe was trying to communicate that they weren't happy with the noise they were making and the fact that everyone was walking in different directions. (and one of the kids was being particularly hyperactive too)

so, they lashed out.

pretty self-explanatory. Crepe also isn't very good at expressing and controlling their negative emotions.

so yeah! back to the ACTUAL chart now ...

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iv. social difficulty -

yeah, another obvious one. they struggle with socializing and seem to prefer the company of their robots and small crowds. (or older people, they seem to be a lot more nicer around Espresso. like in the christmas 2022 story)

not much to say, their socializing skills may also be affected by their trauma. (they were frozen for years as a child, abandoned by their village and then by Dark Enchantress, leading to a pretty lonely life before the events of chapter 9 and odyssey)

but i do think they're genuinely just an awkward little kid, and that's fine! they're learning at their own pace as i've mentioned in another post :)

🌸🌸🌸

v. speech pattern -

... it may be me, but their way of speaking is different of the way kids around their age express themselves usually, so i say they got an abnormal speech pattern.

they use big words and know what they mean, end of the speech tab. i don't know how a normal person speaks so i can't really say "this was supposed to be abnormal speech? but I speak like that!"

🌸🌸🌸

vi. depression / anxiety -

the depression and anxiety tab are mainly based on headcanons i branched out based on their backstory, but they may be enforced by their crunchy dreams story and their fortune: "you're not alone: love surrounds you."

it's probably not related to autism, though. it's probably because of their trauma and abandonment issues. either way it's there.

to need reassuring in something like this means that they probably cling compulsively to certain thoughts/beliefs.

which, if i remember correctly, is a thing that sometimes happens with autistic people according to other autistic people. it's like a weird fixation of sorts, i'm not 100% sure ...

the only time(s) i've seen them have some sort of anxious behavior is during their battle speech, where they panic after losing to Gingerbrave's team.

then during the spring event of 2023, where they say that they "can't think straight" because of the noise Pancake Cookie is making.

🌸🌸🌸

i'm not sure if they got any tics and fidgets, i haven't noticed anything that can classify as such, so it's one of the lowest tabs.

same with the abnormal posture. and if they got it is probably because of the being frozen thing weakening their body to an extent.

🌸🌸🌸

in conclusion! after tumblr deleted part of my post from my drafts ... _(:3」 ∠)_

i wholeheartedly believe Crepe might be an autistic coded character, whether or not is something the writers intended to do isn't clear to me, but they show SO many traits that i wouldn't be surprised if they canonically were! most of the things i mentioned are also based from my own experience and the bits i can remember form my own childhood as an undiagnosed kid, but yeah!

i hope you enjoyed this painfully long rant <3 i might make one eventually about how i think Crepe might also be physically disabled (implied), but for now, have this.

okay bye i can't post more pictures because the app sucks.

[spacestationvampire]

the way you color things makes me want to commit crimes. any coloring tips for a baby digital artist who doesn’t know how to do the computer things good?

AUGH apologies for taking so long, i was in the middle of writing this answer and the whole thing was deleted as soon as i switched to another tab on my phone, and then the draft didn't save the second time i tried to write it. jfc at least i had it written out in my notes app the second time. anyway, thank you thank you thank you!! this was very nice to recieve, i love getting asks ❤️

i'm not versed in the arts of drawing on a computer, either, so i can't give tips in regards to specific programs (said in chronic procreate user voice) but i can certainly give universal advice keep in mind that i'm not professionally taught in the slightest so i lack much of the vocabulary to describe my methods, and remember that my word is not law!

in case of confusion, everything has been explained. i've added a cut because it got needlessly long. i've also added visual guides for certain tips, and image descriptions for each one

to be honest, much of what i do when picking colors is done with the help of gradient maps (more on that later) but when choosing my base colors i follow these rules:

1. you don't have to cell shade with purple + multiply and an add layer. that's the voice of lavendertowne attempting to take control of your body. stamp it out. (/j i love her)

2. bright, vivid colors!

3. instead of shifting just the brightness and saturation when picking colors to shade, shift the hue, too! in the first image, we can see that the circle is dull and boring. in comparison, the second image pops!

4. so, how does this work?

without getting too much into color theory--because while i've studied it before, i don't trust myself to articulate it properly without making a fool of myself--it's all about how colors interact with each other. for example, a beige circle looks lighter when surrounded by a dark background rather than just plain white.

in the same vein, surrounding greys/desaturated colors with warm colors makes them look blue, and vice versa.

5. blue/grey shadows and warm lighting!! or the other way around. actually, you can use any color for shadows and lighting, depending on your light source. is it sunny outside, or are they beneath white light?

6. for color picking, i reccomend avoiding using the wheel, instead opting for the rgb sliders or the hue saturation brightness sliders if you're dumb like me. this allows for precision in the colors you pick, and accuracy when putting together color palettes.

7. and, finally, the actual computer stuff: gradient maps! i looove gradient maps.

as far as i'm aware, procreate and krita have the gradient map tool. ibispaint does not. i am not sure if firealpaca does.

i usually use gradient maps to make my coloring more cohesive, rather than just slapping them on a monochrome drawing (which is also a totally viable method for coloring, but you'll be less precise, as gmaps only recognize values). when using gradient maps, i prefer to duplicate my completed artwork, lower the opacity of the duplicate on top of it (usually between 25 and 50%, depending on how strong i want the effect to be), and use gradient maps on the duplicate.

this makes my colors all nice and pretty!

11. if you use krita, it can be hard to find the right colors to use for your gradient maps. never fear! i'm here to give you the default templates from procreate, as well as a couple of the ones i've made.

if you have any more questions, or you want me to get further into a specific topic, feel free to send me another ask

[moondirti]

hi i just found animalic down my dash n holy fuck i have never seen such pretty writing

i'm so baffled n in awe w ur style n vocab n the symbolisms u use, like, it's making my head spin while also like, idk, hypnotizing me or sth?????? i literally don't know, i'm just so speechless by ur writing style u might just get me to start trying to write again bc i've been suffering from my worst block ever fr

ur usage of symbolisms n metaphors and how u describe things is just so like, UGH MY GODDDD—my only comparison to that is like, when painters splatter paint on their canvas messily but in a way that they know exactly what they're doing so it's like a strategic mess but it's not a mess at all it's like something so polished n eloquent or sth i literally don't know i want ur vocabulary so bad bc then maybe i could start to properly describe just how absolutely amazing ur writing style is

anyw i would go on but i think i should stare at the blank page on my notes to force myself to write bc u've inspired me n i may be anonymous but just so yk i will not disappoint u mother i will bring pride n joy and hopefully spawn miggy blurbs—or i could just study anything u've written bc once again u hv inspired me and i need to relearn how to write bc i'm so rusty

but yes so basically i love ur writing style i love miggy n i may be agnostic-ish but i want to seek any one god just to be able to have someone to thank for the miracle that is u n ur talent n the fact that life has led u to write bars on bars of shimmery golden poetry for a hot hunk of fictional irish-mexican man—like u hv no idea how grateful i am to hv found animalic i would like to absorb any body of writing u hv made ever

anyw i think that's it yes um

soz for long ask n if this is a bit annoying🧍‍♂️(ily)

if you pay really close attention, you can hear me sobbing thro the screen

i woke up yesterday, as always, so excited to read everyone's thoughts on the new chapter. and what a delight it was to find this lovely lovely message in my inbox. goodness, anon, you've no idea how happy this made me. i was a mess all day, grinning ear to ear and unable to focus on anything other than your kind words.

fuck, i'm so glad my writing was able to inspire something within you. oftentimes it feels like i'm spewing out barely coherent sentences, isolated on my laptop, so it's such a nice reminder hearing how it goes on to affect people. hardly any of it is intentional, and that should reassure you if anything. humans are so good at making happy accidents. don't let your fear of your work not turning out the way you want hold you back – i believe in you! you can do it! write and surprise yourself, and remember there will always be people supporting you every step of the way

and never EVER apologise for sending long asks<3 nothing means more to me than you guys and i always delight in hearing your thoughts. i hope you're able to start writing again, and perhaps share it with me when you're ready xx

mwah mwah. thank you so much

[donnerpartyofone]

I follow a number of blogs full of nature photography to calm my fucking nerves, and I don't have the technical vocabulary to describe this properly but there's this pervasive trend of like boosting the color until the objects in a video are surrounded by this kind of sickly corona of whatever their most prominent color is. I'm often scrolling past a clip of something inherently beautiful like a volcano erupting or a cherry tree grove or something and I think Man that looks weird for some reason, and then I realize that it's because it's just, you know, all fucked up. It seems like a very juvenile thing to do, like when you're young and you don't know how much is too much makeup or perfume. It must be like the nature photography equivalent of desaturating images from color films because you think that makes them arty and noirish, when in reality you're just turning something that was lit and shot for color into lifeless mud.

[frogofalltime]

recently i've grown so much. and learned so much. a few months ago my friend said she predicted a cute summer romance in my future and i think she was right because here i am living out my queer little dreams, letting myself try the things that i didn't even let myself think about when i was younger, figuring out what is true and what i just assumed, being the person that my child self always yearned for but thought they were not allowed.

people always told me i had a lot to learn and that they couldn't teach it to me, i had to go out and learn it myself from the real world. and it's scary, trying new things and meeting new people and making new discoveries about your own identity. sometimes things you believed in for years mean nothing to you anymore. sometimes something you thought you'd hate turns out to be something you really enjoy. sometimes it's hard to tell what parts of you were caused by religion and repression and homophobia and which parts were there all along.

i look back at my child self and the signs are all there, clear as day. and i knew it back then, i knew it as well as i do now, but i just didn't have the words or the freedom to express it. i had to try and force it out of myself, because i was terrified that all of this was so sinful and so wrong.

my therapist said i seem to be too queer for all labels, and i agree. it's nice having more vocabulary to describe oneself and i do wish there was a label that fit me quite perfectly. but the older i get, the more i feel like my twelve year old self again, running around in my green converses and t shirts that i painted myself and jeans that i had to roll up far too many times at the hems, not needing any words to define myself. God, i regret all the things i tried between then and now, the efforts i made to fit into society's standards, to be the perfect muslim "daughter" and fold myself into a neat little box. but i suppose i wouldn't be the same without those experiences, right ? maybe it's good that i went through all that trial and error because it brought me back to what feels right.

there's a reason why i wrote poems back then, secret and shameful and laced with guilt, longing to be free from my cage. the same reason why i sang songs like reflection from mulan and how far i'll go from moana to myself every day, and peeked through my fingers at couples making out or paintings of naked bodies, and stared at myself in the mirror in my sports bras and boxer shorts, wondering if i looked okay without my clothes, just in case. i was so sheltered and so careful but i was never truly "pure" and "innocent" like everyone thought i was. i just didn't know. and i kept myself ignorant on purpose because i knew that i could not step over the edge without free falling into something more.

so now i am twenty three years of age, and i'm finally getting to know myself the way most people do as a teenager. and i do worry that i am changing too fast, that my friends still see the old me and expect that naive and timid little creature who never knew anything about life. it's only been one year since i properly came out as trans. and not long ago i thought i could never do half the things that just come naturally to me now. and i'm also learning what i don't like; some things i used to think have in fact been proven to be true. and it's good to know that i did know myself after all, even without any experience to back it up. but the labels all escape me, and i think that's fine. i don't want to narrow down any part of me into a word.

i'm just me. and that's enough.

[thetavolution]

for Bex

👄: How do they talk? What's their vocabulary like? What does their voice sound like? Any accent, verbal tics, etc?

🔮: If they were to feature in the art of a tarot card, which one would it be and why?

✍: What does your character's handwriting look like? Do they write letters often? What other contexts do they usually write in, if any?

😄: How can you tell when they're really happy? What sorts of things make them happy? How often do they smile?

🌹: Are they experienced romantically? How many romantic partners have they had? How has this affected their view of romance?

🎉: Who are their party members/companions? Describe each of their relationships with your OC (however brief or detailed you want).

Thank you for sending this in!

👄: How do they talk? What's their vocabulary like? What does their voice sound like? Any accent, verbal tics, etc?

Even in the BG3/DnD universe, she keeps her natural American accent. Her accent could be pegged as Midwestern. You can hear her speak in The Bonneville Game. (Sorry, not sorry for plugging my show lol.)

She does find roundabout ways to explain stuff sometimes. If she can't think of what something's called, she'll try to describe it via a sound effect. It doesn't always work out. She does have a pretty decent vocabulary. She reads a lot more than people expect her to. She sometimes uses antiquated sayings, especially if it brings her joy. I.E. "They've got the morbs."

🔮: If they were to feature in the art of a tarot card, which one would it be and why?

This one was tough! Hopefully I'm reading the cards properly and I'm open to critique here. I went with the Devil due to bondage and hopelessness. She only recently regained her independence. She lost a lot of years to a situation where she was enslaved. It's part of what beat her down and has her foreseeing a bleak future for herself, which is why I thought the Devil.

On the flip side, when she's doing better she would probably be the Fool. The Fool is about accepting your choices which I think she needs to do. It can also be about entering a new phase and living in the moment. At least, that's what those cards mean for her.

✍: What does your character's handwriting look like? Do they write letters often? What other contexts do they usually write in, if any?

She has a lot of distant friends that she likes to write. She actually feels like she expresses herself better in letters so she finds it freeing. She often sends a 'thinking of you' letter whenever she has a chance. Outside of that, she writes down ideas in her recipe book or catalogues recipes she's tried and liked.

Her handwriting would probably look something like this:

😄: How can you tell when they're really happy? What sorts of things make them happy? How often do they smile?

She smiles a lot, actually! It's just not a "real" smile. It's usually some kind of smirk or something to hide her real feelings. When you get to know her, you can tell the difference between the smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes when it's her normal smile.

When she's truly happy, it's usually because she's around someone or several people she cares about and feels safe with. It can happen just being around them or telling jokes. She also will give every animal on earth a real smile. Acts of kindness towards her also get her to smile. When she really feels like someone cares about her, she gives a true smile.

People usually can see it in her eyes when she finds real joy. She's also more willing to be genuinely sappy, even if she acts like it pains her.

🌹: Are they experienced romantically? How many romantic partners have they had? How has this affected their view of romance?

She's had a lot of romantic partners, including casual ones. I don't know an exact number. She's had plenty of bad relationships. She was never really shown what love is while growing up, and she doesn't think she deserves good things.

While she understands love can be a beautiful thing, she assumes it'll always be stained by misery when it comes to her. She usually just waits for the other person to decide she's too "broken" to be with.

She had one huge betrayal in the past that makes her assume everyone will betray her eventually. It's why she wasn't even that hurt by Astarion confession. Just very confused. I tend to develop things via music and three songs that sum up her romantic past are The Stranger Song, Joke's On You, and 10:15.

🎉: Who are their party members/companions? Describe each of their relationships with your OC (however brief or detailed you want).

In BG3, she's romancing Astarion. They both do the whole "I can make them worse" and accidentally make each other better thing. Astarion is also the first person to force her to notice she actually does do good things for people.

She ends up being shocked by the effect she has on everyone else. She definitely likes to tease Lae'zel and Lae'zel eventually warms up to it. They earn each other's respect. Bex has a soft spot for Wyll, but she's terrified of the world chewing him up and spitting him out. (It already kind of did.) She questions "who protects the protector" in his case.

She thinks Shadowheart is genuinely hilarious and likes spending time with her, especially when she renounces Shar. They 100% talk shit together. Of course, Bex adores Karlach because it's Karlach. Karlach is someone who can always get a real smile out of her. They crack each other up. She loves to tease Gale, but it's always a mutual playful thing with each other. She respects him and she would stab Mystra in the eye if she could. When people outside of the group make fun of Gale, she gets angry. To steal a line from Bob's Burgers, "Messing with Gale is a privilege, not a right."

She has a fling with Halsin with Astarion consent, of course. Halsin helped raise her self-esteem up. She and Astarion will probably invite him into their lives in the future. She also wants to be Jaheira when she "grows up." I accidentally killed Minthara on her run so... no Minthara lol. Minsc cracks her up and she just can't not love that guy.

In original story adventures, she hangs with Minty, Laura, and Ingrid. Minty entertains her to no end and her earnestness is endearing to her. Minty accepts Bex as part of her found family. Minty breaks down her walls and Bex starts to open up around her.

Laura doesn't like her as much at first, but they don't hate each other. They bond over their sense of humor over time. They start being each other's wingmen, too.

Ingrid was a little scared of her at first. When Ingrid realizes she's not so bad, she starts to open up to Bex. Bex treats her more like a little sister. She's more gentle with her, but also tries to get her to stand up for herself... and she likes messing with her. Ingrid is easy to fluster. Ingrid eventually stands up for herself more, with Bex's help, and starts to rib Bex in return.