#i never did an environment prior to that- not one to that extent of detail anyway

[nmtltlz]

New commission sheets :) message me if youre interested!

Totally willing to discuss prices in messages! The prices on the left are assuming fully rendered images! Sketches would be around half that ($10/15/25)! I do all types of art and have experience in all types of subjects :)!

Reblogs are suuuper appreciated and i would adore the opportunity to make new art and get paid for it

I promise i wont disappoint :)!!

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 3

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous) Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

Chapter Summary: Hunter insists that you nap on the way to Kamino.

read it on ao3 | start from ch 1 | or read more below

“Get some sleep. It’ll be a while until we reach Kamino.”

Hunter gestured towards a bunk that you could tell was well used. You worried the inside of your lip, considering the offer.

This ship was a far cry from the accommodations you were used to. It reminded you more of quarters you once shared with a pirate crew – cramped, but cozy.

You didn’t mind it, per say… but it wasn’t what you were used to. On the Resolute, you had your own quarters, completely separate from the rest of the clones. It had been both a blessing and a curse – it afforded you some privacy, being the only female Captain, and working with a majority of clones who had never experienced such direct contact with a woman. It was honestly tiring dealing with their staring – which wasn’t even a majority sexual, honestly. They were just curious about you, and while you didn’t blame them, that didn’t mean you wanted eyes on you while you were just trying to get some rest.

The Bad Batch didn’t seem to be quite as bad as the 501st, and you suspected that perhaps because they were a smaller, elite squad, they had encountered women in different environments than just a club full of clone chasers like 79’s. You could feel Wrecker’s eyes on you half the time, and his curiosity reminded you the most of the 501st’s own sneaking glancing. You also caught Tech looking a few times as you set your meagre belongings in the cargo area – he had seemed flustered and turned away, datapad in hand. You had no idea what his fascination with you was, but you assumed you would find out soon enough. It was almost cute seeing how you flustered him, if only because your own men – or, former men – had grown so used to your presence that they had gotten harder to fluster.

But then, there was Hunter and Echo, who both reminded you of Rex. Rex hadn’t been bothered with your gender if only because he had worked so much with Ahsoka the years prior. You didn’t know who Hunter had worked with that made him so comfortable with you, nor Echo, but you were glad that at least your gender wasn’t causing any more awkward tension than it should. You felt strange enough barging into Hunter’s team, where you technically outranked him as a Captain, but knew about as much as a shiny when it came to this squad.

At least everyone was better than Crosshair, who avoided you like a bad smell. He obviously had some kind of a stick up his ass.

But that was besides the point – the real question was: did you trust these men enough to sleep out in the open like this? You didn’t think they would hurt you, or anything quite so dangerous, but you did value your privacy. And it seemed strange to sleep in their communal space while you still felt like an outsider. That was far too… intimate for your liking.

“I’m fine,” you tried to respond to Hunter’s offer with a polite smile and a nod. You didn’t want your refusal to read as rude – you just didn’t want to open yourself up to something so intimate as sleeping in another clone’s bed, even if it was simply a matter of convenience. You didn’t doubt that the clones crashed in whichever bunk was available – the blankets on the bottom two looked more worn than the top, which alluded to the fact that they shared these.

You denied the offer, even though you were tired. You hadn’t slept since the Resolute had returned to Coruscant, and the fatigue was wearing on you. But you were a force sensitive. You could draw energy that way, you hoped. And maybe with an extra cup of caf from the small galley on the ship.

Hunter frowned at you. It wasn’t that he was outright offended by your refusal – he looked exasperated instead.

“I know you’re tired. Rest. We don’t have private rooms like on the star cruisers you’re used to, but it’s safe.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “No, I- I didn’t mean-“

“I know. I know we don’t have much,” Hunter shrugged, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “But it’s what we’ve got. Took Echo some time to get used to. I don’t blame you.”

You sighed, remembering Echo. Hunter’s looking at you and seeing Echo – another 501st member adjusting to a new place. And, he’s right, to an extent. Maybe you’re overthinking things. The Bad Batch has been nothing but kind to you so far.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head. “You’re right. It’s different from the 501st. Over there, I had a private Captain’s room. And here-“

“You’re right in it,” Hunter finished. You nodded, sighing. Hunter nodded at you, understanding, before he continued.

“Ain’t no use in separation here. Each member here was selected for a purpose, and each is an expert in that field. I’m a superior in name only – I’m more like a coordinator, if I’m completely honest,” Hunter admitted, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, you guys operate more like pirates or something than an actual military unit?” you asked, with a raised eyebrow and a little quirk of a smile. Hunter shrugged, making a little noncommittal noise.

“I’ve never worked with pirates, but maybe.”

You laughed, relaxing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, taking a nap in the open. After all, you were going to be working with these men for the foreseeable future. You had to learn to trust them, and if there were any issues with boundaries, you would work it out. It would be fine, especially if the crew operated the way Hunter said they did – you understood that structure far more than you did military hierarchies of command.

“Thank you, Hunter,” you patted his shoulder gently, well aware of the armor that covered it. “If you don’t mind, I think I will take that nap. Maybe up there, though.”

You gestured to one of the top bunks, and Hunter even cracked a smile himself.

“High ground. Good choice.”

You shared a smile, shaking your head at him as he clapped you on the back and made his exit towards the cockpit.

His touch left you warm, even thought it was friendly, the sort of thing the clones took part in all the time. You kind of hated the way your cheeks flushed as you hopped on the bunk, untying your boots and kicking them to the floor, discarding your jacket and what little armor you had (shoulder plates and forearm guards, really) at the end of the bunk.

Not only was the Bad Batch different from the other clones in terms of their operation style – casual, bound by trust rather than duty – they were also different from other clones in certain physical aspects. Hunter’s hair, in particular, caught your eye far more often than it should in a professional sense, even as you tried to ignore it. And that little smile he just gave you –

No. No, you couldn’t do this. You had to work with Hunter, and if something happened between the two of you, you couldn’t count on the fact that you both would be able to remain professional.

You wrapped the blankets around you in a little cocoon as you tried to talk yourself down from all of this. It had been easier with the 501st. Those degrees of separation prevented you from forming those attachments. But here – this wasn’t a military structure. This was a team, a crew. You couldn’t get away from these men – for kark’s sake, they all shared these bunks.

The bunks, including the one you were occupying. They were homey – the blankets wrapped around you were plentiful. A couple were standard issue – you recognized the distinctive Republic insignia emblazoned on them. But some were clearly handmade. There were scraps of fabric entwined, one around another, weaving together to make a sturdy blanket. Another looked to be a quilt, hardy and thick, made to withstand the chill of space travel.

You were enveloped in them, completely cocooned, and you were already starting to warm up again despite the absence of your jacket. You tried to turn your brain off, for just a moment, and relax into the softness of the blankets, into the homey little bunk. The Bad Batch had obviously taken care to make their beds cozy and warm, and you appreciated it – it spoke to how they valued their space, their comfort. It was nice.

You started to drift off, and you couldn’t help but notice that even the blankets smelled nice. Not from a fresh wash, necessarily – no, it smelled more like it was pleasantly lived in. But didn’t it seem like the bottom bunks were the most used by the Batch?

Maybe this was Hunter’s bunk, you considered with a little smile, curling in on yourself. Hadn’t he mentioned the high ground? You imagined that a veteran officer like Hunter might care about things like that – about being able to get a jump on anyone trying to disturb his sleep. He would feel safer up here, like you did. The way this bunk was angled, there was a good view of the outside hatch, so Hunter would be able to see anyone trying to enter the ship.

Maybe it smelled like him, then. You could imagine him wrapped in these blankets too, maybe ones that thankful civilians gave him for his help.

You had told yourself you didn’t want to get attached, but as you drifted off into a light slumber, you couldn’t stop the visions that danced behind your eyes – Hunter in the bunk with you, his broad chest pressed to your back, his arms wrapped around your waist. If he snuggled too close to your shoulder, his hair would tickle your jaw. Maybe he would tell you the stories of the blankets wrapped around the both of you – his fingers tracing over yours as you thumbed over the handmade details, as his low voice hummed in your ear.

You drifted to sleep thinking of him, the thrum of his voice, rough hands against yours. And if those thoughts spilled over into your dreams – that was only for you to know.

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@killtherandomness @pastelpanda19  @nothingadventured-nothinggained @lafy-taffy  @badbatch-simp24 @zazzysseoul @obiwansblog @tired-ninfa

[margridarnauds]

@inkandglitter21​

This is a VERY good question! And one that I think keeps quite a few people in the field up at night, to be honest, but I’m going to give the best answer I possibly can, hence why I’m giving it its own post. My apologies in advance if this gets slightly technical - Some of this is kind of inherently technical and complicated. I also am going to HAVE to mention that I’m doing my best to represent the closest thing we can get to a consensus of the field, but that doesn’t mean that someone, in a week or so, can’t publish an article that blows this out of the water. It happens. 

As a further warning, which I give every single time I discuss the issues inherent to the study of this material: I am not a religious authority. I’m a Celticist. I love the Tuatha Dé, but I can’t claim any form of spiritual connection with them. (As LGE would say, “Though the author enumerates them, she does not worship them.”) So, to anyone who reads this who might have a connection to the figures described....I can’t say anything about the relationship that you, personally, have with them. I can only say what we know, what we don’t know, and what we’re still kind of scratching our heads at with regards to the medieval material. Part of why I’ve, traditionally, sworn off talking about Bríg, Danu, and Morrigan is specifically because they tend to arouse some very strong feelings, and I never really wanted to get caught in something I couldn’t handle. 

But, also. What use is a geas if you don’t break it, likely leading you to your tragic-yet-inevitable doom? 

So, first off, let’s talk Lebor Gabála Érenn. MAGNIFICENT text, and a personal baby of mine. Chock full of information about the Tuatha Dé, the Fir Bolg, the Milesians, the High Kings of Ireland....basically everything a person could ever want to know. A mythographer’s dream and nightmare all in one. But, there’s a problem with it, and it’s one that I feel like Celticists have never stressed enough to the public, not the least because Celticists, as a group, tend to be a little....terrified of LGE. There are relatively few scholars who want to work with it after Macalister’s edition (to understand the reception to Macalister: A personal hobby of mine is collecting remarks other scholars have made about his edition, because they can be BRUTAL.) It has been described as “almost unreadable.” Which is kind of forgivable given the man was DYING when he made it, but still. 

Why are so many scholars scared of LGE? Well, primarily, because it’s hard to say that there was one singular LGE. LGE, as we know it, was compiled in about the 11th century. Or, it began to be compiled in the 11th century. It’s a Middle Irish text (so, it’s coming significantly later than, say, Tochmarc Étaíne or Cath Maige Tuired, which are both ~9th century texts, though CMT was given revisions in the 11th century to bring it in line with LGE). And it is based off of a MUCH bigger genre of pseudohistorical texts, with many of the older texts being missing or destroyed. (The one generally most mourned by us is the one in Cín Dromma Snechta, which could have dated to as early as the 8th century and definitely contained a sort of proto-LGE. We know this because LGE cites it on occasion, so the tradition didn’t fully die out, we just don’t have the full thing.) So, to begin with, LGE is a mixed bag, based off of essentially all the work that came before it, with the scribes involved basically playing a juggling game with what prior scribes jotted down. (You can see it every once in a while, where a redactor will say something like “Certain ignorant people believe ____, but it is clearly not the case, for _________.”) 

It’s almost better to view it as a scrapbook than a single text - You have about 3-4 recensions (different scholars identified different recensions) spread out over around 20 surviving manuscripts, each recension containing significant amounts of detail that vary from their counterparts. Also, studded across LGE, you have a variety of poems that are believed to date either before or at around the same time that LGE was being compiled. (Part of what drives scholars up a WALL with Macalister’s translation is that, besides not identifying the original poets for the poems featured in LGE, he also separated the poems from the text around them. And, as someone who did have to work with that translation....yeah, it is a hot mess. Sorry and RIP, Macalister, but it’s a mess.) 

Now, you might wonder: Why am I telling you this? You came at me with a mythography question and I’m hitting you with manuscript studies. But THIS is the context that it’s existing in - I know it’s fairly popular to kind of talk shit about the scribes writing this stuff down, but it’s very important to understand that they were really trying their best to understand this stuff, just like we were. And, between the various recensions of LGE, we can actually SEE the tradition evolve. One of the key ways to know that Something Pre-Christian is going on is if NONE of the redactors could agree on someone. If you see someone’s depiction REALLY shifting around, you know that the redactors were having an issue with them, possibly dealing with multiple contradictory traditions. 

Enter the Bríg/Dana/Anu/Morrigan problem. AKA “Things that will cause me to have nightmares.” So, let’s try to take this piece by piece. 

The term “Tuatha Dé Danann” is generally accepted to be a later addition. There was not, before a certain time in the Irish mythological tradition, any notion of a goddess named “Danu”. (Established by John Carey in the article, “The name Tuatha Dé Danann”-- Essentially, the term “Tuatha Dé” was the original, but then, with the influence of the term Tuatha Dé, or “Tribe of God” to refer to the Israelites, they felt they had to disambiguate it to “Tuatha Dé Danann”, or “People of Skill”, and then people mistook “Danann” as being the name of a goddess...if I remember correctly, since I don’t have it to hand at the moment.) It is very important to establish this off the bat. Now, how did this get started? And where does this web begun to be woven? Well, I feel like someone could probably write at LEAST a MA dissertation on the topic, possibly even a PhD, and it definitely isn’t going to be me, but I can try my best. 

So. The Trí Dé Dána (Three Gods of Skill). 

Originally, it seems very likely that the genitive component Dána in their name was not meant to be a proper name. They were not MEANT to be perceived as “The Three Gods of Dana”, but “the three gods of skill”. As noted by O’Rahilly (and GOD, it hurts me when he’s right), the first time we really have the phrase referenced is in Cath Maige Tuired, where, he argues, and I have to agree with him, that it refers to Goibhniu, Luchta, and Credne, who Lugh goes to for weapons to fight against the Fomoire. Additionally, you have a gloss on the 9th century text “Immacallam in Dá Thuarad: Ecna mac na tri nDea nDána” that says that their mother was Bríg, though also seems to indicate, specifically, a connection with the filid, which keeps neatly with the LGE reference (and to the image of Bríg as a poetess. I don’t have enough time to talk Bríg here, but if you want to see what I had to say a while back, I made a post here) After the 12th century, though, when the name “Danu” became associated with the Tuatha Dé, a bunch of medieval scribes looked at “Trí Dé Dána” and thought, not UNREASONABLY, “Oh? This is a reference to Danu? Let’s fix that grammar!” So you have, in some later recensions of LGE, the name “Trí Dé Dána” replaced by “Tré dée Danann/Donand/Danand.” It is vital to mention, as Williams does in Ireland’s Immortals (189), that “Danu/Donu” is never attested, it’s always Donand/Danand. So, from the get-go, trying to identify “Danand” with “Anu” was going to be problematic at best. The general consensus seems to be that Bríg and Bres were the original parents of the Trí Dé, and that it’s very possible that they were, originally, specifically associated with the filid, or poets, with this fitting very neatly into both Bres and Bríg’s associations with the Dagda, Ogma, and, of course, Elatha, but that, with Cath Maige Tuired in the 9th century and the new tradition of Bres as a tyrant, it all got muddled, with traces of it lingering into LGE. (Myth and Mythography)

But, what about “Anu?” Who is this figure? And THIS, my friends, is where things REALLY begin to get fucky. She is identified in Cormac’s Glossary as mater deorum hibernensium, “Mother of the gods of Ireland” - That is beyond doubt. This ties in very naturally with the conflation of Danand/Danu as the mother of the Trí Dé Dána that we discussed earlier. It was, to a certain extent, natural that the two of them would become intertwined.

So, this means that Anu is a genuine pre-Christian figure who became entangled up with the whole Danu business? 

Well....

Michael Clarke, in his exploration of the intellectual environment of medieval Ireland, points out that the reference to “Anu” is, in fact, VERY similar to both Isidore of Sevile and in Carolingian mythographical compilations relating to the Greek goddess Cybele, indicating that the scribe, when he was jotting that down, might have very well had that in mind (52-53). Does this mean that they invented ANOTHER goddess and then conflated that goddess with another invented goddess? 

...not quite. 

Because we still have to account for things like, for example, a mountain known as “The Paps of Anand”, which isn’t easily ascribed to a classical influence. (As noted by Mark Williams, with the typical mixture of good humor and good sense that characterizes his writing,“It beggars belief to think that the Pre-Christian Irish would not have associated so impressively breasted a landscape with a female deity.”) (189). Also, as noted by Williams, even the most skeptical argument cannot explain where Anu comes from. It seems unlikely that they would simply create a goddess out of thin air. Even Danu, as sketchy as her existence is, came from SOMEWHERE, even if it was a linguistic, instead of spiritual, basis. But THEN we have to deal with another question: If this figure is so important, why doesn’t she show up in any of the myths? Why let the Dagda, Lugh, the Morrigan, Midir, Óengus, Ogma, and Nuada have all the fun? The Dagda in particular is as close to a BLATANTLY pre-Christian deity as you can get on-page, so it can’t be chalked up to a simple “They didn’t want to depict the mother of the gods on page.” Mark Williams suggests, tentatively, that Anu might have been a minor Munster figure who swelled in popularity, possibly dropped in by some Munster-based scribes who wanted to bolster their own province’s reputation and, equally tentatively, without further evidence to go on, I have to agree with him. I believe there’s too much evidence to suggest that there was SOMETHING, but that there’s also too little to say that she had the range or influence described, and that it’s very likely that, at the very least, the scribe writing that entry had Cybele on his mind. It’s really, really a mystery, though. 

Furthermore, as John Carey notes in “Notes on the Irish War Goddess”....why conflate Anu with the Morrigan? “While it may be plausible....to explain a war-goddess’s possession of sexual characteristics...it is considerably more difficult to follow that chain of thought in reverse in order to account for a land goddess with martial traits. Not is there any evident reason for a conflation of Anu/Anann and the Morrígan unless the former were to some extent linked with war already” pointing out that, relevant to the first paragraph of this, it SEEMS like her inclusion among the daughters of Ernmas was forced on the redactor by a prior tradition (271). Sometimes, she’s a fourth daughter of Ernmas, sometimes she’s a replacement for the Morrigan, sometimes, in the later texts, she’s associated with Danu. It’s like the various authors KNEW they had to include her in there somehow, but they didn’t know how, and she didn’t fit in smoothly once they did. Are we looking at a war/land goddess , obscure enough that the redactor didn’t know where to put her, deciding that she HAD to be the Morrigan/one of the Morrigan’s sisters but not knowing exactly how to fit her in? It wouldn’t be the first time multiple traditions clashed like this. Also, as noted by Sharon Paice Macleod, who gave a very thorough (if not always, in my opinion, sufficiently contextual) account of the tradition, there is a location called the “Paps of the Morrigan”, further suggesting a fertility aspect to the Morrigan that also features into Carey’s earlier argument of dual aspects to the Irish war goddess, along with Bhreatnach’s suggestion of the sovereignty goddess, who represents the land in the medieval Irish literary tradition (and into the present) also functioning as a goddess of death. (Indeed, as noted by Bhreatnach, the hag Cailb from Togail Bruidne Dá Derga, who functions as a sort of anti-sovereignty goddess, identifies herself with Nemain and Badb, at 255. Sovereignty giveth, sovereignty taketh away when you don’t fulfill your place as king.)

Basically, as with almost everything relating to pre-Christian religion in Ireland, we’ve really, really got to shrug our shoulders and go “Fuck if I know, mate.” 

My best attempt at a tl;dr for...this: 

LGE - WEIRD 

Danu - Help us. 

Trí Dé - Who’s your daddy? (Most likely? Bres originally, though it got out of hand after, like, the 12th century.) 

Anu - Who are you? (Who, Who?) 

Sources: 

Scowcroft, “Leabhar Gabhála Part I: The growth of the text" (For the discussion on the different recensions of LGE.)

John Carey, “The Irish National Origin-Legend: Synthetic Pseudohistory”

T.F O’Rahilly, Early Irish History and Mythology

Máire Bhreathnach, “The Sovereignty Goddess as Goddess of Death”

John Carey, “The name Tuatha Dé Danann”

Mark Williams, Ireland’s Immortals (Who, really, puts this all together in a so much more cohesive way in his book, I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to get an idea of how these things develop.)

John Carey, “Myth and Mythography in Cath Maige Tuired.” 

Michael Clarke, “Linguistic Education and Literary Creativity in Medieval Ireland”. 

John Carey, “Notes on the Irish War Goddess”

Sharon Paice Macleod, “Mater Deorum Hibernensium: Identity and Cross-Correlation in Early Irish Mythology.” 

[pokemonsoldier]

Humans are Space Orcs

Continuation of first post, likely to continue in a series with a fixed main POV (that of an alien historian after the events occurred, writing a rough summary), with some side stories from other POVs spread throughout.

—————

First Contact Part 2: Observations of a Death Planet

After the landslide vote with 70% of all participants in favor of the ‘watch and wait’ proposal, it was decided that observation in the form of unarmed scouts and researchers was most ideal. No more than one ship with no more than 5 organic crew would observe, occasionally scanning signals coming from Terra, trying to discretely get information. We needed to know as much as possible about the planet and it’s inhabitants. What was the planet like? What were the species? What was the elemental composition of said planet? What were these sapient species like? What was the technology level of these sapients? What were they like? And so on.

It wasn’t even one of what the humans called a ‘day’ after arriving until we received the first bundle of information, and it was so much to take in. Apparently, the atmosphere of this planet was 78% nitrogen, roughly 21% oxygen, roughly 1% argon, and the minute remainder mostly carbon dioxide with some minuscule trace elements. This first bit of information was shocking, as we had thought life required far more oxygen, or none at all, never so little, just to exist. Even more shocking, was that the surface of the planet was only 30% land, the rest covered in dihydrogen monoxide, or ‘water’ as the humans called it. This was a shock as such a composition was either poisonous or even acidic to half of all sapient species we knew of prior, and yet it seems the presence of this substance was mandatory for like here.

As time passed more and more information was received. Apparently most of said water of Terra had sodium chloride, ‘salt’ to the humans, in it. The climate and environment of the planet was and is the most diverse we have ever seen, ranging from always below the freezing point of ‘water’, to nearly halfway to the boiling point of it. And despite that, in nearly every single environment, regardless of extremes, life existed to some extent. Now, while I could go more in depth about the non-human aspects of Terra, I won’t as there are already books, provided by humans even, that detail such. Therefore, I shall only cover the matter of the humans.

When we received the images of these humans, the apparent sapient species, we were stunned. They walked on two legs, stood about 1.75 meters tall on average, though depending on which variety of human you saw, this would differ greatly, and had a soft skin of varying shades with an internal calcium-based skeleton. According to species with the ability to detect ultraviolet light, humans apparently had ‘stripes’ of sorts. What more, these humans were extremely durable, capable of living even if more than one limb was removed, and had, by the point of learning, created mechanical ‘prosthetics’ to replace such. The variety in their species, along with versatility and durability, partially explains their ability to survive...

Then, we started receiving information about their species in the terms of its history. This species, in its present form, only existed for roughly 50,000 of their years at most. This was thought to be an error as no species, none, has ever existed for so short a time, let alone advance as fast as they did. However, we then observed something we did not think possible for sapients to do among a species. We saw, they were fighting and killing each other. War, within a species. Never had such happened since the trilkta civil war. This in and of itself caused mixed reactions, from fear, to humor, to intrigue. Desires to stay away from them, to destroy them, to help sides, to embrace them as warriors, to even enslaving them, were all arising.

Then, something happened that would change everything.

[fantasyresident]

The Graphics Debate: Pokemon Sword and Shield Edition

For a long time, there's been a particular topic on my mind and it has been eating away at me, so it's time for my side of the discussion on it: graphics. The gaming community's portrayal of "good graphics" has always bothered me, although in the PS4 era of gaming, not many debates of graphical quality have risen considering every PS4 game these days looks at least semi-realistic and poor textures are a thing of the past.

The debate rose again with the Switch era of games, and one debate in particular really bothers me: that being Pokemon Sword and Shield. For the most part, big-rigs like IGN and the like actually gave the game a fairly good score, but the community had rather sharp backlash to the game in nearly every element, and the graphics is apparently no exception. Many people pointed out the obvious, such as the sub-quality trees and some other textures within the Wild Area. 

With that complaint, I agree, although I do not think that alone can tank a game, especially a game that otherwise has really good graphics. This is the part where I say "fight me" to anyone who says I'm wrong. And that's the point of my rant. It's a majority rules opinion that the graphics of Sword and Shield in general are sub-quality, and an "upscaled 3DS game". People want this HUGE change to Pokemon, but I don't believe everyone wants it in the interest of what Pokemon actually stands for, which is it's style. Sword and Shield may have its troublesome trees, but you look elsewhere and you see a colorful vibrant world full of Pokemon-esque variety. The water graphics took a major leap from prior games in which the water looked flat and unimpressive to say the least. The lighting looks less like a flat backdrop and more like it's coming from somewhere. The colors are sharper and more recognizable and do well to represent the vibrant wonder of the franchise. Characters are more expressive than ever before (and while this isn't the most major leap, it is noticeable upon seeing it). A good example of better expression in Pokemon is the portrayal of the character Opal, the borderline insane Fairy-type gym leader of Ballonlea. 

The animations aren't the best you can see, but they sure as hell did improve, which is obviously a graphical aspect as well. Not to mention the higher quality animations like the Pyro Ball move. Yes, I get it, Game Freak lied to an extent about cutting the dex. they were hyping up graphics/animations that end up not as good as you were imagining. But since when did we start judging games off of hype? That's what the problem boils down to at this point, people's expectations for the first serious Switch era game were high because Game Freak was hyping it up to be. What graphics are in the end is a mixture of subjective and objective arguments that people bundle up and put under a factual label, even if the ratio of subjective to objective views on graphics are extremely unbalanced. Pokemon has a style, and while it can visually improve beyond Sword and Shield's level, for this time in Pokemon's history, you shouldn't be expecting so much more than what we got, because what we got was pretty damn good. There were times in my playthrough of Shield that I was awe-struck by how gorgeous a part of the game looked, like the sparkling lights in the Galar Mines, to the mysterious glowing mushrooms of the Glimwood Tangle forest, and the detailed industrial cities of Motostoke and Hammerlocke.

 Even if Sword and Shield are still a bit linear, the visual variety made the game feel so explorable even if it is just in a visual sense. So no, there's no definitive answer to the graphics debate, there's no "you're right, I'm wrong" formula. Pokemon doesn't "need" this overhaul that everyone is demanding, where characters look like they came from a completely different franchise and the environments look like they were copied and pasted from a nature documentary. What we got may not be perfect, but I'm never going to understand how it's in any sense "disappointing visually", unless of course you spent the entire game circling around a tree in the Wild Area. Who knows, maybe some of the bigger critics did. 

I feel like if Game Freak would have just stayed silent about everything, including the whole messy National Dex controversy, people wouldn't have made their expectations skyrocket and people would enjoy the game for what it is, not what it isn't. The only time we should worry about what a game isn't is when the quality of a game is so poor quality that it calls for more to be had. In Sword and Shield, as far as I could see in the 200+ dedicated hours I've spent with it, there's not as much to be had as everyone else is making it out to be. It's a fine game with fine graphics. That being said, I do hope that Game Freak continues shooting for the sky when it comes to Pokemon games. Maybe some day they can silence all the critics. Hopefully when that day of serenity comes, I'll still be alive to witness it. A peaceful release window to a new Pokemon game not plagued with "No National Dex" complaints or grievances about trees or animations would be to die for. But of course I'd want to live through such a time.

Sincerely, 

a very sick and tired Pokemon fan, -Zen-

[metalgearkong]

Shadow of the Tomb Raider - Review (PS4)

3/25/20

Developed by Edios Montreal, released September 2018

The Tomb Raider reboot in 2013 was one of the biggest surprises during the last generation of gaming. I was so happy with the game I hoped publisher Square-Enix would continue the series. Luckily they did, and I may have enjoyed Rise of the Tomb Raider (2015), its sequel, even more. Lara was no longer a comical sex symbol running around like a tank in a blocky world. I don’t know why I didn’t play Shadow of the Tomb Raider, the next sequel, until now, but I finally got my hands on it. Shadow of the Tomb Raider isn’t perfect, but it remains another solid and mostly satisfying entry in this series, especially in terms of content, graphics, and exploration.

Lara (Camilla Luddington)  is on an obsessive quest to continue her father’s research, this time in Peru. This is as confident as Lara has ever been, as she demonstrates skills that would make even John Rambo or Naked Snake blush. However, her single-minded attitude pursuing her goals goes to the extent of being a detriment to her character. The developers spotlight this issue a handful of times, but peaked early in the game when Lara’s best friend Jonah gets fed up with her obsession (yelling at her “It’s not all about you!”). Part of Lara’s appeal in this series was how relatable and real she was, and comes off the least personable she’s ever been here. I would have liked this to be a larger part of the story, but I guess this video game series wouldn’t be as exciting if Lara was working a steady 9 to 5 at Red Cross. 

The gameplay and graphics are the best they’ve ever been. I was in constant awe seeing each and every new environment as I progressed, especially the dense jungles. I couldn’t get enough of how gorgeous this game was, as it kept me invested hour after hour. What it reminded me the most of was Metal Gear Solid 3, where you also had to take advantage of every detail the jungle provides (and stealth killing enemies from the brush, of course). Most environments are fairly linear, but are connected by massive hub areas full of things to do. I’ve never seen such a detailed and realistic primitive village as I’ve seen in this game, and exploring every cranny took hours. Whether it was a massive temple, crypt, river, pond, cave, village, or forest, every minute of the game was breathtaking. 

The stealth mechanics let me down a lot sadly, mainly in the enemy AI. I could almost never reliably know when an enemy is 100% safe to kill from the bushes. The game doesn’t indicate enemy line of sight or hearing, making way too many of the stealth kills a roll of the dice. This put a big damper on most of the stealth sections, as most of the time I resigned myself to finishing enemy squad encounters with a firefight. However, Shadow of the Tomb Raider has more emphasis on exploring than combat, more so even than the prior two games. I think I had a few instances of not drawing or firing a firearm a single time for multiple hours. I consider this a testament to the game design because I rarely missed the combat encounters and was plenty entertained by the exploration, collecting, and completing optional crypts.

Largely the series hasn’t changed much since 2013, but the biggest addition to Shadow of the Tomb Raider are the swimming sections. Underwater scenes are beautiful and mostly graceful. Lara has a generous amount of time between breaths, and the swimming is used frequently in side exploration and on the main quest. I like how schools of piranhas can swarm you almost instantly, and you have to play hide and seek by hiding in seaweed or around pillars. The RPG mechanics are still fairly weak however. Lara controls so well and is so skilled, I rarely wanted to buy upgrade skills with skill points. This lead me to having a stockpile of unspent points at almost all times because I didn’t want any of the upgrades (e.g. I enjoy that Lara takes a few seconds to reload a weapon, or that you have to be smarter with your arrows or ammunition). 

Shadow of the Tomb Raider has its problems, but I was thoroughly entertained among my 20+ hour experience. It packs surprisingly a lot of content in this single-player story, offering new game+ upon completion, and the chance to 100% the game if you’re into that sort of thing. The stealth mechanics need a lot more work, and the characters/story could have had another pass to make things more naturalistic or memorable. This trilogy is one of my favorite series in gaming, and I would look forward to seeing it continue with a few tweaks. If you can appreciate jaw dropping graphics and a game with plenty of do-it-yourself exploration, with the occasional firefight, Shadow of the Tomb Raider deserves your attention. 

7.5/10

[vinylexams]

Heavy Heavy Low Low - Courtside Seats to the Greatest Fuck of All Time⁠

⁠ @heavyheavylowlow38 #heavyheavylowlow #hhll #deathwish @deathwishinc⁠ ⁠ I’ve been lucky as hell recently to snag insider info on some killer reissues and this one is no exception. You all already know how much I love HHLL, especially Turtle Nipple…, and through serendipity I got connected with Robbie from the band a few months back. I got to hear about how they are coming back to life after some years focusing on other projects, growing up and growing out, and evolving as musicians and artists in the process. They’ve worked with Twelve Gauge Records to put Courtside Seats on vinyl for the very first time and after they announced it on their platforms and immediately sold it out, they’re pressing another batch that you and the HHLL lovers in your life can and should snag before that pressing sells out, too!⁠ ⁠ What’s even more exciting is that I got to pick Robbie’s brain in typical VE fashion and he’s indulged me with all sorts of info about what they’re up to, whether or not we can expect new music, and some feel-good stories about huffing air duster and ripping shit up in an old warehouse on the California coast. Here it is in its unedited glory, but first…head to the website to pre-order your copy and then head to Robbie’s Indiegogo campaign to learn more about his upcoming short firm that’s scored by Nick from Tera Melos! ⁠https://deathwishinc.com/products/heavy-heavy-low-low-courtside-seats https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/morning-deliveries-short-film#/

INTERVIEW

First and foremost, it’s been a minute since we’ve heard from Heavy Heavy Low Low and then out of nowhere you sprang back to life in 2019. What motivated you all to pick up this project again? I’m not sure what motivated it. We had always been trying to jumpstart the whole thing again for some time and I think that it might have been a case of everyone’s lives slowing down and examining that time with a weird reverence. I can only speak for myself. The boys are all in school or doing their own thing.

I imagine you’ve all been working on different projects since HHLL went on hiatus. Do you have anything that you or the rest of the band have worked on that you’d love us to know about? Danny has gotten pretty popular in the Kendama world. Chris is studying various forms of martial arts. Roo is endlessly going to school and currently scoring independent films. Chip is heavily involved in competitive fishing. I’ve been making short films when the situation and my wallet allow it. We’re all crazy excited about finally owning Courtside Seats on vinyl for the first time. Aside from bringing that album onto the vinyl medium, the pre-order page notes that there’s new artwork, too. What can we expect from that? When we made the CD we weren’t expecting to sell any really.. I did the art and Matthew printed them all at his job. Him and I folded every crease, glued the o-cards and vacuum sealed them all. I think it sold out almost completely at the record release show. We made the same amount of records as we did the original cd (500). The artwork for the original CD pressing was done on sketch paper without any comprehension of what could be done with drawn art and a scanner. Matthew was the computer wizard and back then, young and silly, it was all done on the cuff. The new art is a bit more modern and plays with mortality. Court-side Seats to The Greatest Fuck of All Time being a front seat view of a an ordinary, bumpy ride through life. I’m proud of it. What’s it like to bring back an album from the earliest parts of the band’s career? Do you still identify with the music? It is odd. It was a truly surreal time and place. We were out of our fucking minds. We recorded it in Mountain View, Ca in this giant warehouse that tapered into gutted office spaces. It was a weird white collar tomb on the outskirts of Silicon Valley right before the real tech boom. In the big part of the warehouse where we’d enter there were giant mounds of clothes meant to be donated to some third world country. We’d burrow tunnels in them and do huge dramatic flips from pike to pile. There was an aisle of outdated medical equipment waiting to be sent that we’d stalk through in the dark. It was a strangely magic place. Once you got through the warehouse you’d get to these office stations that had been fashioned into recording studios and that’s where we birthed this thing. We were so misguided. The amount of compressed air that we inhaled should have killed us. I contribute a significant drop in IQ to that shit. Smoking copious amounts of weed from gravity bongs. Recording with a hip hop producer, Deegan. Never a disagreement. It still feels like it was some strange purgatory of youth. I don’t miss it, but it was beautiful. Does this mean there’s hope of having Everything’s Watched, Everyone’s Watching on vinyl sometime, too? So, there was a guy who was very adamant about putting that record out on vinyl. We had a dialogue going for the better part of a year and apparently he had been in contact with Rhino Music and Warner, the two companies that hold the licensing to that album. He had received word that it’d cost an impressive amount of money, but he still wanted to shoulder it. Mind you, this dude didn’t have a label, he just wanted to put this thing out and apparently hadnt thought that all out. Time goes by, I’m waiting, not worrying one way or the other. One day I get a link from a friend, a Christian college website detailing that dude had been arrested for kidnapping and assault. Very sad situation. Dude seemed semi normal. Anyway, that was the last effort I’d seen put into that. I’d love to contribute new art to that release if any go-getter wants to try their luck. I’ve loved everything HHLL put out, but Turtle Nipple is in my top 10 list of favorite albums of all time. What was the writing the recording process for it like and how did the band feel about the new creative directions on it? EWEW was half previously recorded material re-recorded and half material written a year prior, kind of forced into a studio with producers we had no previous rapport with. Those producers/engineers were incredible human beings (RIP Tom Pfaffle! See you in the mindfog) but we were very young punk kids thrown into a foreign land where we had our agents visiting and there were platinum records on the wall and it was a total barrage of privilege and excess. It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t feel soul in that record. Turtle Nipple is a dense trip through time and the record I’m most proud of in our discography. I don’t remember how long we had to record it, I do remember that it was the only time we’d been given to experiment and layer our sensibilities in an environment that catered to them. Sam (Pura) was a perfect conduit to that vibe and time and space and it really came out just how it should have. I think about that album as a 70s exploitation directors filmography.. it veers violently from genre to genre and while most of the stories are fiction and far from personal testimony, theirs a peek into some shared insanity contained throughout. George Cosmatos wandering through a punk club on an edible. I think that that album is our bands true personality. Sam is a member of our band whether he’s playing with us or engineering for us. He gets us. I love the idea of an alternate reality where we had lasted a bit longer and did an album with Steve Albini. He’d probably hate us, but I love those ‘What If?’ Scenarios. I’ll ask the question EVERYONE has been asking so it’s on the record somewhere: Does this mean we can expect new material or a new album soon? Maybe even a tour? We have a new EP in the works. We have some of it recorded with Sam. We’ve posted a couple clips on Instagram. We’re incredibly busy and spread out in our personal lives. Chip in TX, Dan in FL, Roo in OR, Rob and Chris in CA. Adulthood is a bitter, pulpy drink! We are going to be playing again. We won’t be leaving the West Coast. We had our fill of middle America and the travel involved. We have talked to some of our buds from our early days of touring about playing alongside (opening for) them for a limited run in 2020. I think that qualifies as a tour. Also, if anyone wants to fly us to Europe to play a festival in 2020, we’d like that. It’ll be an interesting year. How does it feel to be welcomed back by so many adoring fans who still love your music and are hoping for more after a long hiatus? It’s incredibly humbling. I have heard from people throughout the years about how we had affected them and it was always just strange to me. I’m pretty self deprecating, so I just don’t understand how some shit I wrote could mean much to anyone. My mind is just a shotgun blast of panic. I guess all of ours are? I love my band mates and their talents, though. So I understand the sorta sirens draw to the greater extent. I think they only got to show themselves slightly, too. Weird existence. Give us a piece of band trivia you’ve never shared in an interview before! Gees. There is a step-in part to most 15 passenger vans. It is a black, hard plastic. It meets with where you close the sliding door. When we had no bottles to pee in, we would just piss in ‘the step’. This thing was a den of germicidal activity. Trash and piss I don’t think we ever truly cleaned that thing. What’s odd is that we so rarely got ill on tour. The Step kept us healthy on a steady diet of trash and piss and general scum. Finally, this isn’t a question but the hidden track on Turtle Nipple is a fucking masterpiece and I wanted you to know. Thank you! I think that may have been my idea to add some weird 70s funk into an old track of ours. I think it turned out cool, but I think it betrays our vibe on that album! I wish it’d have devolved into some weird, primitive Altered States shit.

[somecrazylads-a-blog]

Taemin!! 10, 15👀, 28, 39, 57, 59, 69, 74, 78, 94, 97, 100

— 100 random character development questions | @busanbunnie

---

Hana’s HUSBAND, coming thru-

-. Taemin/Papillon

10. Do you believe in love at first sight?No, he doesn’t. Before meeting Hana, he didn’t believe in love at all, but even now, he can’t say the ‘love at first sight’ concept sounds really sound to him. He believes that the only thing you can gauge from a person at ‘first sight’ is their looks and maybe what kind of person they are upon first encounters, but he doesn’t think there’s really enough there in a ‘first sight’ to make the heart grow fond to such an extent.

15. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?Taemin usually tries to stay away from conflict, either by defusing it right away or by walking away. But in the instances there seems to be no way out or he’s too angered to walk away, he definitely goes for ‘tongue’ over ‘fists’: he’s not a fighter, he doesn’t condone violence for whatever reason, and doesn’t have either the experience nor the technique to really fight his way out of an argument anyway. On the other hand, he has a lot of experience verbally standing his ground, getting out of situations, or getting others to back off. So, tongue it is.

28. What makes them laugh out loud?Well, for one, Taemin is more likely amused by visual comedy than a good pun. He likes it when he can see the punchline and when the joke is delivered without the need for a line of dialogue from someone to deliver it. So, that’s more or less his preferred comedy. As for his sense of humour, it varies of course.And one thing that definitely makes Taemin laugh out loud is Hana when she has Pouting moments that are just too adorable for him to resist.

39. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?Rob them of all sense of dignity while they’re unaware of it. This can both go through physical as mental means, but he thinks being robbed of all dignity without even having been given the luxury to at least know it’s happening, it’s the absolute worst. I would also go into details about physical things with, of course, mental repercussions, but that would mean walking into a very sensitive topic, which I should probably avoid speaking of too lightly.

57. Has your character ever killed anyone?Absolutely not! He’s never been forced into a situation where means of self-defence would need to be applied and/or then lead to someone’s demise, on top of that he’s also extremely against using violence for any reason whatsoever, so really. There is no blood on his hands.

59. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up? “That’s absolutely none of your business.” - Taemin does neither like to be involved in other people’s business nor does he want anyone in his own. He’s a private person, used from a young age to be alone and have to fend for himself, so anyone butting in now (this, before Hana and Minhwan too) would just make him think ‘now I don’t need it anymore. It generated from that.“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, to survive.” - Taemin doesn’t have a real slang to speak of, he doesn’t speak any dialects and has dropped whatever accent he might have had, but this one, the way he says it, is characterised by the slang of the people who live in the neighbourhood he used to live in when he was a child: he picked it up from homeless people sitting on pavements, a prostitute he often spoke to, even store owners. And he feels the sentence every time he says it, he used to live by it, before Hana, resigned to it even.“When life gives you lemons...” - This is picked up from pop culture, to be honest, but it’s always uttered sarcastically in moments where troubles seem to arrive at his door all at the same time.“I mind my own business and that’s how I like it.” - Tying back to the first one, this is something he started saying at a very young age, with quite a superior air to it to the point where adults who’d hear him oh so proudly declare that would usually ruffle his hair or laugh at him, but he still mumbles it to himself sometimes when being asked for his opinion on conflicts too close for him to state anything in regards to. He still says it with an almost child-like nature to it.“Well, what else did you expect from an escort? A halo? A choir of angels?” - This is directly pulled from his hidden real opinion on his lifestyle (prior to Hana, since he’s now dropping most of the physical part of the job and/or starting as Minhwan’s mentee), and he’d often say it to clients when they’d react with any kind of surprise in relations to anything he might say or do for his job. He also used to excuse/justify some of his past behaviour with this line.

69. What about your character is heroic?He’s brave, diligent. He always works hard, even if he hates the work he does. He never goes back on his word and he is both trustworthy and reliable, in and outside of his job. They don’t come out often, but he has hidden leader qualities that he never got to exhibit. And he never gives up. Never.

74. What is your character’s favourite game?Now, you know, prior to Hana he didn’t know about video games at all beyond ads in TV or posters hanging somewhere. He never played them before, he never cared to figure out what they were. But if he had to pick one now that Hana has taugh him some, well... I would say, he finds particular enjoyment in any game from the Zelda franchise. Don’t ask me why. Chances are, he’s just wild to beat a Crash Bandicoot.

78. How emotionally stable is your character?Now, much more than he was before.He used to swallow his emotions, keep them away, all his self-doubts and self-loathing and insecurities, he’d all wrap them under the ‘Taemin’ label, and hide them away, because before meeting Hana, he had to be Papillon much more than he wanted to be Taemin. So it’s kind of like... him trying to become the Papillon persona more and more, frivolous, elegant, cocky, confident with who he is and what he wants, because it was easier than looking at Taemin and seeing everything his childhood had made of him and how much pain he still had to work through.But now, thanks to Hana, he’s learnt how to look at everything he is and everything he feels and acknowledge it. It’s still hard, and there are plenty of vaults he hasn’t opened yet, but he now at least acknowledges their existence and allows himself weaknesses and mistakes that Papillon never would have.

94. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to know.First up, cooking. He might as well be considered a chef now- well, I don’t want to exaggerate, but his kitchen is almost his sanctum sanctorum, he has a recipe book he himself put together, a combination of recipes he knew, recipes he modified, and even recipes of him throwing together things and liking the result. He’s truly passionate and truly skilled.Second, driving. He doesn’t have a driver’s license (yet), but in the neighbourhood he grew up in, he had some opportunities to get behind a wheel and get impromptu driving lessons from the prostitute who had almost, kind of, not really, maybe taking him under his wing.Third, climbing. He was a pick-pocketer, a near-homeless child, his best friend was a prostitute ten years older than him, and the occasional stray dog he’d pet on his walk through the neighbourhood. Often, he would pick-pocket the wrong people, shop-lift from the wrong store, pet the wrong dog, and get dragged into a cliché chase scene he could often get away from through climbing into the next open second or third story window he’d find... hoping no one else was in there, of course.

97. How well do they adapt to change?Fairly well, but it depends entirely on the change. He’s good at dealing with sudden inconveniences, settling for less, or having to get by with less of what he’d need (no matter the situation). But he’s not so good at getting used to new environments he has to stay in (forever or for a while). He was homeless for quite a while and usually just camped out in abandoned apartments or the occasional living room. He always feels uncomfortable staying in places that are richer than that. Even now, with his own apartment being more than decent, he still doesn’t feel comfortable staying anywhere ‘common’ people are: he always feels out of place. He does adapt well, though, he just gets stressed about it.

100. Does your character dream? If so, what do they dream about?He does dream, but not very often. When he does dream, it’s usually an abstract representation of current worries or wishes, only rarely does he dream about memories. He can avoid nightmares that way.He definitely dreams about Hana

[mirror-hero-mira-blog]

My Story

This will be mildly depressing but its my story and why i am how i am and all ive gone through it twenty short years

So I will be twenty soon and people keep wondering and asking or praising me for surviving trauma. I’ve decided to explain in full and un censored detail my process, what i went through, my thoughts during it, the effects and how it left me. There are mentions of abuse, sexual assault, depression, domestic violence, suicide, and very dark thoughts so be warned. My memory is also unreliable as i am never sure what is real and what is not before the age of thirteen so im doing my best to recall everything in order, ages wont be exact as i try to repress and just out right can recall them.

My trauma started roughly when i was 7-9. I recall laying in bed and hearing my parents violently shout at one another, about what i cant recall, and crying because i was afraid of an unknown danger. I remember a rift being made in my house, me being lashed out at, and my mother rarely being around the house. Now before i go further i was a shy child who had little friends, i have one younger brother who is two years younger than I, most of my days, or what i can recall, was in my room reading and later playing on my ds once i got one while rarely going outside to play aka catching frogs and bugs. i dont recall much from when it started, i was a smart kid so i think i knew something was wrong but wasnt emotionally or mentally ready to deal with it. 

Now, i was a big daddys girl but i also loved my mom dearly because well shes my mom. One of my clearest memories from this when i realized it wasnt right was my mom showing up to the house and me being so excited since i hadnt seen her in so long i let her in, she hugged me and my father instantly yelled at me and scolded me. i think the next thing was me being sent to my room but thats where it ends. i remember feeling so confused because shes my mom why cant she be home? why shouldnt she be allowed inside? why cant i be happy to see her? thats the last clear memory besides us getting kicked out of that house due to rent not getting paid.

I remember my mom trying to keep calm and smile and she told me “we have to keep stuff packed because we will be moving soon and need to be organized”. Looking back im really happy she tried to keep little me happy and from knowing.She may not have been the best mom but she certainly loved me then as well as my brother. When we were kicked out i recall my dad not being as in a rush as my mom, he seemed tired and to say flat out like he couldnt care less. I was packed up with a few of my things, the rest in a storage unit including my entire child hood, and moved to a different state. 

Me, my family and our dog were moved in with my mothers mom who was by far not the best but i couldnt do much as i was maybe 11-13? I remember her blaming my father for things he didnt do, i remember yelling and violent arguing between my father and my moms boyfriend (my mother and father had separated if you couldnt guess), my mom in the middle yelling at them to not do it infront of the kids. Eventually we moved from there after my grandmother had called the police on them for some reason (i recall it just being a warning or something nothing serious). My mom had broken up with her boyfriend and moved with us, i shared a room with her and my brother shared a room with my father, at this point we had our original dog and 3 dog sisters who we loved dearly (we being me, my mom, and brother). i remember starting to feel what i would come to realize was the beginning of my depression as well as my anxiety, that i had since i was little, beginning to get much worse. I was bullied harshly during this time and barely got by in most of my glasses because of what happened in that house.

i dont know how long i lived in that house but it wasnt incredibly long, 2 years maybe? i know it was half of middle school there with a year or so at my grandmothers. The first little while was calm, i hardly remember much from when we moved in so im assuming it was. I recall playing wii with my mom and watching tv siting of the floor eating pizza, followed by me and my brother playing the wii version of sims ( i recall him learning how to beat the rng and us never playing again). My next clearest memory is more yelling and banging. Violence. Now i wasnt a stupid kid and was much more brazen than i am now, i was a child genius who could quickly deduce what was wrong. I would get into the arguments, stand between my mom and dad to keep him from hitting her, yell that i wouldnt move or let him touch her. yell at him so much my throat hurt. One of my most clear memories is my mom yelling at me to call the police and as i dialed she came in and locked the door telling me to just not. i checked if she was okay and recall hugging her and just siting there afraid not fully being able to understand.

At some point my dad had enough of me and my mom and threw us out of the house, throwing our things as we sat on the bed of her truck, even throwing our two of the 3 dog sisters at us while we waited for the police, now what happened after this makes me realize just how manipulated and emotionally abused i was. My dad convinced me to come home, leaving my mom at my grandmothers. he convinced me my mom was evil and manipulated me using the state i was in to take me from my mom. he talked badly about my mom constantly and eventually his girlfriend moved in. his girlfriend was as bad as him and i recall feeling unwanted. i have a scar on my arm that makes me recall how brazen and unafraid i was at times. The scar was breaking up a fight her dog had started, it attacked my dog sister and she told me to stay out of it as my dog probably started it, i got in the middle picked up her dog, it scratching me deeply across my upper arm and shoved it into her chest. i picked up my dog and took her to my room. i was still bullied during this time, faced the manipulation at home, and started becoming suicidal.

Now this next part is something im not proud of but shows just how far i was into this manipulation and how far i came. My father kid napped me. Him and his girlfriend decided they wanted to move back to her two daughters and away from my mom. my brother was apprehensive but i was a mindless puppet so i did as told as thats what i was raised to do. we packed up in a 48 hour period, me not sleeping for that entire period and were getting ready to leave. i had this large white monkey i had since i was little, it towered over me and i loved it, his name was marvin. i mentioned why we werent bringing him and that we had to because he was our family and even got a bit teary eyed over it my dad said “if you want it that bad we can leave you and dakota (my dog sister) and you can sit on your ass until your mom swings her ass around to get you”, that terrified me so i reluctantly agreed and was taken to a completely different state yet again with the question of “why would he leave me”. i recall not enjoying my time there and my father limiting my mom talking to me so much i dont really recall much more that a phone call, i was kept out of school for a while until one day police came and told them my mom was taking us back. i left with barely any of my childhood possessions yet again with my dad treating it as her taking us by force, i said goodbye to my dogs and promised i would see them again, i never did and never will.

the trip back i screamed, argued and fought my mom and not yet step father. my dad manipulated me well i guess. i calmed down when we got back to my now home state and got the last dog sister ginny, my mom asked my grandmother to watch her, and headed to my moms home. i had trouble suddenly adapting to a some what better environment where i wasnt treated like a mindless child. i was so damaged and i dont think they knew to the extent. 

In these years i was verbally abused by my mom, step father, and brother but they were so much better than my dad despite it. i was reaching my peak depression and had attempted to commit suicide by this point but had failed. at some point i recall them “cleaning” my room, as due to losing nearly everything i owned i clung to things, and burning what they deemed trash it made me have a break down because well just look at what had happened previously to things i owned. in that period i was locked out in the cold, verbally and emotionally abused, treated like i was a piece of shit and that i was worthless and i believed that for so long. my brother had hit me a few times and even started encouraging my suicidal mind set, my parents (which will not be my mother and step father) said it was just him being my brother. Due to my previous trauma i was desperate for friends and to be liked and it have social interactions it led me into some very very toxic friendships and relationships. i had someone who stole my phone and said she just wanted to see what my number was, but had texted my mother iw as stay for a study session when i wasnt. i got home and was brutally yelled at for lying and they yelled the entire time while forcing me to give them all my passwords then calling me out for lying when i gave them the wrong email password by mistake. in the following time period they would check everything i owned, i had to privacy or sense of self. even to this day i hate people touching and looking at my stuff, im still so paranoid ill get in trouble for something. during this time is also when i was first sexually assaulted.

Yes that said first as it happened twice. they both abused my prior trauma that made me a selective mute that disassociates when in stressful situations. i wont go in depth but even years later i couldnt be in the same room with the first without being sick to my stomach. the second was into my junior year of highschool. between that time and the first i was emotionally manipulated, attempted suicide again and failed, became even more depressed and suicidal, and developed more toxic friendships that i now realize only hurt me as they playfully bullied me and only one of that group, who never did, remains my friend or well my best friend as she stayed by me despite not knowing any of my past. i was manipulated into entering a long distance fwb relationship that ruined a good friendship but also helped make me more stubborn towards people who tried to do that. the verbal abuse still happened during this time and my brother got to the point of doing it the worse. my junior sexual assault ended with us breaking up mutually but him getting such a hate towards me that he tried to ruin my life by turning any “friend” against me and brutally harassing me until a girl i respect so much stood up for me, shes getting married and im excited for her and happy i met her despite us not talking. half way through my junior year i began to realize how bad the people i was around most of the time were for me, so i stopped hangin out with them and started selectively being around people who engaged me in conversation and who actually included me. i was still struggling through the tail end of my suicidal spell and my awful depression as well as  ptsd, having nightly flashbacks that often left my crying and having break downs where i just hated myself so much and hated that i couldnt be normal and happy and not annoy my friends with this shit, it caused me to never talk about it and it made it so worse going through it all alone with only my fucked mental state.

my senior year i gained some self confidence and started accepting myself. midway through i had a bad relapse and nearly succeed in killing myself but managed to yell at myself to not as i was holding a handful of pills to my mouth, not even an inch from it. that was my last attempt. 

i struggled still, had relapses, fought with my own head without anyone knowing as it told me they didnt care and i was a burden so i should deal with it by myself as no one deserved that. i hated when who i told felt so bad for me and wished it hadnt happened because it happened and i cant change that no one can and i dont like being seen as sorry and weak. 

over the years until now i tried endlessly and hard to build my self back up and gain some sense of self and try to begin my recovery.

i still relapse, i still think about killing myself, i still have massive anxiety and panic attacks. but im alive and i survived. 

I count the days between relapses, it happens left often. Im covered in scars but no one can see the ones i purposefully caused anymore. I hurt and ach and want to be cared for and want to be loved and have people around me who care for me and who value me. Im working on building myself a supportive circle of friends and trying to become as stable as i can be with what i have.

My family says i dont need therapy and refuse to try to help me get it so when i move out its my first priority, i have ever lasting mental scars from my trauma that wont ever go away but im slowly learning to live with it and becoming proud of who i am.

something i forgot to mention is yes i was hit as a child. to this day i freak out and panic and will throw myself to the ground if it appears someone is about to hit me. i cant hand yelling or loud noises, im afraid of people and crowds, i have trust issues, i speech impediment, things i cant do because of the scars of my trauma.

now you may be asking how im alive? why i still keep living? how i got through this alone? honestly i cant answer the last one because i dont even know, but the first two i can roughly explain.

i didnt ever kill my self because right before i would i developed a concept of proving people wrong, that i belonged in this world as i had already survived nearly dying at 5 due to an allergic reaction. then as i got older i made the deal that if i made it to 18 that would be enough, im turning 20 soon. Now a days i have people and things to live for. When i think of killing my self i think of my friends L and M (not real names of course), i think of my dogs, my guinea pigs, my dreams, my goals, all the things i want to do. Ive become a role model to others now so i cant just die on them and give up on them. I cant help people and help others going through what i did, i cant be there for the people i care about to ensure they live and make it too, i cant be there to give them what i didnt have; someone who cared and loves them.

ive felt unloved my entire life and it hurts knowing the people who are supposed to love you apparently dont if they do what they do. it hurts seeing people going through what i went through because i know how much that hurts and how over bearing it can be. My trauma made me not want to make the same choices and hurt others in the way they ones who hurt me did. It made me not want to bring life into this world unless i was sure i wouldnt make the same mistakes. It made me crave to be loved and have people by my side and it gave me a weird but reasonable goal: Live a life i can be truly happy and safe in, a life without fear. 

i still struggle daily but im getting by and im getting there, im trying to become someone who i can be proud of, someone who can and will make a difference even if its saving one person.

i fight every day to live and have been for a while, hell i cried on my 18th birthday because well i didnt think i would last that long or be alive to see it.

Im alive, and i will continue to be to show others facing and feeling what i have felt that you can do it. you can live and thrive and fight for your life and end up better than you are or were and better than those who hurt you. Ill stay alive to act as a pair of open arms to those who are in my place, to give them someone who cares, to teach them they dont have to do it alone or hate themselves for wanting to depend on others. 

Im here because i feel i need to be to break the cycle and prove i deserve to live as do they and as do you.

[snaurus]

PROMPTS: gladnoctweek - cuddly gladdy

Pairings: Gladiolus Amicitia/Noctis Lucis Caelum Ratings: K+ Categories: Angst Warnings: Spoilers for the Omen Trailer & Chapter 10: The Heart of a King

Noctis is visited by a nightmare that isn’t a nightmare, if matters don’t change course soon. He’s seen it all happen before. 

My friends, at long last the time I’ve anxiously been waiting for is upon us: @gladnoctweek has officially started and for Day One: Cuddly Gladdy I bring you...sadness, hah hah. But there’s a very happy ending, I assure you! After all, Gladio’s arms are big enough to carry his sword, his shield, and his prince to a better state of mind. So it must be so. :’)

I recommend readers being familiar with the Omen Trailer and having played past Chapter 10 (aka: That Lover’s Tiff of cosmic proportions) to fully enjoy the scope of the story. I know everyone, including myself, has already addressed this part of the narrative before, but it’s my personal life mission to expand or altogether fix it in every conceivable way possible. I’m not the only one who feels that way, right? Multiple attempts should be encouraged and welcome?? 

Beta read by @glyphenthusiast, for whom this story (and pretty much all the stories I was able to cram before the deadline) owes its beautification to. Their support and dedication means so much to me, so thanks to them for being my guide!

Noctis drifts by himself, but he isn't alone. Insomnia is laden with Niflheim soldiers. They fill the streets, the subway platform, the train – crowding the area to the point he knocks shoulders with them in his attempts to get by.

He starts running.

Gunfire explodes everywhere around him. Machines and armored men alike give chase. The environment blurs and shifts. The city turns to a Niflheim military base to a desert – though he's never been to one – and tilts as he falls through the world

to awaken on a cot. Gasping, sweating, hands fisted in the sheets, Noctis bolted upright in bed. The total darkness of the room threatened to choke him. It's pitch blackness was confining except for the periodic flashes of street lamps outside the single window. There shouldn't be any light, the night all-encompassing.

That difference, the reality of it all, should have relieved Noctis of his nightmare. He did realize he'd had a nightmare and it was over; he'd experienced that exact one several times in the past. But he hadn't been on a train heading to the center of Niflheim during those previous episodes. The transport's rumbling along the tracks mirrored Noctis' dreamscape too well to alleviate his heart racing.

Noctis shoved the covers aside and stumbled out of bed. Sans shoes and jacket, he darted from the private compartment and into the hallway. In his recklessness, his shoulder bounced off the wall as he rammed into it.

There were only two directions to take and he blindly chose one, using the momentum from his crashing into the wall to go right. At this late hour the sleeping car was empty, which allowed him to race through unimpeded. Noctis fled his personal daemons until he came to a dead end.

He staggered into the Regalia, his palms held out in front of him. Noctis caught himself from falling flat across the hood and saved his face from ramming into its wide expanse. The cool, familiar texture of the metal shocked him from his stupor. He hovered there, breathing heavy and watching his hazy reflection.

When he’d calmed, Noctis straightened in place and took in the sight of the storage hold. Nobody was here, either – just him and his father's vehicle. His legs were unsteady; he used the side of the car as a guide to drag himself to the rear passenger door. Fumbling with the handle, he eventually manhandled it open and collapsed inside.

Noctis closed his eyes and rested both hands on his face, letting himself simply be. The smell of the leather interior, the sensation of the seat cushions underneath him, the shade from the retractable top – all of it screamed 'safe'. So why couldn't he relax?

He'd always possessed a sort of reverence for his dad's car. Most of his childhood had been spent in this very spot, going between important meetings, visiting dignitaries, or attending political functions. In some respects, whenever him and his father traveled it was the most personal time they'd ever spent alone together.

Despite how expert a job Cindy did detailing the Regalia, Noctis swore he still detected hints of his father's cologne. It was as if a part of him remained with Noctis. The lack of comfort that fact brought him was distressing. He'd rushed here, even unconsciously, to seek solace and it wasn't working like any of the instances before.

There came footsteps. Noctis hadn't heard the approach until they were nearly upon him. He dragged his hands down his face and dropped them in his lap, but didn't turn to acknowledge anyone.

Gladiolus opened the opposite set of doors and bent over, ducking his head in. The length of his arm braced against the metal exterior while his opposite hand gripped the doorframe. Of course it was him. Noctis had bolted like a bat out of hell, so it was no wonder that their lightest sleeper had heard his escape. It was peculiar that the others hadn't been disturbed – or they might have, and Gladiolus had requested to check up on him alone. Noctis was unsure which he'd prefer.

"There room for one more?" Gladiolus asked.

He shrugged, as good an invitation as he was willing to give. It was good enough for Gladiolus, anyway, the other man accepting the offer to join him in the backseat. There was a gap between them, Gladiolus keeping to his side and Noctis staying on his.

It didn't used to be like this.

From an early age, Noctis had learned Gladiolus was a really tactile person. The slaps on the back and high-fives were just a small portion of the touches he'd freely give. He figured being an Amicitia had something to do with it. Iris loved hanging onto Noctis' arm and when Noctis was a child Clarus had even patted him on the head once in greeting.

That wasn't the extent of it, though. Once they started traveling together Gladiolus got more intense. Noctis had protested, often loudly, about the treatment. He'd brush off Gladiolus' playful shoves or the ruffling of his hair in their lighter moments. Complaints about Gladiolus' close proximity in the tent or how absurdly long his legs were as Gladiolus' boots knocked against his in the Regalia were frequent.

All of it stopped after Altissia.

And Noctis felt emptier for it.

This distance was so much worse, so much more, than them losing the understanding they'd developed growing up. They didn't need words to communicate, when a simple glance or nod of the head was sufficient to convey their meaning. Now neither of them could interact, much less speak, to one another without it dissolving into fits. After the near-failure in retrieving his ancestor's katana they'd agreed to work through their differences, but where to start? The divide seemed insurmountable.

Gladiolus cleared his throat. "Bad dream, I take it?"

"Yeah. A 'bad dream'." Noctis' face contorted from some kind of emotion he couldn't identify. He didn't know the source of his irritation (or if it was even directed at Gladiolus), much less how to deal with it. "The same one I've had since Lestallum and all the fucking time."

Which wasn't entirely true. Only certain parts of the nightmare stuck with him after waking. The worst of it had been prior to confronting Titan, which is when the night terror first occurred, and since then only sporadically.

It tended to transpire whenever Noctis was stressed, such as the night before Gladiolus left to undertake his family's trials or…before Luna's sacrifice. Such a pattern couldn't be coincidence, so whenever the nightmare made a resurgence Noctis had taken it as the ill-omen it might be intended. Stranger things had happened in his life.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Gladiolus' jaw working, like he was grinding his teeth. Probably irritated over another subject that Noctis had denied making him privy to, but why would he have? Discussing personal interests or private matters often ended up embarrassing for the both of them. Still, Noctis anticipated an explosion or Gladiolus to leave.

Noctis wouldn't hold it against him in either case. He was surprised Gladiolus' patience had lasted as long as it had, that the man had settled on voicing his every grievance or sitting on the outskirts of their camp in the Fodina Caestino Mine instead of…he didn't know what. Returning to Lucis to rejoin the Crownsguard or facing Niflheim by himself, maybe. Someone of Gladiolus' stature and aptitude wasn't without options, a dark part of Noctis often reminded him.

To his surprise, Gladiolus asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Snippets of having to confront armies, of bleeding and hurting without the support of his friends or family, had Noctis snuffling. He rubbed irritably under an eye to cover the slight, but he thankfully found the last vestiges of sweat from his night terror and not any wetness from tears. His hand shook during the process, so he returned it to his lap.

"I just want them to stop." Noctis meant for the words to come out sharp and cut the conversation off, but to his own ears he sounded like a scared, defenseless child. Once again, he made himself a fool in front of Gladiolus at the worst of times.

"Then tell me. It might help," Gladiolus persisted. He reached out a hand, hesitating, and opted to loop his arm around Noctis' headrest so as to ease closer without making contact. The gesture was most likely borne of thoughtfulness, but Noctis was only left feeling hollow.

"How? It's just a stupid nightmare, I already know that! It can't hurt me."

"Because—" Gladiolus started, his tone terse until he forcefully gathered his composure, "because I want my friend back."

Noctis' shoulders went taut, his gaze kept forward. He couldn't bring himself to ask for clarification and risk shattering the moment. But he was listening, hoping—

"I miss the guy who came back for his training, all those years ago. Who hasn't let himself get knocked down and stayed down since then." Gladiolus ran his tongue along his bottom lip before resolving to continue, Noctis gradually starting to incline his head to look up at him. "The same guy who always made time for my bratty little sister and anyone else that's needed his help, no matter their situation. His people, our friends…I need him.

"If confiding in me can bring him back, then I'm here. Anytime, anywhere."

"And if he's gone?"

Noctis didn't realize he was clenching his hands over his knees, the knuckles bone white, until Gladiolus' reached over to grab one. He pried it off his pant leg and let Noctis clench his palm in a death grip, instead. His skin was dry and hot, but the pressure was steady.

Gladiolus let out a soft hum, it sounding like Noctis' name, before he said, "Not gone – lost, maybe. His sense of direction is kind of shitty. But I have it on good authority that I'm the best tracker there is, so I'll guide him home. If he lets me."

Their problem, Noctis concluded in that moment, was twofold.

Part of it were his own actions. Gladiolus had respected Noctis' space during his time of mourning, but Noctis was never very good at processing situations. Without the other man's guidance he'd receded deeper inside himself. Noctis festered, considering himself finally broken. The way Gladiolus looked at him right now, however, didn't resemble pity or sympathy.

But they'd both been stubborn, neither willing to bend. Noctis had wanted to stay distant, once he was huddled and hiding inside himself, lest his weakness infringe on his friends. Gladiolus had wanted Noctis to be something, someone, that he wasn't. They'd come to that conclusion a little late, with Noctis a tad slower than Gladiolus on the uptake, apparently. The epiphany came in the face of what Gladiolus was offering him: his way out.

Gladiolus had met him halfway, and Noctis needed to do the same.

Noctis' concession came in the form of scooting closer to him on the seat. The motion was all the prompting Gladiolus needed to swoop in and envelope him in a hug. Greedily, Noctis took in everything he'd been denied – the body heat and solid weight of him. While Gladiolus nuzzled the top of his head, adjusting Noctis under his chin, it occurred to him that he'd never comprehended just how much he'd depended on Gladiolus to initiate these moments. The idea of going back to a life without it terrified him.

With that in mind, Noctis haltingly admitted as much. His explanations were stunted, and without practice these kinds of exchanges may never become easier, but Gladiolus had bared his soul to him. Noctis wanted to return the favor. Cuddled against Gladiolus' side, with the other man’s fingers carding through the shorter hairs at the base of Noctis' neck, he opened up to him and told Gladiolus everything.

And for the first time in a long while Noctis felt ready to face tomorrow.

[whereisvanderwood]

could I request the rfa + v and saeran reacting to mc telling them they're asexual (either sex repulsed or just isn't interested and therefor not wanting to have sex)? if this counts a nsfw/isn't something you'd like to write for that's 100% okay! thank you for your time (and I'd totally be interested in that discord server)!

This request really piqued my interest to be honest. I can realate to these types of feelings in my personal life. I’ve never written anything about this kind of topic before, so I hope it’s alright!! Thank you for YOUR time!

And I’m SO GLAD you’re interested! I’d love to post the link soon! Keep an eye out for it! The server is open for any fanficion writers or OC makers to join. Experience does not matter– you can be a newbie or a veteran of the art and you’ll all be equally as welcome.

RFA + Another Story reacting to MC confessing she’s asexual.

*:･ﾟ✧  

YOOSUNG

It wasn’t really something the two of you spoke about frequently, or even joked about. You were both the shy type, and any mention of the topic paints the boy’s face a tomato red.

But… it was something you were meant to do in a relationship, right? It was part of being in love.

The more time passed, the more worried you became about the topic. The relationship was a total hit and it seemed to be nothing but working.

But then one day, he decided to be a man.

“MC, can I talk to you about something?”

“What’s up?”

“I uh… I’m not sure how else to put this but… do you think we should… you know… do it?”

“‘It’?”

“Yeah… ‘it’. It’s what couples are supposed to… do, isn’t it?”

You could tell how much courage it took him just to even bring it up, so you thought it best to be courteous enough to give him the truth.

He didn’t quite understand the concept at first, but he did when you forced yourself to go into a little more detail about it.

It was important that he knew it didn’t change your love for him. It was just one element of the relationship that didn’t seem compulsory to you.

“I… I understand.”

You apologised for not bringing it up sooner, and became worried that it could potentially mean the end of your relationship with him.

He told you it didn’t matter to him at all. If it meant you could still waste hours upon hours in a day playing LOLOL together and doing all the same things you loved doing together, it didn’t matter to him in the slightest.

ZEN

Being with Zen made your world seem so perfect, and everything you would worry about would dissipate into nothingness with him in your life.

You didn’t like it when he would talk about his “inner beast”, or how men are greedy in that way.

It was on the first night you ever visited him to make sure he was alright, suggested by majority of the RFA, Jaehee excluded of course.

It was obvious to anyone that sparks had begun flying between the two of you, and something was bound to ignite the start of a lasting love sooner than later.

Sitting on the roof together, watching the stars as he opened himself up to you calmed your nerves so much. Your eyes rested on his angelically pale face as he spoke with that heart-melting voice of his. You slowly began to not feel so afraid as what you were much earlier in the day.

“Hey… Zen? You know that… ‘inner beast’ of yours?”

“Y-Yeah?”

what’s its name?

“Well… I don’t think… I have an… ‘inner beast.’”

You loved that he knew exactly what you were talking about the moment the words left your beautifully plush lips.

You watched every little feature on his face for a hint of disappointment, a twitch in annoyance, anything. But he looked somewhat… relieved?

Maybe he was much more nervous about the topic than you originally anticipated.

While the atmosphere was what it was – one of being a safe environment where you could say anything - you went into it a little more, considering how Zen had just been very open about his own personal life with you.

“You should know that I don’t accept you any less, MC. And… I’m sorry if me talking about it every now and then makes you feel uncomfortable.”

He promised you he wouldn’t do anything that you didn’t like or crossed your personal boundaries.

You even let him give you a nice warm hug to finish off the night you had together.

JAEHEE

She used to think she was asexual herself for a really long time, but it wasn’t until you came along that she discovered her true orientation.

Have you ever seen a girl so beautiful your sexuality changed

She didn’t really have any female friends either, so she just assumed that’s how she was.

When the two of you began to catch up more outside of the RFA, and especially when you ran your own coffee house together, you both knew you were more than just “friends” at this point.

But for you, you didn’t want to go much further than that. You were happy with how things had been going on the surface, and you were happy with not talking about “bedroom” topics. All you knew was that you didn’t want anything to do with it.

And from what it looked like to you, Jaehee was just as happy.

So it was you who approached first, wondering where her own standing with it the concept was. You were curious.

“Jaehee? Are you busy?”

“Not at all, MC. Is something bothering you?”

“You could say that…”

You opened with expressing your understanding that she’s still relatively new with this whole relationship thing, and it can be a little rocky for anyone who’s still discovering their own colour of love.

When you confessed your own feelings towards intercourse, you didn’t expect her to react the way she did. In fact, you at least expected somewhat of a reaction, not a smile and nod.

“To be honest, I had a suspicion that might be the case. But it doesn’t matter to me, MC.”

She openly expressed how she was happy just doing what the two of you had been doing thus far, and being completely content with it being the way your relationship is defined, even though it might seem to others that you’re just best friends and not really in love.

She still loved you to bits.

JUMIN

His own disinterest in women for the longest time lead him to identify himself as the same way.

But this man kept you in his house for nearly a whole week with his possessiveness and desire to keep you close to him. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than to tell him you weren’t, naturally, sexually attracted to anyone.

There were plenty of occasions where he talked about potentially “getting closer as a couple”, and he wasn’t afraid to voice his romantic desires ever since you came knocking on his door.

He still considered himself a Christian, however, and within its belief system he wanted to try and abstain from sex before marriage.

“MC, may I have a moment of your time?”

At each of his attempts to spark conversation of the topic, nothing wanted to make you cave in on yourself. It was never a nice, let alone easy, thing to talk about with you.

You tried to avoid it as much as you could, but you could only avoid it for so long.

“What do you think about having sex with me?”

His bluntness took you off guard, especially with that one word you hated hearing.

“I, umm… I don’t think I’m really… interested right now, Jumin.”

“What do you mean ‘not interested’?”

He wouldn’t back down. So you toughened up and spelt it out for him. Curse him and his confidence. You only wished you weren’t as afraid of confrontation like him.

“I understand your feelings, MC. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me in the first place.”

You felt more at ease whenever you were around him after overdue conversation was out in the open. You no longer felt like he might pounce on you like Elizabeth the 3rd when you least expect it, putting you in the worse position you could imagine.

But you were grateful for his understanding and acceptance of your feelings.

SEVEN

Especially when he’d been out on a long and hard mission, all he’d want is you. He can’t stand being away from you, and it makes him feel terrible, too. Quality time with you is one of his favourite things in the world.

In the earlier years of your relationship, you’d actually tried the experience for yourself, much to your prior disinterest – you felt it to be more of an obligation than a pleasure.

But since after that, you’d found yourself left unsatisfied, or perhaps ‘bored’ would be a more accurate description. You were positive you should’ve felt some sort of spark, or at least an unquenchable craving for love.

The door of the bunker opened, and you met him at the front door. He closed it before his comrade-in-arms could even enter.

You shared a beautifully warm hug with him. One that didn’t need words to express how much you missed the other’s presence with the exception of a ticklish breath of “I missed you” in your ear.

Even that didn’t evoke any underlying desires. Oddly, you suddenly felt sad about it.

You felt his hands move from behind your neck to your waist, and his lips brush your neck as they came to meet yours, but not before planting a few pecks here and there on your cheek.

It was a harmless kiss, but you felt him begin to slowly increase in passion. You moved your hands to in front of you, slightly pushing against his chest.

“Seven, w-wait.”

He stopped straight away, the last thing him wanting to do being making you uncomfortable in any way.

You felt terrible for confessing what you wish you didn’t have to ruin. You felt like you’d lied to him since your first ‘experience’ with him.

He listened without a joke in sight, his ears wide open. With a simple nod, he spoke;

“Okay… let’s just take it slow. I’ll love you no matter what anyway, my 606.”

V - JIHYUN

The mint-eyed photographer was somewhat someone you could share your present feelings to an extent.

Since his abusive and damaging relationship with Rika, he’d more or less been subjected to not the most pleasant of sexual experiences. For a number of years, he’d been put off from any desire to re-engage in any type of bedroom activities.

He was afraid of the intimacy. As much as he believed he deserved every bit of Rika’s infliction, it didn’t take away the fear of the moment. Whereas with you, you had no sexually intimate craving whatsoever.

Out of the two of you, he was even more hesitant to begin a relationship than you were, and you were honestly convinced you wouldn’t meet someone as apprehensive about romance as yourself.

There were plenty of moments where you even questioned if what you really had could be deemed as a relationship at all. But you knew he was still recovering from a broken history.

“V… do you still feel love?” you asked him one day.

“I do… but I believe it’s a different kind of love than what the recognized meaning is.”

You saw the nervousness in his face from just the one sentence.

“I think I know what you mean.”

At most, the two of you would engage in the little acts of affection. Holding hands, cuddling, maybe a few kisses on the forehead and some hair play, but it wouldn’t escalate much further than that.

The both of you were plenty happy to keep it that way. As long as you were both content, it never seemed like the relationship wasn’t progressing to either one of you.

SAERAN

He craved the closeness, since being deprived of any love at all from his mother, brother, even his ‘Saviour’. You turned his world upside down.

But those three days in Mint Eye, when he still struggled with his serious case of dual personalities, the physical torment he put you through was one of the worse things you could fear to experience.

He already felt terrible about the matter, and hadn’t even stopped apologising about it yet, even months after the event. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that one extra detail.

But for the most of it, you didn’t have to pick him up on any behaviour you didn’t approve of. In fact, he generally kept some physical distance from you in fear that he might hurt you again. It would be soul-crushing.

You reassured him that him sitting next to you, touching shoulders, on the couch while snuggle was perfectly fine with you, and there was nothing to be afraid of. After all, you wanted closeness with him, too.

Just not that type of closeness.

You still slept in the same bed, but you often subconsciously stayed as close to your end as you were able without falling off. You hadn’t realised he picked up on this behaviour, which is what, according to him, lead him to believe you were still afraid of his proximity.

“I understand if you want to keep your distance, MC. I don’t blame you for being that way around me…”

You sighed. “I’ve forgiven you for everything, Saeran. I promise it’s not you… it’s me.”

After you told him, he was so relieved you could see it all over his face. His shoulders instantly relaxed and he exhaled a held-breath. He held both of your hands and brought them to his lips.

“I don’t care about that at all. As long as you’re by my side, then I’m happy with what we are.”

*:･ﾟ✧   There’s something about making an OC that just makes you feel like a proud parent and it’s so great.

Masterlist! + Request Box!

[turtle-pen]

Can you explain what happened between Ganon and Bowz or link to any posts that detail it? I hear it referenced every so often but I'm actually not too sure what happened.

That’s cool, we’ve only ever hinted at it but never really outright stated what happened!

Well hmm. [Thinking emoji]

- Basically Ganon waltzed into Bowz’s life. I don’t think we had the specifics of how they hooked up, but most likely during the events of the earlier Smash games (Melee or 64). I can only assume as royalty and cool dark wizard guys, they’ve exchanged talks with one another in an upper class setting prior to their official dating.

At this point Bowz had gotten most of, if not all of, the koopalings together. 

- Ganon and him started dating and it was… bad. Bowz was head over heels for him and would do anything he asked with little to no hesitation. But Ganon is very… toxic for him. Veeery very toxic. (X)

(Example A: Bowz and Ganon were having issue with communication between Hylian/Gerudo and Darklandian. Bowz suggested they study one another’s language, but immediately that was rejected because Darklandian is a Frankenstein’d hodgepodge filthy language and he refuses to learn it. To which Bowz was like “……Kay.” And learned Hylian for Ganon instead of meeting in the middle.

Example B: The first time that Bowz finally convinced him to visit the castle, (to which throughout the entire visit he was very judgey…), they settled into a room and he asked about the disgustingly colorful little minions running around like they owned the place. O which Bowz was like “My kids?” and Ganon was like “Is that what you call them?” And this WHIPPED AF KOOPA KING WAS LIKE “….” I think I had Wendy overhear this convo)

- The koopz and Junior HAAAATED him. They hated him more than they hated anything in the world. The environment in the home got incredibly tense and hostile. Honestly I wouldn’t say to the extent it was a trigger for them, but Bowz even bring up Ganon or stuff he did with him or whatever would make them see red. Which lead to a lot of arguments and fighting.

- There was a break up after the events of the Subspace Emissary. (X) (X) Things remained tense cause Bowz kept trying to (and sometimes successfully) crawl back to Ganon afterwards. Like I said, whipped af. The koopz and Junior were very emotionally drained by this.

- It got to the point where the koopalings split up for a short stint. Idk maybe a month or two? The Bowz mun actually references it a few times. (X) I feel like it’s because Bowz successfully gets back together with Ganon AGAIN and it just becomes the last straw between all of them.

Iggy wants to leave cause like fuck this? And cause of his attachment to Lemmy, he wants to take him with him too. Roy begrudgingly goes with him cause they’re best friends and he knows how Iggy is.

Wendy’s feeling like absolute trash through this whole thing and holes herself up in her room. At this point Lud and her are kneedeep in their rivalry but a ceasefire happens and they’re each other’s only comfort through this whole ordeal. (To a point where Ludwig ugly cries on Wendy for a little bit, something none of the other koopz have seen)

Larry gets uh. Pretty… messed up for a while. He’s not doing the stuff he did during this time anymore.

Morton tries to be the rock between them and keep them all together but, being mildly controlling, only messes up things more and he ends up isolated to his own elements.

Who the FUCK knows where Junior is in all of this, I sure don’t.

- The koopz’ split-up gives Bowz the motivation to finally cut Ganon the hell off for good.* Those runaway boys come back after a while, and the koopz make sure that every bit of Ganon is out of the castle. No photos, no numbers, nothing, and Bowz is all for it. Even if his heart stings still. But they’re more important to him than that Gerudo asswagon.

*Results may vary

Which brings up to where we are today. Which is… Bowz is still… crushing hard on Ganon but keeps himself vigilant and busy with other things and tries not to think of him anymore.

Ganon’s motivations at first were to expand his reach across kingdoms but after seeing Bowz fall right into his hands, he was like “This is fun.”

And because of this, every once in a while he tries to poke the hornets nest again.

But don’t worry, the koopz have emergency plans for any possibility. Mostly they involve maiming either Ganon or Bowz.

tl;dr -

-Dated cause of early smash-Ganon’s super toxic and the koopz hate him-Broke up cause of Subspace Emissary betrayal-On-again/off-again dating-Family breaks apart-Bowz puts his foot down against Ganon and mends the pieces-They’re on the look out for that douchey pig man

OH YEAH AND BOOM GOT FUCKING SUCKER PUNCHED INTO A COMA BY GANON WHEN HE TRIED TO DEFEND BOWZ. (X) (X) (X)

[castingdirect]

ABINGDON, ENGLAND: Oxfordshire Pupil Expelled After Sending 'Highly-Offensive' Images To Classmates

ABINGDON, ENGLAND: Oxfordshire Pupil Expelled After Sending 'Highly-Offensive' Images To His Classmates At £44,000-a-Year School A pupil has been expelled from the £44,000-a-year Abingdon School after sending an image of Nazis to his Jewish classmate, making rape threats on TikTok and posting a video mocking the Black Lives Matter movement. Documents and emails from the independent Oxfordshire school detailing the extent of the several 'highly-offensive' jokes the boy, 15, made via Snapchat and TikTok. It's understood that the pupil, studying for his GCSE exams at the all-boys school, has admitted to sending the controversial messages and apologised. Despite this, Abingdon School has confirmed with the MailOnline that he has been excluded. The teenager, who has not been named, sent a photograph of three people dressed as Nazi soldiers with the caption 'Happy Birthday' to a Jewish student on Snapchat. He also made a rape threat he later claimed was a joke in a video on TikTok. Separately, the pupil posted three videos on the app mocking the Black Lives Matter movement and fat-shaming women. Staff were alerted to the situation by students at a neighbouring school who were 'so disturbed' they decided to complain to their deputy headmaster. But the parents of the Abingdon student are now said to be thinking up a number of actions to prevent their son's exclusion from the top private school. They are reportedly considering installing a billboard in front of the main building's entrance demanding 'justice' for him. Headmaster Michael Windsor said he cannot comment on individual cases but he pointed out that permanent exclusion is very 'rare'. He added: 'It is never a decision that we take lightly or willingly. It will only occur after a comprehensive investigation has been conducted and it will follow the rigorous processes and procedures that we have in place.' 'The school has a very clear policy on discipline and behaviour of which all the students and their families are aware. There is a copy of the policy on the website and students are frequently reminded of the high standards expected of them. The school will look to support excluded students and their families at what is a very difficult time.' 'We hope that students are able to learn form the incident and that a move to a new environment will help them to make a fresh start.' One student who saw the messages said: 'I was particularly concerned about the video making reference to rape, which I believe has now been removed due to community guidelines.' The pupil was making a reference to share a video of a woman who removes a balaclava and asks 'what would you do if I burgled your house?' He then attached a video of himself, apparently carrying a gun of some kind, saying 'I would rape you' in response. The schoolboy was interviewed by the 'Deputy Head Pastoral' at Abingdon as part of a panel hearing held earlier this month to decide his fate in the elite educational institution. A report from the hearing stated: 'He declined to provide any details about the videos and repeated his view that he thought the videos were jokes.' 'He confirmed that a number of the videos had been taken down by the TikTok platform and that he had removed the other videos after they had been online for a few days. He also mentioned that he had received some online abuse known as trolling in response to the videos he had posted.' Even though the 15-year-old has admitted that he made the shocking videos, reports suggest his parents argue that a school has no right to invade a child's life on social media. They are now said to be considering writing to all the owners of the prestigious school, starting an online petition to remove the headmaster from the school and launching legal action to overturn the panel's decision. The school has offered to support the pupil over the coming months with his GCSE exams. The 'highly-offensive' messages are the latest controversy to rock Abingdon School after it was named on website Everyone's Invited, which has collated more than 14,000 testimonies about rape culture in British schools. Allegations uploaded anonymously to the confessions site claimed that several victims had been 'sexually assaulted, harassed or objectified' by Abingdon boys. One testimony seen on the website said: 'I dated a boy in the year above me from there when I was 16 and felt manipulated and coerced into doing a majority of things with him. He pressured me into having sex in the back of his car in a public car park which, after a lot of fighting back, I was able to argue my way out of.' Mr Windsor insisted earlier in April that Abingdon promotes a 'culture of mutual respect,' adding that the allegations will be investigated. Mr Windsor said: 'Abingdon School promotes a culture of mutual respect and equality and we celebrate diversity. We foster strong messages of respect throughout our everyday school lives, through our PSHCE course, assemblies, chapel talks, lectures and discussions.' 'As headmaster, I addressed the school in a recent assembly in which I focused on sexual harassment and our mutual responsibility to call out poor behaviour.' Although Abingdon is far from the only top private school to be dragged into the pupil sex abuse row following a raft of allegations of rape, assault and harassment. One in ten of the country's grammar schools have been named on Everyone's Invited. One girl said she had been raped by a pupil from Dr Challoner's Grammar School for Boys in Amersham, Buckinghamshire, at an 18th Birthday party. She said: 'It happened at the back of the garden and another boy saw it happening yet did nothing to help and just laughed. This was over three years ago and it's still something I think about.' In another example, a 14-year-old girl said she had been raped by an 18-year-old pupil at Cranbrook School, Kent, during a party when she was 'blacked out' from drinking too much. She said: 'I woke up unconscious in a corridor of the party having lost my shoes, my pants and my bra, having a hazy recollection of what had happened. When I went to school the next day I was labelled a slut.' Following the testimonials, the Government ordered Ofsted to launch an immediate probe into the alleged rape culture in British schools. A dedicated helpline for those who have experienced sexual harassment or abuse at school was also commissioned by the DfE. Report Abuse in Education, created in collaboration with the NSPCC, provides support and advice to victims of abuse and harassment. Ofsted will consider safeguarding policies in state and independent schools and ensure there are appropriate systems in place to allow pupils to report their concerns. The DfE has said 'the extent of the severity of the issue' will also be looked into. Gavin Williamson, the Education Secretary, has branded the reported assaults 'shocking and abhorrent' and indicated any schools implicated could face Government measures. 'Sexual abuse in any form is abhorrent and it is vital that these allegations are dealt with properly,' he said. 'While the majority of schools take their safeguarding responsibilities extremely seriously, I am determined to make sure the right resources and processes are in place across the education system to support any victims of abuse to come forward.' 'This Government is committed to ensuring victims feel supported to refer the most serious allegations to the police via the helpline, safe in the knowledge that everything possible will be done to bring offenders to justice.' 'No child or young person should have to experience abuse.' 'But if something isn't right, they should speak to someone they trust to raise concerns, whether that's family, a friend, a teacher or social worker, helpline or the police.' ABINGDON SCHOOL: ELITE INSTITUTION DATES BACK TO 1256 WITH RADIOHEAD'S THOM YORKE AMONG ITS TOP ALUMNI Abingdon School, in Oxfordshire, is the twentieth oldest independent school in Britain. It dates back to 1256, when the earliest surviving reference to the school was found, but some believe it may have been established prior to the 12th century by the Benedictine Monks of Abingdon Abbey. The school previously claimed it was founded by English Mercer John Roysse in 1563. This led to an unusual circumstance in which the school celebrated its 400th anniversary in 1963, then its 750th in 2006. Abingdon currently has around 1,040 pupils, aged 11-18, of whom 135 are boarders at the school. Notable Alumni, or Old Abingdonians, include writer and art critic Anthony Fawcett, actor Tom Hollander and musicians Andy and Thom Yorke. Comedian David Mitchell and Harry Potter voice actor Toby Jones also attended Abingdon. Read the full article

[damester13]

Entry #15 - (Leave) 09/13/19

In my entries about my college journey, Maybe I glossed them with too much of the good stuff in it. While all those good things actually happened to me, we all know by now that I have already lost all of those. No matter how much of good things they were, it's nothing but just memories now. So now I will detail my last few months in Cainta.

Last year's Christmas was probably the saddest of all 21 Christmases I've had. Ever since I stopped functioning during our Finals week, I've been skipping meals more intensely and Christmas Eve was no different. I also turned off all communications with other people for a while. My coping mechanism switch was lit green. I just didn't want to have to deal with anyone at that point. I was filled with shame and disappointment, that I feel like interacting with people will just force me to be "okay" temporarily. From there, I just wanted to give up, primarily my journey as a college student. But at this point, it's extremely petty of me to give up this early, right? Right. I needed an excuse to run in my head and in other people's, too. So why not apply for a LoA status for 1 sem and figure out where things will go from here? And I did just that, but not exactly.

To tell you the truth, there was some bits of geniune hope that my LoA period will bring some positive results. I intended to stay in Cavite for the full extent of my Leave for the change in environment, and plan to shift to Education course when I get back. Of course, my aunt didn't accept that at first, so I just had to make a compromise with her. I said that I'll spend my Leave considering my option to stay in Pol Sci as well. I never did it though, but I had to say it just so I will be allowed to push through. Again, Pol Sci is such a wonderful course. Unfortunately, it's not what's for me. From here on and out, somehow things didn't go as planned for me.

As I've said earlier, there was a glimmer of hope in this decision, but things went differently when it started to become busy at home. There was an ongoing construction for our new garage and my aunts were constantly going out to do whatever they were doing. Since the rest of the people apart from me and Lola were not at home during the day, I was very much needed to be at home all the time to "watch over" my lola and the construction workers in case they might need something. My plan to leave for Cavite was put on hold until the time came when I wasn't just up for it anymore. You see, even after the construction was over, we kept having visitors over and over again. I was a complete shut-in, so leaving my room with tons of visitors outside was a tightrope I'm not willing to walk on. It was just very hard for me to find a good chance to ask for permission and leave the house.

It kept going on and on like that until one day, I just woke up with not even a single pint of hope and positivity to be found in me. Along with that, any vision of a good future for me was also gone. I consider myself a positive thinker. Even with a bad coping mechanism when things fuck up, as long as I can see a chance for things to get better, I will find myself being okay one way or another. But now, everything is just dark. I cannot see anything at all. I kept telling myself, "Something was there before." But now, I can't even remember what it was anymore.

During these times, I kept going on and off with interacting with people. I am very much conflicted with how I view my friends at that point. I think they were just big distractions to me. All their happy, sad, or even random stories are just for me to temporarily forget my own reality. I committed to talk to these people when they need someone to talk to but it wasn't easy for me to listen to them without thinking of how unfair life is for me. Regardless, I remained as a "true" friend to them until the very end. I'm sorry.

The tables have turned completely and I just can't recognize my situation anymore. This wasn't how things are meant to go. Or perhaps, it was? At this point, it doesn't matter. Things have been going downhill for a long time now that it just feels like any bad thing that happens to me is just a part of an endless streak of unfortunate events. Somewhere along the line, I just decided to finally give up for real. 

I began my plan to officially drop out of college. I did say "plan" but given the lack of vision that I have, I really didn't have much apart from planning to permanently stay in Cavite. As for my primary "excuse", I just don't think I can pursue something that I have no motivation for. Me staying in UP will just be an utter waste of time and financial resources if this goes on. 

I asked several friends of mine for their opinions and advice regarding this decision because I recognize my state of mind isn't as optimal as it should be at that time. Their opinions varied quite a bit, but the bottom line of most of them was that "It's up to me." Personally, I dislike this a lot purely because I think I'm very much aware of that fact. I ask for people's take on my problem because I want to know what THEY want for me, what THEY think the better choice is for me. I ask those because those are the things that I do not know yet. Anyway, I still valued their words as I work my mind around things. Thank you.

Finally, with all these said and done, I still had to ask for my aunts' GO signal if I intend to push through this path. If our talk about my LoA ended up in a compromise, this time I cannot compromise anything anymore. I was going to keep convicing them until they're finally okay with it. But my emotions were the ones that gave up first. My aunts kept pushing for me to enroll the next semester even if I was already a week late in the enrollment period. Their persistence was just as I expected but hearing it directly iritated me so much that I just lashed out on them.

"You just don't understand me at all! At this point, I feel like I might end up killing myself someday!" I shouted.

That was the first time I ever mentioned that to anyone directly.

I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

My hands were shaking.

I wasn't able to talk.

I shed no tears but my heart was crying.

I realized that I was no longer capable of having a conversation with them so I stormed out of the room.

My legs were numb.

The numbness went all over my body.

I couldn't bend my knees at all.

I had to penguin-walk towards my room.

I fell on my bed without bending a single joint.

I felt weak.

This went on for at least 10 minutes until I finally calmed down.

That was my last conversation with them. 2 days later, I finally left the household and now I'm here in Cavite.

In the end, I committed a lot of mistakes yet again. I wasn't able to convince my aunts regarding my decision. I wasn't able to meet a couple of friends before I left for Cavite. I wasn't able to officially drop out and now I'm in an indefinite period of unofficial leave.

If this is a story of my greatest comeback of all time, oh how great that would be. But I don't want to stupidly believe in such unlikely thing. I'm sorry.

Extra stories:

For reference: I incurred an Academic Delinquency tag and was put on a Probationary status for not passing more than 50 percent of my total units in one sem. In that sem, I only passed 2 of my Japanese classes (obviously because of my prior background), and my Econ class because of a curve I think. Also, 1 of the Japanese classes isn't technically creditted to me since I already had 5 out of 6 cognate courses done in my curriculum.

For the record, I don't care about my grades as long as they're not failing. Maybe even if I fail a couple, I wouldn't mind. But what I do mind is the implication of the strings of failures especially when concentrated in one semester. It definitely tells something about me and my current path. I felt like I had to step back and I did, permanently.

While I was in UP processing my LoA application, I met a girl who was also settling her Academic Delinquency status. She was hospitalized during finals week resulting to her failing all her classes back then. I honestly felt much more disappointed in myself since she was still determined to keep pushing through even after such an inevitable setback. I hope she's getting closer to her finish line by now.

During my Leave, I intended to study and take the N4 level in JLPT which is the official examination to determine one's Japanese proficiency level. I did study "unorganizedly" for a few months, but eventually lost interest and gave up. I lost sight of whatever purpose there was for pursuing it. I just saw it as a way to distract myself.

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #18

Dear Diary,

Lately, I’ve been increasingly fearful of my own death.

I haven’t always been fearful, though. In fact, I used to welcome it.

There was a time in high school when I thought about it extensively, with curiosity and dramaticism. I used to wonder how people would feel if I were to die. It was an attempt to validate my own existence, since I was lacking my own reasons to keep going. If someone needed me here for them, then, by gosh, I would make the heroic choice to stay. If no one wanted me, then why would I stick around? I relished in the possibility that someone might regret dismissing my presence after it is too late.

This lack of validation was the result of different thoughts that reinforced each other.

I felt somewhat disconnected from everyone. While I was growing up, my parents (God bless ‘em, they do their very best) constantly highlighted that we were different from other Americans. There were the obvious cultural differences. Food was one they talked about a lot. How Americans tolerate and even enjoy room temperature or certain cold foods was disgusting according to them. My parents would make sure every savoury food we ate was heated. There were also ideological differences. “Americans” supposedly did not value or trust family as much as we did. There was an implication that Americans were therefore ruthless. In order to be successful in the greater community, I was told to be more outspoken than my parents. I trusted their warnings and advice, wise from their experiences after moving here. They had created me, so I felt a duty to remember their words. They managed to sow some seeds of distrust and skepticism in my brain about American society at large. However, I also had my own thoughts on the matter.

Even though we were different and relatively new to America, were we not also Americans? Our whole family loved the ol’ American hotdog! American culture is something my siblings and I fully immersed ourselves into. We enjoyed and memorized many movies and songs as any other American would. I also saw no evidence of a systemic disregard for family. Most of my “American” friends were not particularly rebellious against their own parents; during my childhood, I would visit my best friend’s home every week, and his interactions with his parents appeared cordial. I wondered whether my parents were just paranoid or overly critical about America. I did not view the world as “dog eat dog” as much as they did (they were justified in thinking so, given how they grew up). It also felt a bit manipulative, to be advised to stay loyal to them without much reflection on the true reasons why or the pros and cons of living that kind of life. Stuck between loyalty to my family and affinity to my homeland, I felt myself lacking a strong group identity to align myself to.

Another factor to my lack of validation was the trivialization of my own problems. I viewed being selfless as a valiant ideal. Hence, I immediately perceived all of my problems as lesser to those of others. How could I complain about my emotional state when I at least had a place to sleep at night and food on my plate? Especially when considering what my parents had gone through before life in the States, I felt I had no right to complain. I was a lowly but fortunate person. There were more important things to battle, like worldwide hunger (which I was not even doing shit about), or even the problems of my friends. I wanted to shoulder others’ problems to an unnecessary extent. As a result, I didn’t take care of myself or my own issues.

Inevitably, when I could be “selfless” no longer, I looked for someone to confide in. I eagerly self disclosed as a way to get closer to the people I was interested in, so I confided in very few. Whenever I did, though, I found it never gave me the deep comfort or connection that I desperately needed. Constant misery is not the best environment to foster long lasting bonds. I am sure I scared people away. If they happened to take up the challenge, I would internally make up excuses not to take others’ reassurances that easily. I was skeptical that anyone I talked to had thought that deeply about their place in the world, let alone had made the conscious decision to live despite it all. I never thought that anyone would care for my well being so deeply without expecting something in return.

I also completely invalidated any parental love I had received prior. I was out to friends in as early as junior high, but my parents did not accept me when I tried coming out to them three years after that. It ended very poorly. I continued to live in their care under the false promise of changing myself to conform to their wishes. I had to deal with the guilt of what would appear on paper as grand theft (a whole life’s worth!). It bore this idea in my head that I had never really been loved by them. All my past memories with them were false because, if my parents knew who I really was, they would have never given them to me in the first place. How many other kids at school could say they have felt that?

This lack of validation was the source of many mental ruminations that did not serve me. It made me crave for attention, but never ask for it outright. I sunk into myself, constantly burying deeper into my thoughts. It made me test some of my friends, and treat some in regrettable ways. I had mood swings every other day. Most of all, it compounded with other conclusions I had about the world -- that Murphy’s law meant that I should never trust anyone with any important task, that not everything I desired is possible (thanks unrequited straight obsession), that nearly everyone is a predictable archetype, that there is lots unfair with the world and not a lot of momentum among commoners to rectify it -- to demotivate me from living my life.

I never told you about this, Diary, but I remember one of my lowest points from back then. It was sophomore year of high school. I carried a paring knife in my backpack for a while. I had this fantasy of committing suicide seppuku style in a bathroom, but no concrete plans to do so. I probably would never have done it in reality. I only entertained the idea as a way of simulating external affirmations.

One of my friends was complaining to me in English class about everyday life problems. At that point, I was so tired of people talking to me about what seemed like small inconvenient details when they were not even questioning or concerned about the bigger picture. In an effort to one up her misery, I flashed her the knife I had in my backpack. She was absolutely quiet for the rest of class, but, after school, she came to my house and ordered me to talk about it. She was adamant in getting me to talk to an adult, or else she would not leave.

My primary emotion was embarrassment, not so much gratitude. I felt so embarrassed that she came over to my house, since it may have hinted to my parents that something was off. As much as I wanted attention from certain people at school, I did not want to burden my parents with my unhappiness. Besides, what could they do to resolve this black hole in my heart, when I believed they would never fully accept me? I went back to school with her, as she had to go back to her extracurricular activity (drama club, coincidentally). I reassured her that I would be fine and that I would stop carrying a weapon around.

Like, what the actual fuck was I thinking? I was too much of a coward to actually take my own life, but dramatic enough to brag to someone about it? And I was not even grateful that she had stopped by because of the aforementioned mental loops above: I assumed that she never had to think hard about choosing to live, and that she was just doing what anyone else would do in her position. She was not someone who I was interested in getting to know any better than I already did. I am thankful for her now; she had the guts to call me out on my ridiculous antics. I also want to apologize to her for putting her through that. Back then, though, it was an unsatisfying bother.

I do not know if word ever got around. I’m sure it did, but no one ever talked to me directly about it. There were some displays of genuine care afterwards. There was a very supportive teacher that offered to listen if I desired. He is also gay. I never took up the offer. I assumed that he would not be as understanding about my situation with my parents. There was a lot of talk in the gay community about “making your own family” with people who accept you. I figured he would tell me something along those lines. I did not want that. My family was enough for me. I did not want to accept tearing up my family as a certainty; I did not want to abandon promises made to take care of them when they are older as they have taken care of me.

There is one additional person that I particularly remember: another girl, one I was not particularly close with, was talking to me after school. I was reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower at the time (I do not even really remember that book), and she had asked if I related to it. She made me pinky promise with her that, if I ever felt like dying, I would at least talk to her about it first. I did not initially make it in seriousness (I would not go out of my way to confide in her), but mostly for appeasement. The same mental loops happened. Looking back, though, it was a small turning point that I am also thankful for. I am pretty stringent about promises, and even a small promise like that influenced my thoughts. I did remember it at times, and, with courage and a desire to put that awful sophomoric year behind me, I eventually came around to address my demons.

I realized a few things upon thinking deeply about my situation. If I really wanted to die, I would have done it by that point, but I had not. I had survived past some pretty rough points, but never to the point where I actually attempted to end it all. I figured that there must have been something that kept me going. I was not going to take my own life, and I attributed it to some innate desire that I had.

The base of that desire was the want to keep experiencing. I did not want for grandiose experiences, though, mind you. At that point in my life, I felt that I had experienced little. There were no exhilarating, fairytale moments to draw strength upon or look forward to. The future is a fickle thing anyway; one can never be so sure that the sun will rise tomorrow. I remembered, rather, the smaller moments already lived that had, for some reason, stuck around. The heat of some smiley french fries my mother would make for me after a rainy day at school. The sunset walks home in the fall where everything was perfectly golden. Little details like that, that usually go unnoticed, I savoured, and I did not want to lose being able to comprehend those types of blessings.

Remember when I used to write in you every night, about things that I wanted to change in my life, and then about things I was grateful for? It was a writing exercise one of my good friends gave me to restructure the way I thought. It got me into the mindset of articulating what I want to improve in my life, without forgetting that I have countless blessings.

With that friend as an occasional talking board, I worked to reverse engineer my thoughts, to dig even deeper, to venture beyond the black hole, and to position once unproductive thoughts to my advantage - to be on my own side because, in the end, who else would be? I wanted to develop a basic, flexible mental model of how the universe works so that I could not only tolerate the “worst” of the world, but harness value from it. I wanted to balance all feeling and thought in some type of equilibrium so that I could always find my way back to myself if the scales happened to tip.

Instead of focusing on how I could not fit fully into Asian culture or American culture, I focused on the unique insight I was given. I understood why my parents may be wary of other Americans. They have their own histories backing their own conclusions. That does not mean that all of their conclusions apply to what I experience today. Like many other Americans, they just wanted to make a better life for themselves and their loved ones. I appreciated my own identity, which gave me the ability to be critical to both mainstream American culture as well as the culture my parents grew up in. Instead of perceiving myself as unable to fit completely on either side, I perceived myself as more of a bridge: neither here nor there, but a supportive structure that allows ideas and understanding to flow.

I learned that selflessness does not merely mean putting everyone above yourself. Paradoxically, sometimes helping yourself is the best way to help others. When I am emotionally exhausted, there is less mental room for me to think about anything else. I found the value in dealing with my problems first and foremost, as it allowed me to be better focus on others. It is as essential as getting your eight hours of sleep at night. Hell, you may even find out that your experiences in dealing with your own baggage can be offered as a stepping stone to others struggling with similar problems, as I have.

Instead of looking outward for validation that never fulfilled me, I fostered internal validation.

When I did not believe anyone else who affirmed me, and I believed my parents may never come around to accept me as I am, there is only one other person who could be my cheerleader: myself.

No one I knew ever talked about self-love growing up. It was never really a sexy idea, after all. What was sexy was what was shown in the movies, when a man whispers in your ear that he will never leave you, while firmly holding you despite anything that happens. I grew up thinking that I needed to find some magical being that could provide that for me, but that is completely unrealistic. How can you expect someone to love you, when you do not even love yourself? And what makes you “yourself” even? Among seven billion people, where your traits lie on some spectrum, what truly makes you distinct?

After so many years of digging deeper, analyzing the hell out of my own behaviors and finding out my true motivations, I felt I had found my most essential self. I realized that every human being is born from some fantastical phenomenon out of countless possibilities. I defined the boundaries of what I would and would not do in many situations. I came to visualize an internal framework of the world - a web of cosmic hidden connections - and saw possibilities of who I could get to know and who I could come to be. When I accepted all of this and promised to continually hold myself to a higher standard of action, it was like I hit a hidden spring. It was a never-ending source of water that filled up all the emptiness caused by my digging, and reinvigorated me with a thirst for life.

Do not get me wrong, I do not believe external validation is completely bad. We all live in a physical world, where feedback of that type lets you know whether you are doing good towards your fellow humans. External criticism can be extremely helpful in developing one’s self. Individuals do not live in a vacuum. In this world, we depend on each other in order to live life as fully and as fast as we do. However, the desire to live should start with yourself.

I learned that truly connecting with people, in any range of emotion, is one of the closest things to heaven that we have here on earth. It is probably where my strong appreciation for music comes from, which I consider a method of instantaneous empathy. I am constantly fighting the desire to connect as a means to an end. I want to connect for the sake of feeling the connection, of feeling some ancient synchrony. It has been difficult to find that when you have been predisposed not to look for it. After all, I had confided my sexuality in my parents, seeking their understanding as a fellow human despite the generational rift, but it almost tore up my family.

Even though I accepted the possibility that my parents may never love me if they knew the truth, I still loved them. My love for them was not invalidated. That was what felt more important after everything - what I felt towards them and how I was/could be affecting them. I was (am) thankful for them, for how could I have grown to realize self-love without them? They struggled a lot in order to raise four children. I could not reverse that. It would have been worse for me to uproot what they have planted and hoped to grow.

I grew to accept my own sacrifice of keeping the peace. I thought of the times they sacrificed silently for me many times, and so I accepted it. When I was my high school self, especially at 15, I was not mature enough to take on the role as teacher of the subject. Where they grew up, they did not understand homosexuality. Since it was an unknown, I know it scared them. I intended to grow to eventually pay them back and teach them that it is not something to be feared. One day (which may be coming up very soon), when I have grown self sufficient enough and I am not endangering any of my siblings, I hoped to finally have them understand.

I validated my own presence in the world. I became someone who, despite thoughts to the contrary, chose to live, using those thoughts as additional motivators to improve. As with many others like me, it has been a solitary challenge, but we also receive the gift of understanding and insight from it. I cultivated self-love as a way to constantly remind myself that I am worth this life.

As with a good amount of things in life, though, when you gain something, it comes at a price. With this gain in self love and the ensuing will to live, it also ignited a fear of death.

◆◆◆

Diary, I write to you now because I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write to you next. Not for time reasons (life sure does move fast here), but because more than ever, I am taking risks.

A common person would not even consider most of them as “risks,” though. Living life in general has insignificant risks for any person. People do not usually think about them. The thing is, fear of death amplifies the perception of danger exponentially. Hell, I once read somewhere that a non-significant amount of people die from accidentally falling out of their bed. Ever since then, I try not to roll around too much while sleeping. I am acutely aware—some would say paranoid—of these small, unfortunate possibilities that could happen to me in this crazy, interconnected world.

As a consequence, some may think that I consider the worst case scenarios a bit too much. I totally understand that, but, remember where I am coming from. Years ago, while suffering from my own neuroses and lacking validation, I had gathered all of my remaining casino chips. From what I could perceive, I could either cash out or keep betting on slim chances that the future will fit my desires.

It took years of soul searching to see that there was an alternative choice to make. Instead of betting on someone or something else to give me purpose, I could invest in my current self. I could create my own feedback loop. I would not be bound by another’s rules; I could set my own. I could help myself first and grow strong enough to help others.

After weighing the odds, the optimal bet was obvious. I went all in on myself. Because of this, every choice I make during this life has high stakes. I would be so damn angry if it all ended, especially if it were because of my fault or my carelessness. The scariest thing is having my decision invalidated by a meaningless death.

Since this past November, I have been finding that the number of risks that could threaten my existence have been exponentially rising, some personal and some out of my control. I have started attending more LGBT events since last summer and getting to know a lot more people, and I have been increasingly afraid of worst-case scenarios in the current political climate. I have gotten a bit lazy with watching my diet to the point where I worry about getting hypertension. My choice to live in a major city is like a choice to live in the center of a dart board. The rising likelihood of a magnificent death in a nuclear blast determined by leaders so removed from the quotidian sometimes leaves me motionless in bed in the morning for a few extra minutes. If this does not happen within my lifetime, I worry about the future of the world’s children, who might not even get the chance to choose to live. There does not seem to be many people alarmed enough by all of this. The amount of energy it would take to mobilize out of our collective complacency deeply discourages me. There is a lot to be pessimistic about when you inhabit a certain viewpoint. A fear of death makes that pretty easy to slip into.

At its worst, this fear hinders me from doing anything. When the inevitability of death comes to the forefront of my mind, it paralyzes me. As a being that exists, I cannot comprehend non-existence. It makes me doubt the value of everything I do. Death would most likely erase any value I got out of living. The very concept of value itself may not even matter outside of human minds, so why pursue the things I feel are important? The horror is Lovecraftian in a way. Through the eyes of an ancient universe, my existence is nothing. I blind myself with the boundless, unreachable future and forget the things I see now.

If the fear is not causing some sort of self-existential crisis, it is triggering self-preservation instincts. It has contributed to some of my apprehension to be fully out in public; I do not want to give any potential crazies on the sidewalk a reason to take me down. Being more vulnerable, either by sharing my thoughts or letting people in, is extremely difficult when I prioritize my own survival ahead of others’. In this current period of my being more open to experiences, sometimes I wonder if I may be letting the wrong people in. I get scared of the possibility of that one person who could take advantage of weaknesses I have shared with them.

It is not all bad news, though, Diary.

One “risk” that I find myself taking more often nowadays is flying. I blame work, although I probably take more leisure trips than work ones. I would never say I dislike flying—it is a miracle of human genuity—but it gets me into a very contemplative mood. I heard there are people that cry on the plane just from the mix of emotions. I guess I am one of those people minus the tears. The thoughts start as early as the night before the long subway ride to the AirTrain.

The fear always hands me this question before embarking: “Would I be satisfied if I died today?”

Every time, the answer has been no. There has always been more I want to do. I would compare my ambitions with what I have been doing with my life until that point and refine what I intend to do the days after my trip is over. After many trips like that, I feel thankful that I have my fears because, just as with so many other things in life, there’s another side to the coin.

At its best, the fear pushes me to truly perceive what I feel is most important. There is no reason to fret over frivolous things when I am aware of the bigger picture of my life and the even bigger cosmic narrative that surrounds it all. In every situation, I only have that one chance during this one life to do the action that is truest to myself. There is a constant sense of urgency to respect that action, lest regret happens.

Since choosing to live, I wake up and am subconsciously aware of all of the things I want to do still. I want to have more cozy, humble memories. I want to live to eventually take care of my parents. I want to continue to be vulnerable, despite my fear telling me not to. I want to deeply relate with other people, because it gives me a glimpse into what I imagine a heaven would be like. I want to reach the limits of what I can do. I want to keep adding to my life until I cannot add any more. I want to keep experiencing enjoyment responsibly and sustainably. I want to see the world on track to continue vigorously past my lifetime. I want to take some of the responsibility in ensuring a functional world for our future generation, and I want to inspire others to do that. I want to live all the possible lives that are afforded to me. I want to bring to general consciousness the experiences of being gay, of being Asian, of being both. Most of all, I want to live for myself: to respect this life I was given and this unique viewpoint that I have (dare I say, soul?) because I cannot imagine any other existence that could be as fulfilling as this one. These subconscious thoughts power my interactions with the outside world.

In a flawed, selfish way, I want some piece of my “soul” to continue living on when most of me passes. I want a way to circumvent death, even if just partially. I remember in 9th grade English class, when we read Epic of Gilgamesh (what a weird piece of literature to gain a life lesson from... but anyway). I learned that leaving yourself in writing is its own kind of immortality. That is partly why I try to write things like this -- to leave something of myself using the exact words that I desire. I want people to be comforted by these certified official perma-thoughts if they ever wanted to revisit my mind when I have been long gone.

As I get older, there are some events that make me wonder if death is even to be feared. A belief in the afterlife would probably assuage some of my worries. I would like to think that everyone gets their desire for an afterlife, with all of their personality and “soul” intact. I used to believe in it, but most times, I don’t. There are no whispers beyond the veil that I can hear. I just imagine what it is like to be non-existent, and then imagine what it is like to not be able to imagine, and crawl under the covers. There are times, though, most recently in the resting face of my recently departed grandmother, where I think that maybe death is some mysterious magic to us young folk, like how computers can seem to be a type of magic to the elderly. Maybe it’s just something so sufficiently advanced and higher dimensional that, at a young age and in an active body, we cannot comprehend the full capability or meaning of. It doesn’t make sense to me yet. As long as death is a one way street, though, I will take my time walking the tightrope.

As the plane rushes down the runway and I grip the armrests, I think of every single person that has been in my life thus far. Faces flash by. I hope that I have treated them well. I wonder if at least some true part of me can live on in them. I become supremely thankful. Thankful that, up to that point, the world has granted me another day through a combination of dice rolls, kindness, humanity’s hard work, and my own will. Thankful that my fear can inspire such a deep, conscious gratitude. So what if there have been failures throughout my life, branches of possibilities that have been closed off? Death has failed every day in taking my own life. I have survived to cultivate a life that seems to have as much potential as any other untaken path.

I accept that I will die someday. However, I have chosen to live now. That pushes me to continually choose to live for what I want to accomplish.

Just in case I have died by the time anyone reads this, here is a humble request to those still living: make the explicit promise with yourself to live. Respect that promise. Constantly choose to live. Remind your peers of this same promise. This world may be the closest shot to heaven we will ever get, and I am jealous that you get to stay in it a bit more. Count your blessings. Live consciously.

Kevin F. Chen

--

I could never have gotten through my thoughts if my friend had not been giving me the courage to do so. I understand that not everyone has a friend they can count on to do that. There are people who are silently suffering, and who may not even know that there is always someone a phone call away if they need it.

If you are ever in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgment-free place to talk, please call Trevor Project’s Lifeline at 1-866-488-7386.

[fantasiawandering]

Thoughts on Tech, Games, Autism, and Pokemon Go

So this year continues to be tough. I didn’t think it would be otherwise -- the factors I’ve been struggling with for the last couple years are long-term and ongoing and I was never under any illusions to the contrary -- but with the arrival of summer and the reversion of my feet to more-or-less working order after the six months of plantar fasciitis that helped get me kicked out of dance, I’ve been playing a lot of Pokemon Go as a way of getting active again. Which has combined with a lot of the work I’m doing to try to integrate tech and distance learning into our programming to give me a lot to sort through. Oddly enough, one of the things that’s helped crystalize it a lot has been Pokemon Go. One particular cool thing I discovered was the mitigating effect it has on one of the aspects of ADHD that’s cropped up since, well, basically, my sliders shifted. 

I’ve long loved this comic about the autism spectrum as a colour wheel, and it helped sort out a lot about my own autism and why it went undiagnosed for so long (this article helped a lot too, and made me cry with how much I identified). But the colour wheel didn’t quite explain why I’d changed so fast from functional to struggling with things with both aspects of my autism and ADHD that I’d never been hindered by before (or at least, not to the point of not being able to function -- I had my first auditory sensory overload moment at work this year. That was an experience). And then I was rereading John Scalzi’s blog on how Straight White Male is playing the game of life on the lowest difficulty setting, and figured out a metaphor that actually works for me. All those pie slices on Rebecca Burgess’ comic are kind of like autistic difficulty sliders on the game of life, and most of my life, they’d all been set at levels that were challenging, but I could still progress through the game, farm for items, read the codex, etc.  Then, in the last couple of years, two sliders got pushed, within a couple of months of each other, up to the highest setting, and haven’t gone back down, and combined with everything else, knocked out my ability to do things that had always been second nature.

Two of the big ones were reading and writing.

It’s not that I can’t. It’s that it’s now SO HARD to maintain that focus that it’s like running a marathon, and I’m so exhausted by trying to act neurotypical at work that I don’t have the energy to maintain it during my free time. Certainly not for fun. As soon as I relax, the ADHD kicks in, and I realize that nothing I’ve read or typed makes sense because my mind has wandered without even realizing it. I have no idea what happened on the last three pages I read, and the stuff I’ve written contains words that have no reason to be there, because my wandering brain just grabbed them and stuck them in.

But here’s where we get back to the interesting thing about Pokemon Go. One of the other things I just kind of gave up on was listening to podcasts. Listening to something has ALWAYS been a challenge for me. Always. From lectures, to author readings, to podcasts, my brain cannot keep focus on the auditory information without dekeing off elsewhere. I wrote entire novels during the lecture portions of English class. But when I discovered that doing cross-stitch during author readings at cons mean that I could not only follow the story for the first time ever, but I was getting sensory information I never had before (I could smell the descriptive passages), I thought hey, there’s something to this fidget tool thing, let’s see what else I can put together.

Which is when I discovered that Pokemon Go is the perfect thing for putting my brain into “listening to podcast” mode. I’ve ripped through all three seasons of the phenomenal Curiosity in Focus podcast while wandering around looking for Pokemon, and am currently looking for other awesome stuff to listen to (I’m open to suggestions!). And oh hell, did it get me thinking about other things, too.

A lot of Curiosity in Focus touches on Daniel’s passion for teaching science (and other things) through D&D. Some of the conversations seemed really familiar, too, overlapping with some of the struggles and challenges I’ve faced while trying to integrate tech into our programming at work. For a lot of different reasons, there’s resistance, but I maintain that it’s really important because it gives students the ability to engage with materials through the communication tools they’re used to using. And much like the work Daniel is doing with D&D, it’s a way of opening up opportunities for learning and engagement to the learners who typically struggle with the “traditional” learning environment. 

Gamification is one way of dealing with these obstacles. We’ve been doing it to an extent with tabletop gaming based on the Blue Whale exhibition, but I’m going to come back to Pokemon Go again. 

For all the problems the game has, and I’m not going to deny it has its issues, I’m really fascinated by the game design in Pokemon Go. There’s enough to occupy casual players, but between IV stats, Pokemon types, fighting counters, and evolutions, there’s also a ton to occupy people like me who engage in obsessive collection and categorization as one aspect of our autism.  But they’ve built up a system that actually encourages that and turns it into an asset.

The game has individual competition -- collect the best Pokemon with the highest IVs and power them up.  It has competition between teams to control the neighbourhood. But with the introduction of raid bosses, it now also compels the teams to work together to take them down, ensuring that the competition can’t become too alienating. And it encourages cooperation.

A few weeks ago, I ran into a group of people trying to take down a Tyrannitar at a gym. And now I’m in a chat group of people who work together, share ideas, meet up with each other, and help newcomers. With a few exceptions, everyone, no matter what team they’re on, is willing to wait, support, and help others. People freely give tips on how to catch Pokemon and teach you how to succeed. The person more or less in charge of the neighbourhood group I’m part of is really glad that there’s one guy in the group who will explain all the minute details to everyone else, because he knows he scours the internet keeping up with all the recent developments, they’re accurate, and he will patiently walk newbies through it no matter how many times they ask.

And it goes beyond that. While raiding at a gym the other day, a guy walked past, looked at us on our devices, and yelled “TALK TO EACH OTHER.”  Then an older woman walked over and asked “what would you people do without those things? When I was little, we had to entertain ourselves.” 

And I explained to her (as the teacher in the group, I’ve gotten pretty good at this and people are starting to expect it), that yes, as a Xennial (I don’t use that word when I’m explaining this, but damn it’s useful), I had to entertain myself, too. Which meant I spent a lot of time growing up isolated, alone, unable to find anyone who shared my interests. I spent most of my time indoors, and that carried into adulthood. And that in the past year playing this game, I’ve discovered parts of my neighbourhood I never knew existed, and talked to more people in the neighbourhood than I have in the ten years of living here prior to that. I now pass by people on the street, here and around the city, who smile and greet me by name. I’ve had strangers whose only encounter with me was catching a bulbasaur stop me from blithely heading into an area they knew wasn’t safe, and walk with me back to a safer, more populated part of the city. People are looking out for one another, and establishing a strong sense of community in a city of a million people.

That’s a hell of an accomplishment for a little game about catching cute cartoon animals.

Yes, I’m aware my experience isn’t universal, but it does illustrate something really critical in regards to the work that I do. Like everything else about technology, it’s a tool. It can be used for good or for ill, but for many, it has become a way to facilitate engagement in something that was previously insurmountable. For some people, that insurmountable thing was starting a conversation with a stranger on the street. 

This is the kind of power I want to harness with the work that I do with social media, and Google Classroom, and Makerspaces, and Minecraft programs. We’re not using technology to replace traditional learning. We’re using it to build bridges to invite more people to the party who could never reach it before.