#it may have taken me longer to do it this way than doing it manually

[iwuvmyfwiends]

Krita is perfect for animating! (Don't mind the minor visual glitches)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you already wrote about this so forgive me if this is a repeat question but, what do you think about Leona’s depression? I feel it’s pretty obvious in game and yet it’s always glossed over as him being ‘lazy’ idk but I don’t find many talking about his really shitty mental health with any seriousness.

Surprisingly I haven't addressed this (at least not in detail)! So thank you for bringing this to my attention; I definitely feel like I've heard people (especially Leona fans) discuss this quite frequently. If you look in the right places, you’re sure to find insightful commentary on the subject! I know I certainly have, but I've yet to say my own piece on it yet.

Now, before I actually get to actually rambling, I want to preface this post with a few points so we can walk in knowing the perspective I'm coming from. Analysis isn't a "one size fits all"! My experiences and background will color the lenses through which I view Leona’s mental health.

First and foremost, I usually don't go out of my way to claim, "this character has X condition" beyond what is outright stated or implied in canon. That does NOT mean that I disapprove of fans who may have their headcanons that say otherwise or project onto or relate to characters' mental health. You can consume the media you like however you want! I am just saying that I don't have this preference so I feel somewhat uncomfortable speaking on this matter.

Secondly, I am trying to approach this situation from a very clinical viewpoint (as I do have knowledge in this area). This means that when I look for “implications” or read between the lines, I am doing so as objectively as I can. It’s how I choose to process and understand characters from a health angle. This does not mean that my opinion is certain; you could very well find someone else in this area that gives you the opposite opinion. As always, I warn you that my response is for fun, it is NOT meant to be taken as medical advice.

Lastly, PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE POST before you comment or share your own thoughts. I'm up for having a discussion, but I ask that you not do so without getting the full context of my thoughts. It’s a lot of information, and I did my best to break it down in a way that (I hope!!) is easy to understand.

CONTENT WARNING: due to the nature of the question at hand, I will be discussing or mentioning potentially triggering topics such as ***depression, suicidal ideation, dieting, homophobia, and substance abuse.*** Please look away if you are not in the right headspace to read about such topics.

Okay, let's rip the band-aid off now: I don't think Leona is clinically depressed.

Pause. Rewind. Take note of my careful wording there: clinically depressed. I don't think Leona is clinically depressed. What does that mean, and how does that relate to "being depressed"?

I think when people describe Leona as "depressed", they commonly mean that he "has depression", not that he is just feeling sad or has low self-esteem. By "having depression", I'm going to assume they are referring to "major depressive disorder", which is the technical term for the condition.

"It's just an abbreviation of the longer term. What's the issue with using 'depression'?” you're probably wondering. “You understand that we mean major depressive disorder.” Well, equating the two does NOT a diagnosis make.

Mental conditions such as major depressive disorder are documented in a handbook known as the DSM (or the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). The latest version, the DSM-5-TR (5th edition with text revisions), was published in 2022. The DSM is a manual that sets forth criteria for each diagnosis in its pages. Of course, this includes major depressive disorder—and it may surprise you to learn that Leona does not meet its diagnostic criteria.

A diagnosis of "depression" (the term I will henceforth be using as shorthand for the disorder) is much more than having persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, being unmotivated/lazy, and wanting to sleep often. (I bring up these three things specifically because they are the ones I see being pointed at most frequently to “prove” the diagnosis.)

In order to be formally diagnosed, an individual must be experiencing at least 5 or more of the following symptoms during the same 2-week period:

Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day.

Markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day.

Significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain, or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.

A slowing down of thought and a reduction of physical movement (observable by others, not merely subjective feelings of restlessness or being slowed down).

Fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.

Feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.

Diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.

Recurrent thoughts of death, recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.

At least one of the symptoms should be either 1) depressed mood or 2) loss of interest or pleasure in activities they previously found enjoyable. Furthermore, the symptoms must cause what is known as "clinically significant distress", which is defined by impairment in important areas of functioning. This includes, but is not limited to, socialization, occupation, and/or education. The symptoms must also not be the result of substance abuse or another medical condition, and the individual must ever have experienced mania or hypomania.

Let’s briefly go through each criterion + additional documents and see what evidence there is or isn’t to support it:

We do not have his medical records to cross reference, so for the sake of convenience let’s assume no underlying or additional medical conditions.

We must consider additional context about family, lifestyle, etc. which can confound his symptoms. For example, as a prince, Leona has grown up having most things done for him by servants. This is what he is used to. So when we observe Leona not doing basic things for himself (getting food, doing laundry, making his bed), how much of this can we truly attribute to an underlying condition and how much of this can we attribute to Leona being accustomed to a certain kind of lifestyle?

Leona (at least from what we know of) does not experience mania, nor is he depicted as taking mind or behavior altering substances.

Of the first two criteria, Leona must fit into one: either 1) depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, or 2) markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day. These depend on how you interpret his actions and behaviors. Personally, I don’t think Leona strongly fits into 2 because he still has an interest in his hobbies like Magift/Spelldrive and playing chess (though his involvement in it varies depending on the context). I will concede that there is stronger evidence for 1 over 2, as Leona has definitely expressed sadness and despair regarding himself and his future prospects. It is these thoughts that drive him away from home and keep contact with his family at a minimum. It is these thoughts that prevent him from seeing himself as worthy or even capable of change—a sentiment he shares in book 6, when he encourages Jamil but does not grant himself the same kindness or optimism. For this reason, we will go with the first criterion.

He has not experienced notable weight loss nor gain, nor a notable increase or decrease in appetite. Regarding his general diet, Leona has expressed a preference for meat and rejects vegetables. This by itself does not really provide any useful information in of itself; many people have this preference.

Leona does not experience a slowing down of thought. He is still very sharp and quick-witted in responding to his surroundings, especially in potentially dangerous ones, and coming up with an appropriate plan to counter. It can be argued that Leona has had a reduction in physical movement, as many characters often make remarks about how they perceive him as lazy or not doing much. However, this criterion actually refers to the speed at which one completes an activity and as far as I know, Leona is not said to be moving sluggishly, he only conducts himself in a manner that can be described as "lazily elegant". Even if we stretched the definition to encompass long-term goals he is putting off (like graduation), this criteria is still not counted for Leona since the wording used in the DSM-5-TR states “slowing down of thought AND reduction in physical movement” must be present. In other words, both must be true, not just one of them.

Leona does seem to experience some level of fatigue or loss of energy. This could be one way of interpreting his desire to sleep excessively instead of tending to more meaningful matters (like class). Fatigue, in this case, can also refer to emotional or mental fatigue. The sleep, then, can serve as a means of escape from reality for Leona, but it does not indicate actual physical tiredness. Rather, the tiredness can be intangible. This is also a potential explanation for his lack of motivation when it comes to some activities, especially those that demand him to take charge.

Leona does appear to experience feelings of worthlessness, though perhaps not excessive or inappropriate guilt. In fact, I would wager Leona does not demonstrate the latter, although this could be attributed to the fact that we are not in his head and he does not open up to others about his feelings. For example, we still don't know what his feelings are on almost killing Ruggie in a fit of rage. This does not discredit this criterion though, as the wording in the DSM is “feelings of worthlessness OR […] guilt” meaning one or the other suffices. It is no secret that Leona seeks recognition for his skills—something he was denied as a child and even put down for. While he is aware of his strengths, he has moments when he doubts himself (stating that he can’t change, or giving up when he realizes his plans won’t work so what’s the point in trying?), the contributions he can make (even when his older brother reassures him he can help their country), and encouragement from others (Jack telling him his play inspired him).

As I've said before, Leona does not have a diminished ability to think or concentrate. It has been shown to us time and time again that he doesn't do schoolwork not for lack of trying or lack of understanding, but because he thinks of himself as above it. Leona has already been tutored by the finest teachers royal money can buy, so he believes there is not much else for him to learn. He is also not shown to be indecisive--he can make decisions very quickly and can guide others or at least convince them to go along with him.

Leona does not have suicidal ideation or have recurring thoughts of committing suicide/death. While it's true that this is a game rated for ages 4+ (and therefore has restrictions on what content is and is not allowed in it), TWST has demonstrated to us that there are ways to imply suicidal ideation and other dark themes without explicitly saying it. (One notable example is Idia in late book 6, where he drops lines like "I'll go with you" and expresses dissatisfaction with "this world" to Ortho, who is known to be dead. To this, Ortho reassures him and encourages him to keep living. In fact, I could go on a whole tangent about how Idia better fits the criteria for major depressive disorder, but we're not going to get into that here.) The fact that TWST does not really imply this about Leona makes me think this is not true of him.

It can be said that the symptoms Leona does have are clinically significant, as his behavior is shown to have significant impact on his studies to the point where he was held back a grade. This was not because he did not know the material, but because he failed to find the motivation to attend class and to do his assignments. It also appears that Leona didn't really make an effort to work toward his future until book 7, when he actually talks his internship plans and about wanting to graduate.

We may guess that the symptoms persisted for two weeks or more (given Leona’s history and involvement in the main story), but the frequency of the symptoms is unclear since the game controls what we see of Leona and what we don’t.

Taking all of that into consideration, Leona does in fact exhibit depressive symptoms, but only 3 at most (I say “at most” because we have no idea about the true frequency at which some behaviors occur; we aren’t with Leona 24/7, nor has he reported it to us) out of the 8 total criteria. That’s 2 short of a diagnosis.

“But wait, there’s a lot of information missing here! We don’t have medical records, his weight and appetite changes, etc.” That’s true—but see, the main issue I take with diagnosing fictional characters in the first place is that we oftentimes do not know a character in detail enough to understand the full scope of their lives and symptoms. Noticing a few details is one thing and valid to an extent, but to evaluate an individual is not purely observational. This is particularly true for TWST characters, as even though there is plenty of content to refer back to for behavior, there is still a lack of really going into daily activities or deep feelings (beyond the one post-OB flashback for the OB boys). We cannot observe their behavior extensively. Because of this, tons of key criteria may not be visible to us from the audience’s perspective, let alone a medical history or other data to consider for assessment. We will almost always have an incomplete profile of a fictional character. Health is holistic and not entirely based on what we as individuals see or on all anecdotal evidence.

Just as health considers all parts of the individual, we, too, must consider individual cases of depression. It is possible for depression to exist without a diagnosis—many people (especially older adults), unfortunately, go undiagnosed for their condition. At the same time, it is possible for Leona to have depression which manifests in an atypical way. Each person with depression presents differently than the last, so I so not intend to make any blanket statements about the general population with this condition. The only statement I am making here is that based on my own interpretation of the current lore TWST has granted is, Leona Kingscholar does not satisfy the criteria for a formal clinical diagnosis, at least not for major depressive disorder as is defined by the DSM-5-TR.

Interestingly, Leona does fit the diagnostic criteria for a subclinical form of depression in a 1994 version of the DSM (IV). Minor depression or minor depressive disorder, colloquially known as “everyday depression”, is defined as having 2–4 depressive symptoms persisting for more than 2 weeks. One of these symptoms must be either depressed mood or loss of interest. It should be noted that this terminology is no longer recognized, as new information is added and dropped from the manual all the time. The information is flexible based on the consensus of a panel of hundreds of experts. Older versions of the DSM can be horribly outdated and it is not advised to reference them over newer ones. (As an example, "homosexuality" was legitimately listed as a mental illness in the very first version of the DSM. Yikes. Thankfully, this was dropped from the DSM-II. Other conditions like "multiple personality disorder" are granted new names like "dissociative identity disorder" or reworked altogether as our studies and understanding of mental health and science improve. It is important to keep up with the research coming out and update our approaches accordingly.)

We do not currently have a label for Leona’s situation aside from perhaps experiencing depressive episodes (periods of notable sadness lasting under 2 weeks) and exhibiting some depressive symptoms. I must stress that just because we lack a full-blown diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t impact his life. Leona is shown to very clearly be struggling with his mental health. He spends a lot of time in bed, typically cannot be motivated to attend class or do complete assignments, and has moments where he thinks very lowly of himself in spite of the confidence he exudes to others. What's more is that because Leona does not speak to others about what he's going through, it comes off as laziness or arrogance to his peers. Think of it this way: if you have a bad day and snap at a stranger or an acquaintance, the stranger/acquaintance is far less likely to grant you grace or forgiveness for your behavior compared to, say, a friend. They are not as familiar with you, so they will have less patience and are less likely to consider what you may be going through on a personal level. This also applies on a fandom level; if a fan is not actively reading between the lines, they, like Leona's peers, may miss the depressive symptoms he is displaying because they aren't looking for it. How many people can we say are close friends with Leona for him to open up to them about his circumstances? I would say Leona barely even lets his own dorm members be intimate enough with him to let them know about this part of himself. He has Savanaclaw backing him, but he probably does not talk to the mobs extensively. Ruggie is his errand boy, but I doubt Leona pours his heart out to him. And Jack is the newbie who did technically betray their dorm, so Leona might not trust him. Forget about people beyond his dorm. Even his family is not much better off; we've seen that Leona tends to brush off his brother's friendliness and attempts to make amends. There is no strong support system in place for him, which is tricky because Leona perpetuates it by keeping others at bay. In the light novel adaptation of book 2, Leona has an inner monologue about how he is afraid of letting others give him hope because it will encourage him to try again, only to fail another time. I imagine similar logic applies here; he is afraid of showing his vulnerable side because it might give him hope for change when he as late as book 6 expresses that he has given up on himself. I think that this is the detail about Leona most look to when they consider his mental health. The hallmark of depression is, after all, the feeling of perpetual sadness and despair itself. Most do not realize that other factors are considered.

From a clinical lens, it is not “obvious" that Leona is depressed. However, I understand why the prevailing sentiment tends to skew in the opposite direction. For the layman, it may be difficult to distinguish what is and is not clinically significant enough to warrant an actual diagnosis. Again, most will cite the same three pieces of information to support the depression reading: Leona's irritability, his unwillingness to participate, and the rejection he experienced as a child (which has now manifested as self-doubt and low self-esteem). Characters are often judged based on fans' own experiences, and this naturally comes with biases and subjectivity. Thus, some fans may project their own understanding or preconceived notions of what the "typical" depressed person acts like in their head onto Leona. This is normal human empathy at play. I believe that other fans see depression in Leona either because they experience it themselves or are familiar with someone in the same shoes. It can be difficult, and at times we can find solace and solidarity in fiction, especially if we find a character that “speaks to us” and seems relatable. That character may be Leona for some people. If you see do see him in this light or relate to his situation, I’m not invalidating your feelings. On the contrary, I'm happy that you were able to find comfort in him and that a piece of media you love can serve as a coping mechanism. You keep on doing you!

It is at this point that I will reiterate what I said at the start with a little extra nuance: I do not think Leona clinically depressed BUT I do believe he has depressive symptoms and poor mental health as the result of his cumulative circumstances. It is possible for him to have major depressive disorder, but we cannot determine this for certain with the information available to us right now. We are still missing several key components that would typically be considered in the evaluation process.

I think it's important to step back from focusing on labels and instead focus on the individual experience, and how you can still grow as a person and not let a perceived label define you. Leona is definitely working on himself! Changing, particularly changing a deeply ingrained mindset, takes much time and effort. We may not see the progress since Leona tends to hide it and/or we have limited intractions with him. We may not always see giant strides because the process is difficult. Even so, Leona is trying to jump over those mental and emotional hurdles. He's putting his all back into Magift/Spelldrive training. He's attending classes and doing the assignments. He's going home for the holidays. He has an internship planned. He wants to graduate. I've enjoyed following Leona's journey of growth and self-development and seeing all the intense discussion surrounding that. It all comes from a place of love and wanting to support the characters we care about, no matter how we may individually view him.

[mononijikayu]

the horrifying what happened to aemma in episode one about this is that it is only when the woman is ACTUALLY dying or are already dead that c-sections are performed. that told me they do not care of about the historical telling of the story AT ALL. so i just wanna break down the situation and why i dont think that scene in episode one was necessary in the way it was.

now we have a precedence of this shown in the form of queen dowager alyssa velaryon in f&b. the first birth of her marriage to rogar had not been good, she was already weakened by that and her second pregnancy in the marriage was worse, to the point she was dying.

the maester informs that alyssa was already dying and that the only solace they could give is dreamwine. if she had consented or never woke up, we dont really know - but either way the baby, jocelyn, would actually die if they hesitate longer and that if nothing is done, alyssa could take the baby with her as well.

so jaehaerys and alyssane are told and its jaehaerys that tells rogar - that alyssa is dying and the babe could be as well, but they would have to cut her open. rogar was horrified but its something that had to be decided. yet it was a hard choice to make, because no matter the outcome, there would be pain and death - brutal one at that.

but because alyssa was already dying, it was offered as an option and hence it aligns heavily with the medieval standards. in fact, we can find this in a book by historian renate blumenfeld-kosinski called not of woman born where she talks about this.

there's a passage where she mentions saint thomas aquinas and the conundrum of conducting a c-section as soon as possible to annoint the child in holy baptism, to 'save its soul' from damnation — which details a conversation but saint thomas wrote against that, in defense of the mother and explicitly details that he rejects killing the wives.

if the mother is already dead but child is still alive, that's where you move to cut open because the child would die just the same as the mother. thomas rejects the idea that you should kill the mother in order to baptize the child. it is so interesting that the church is against abortion, but one of its outspoken individuals has this sort of perspective.

in fact, there is a passage on three instruction manuals for women's health and medicine called trotula (the little work of trotula) in medieval italy in the 12th century. the midwives who study these texts are encouraged to take care the mothers first. this was at a time where people are HIGHLY religious and would have caused such a social taboo. it was a shock wave to the population seeing these radical ideas for the first time.

the text on c-section on the trotula goes as follows: "whan the woman is feble and the chyld may noght comyn out, then it is better that the chylde be slayne than the moder of the child also dye." - which means it was highly encouraged that they ONLY CUT when the woman is already dying or is dead. this text tries to tells that the mother and child need tp be looked on but women need to be cared for as much as the child. if there is any other way, it should be taken. only in the event of no more choices should there be cutting.

in fact the woman who was behind ideas in trotula — trotula of salerno was a radicalist in her time. she believes both women AND men can have defects. specifically how men's semen can be medically unfit to conceive a child. and that WOMEN should not be suffering at child bed, discussing the use of opiates from herb plants to help with pain and just like saint thomas, she believes that women are not meant to suffer or die from childbirth and that women should not have to make up for the sins committed by even in eden.

in fact, c-sections were also heavily regulated by local authorty. jakob nufer in 1580s for example was a veterinarian who found that his wife was having such a hard time with childbirth that he was so concern and begged to be allowed by local authorities to perform a c-section on his wife because he feared she would die and he succeeded, which his wife surviving AND that child living a long life according to the records.

historians have said that this would not happen just without any reasonable cause to do forced c-sections on their wives for the fact that their wives are also belonged in other royal houses and strong noble families. the people in charge needed these alliances and connections in order to keep the peace going. foul play cannot be a must, the childbed is risk enough for these alliances already. marriages and childbed tied the peace together. alas, the best childbed care is a MUST.

aemma's death would have been fine as a regular death in childbirth or even a similar situation as alyssa's, which would have at least dignified her death. unless it was the natural progression of childbed and or foul play, aemma arryn would have no need to die like that on her childbed. this was not a good way for aemma to die.

it was just insulting to the book material, historical record and aemma herself. not to mention to viserys i. losing his son was tragic enough but having him decide prematurely without her consent, without her actually nearing death or without discussing it in depth with the maester and or not insisting any other way was so off to me. he would have been making a bunch of questions, this was his wife - she was tied to house arryn and she was a high ranking woman. he would not HAVE had her cut open like that when she was not dead yet or actually on her death bed.

[neogandw]

Continuing onward, page 2 of 6, the rest of which you can see here.

Honestly this page was a lot of fun, I love recreating areas in gaming a lot, so this was a lot of fun with the whole playing around with multiple universes in smash to give the idea that the Inkling girl just can't hit a shot.

Of note:

I like to think that Inkling Girl's first mistake was skipping Sheldon's explanation. Like, I get it, but his bios do give you a hint of how the thing is supposed to work. Just because you're familiar with a thing it doesn't mean you should skip the manual.

I could have straight up taken a picture of Mementos, but I instead re-drew the whole bit (if anything I just reused a re-draw of the main mementos map which I have done in a previous drawing project). I honestly do not skip steps, if I can recreate a thing for the shot, I'll go out of my way to do it. It makes things look more seamless and in-line with the drawings as a whole if I do everything from scratch, though I'm not above re-using previous drawing assets if I can get away with it (since the mementos map never really changes, I can just reuse that isolated re-draw I have).

If you want it for whatever reason, here it is.

Oh, by the by, I kinda based Joker's render off his appearence in Tactica since that had been recently released by the time I was doing the drawing. I do like the tactica renders so I may base the persona characters off that to simplify them a bit style-wise.

I know WarioWare being used for Samus is a bit of an odd choice, but I figured I could just do a simpler area rather than going with either Norfair (all that lava would get in the way of the ORANGE paint), Brinstar (same, but Yellow) or Frigate Orpheon (I didn't really need the parasite queen in the background). Adding Pikachu in was a later idea just to highlight how much she's missing the shot.

Dedede and a Pikmin laying down was funny enough already, but here's a bit of hilarity I thought about (and I know that explaining the joke ruins it, but you know, this is supposed to be a commentary): this is flat zone, it's entirely 2D, the inkling girl somehow missed the shot even when you only needed to aim left or right.

I like Minecraft a lot, but when DRAWING the universe its a bit dull if everything is just cubes. So while I totally can do that I just choose to make a stylized version that is semi-cubey for most everything. Though Alex I prefer to go full proportions.

Alex being more human proportioned does bring some challenges since I do want her to look like a country bumpkin of sorts, so this comic helped me finalize how I would do it. Honestly its kind of based on how artist Peargor does it. Though I'm gonna go with a longer braid and some freckles.

I do largely prefer Alex over Steve though, so you'll likely see her whenever I involve minecraft on my drawings. If I were to draw steve though? I'd likely make him buff. I tend to think of Alex as the builder/farmer (which is my playstyle) whereas Steve is the adventurer (how my friends play the game).

I didn't actually borrow any textures from Minecraft, they were self made. Which is kind of why they're kind of shit.

Honestly drawing the regular Charger was a bit of a thing. The Splatoon weaponry can be very complex in its detailing so for the first few panels it was kind of traced. Over time I just did it on my own for later panels.

Tracing isn't a bad practice, just as long as you don't pass an entirely traced work as your own. Trace responsibly kids, it helps learn how to do a thing.

[quarantineddreamer]

Posting a snippet from the winner of the badly-summarized WIP game!

Winner was: "beep beep. get in, bitch we're going strangers to roadtrip buddies to lovers 🚘"

As soon as Jyn was certain Cassian was capable of operating a manual and driving on the left side of the road at the same time with a reasonable level of competency, she tore her eyes from the road and pulled out her phone.

Jyn: So…remember how my flight got canceled?

Not a minute later her phone buzzed against her thigh, Cassian briefly looked in her direction at the sound–it may as well have been a scream in the silent car–but made no comment. 

Bodhi: No trains, no buses, yeah I remember. Did you manage to find a car?

Jyn: Sortof 

She watched the dots dancing as Bodhi typed, pictured her friend frantically tapping away.

Bodhi: Why are you being vague? Wth does that mean?

Bodhi: What did you do

Bodhi: Call me.

Jyn: Can’t right now

Jyn: But it’s not what you think. I haven’t backed out…

Jyn: I hitched a ride with someone

Bodhi: CALL ME 

Jyn: Bodhi relax

Jyn: I’m fine

Her phone started to vibrate in steady repetition in her palm, a picture of her and Bodhi atop Arthur’s seat (taken during his recent visit) glowing up at her. With a twinge of guilt she hit the ‘reject’ button perched just to the left of her friend’s cheesy grin.

“You can get that if you need to,” Cassian commented lightly, eyes still fixed on the road. 

“I don’t,” she replied quickly, tilting her screen away from him despite the fact he had made no move to even glance in her direction.

Jyn: I told you I can’t talk rn

Bodhi: Who tf did you get a ride with

Jyn: Bodes. Deep breath. 

Jyn: All is well.

Bodhi: See you say that but…

Jyn: I’ll call you when I can

She stared at the screen for a moment longer, ran her thumb over a small crack, and with a sigh continued typing.

Jyn: How is he?

Bodhi typed for longer than he needed to, likely debating what to say. 

Bodhi: Just call me when you can.

Jyn locked her phone and set it face down in her lap. 

But it gave another insistent hum.

Bodhi: Also share your location with me

Bodhi: And a pic of whoever ur with

Bodhi: So I know who to hunt down if you disappear 

Shaking her head and huffing a soft laugh she did as he asked and shared her location. 

Bodhi: Thx

Bodhi: Pic?

Jyn: Not happening

Bodhi: JYN

Bodhi: Don’t make me blow up your phone rn

Bodhi: I’ll do it

Bodhi: You know I will

Bodhi: Watch me

Bodhi: Isn’t this annoying??

Bodhi: Hello

Bodhi: I

Bodhi: am 

Bodhi: Waiting 

Bodhi: :) 

The three dots appeared again, unapologetic and unrelenting. 

Jyn: For the love of god stop. fine. 

Jyn: one sec

Fuck. She looked over at Cassian, face flashing in and out of gold and shadow as they passed under neighborhood street lamps, winding their way to the motorway. For some reason the sight made her stomach give a nervous flip. “God damn it.” 

“What?”

Apparently she was beginning to lose her filter–because this wasn’t awkward enough as it was. “I didn’t say anything,” she lied, turning swiftly towards the window to study the houses they passed by. Their quaint windows–just beginning to show signs of life as the earliest morning workers stirred and started their day–revealed no solutions. 

Her phone began to vibrate incessantly again. 

“Are you sure you don’t need to get that?” Cassian asked, this time throwing her a quick glance. 

Jyn wiped clammy palms against the knees of her jeans and resigned herself to her fate. (Bodhi could be nearly as stubborn as her when he wanted to be, it was best just to appease him and get it over with before things got any more humiliating.) 

“It’s my friend,” she explained. “He’s asking for a photo of you.”

“In case I’m an ax-murderer?”

“Not comforting that came so easily to you,” she quipped, “but, yeah, pretty much.”

“Makes sense.” Cassian appeared decidedly unbothered as he leaned over the steering wheel, craning to see around a blind corner before making his turn. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”The car swung wide, and Jyn swallowed her embarrassment, raising her phone to quickly snap a pic. Without bothering to check her recent messages she fired it off to Bodhi with the caption “Happy now?”

[hautevaux]

@obscureign asked: 💭 + fishing net MEME: Forget me Not 💭My muse has lost their memories. Send 💭 + something would your muse say/do to bring their memories back.

It's disorientating, to suffer the obscenity of a large seizure; it is made worse thrice over, however, upon coming around and not recalling anything. Naught about ones self, not about ones life or preference, naught about the people one knows or the job they work.

There are people now, in his company as he sits upon a seat in a rather dark hallway, that have been attempting to get him to recall something by telling him tales of how they knew one another, or what he had done for them through his job. But it all felt surreal, it all felt as if he was being fed stories and naught that was true - for none of it sparked recognition in the slightest. The longer it went on, the more panicked Vaux became, fearing that he would never remember.

Eyes tightly closed, a moment taken to simply breathe and attempt to settle himself down. The last thing he needed was to trigger another seizure through immense stress - and when he reopens his eyes does he find another figure in his company, but this one - dressed in stark white - sits aside him.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, fine features - no matter how many times his own silver eyes scanned his newfound companys face, he simply didn't know who he was. Cute though-

He tries his best to smile, to remain polite just in case, but the last thing he wanted was to have more unknowns thrown at him for the lithe possibility it would trigger any kind of recognition. Frankly, it was giving him a headache by this point - - but he would struggle through just one more, it would seem.

"Fishing nets-?" He repeats, appearing thrice more confused than he had been with any of the other suggestions he had been offered. Was he a fisherman? Eyes glanced down at hands and aside from what appeared to be the odd papercut and extremely well manicured nails, there were no signs of heavy manual labor. So perhaps not?

"I'm sorry, I just don't... Remember." He glances towards company once more, unable to help himself gazing at what he was wearing, finding a mental link between the words uttered and how his clothing appeared. The ends of his coat really did look rather like a fishing net, didn't they?

Upon that thought, his headache grew worse and he was all but forced to squeeze his eyes closed and cradle his head in his hands, whining towards the pain. With the discomfort came mild recognition, the first spark of it since he had regained consciousness and thought the shock of pain was detestable, he was thankful that something was found as familiar.

When it subsided after only a moment longer, Vaux took another look at his company, this time staring longer, willing his mind to remember.

"I know that I know you---" He begins, re-closing his eyes to aid in the aching of his head: "-- but I cannot place your name... Or where we are: only the feeling of familiarity and that I don't like the bottom half of your coat, passionately."

He ought be happy he had that - but Vaux couldn't shake the feeling of being displaced because of not remembering so much about himself, his routines. It was frightening, in all honesty, and he knew not quite what to do.

Perhaps relaxing was the answer, not trying to rush things out of fear and desperation would allow his mind to remember naturally but it was easier said than done.

"May I stay here a while?" Fingers pick at nails in idle anxiety, eyes now turned towards the ground: "... I'd leave but... I know not where to go." He couldn't remember where he lived, where he worked, if he had any family around that would look after him: " - - - unless you know of any family that I could be dropped off with? I wouldn't wish to be in the way here. " Wherever here was.

[sirfrogsworth]

Small update...

They tracked down the original photo. My analysis was actually pretty much dead on, but I guessed wrong on a few things. I thought this was a press photo so I assumed it was taken with a professional camera. But it was taken by a staffer with an iPhone, which changes the processing aspect a little bit.

The original photo looked like this compared to the published version.

This is an HDR composite image. The iPhone does this automatically if you have the HDR setting enabled. It takes a really bright version and a really dark version and blends them together to balance the exposure.

People with older DSLRs (like me) do this same process manually when a scene has more dynamic range than our camera can handle.

It's similar to taking a RAW photo and boosting the shadows and bringing down the highlights. Just two different ways to do the same thing.

I was so close!

The photo was then post processed to crop the hangar ceiling out, warm the white balance, and boost the contrast.

It's crazy how hard it is to tell smartphone photos apart from ILC photos these days. Computational photography is so powerful. And if you add a little of your own editing on top, you can get some stunning results.

Phones still struggle with challenging lighting conditions. And they don't give you much in the way of depth of field. But under ideal circumstances they are pretty much on par with other cameras. Which is why if people are interested in photography, they should not think they need a better camera to get started. You can learn a lot just using your phone.

A few people mentioned this analysis does not matter. And that none of these people want to change their minds so they will not be convinced by the evidence.

But that wasn't why I wrote this. People were correct to be suspicious of this photo. It was altered and it had some unique and uncommon attributes that set off our uncanny valley alarm bells. Skepticism is good. Ignoring the evidence it was real is where they fell astray.

Our immediate future is going to be rife with images that could be fake. And so we need to improve our photographic literacy so we can help figure out fact from fiction. And I just wanted to demonstrate what that process was like.

We will need to know how light does and does not work. We need to know the common editing workflows photographers use. We need to understand how smartphones process images. And we will have to know signs something is A.I.

Some folks said they could tell this wasn't A.I. because there was not any extra fingers or body horror among the crowd. Others mentioned all of the text was legible. And I must caution people using these observations going forward. Because A.I. is going to improve. The body horror is going to happen less and less. It's going to be harder to spot. Text is already improving in different A.I. models. Eventually that will no longer be a good indicator either. Our current best indicators will not last.

And I think people were not considering another possibility—a combination of A.I. and human manipulation. Right now the best way to fake an image is to let A.I. do as much as it can, and then go in with more traditional Photoshop techniques to fix anything that gives away A.I. shenanigans. That is a sort of nightmare scenario. A human could have replaced all of the signs. Maybe turned one upside down. They could fix hands and erase extra fingers. I am capable of all of that myself to a degree you couldn't detect. It kind of scares me how much I could abuse the power of A.I. in its current state.

So, knowledge is power. And learning a bit more about photography and light and physics is a good idea. You may even improve your personal photography in the process.

I think in this new age of A.I. the general public is going to need to increase their photography and lighting literacy. The response to this photo has just been a shit show.

There are people pointing out perfectly normal edge lighting and misunderstanding how reflections work.

First the plane is parked at an angle. The tail is farther back than the nose. But also that is a curved surface and it tapers. It's reflecting the area to the right of the photo.

And the bottom of the plane is reflecting what is directly underneath. Which is the tarmac, not the crowd.

It should also be noted that photo was shot with a very telephoto lens and everything is super compressed. The crowd appears much closer to the airplane than they actually are.

But then someone who should have good understanding of lighting said this...

And now I'm worried for her clients. Because that's very... wrong.

Well, wrong-ish.

First, let's try to understand why this photo is setting off some alarm bells.

The crowd toward the rear is in shadow, but they are still very well exposed. But then there is also a bright light source creating a strong edge light on them. Looking at this photo with just the context of what is in it, there are some things that seem uncanny.

The information we do not have is the people in the shadow area are inside a very brightly lit airplane hangar.

So they have artificial light blasting them from the top.

But that light is still much dimmer than the sunlit areas outside so they appear in shade. But we are used to shade being much darker than areas in direct sun. So the balance seems off in our brain. We expect the people to be darker because we don't have the context of the bright hangar lights above them.

But the other issue is that the photo was post processed. It wasn't manipulated. The pixels weren't changed. But the exposure balance was altered.

If I were to guess, the original photo looked more like this...

But newer digital cameras can have 13 to 15 stops of dynamic range. And if you shoot in RAW, you can easily lift shadows and bring down highlights. You can balance the exposure so the dark parts aren't as dark and the bright parts aren't as bright. This photographer might have overdone it a bit in this case, but this is a fairly standard edit used to bring balance to photos.

And lastly, where does the edge light come from?

Edge lighting or backlighting or rim lighting (all the same) should probably be called wrap-around lighting if you want to be more accurate.

It comes from a homogenous light source that is larger than the subject being lit. So with my knife photo, I placed it on a large LED panel light.

The light source was bigger than the subject so it wrapped around the edges.

And I'm afraid the airplane is not nearly large enough to create a light source to wrap around everyone in the crowd. It isn't even reflecting direct sunlight. So I'm sorry to say that lighting designer was mostly mistaken despite the confidence.

The light source is... everything.

That entire red area I highlighted is the light source.

As well as everything above and everything to the sides.

And the biggest aspect of that light source would be the sky above. I think people always forget the sky is a light source. If you are seeing blue, you are seeing light. And I guess the plane is included in that, but that entire highlighted red area is so bright, and so filled with sunlight bouncing around, that it creates basically a giant softbox. It becomes a huge single light source for the people in the hangar.

If you look at footage taken from way inside the hangar, you can see the camera adjusting exposure for the crowd inside, but look at what happens to the sunlit area outside.

What does that look like?

A giant softbox.

A single homogenous light source blasting light inside the hangar.

The sun is so incredibly bright that even when it is not directly lighting something, the light just bouncing around outside is enough to overpower the very bright hangar lights.

So, what have we learned from this?

Perhaps people should hire me to be their lighting designer.

Though I'm sure she is actually very talented. She seems to work with stage lights and this is more physics and photography.

Phystography.

[rissarants]

The Return of Rissa

Like so many others, I have once again returned to Tumblr after watching Twitter turn into more of a dumpster fire than usual. Do I believe that Twitter will actually die? I doubt it, but the general atmosphere is changing and I’m not sure that I will always want to be a part of it. Besides, I have fond memories associated with Tumblr (although not as fond as Xanga.) This was a simple site that let me mindlessly reblog content that was related to my many hyper fixations at the time and, more excitingly, one of the ways I consistently flirted with my now-husband. One would think that coming back would be simple... 

I intended to private all of my old content on my primary blog and start a secondary one, but I could not easily do so (Note: of course, I found the mass post editor after I manually went through everything.) Once upon a time, I reveled in keeping my digital footprint intact like some sort of a personal Time Capsule that I could open up and review when I was feeling nostalgic. However, I no longer get that urge and have become accustomed to simply deleting the parts of my life that I no longer identify with… and, good lord, there’s a lot. I routinely purge my tweets from over a couple of years ago and have taken to removing old posts that make me cringe as they pop up in my Facebook memories. Perhaps it’s just a result of the wisdom that comes with age, paranoia after seeing people’s shitty takes resurface after ten years go by, or that I’m just a happier person now. I may have finally found a version of myself that I am proud of… let’s see if that sticks ten years from now.

So here I am, going through what were some of the strangest years of my life here on Tumblr as if it were a dating app: swiping right on posts that still resonate and dumping the rest into the digital bonfire. It’s mildly amusing to see some of the topics I obsessed over and even more fascinating to see how my mindset has changed over the years. For example:

The Fault in Our Stars - Dear lord, the absolute chokehold this book and movie had on me at the time. Perhaps it was because I was struggling in my love life and craving that all-consuming romance that I believed the story conveyed at the time. I don’t hate the story nowadays, but some of the lines I reblogged so smugly back in the day make me cringe. 

The Drama - I was brutal. The moment I felt someone had crossed me, all bets were off and I skewered them with my words on Tumblr. Did they all deserve my virtual beatdowns? Probably not. As I matured, I learned that hurt people hurt people. I was one of the wounded, lashing out to cause similar pain simply because I could. There are exceptions to the rule and some of them earned my retaliation, but at the end of the day, it didn’t do much for other people’s perceptions of me. It never made me feel better. It wasn’t healthy.

The Thinspo - Every once in a blue moon I decided I wasn’t good enough and strived for drastic weight loss. I reblogged things associated with a specific ED community, hoping it would motivate me. It never stuck, because I always had an absolute love of food and disdain for working out. I’m grateful now that things weren’t different for me at the time. Had I gotten deeper into that ED community, who knows what could have happened? I regret ever looking at those posts as something to admire and reblog. I should have never contributed to spreading that message around. 

So what will I be posting here moving forward? You can expect musings about games and my experiences as a Twitch streamer. I may share my thoughts about paganism as I continue my spiritual journey. And maybe, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll share some of my creative writing. Basically, I want to start thinking, writing, and creating more. Too much of my online life has become passive, where I am only mindlessly ingesting content without putting anything of my own out into the world. It’s time to shake things up and get back in touch with my creative side. Let’s see how long this lasts.

[thesparklingwriter]

don't dwell on the past

'"Please forgive me," he says, kissing your hand lightly.'

tags: pet names, Zhongli is very pure, soft Zhongli, fem!reader, Zhongli and reader are in a relationship, reader and Zhongli fall out, reader tries to sleep on the couch, someone remind me to come back and edit this

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

please do not repost or edit my work. reblogs are greatly appreciated !

i'm also taking ideas for the rest of the flufftober days, feel free to leave any suggestions in my asks, no matter how self-indulgent they may be!

You and Zhongli rarely fall out. To be more exact, you rarely fall out over anything serious. And even when you do, screaming matches and insults are never thrown about, and today is no exception. The problem is that sometimes, quiet, rational words don't do enough to show how you feel, and you wish you could have a good old scream at a wall, just to get rid of the tension. You love Zhongli, you truly do. But he can be really out of touch with you sometimes.

"I really don't like it when you intervene when I'm fighting." you say to him, after a silent journey home. You prefer discussing things at home than out where everyone can hear you. It's probably why you like living in the mountains so much.

"I know.” Zhongli sighs. He'd moved by instinct, driven by his desire to keep you safe. He has to manually override the urges he's gotten used to condoning as an archon, and he tries his best for your sake. Either way, he doesn't want you to think he's making excuses for himself, so he tries to word things carefully. "I should have made more of an effort to respect your wishes."

You nod. "Sometimes it makes me feel like you don't think I'm capable."

"I don't think that. Not at all. I like protecting you because I know it's a luxury, and it’s something you’re more than capable of doing yourself. But I understand." Zhongli says softly. You nod, thankful for his ever-reasonable response, and scold yourself for getting so frustrated. He was only trying to keep you safe, but it felt like he was undermining years of your experience. "I shall think of a compromise so this doesn't happen again."

Zhongli always gets formal when it comes to disagreements. He's driven towards an end solution, to the point when you sometimes have to tell him that you want to feel a little bit sad. Bottling up the emotions doesn't make you feel all too great, especially when it's because you feel unreasonable. "Can we talk about that tomorrow, please?"

He looks at you, sensing that today is one of those days when you want to be upset for a little while. He nods. He'll oblige you for a while longer, but he won't let you go to sleep angry at him. Just as you never let him sleep angry at you. He wonders whether you know you do it, how you always make sure he's okay after an argument, or whether it's a habit burned into your sheer being. He doesn't care. He loves it anyway.

But he also senses that this has been brewing for a little while. There was two weeks ago, when a Fatui skirmisher was about to hit your blind spot and he shielded you. Your complaint on that front was quick surface level—you admitted that you forgot to cover your blind spot. And then there was the week after that when you were in a domain, and he panicked yet again, generating a pillar directly in your line of sight. You'd taken a while to calm down from that one. And finally today. You were going to go out on your own for some practice, but Zhongli couldn't bear the thought of you getting injured, especially against Sumerian enemies you had no experience with. He promised he would only intervene when you told him to, but once again, he panicked and petrified all the enemies in a mile radius.

You understand that he's protective of you, but archons, he can be a little suffocating sometimes.

"I'm going to clean up and get changed," you say to him. You know he'll hover downstairs for a little while and give you your space before joining you in bed. But today, you don't want to be so easily swayed. Maybe a night on the couch is in order.

You grab a light cover from the closet and make your way downstairs. You meet Zhongli halfway, who's in his archon form. You frown to yourself. Zhongli's archon form finds itself displayed to you on various occasions, some of them as domestic as wanting to change a lightbulb, but there are times when it has significance. Like him wanting to release himself of some tension. Is he beating himself up over this that badly?

"Where are you going?" He asks, eyes laced with confusion.

"I think I'm going to stay on the couch tonight. I'm going to think about some things."

Zhongli doesn't seem entirely pleased with that, but he doesn't dare tell you otherwise. He has to give you your space, he reminds himself.

"Alright," he says softly. "Sleep well." He omits the 'love' he usually adds at the end, for fear of making you feel obliged to follow him up the stairs. Your feelings are always his priority. He knew what he was getting into with you, and he refuses for his ignorance or inability to control his own instinct to ruin things.

"You too."

He goes into the room you share before deciding that, if you're not joining him, he'd rather not be painfully reminded of your absence, so he changes course and heads to a spare room with his change of clothes. Usually, he talks to you as you wash your face, or you braid his hair for him before you get too tired, but there are no such intimacies happening today. You've been upset with him for a grand total of three hours and he already misses you.

He quiets his thoughts and crawls into bed. Bad call. The bed in this room wasn't chosen with his eight-foot-tall form in mind. He'll either have to shift back and deal with the repercussions or spend the entire night with half of his body hanging off the bed.

You can't sleep either. You never realised how much you relied on Zhongli's calming effect on you to sleep so peacefully. It's almost embarrassing how much you rely on him, even after a year of being together, to the point when you miss him when he's in a room away from you. You decide that if Zhongli doesn't come downstairs in the next ten minutes, you'll go to him. There's really no point in dragging this on any further. Your need to be a little bit sad has blossomed into feelings of loneliness, and you can't take the extra pain.

"yn?" You sit up, glancing at the staircase. There stands Zhongli, his hair untied, his pyjamas rumpled as if he'd been tossing and turning all night. "May I talk to you?"

Always so formal, you think, before standing up and approaching him.

"I know I'm often overbearing when it comes to your safety," he says softly, taking your hands in his. “And I know it can be frustrating for you. But I promise I will do whatever it takes to restrain myself from inciting this sort of complaint from you again.”

You should be focusing on his words, but you're more distracted by the fact he's on his knees before you, looking up at you with such an earnest gaze.

"Please forgive me," he says, kissing your hand lightly. You slide your hands out of his, and into the hair between his horns. He smiles blissfully, glancing at you through relief-filled eyes. “I can’t bear to spend the night without you by my side.”

"I can't stay mad at you," you sigh. "You're forgiven. You can get off your knees now."

Zhongli chuckles, standing up and pulling you into a hug. "I have a feeling you're trying to hide how much pleasure you found in that."

You roll your eyes and lead him upstairs by his hand. "I'm not hiding anything."

"Fine then, remind me of what I said." Zhongli crosses his arms, and you ignore him, sitting him down on the bed so you can reach his hair. He thinks your ritual of braiding his hair is for his sake, but in reality, if you don't do it, you end up with half of it in your mouth in the night.

"No need to dwell on the past," you quip, leaning down to kiss his neck softly. "All is forgiven, remember?"

a/n there's a whole section that got removed between reader being upstairs and coming back down, I'll fix it at someone point but i blame ao3

[theenderwalker]

re: DSMP "unsolved mysteries"

I've seen lots and lots of posts about the "unsolved mysteries" on the Dream SMP that focus on the TNT on top of the prison and the missing nukes. One of those I am very confident was implied canonically to be Ranboo, and the other I'm confident in my theory that it was him. Putting it under a read more bc its fuckin Long, but its worth the read! Word count: 2482

First: TNT at the prison.

This was implied to be Ranboo across a couple different streams, albiet subtly. I'm not surprised it went a little bit under the radar, but it's simply untrue to say we have no indication of who it could be.

This point doesn't hold true across everything of this nature, and if it did, it would be a dead giveaway, but I think it's relevant here for a couple reasons: Ranboo was online at the time of the explosions. Tommy tends to reflexively open the tab menu during his lore streams, almost as a nervous habit, so we saw multiple times that Ranboo was online, and would seen it have even if Tommy had chat turned off. Online at the time were Sam, Dream, Tommy, Foolish, and Ranboo. Foolish could not have been the culprit, as he was live at the time. In the case of this incident, it would have to be manually triggered by someone. Afterwards, when Tubbo was doing his "interrogations", his first bit of evidence was checking who was online when it happened. For these reasons, I feel this is a valid point for this incident.

That night, Ranboo was live on the SMP. This stream is notable for most people because it was when Ranboo did the odd code in his inventory, that read "He is in control" (or he is in control of me, if you count the to do list). Many people focused on this as a indication that Dream controlled Ranboo to set off the TNT, but this line of thinking was abandoned over time, especially as we saw the implication that the message was actually referring to the Enderwalk, talking about Ranboo stopping himself from doing anything to save Tommy from the prison during that week. However, other details in that stream also hinted it was Ranboo. Most notable to me was Ranboo reading chat or a dono asking him what he had done that day, and him answering that he had "probably gone mining," with some uncertainty. Later that same stream, he went down into his mines , found no ingots in the furnaces, and commented "maybe [he] didn't go mining", and that he wasn't sure what he had done that morning. This comes across to me as an indication that he had a blank spot in his memory that day--that he had been Enderwalking. He drew attention to this here, where he otherwise wouldn't, because it implies he was Enderwalking while he was visibly online, on Tommy's stream, where he would have been able to set off that TNT.

Ranboo was one of the only people on the server with a positive relationship with Dream, of any sort. It is true, especially at this time, that many people had negative opinons of Tommy, but Ranboo was the only one who didn't outright hate Dream... in his Enderwalk state. (with the sole exception of Punz, if you think the vault confrontation was staged, but that's definitely theory territory.) Dream has repeatedly stated that he finds Tommy "fun" and enjoys fucking with him. Tommy was locked in the prison after Ranboo could no longer visit, so assuming he has no supernatural means of communication with Dream (which is likely, as we have no real indication otherwise), he would have been acting without instruction. What better way to help Dream out than getting him his 'plaything' for at least a week?

Alternatively, you could frame it as a distraction or a break in/out attempt... which also doesn't make sense for anyone but Ranboo. Either way you frame it, Ranboo is the only person who makes sense without having to stretch their relationship with Dream into something it isn't.

Tubbo's investigation was the only real in character investigation into this incident we saw. He started out investigating people who were online, which is why I believe it's uniquely relevant to this incident. As I mentioned earlier, Foolish's alibi was that he was live. Ranboo's alibi was that he was mining. If you recall, the day Tommy was locked into the prison, Ranboo acknowledged that he did not know what he had done that afternoon, and that he distinctly had not been mining. This investigation didn't get much further than this because Tubbo refused to acknowledge that Ranboo could have done something like this. Because Ranboo has hidden his enderwalking so well, no one has any reason to believe he would do something to intentionally hurt one of his friends, or to help Dream.

Canonically, there isn't much evidence outside of Ranboo's comments to the audience because the characters absolutely cannot find out that it was Ranboo. He cannot be revealed as a traitor, narratively. Not yet, at least. So all of the evidence has to be directed towards the audience, which leads to it falling into subtext more often than not. The Enderwalk arc has the potential for an absolutely disastrous reveal at some point, where others discover exactly what he has done. It's unlikely that something like this will be confirmed explicitly until that point, but I believe the details I have explored above are foreshadowing, and will be explored again at this reveal. This point applies to the nuke, as well--perhaps even more so for reasons I will explore below.

Second: The missing nuke.

This one treads a little more into theory territory, but I think some of the subtextual implication is in this one too, it's just a bit further apart. Instead of being implied in streams the day of the incident and one week later, these implications are a little bit further out. I don't think I'm necessarily stretching by making these connections, though I can see why someone may think it's a stretch.

Ranboo was not online during this stream. This is why I think that's only conditionally applicable to the last point--Tubbo does not check tab habitually, and he had chat turned off intentionally. The tab list isn't necessarily canon to this stream. If we go by that, Jack Manifold is physically the only person who could have taken the nuke. The only other people online were Philza and Foolish, who were both live. Since this wasn't taken into consideration for the investigations, it's not relevant here.

Out of character, Jack took the nuke. Jack did not stream his perspective of this incident, he hung behind when Tubbo went ahead to start building the silo, and when the two came back together later, it was gone. This was intentionally done, as Jack usually streams his perspective for lore like this. If he had been the one to take the nuke, we likely would already know. His secret plans are not a secret from the audience, they are a secret from other characters--this leads me to think that in character, he did not take the nuke.

Very few people knew about the nukes, so we already start with a pretty small pool of suspects. One of these people was Ranboo. Even if Ranboo did seem to forget what Tubbo told him, the nuke would have been taken while he was Enderwalking--y'know, when he remembers everything, or at least remembers more.

The backbone of this theory, and the reason why I even began to consider it, is that Ranboo has a very solid and clear motivation to want the nuke. Ranboo has been helping Dream. The nukes were made specifically to be a deterrent/protection against Dream. If Ranboo takes one of the nukes, Dream now has access to that nuke, and the playing field has been re-balanced. Essentially, it's creating Mutually Assured Destruction between them. To take it one step further, only one of the nukes went missing. Tubbo was left with one nuke, and Ranboo and Dream have one nuke. Why not just take both? Well, leaving both parties with a nuke essentially ensures neither side will use it. It protects Dream, but it also helps to maintain (a semblance of) peace. Neither side can use their nuke without the other retaliating in kind. This leads to tensions, but prevents outright warfare from either side. It's not pretty, but it aligns with Ranboo's broader goals of keeping the peace.

So we've got the motivation, it makes sense. But that's not enough to make the claim on its own. What's the evidence?

This is a touch convoluted, so I get why it doesn't necessarily come up in relation to this as evidence often, but it's pretty solid to me. Especially compared to how vague most of Ranboo's subtext can get.

It's in the lessons! The highest number of lesson we were given was 94, though when Ranboo was repeating it outloud, he said 93. He later clarified saying 93 was intentional. This stream was on April 23rd. 93 days earlier, to the day, was January 20th--the day Dream was locked in the prison. 93 lessons for 93 days. If we take this to imply the lessons were daily, starting when Dream was locked in the prison, each lesson corresponds to a specific day. March 26th was the day the nuke went missing. 67 days from January 20th is March 27th, the day after the nuke disappeared without a trace. Neither Jack nor Tubbo had any real leads on the nuke. Lesson 67, the day after the nuke was stolen... "Leave no evidence of what you have helped with." This EXACT thing is why the nuke is so hard to pin down. There was no real evidence left. This lesson lining up so closely to the nuke's disappearance is not a coincidence. Further, at this point Ranboo no longer had contact with Dream. He had locked himself out of the prison and couldn't visit. If the lessons are daily, the things he writes down are things he's figured out for himself. The lesson being the day after the nuke was stolen makes sense, when framed like that. He stole the nuke, left no evidence, and wrote that down because it worked.

All of the hints/foreshadowing for the eventual reveal of where the nuke disappeared to has to be done in retrospect, and it has to be either from Ranboo, or from some other source that knows more than the characters. Which leads into my second bit of evidence: the Tubbo Texts. Across like, a week of streams (starting on April Fools Day), spooky half transparency cryptic text appeared on screen periodically, that c!Tubbo was unaware of. Those texts have never been explored in canon, it seems that none of the characters are aware of them or of their contents. So they are posed directly to the audience. The second one in particular stands out to me here:

"Quick, I don't have much time. Stay away from the North. A strange metal weapon washed up. It poisons the nature, the water. No it's not. That's it, we are leaving."

The 'strange metal weapon' seems to refer to the nuke, the poison being the radiation. Geographical direction is rarely paid any mind on the server, but north is distinctly the direction of Techno, Phil, and Ranboo's house. I think I remember Ranboo telling Sam he lives "up north" while trying to visit the prison. The arctic commune is the only notable northward location. The nuke disappeared, and reappeared in the north, in the direction of Ranboo's home. The rest of the texts refer to the north as well. We don't know where Ranboo's base of operations is in the Enderwalk, but we can assume he has at least one, and we can assume the nuke is hidden there, if he has taken it. If Ranboo has taken the nuke, it makes sense for it to be in the North.

Ranboo has proven he can take things without any evidence left behind. Remember his first beacon, that disappeared like, a day after he set it up? He never tracked it down, just replaced it. Within a couple days, he made a comment about his pickaxe durability being suspiciously low... maybe because he was using the stolen beacon to mine far from his home base so it wasn't noticeable that he had been mining. That's beside the point. I mean this to say, he knows how to take and hide things, he knows how to keep secrets, and he almost definitely has at least one secret base we've never seen onscreen.

So maybe Ranboo took the nuke, maybe he set off the TNT at the prison, that's cool, but why have they abandoned the plotlines? Why have we never gotten more explicit answers? Why won't they come back to it?

Ultimately, it seems a lot of these plans have been pushed back and delayed for one reason or another. Beyond that, an untimely reveal of either of these things to other characters would be a huge letdown. The arc seems to be building to a catastrophically large reveal, and each thing that gets revealed before then makes it much less impactful. Keeping it subtle towards the audience, while still offering some hints, stops a certain degree of the chat spoiling "metagaming" we see sometimes, that makes some streamers have to fully ignore their chats during lore streams.

This part is very much my own opinion, but I don't believe the missing nuke plotline will be resurfacing until after Dream is out of prison. Ranboo has no reason to reveal he has it until it will be put to use, either as a nuke or as a threat, and that won't happen til Dream is out of the prison and the nuke is in his hands instead.

The TNT on top of the prison will be an insanely gratifying reveal if it comes out with the rest of the enderwalk stuff. Any of this taken out of that context just kinda falls flat. So people know Ranboo set off the TNT, or know he has the nuke. How does that propel the plot? Ranboo won't do much of anything about it. People will distrust Ranboo, sure, but they won't know the depth of the issue, and that just makes the reveal frustrating. It will be revealed in time, I'm sure, but I think the enderwalk arc has to reach a climax first, or it's just disappointing.

I agree with the general frustration that these plotlines appear to be dropped or greatly delayed, but it's a symptom of a bigger pacing issue than solving either 'mystery' on its own will fix. And the answers aren't as obfuscated as they first may seem, it just takes a little digging!

[sonsoroi]

Hey, great questions! I’m happy to tackle them with you, but I can’t necessarily present you with a neat and tidy answer to everything. The Bible is full of mystery and contradiction, perhaps because God wants us to turn the stories over and over in our minds, to ponder them in private and discuss them in groups, for our whole lifetimes. (Probably why he named his chosen people “Wrestles-With-God”!)

Disclaimer: I’m not a religious professional or expert of any kind, just a random person.

So let’s look at some of the passages that you’re likely referring to here. First, about children not being responsible for their parents’ sins: “I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.” (Exodus 20) This actually seems to say that children are answerable for their parents’ bad choices, that having one great-grandparent who liked to party means that you’re going to have a miserable life of punishment. Sounds a little harsh.

But maybe that’s not exactly what God meant, because later on we see God correcting this belief: “What do you people mean by quoting this proverb about the land of Israel: ‘The parents eat sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge’? As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, you will no longer quote this proverb in Israel. For everyone belongs to me, the parent as well as the child—both alike belong to me. The one who sins is the one who will die.” (Ezekiel 18) Here God says, what do you mean God lays the consequences of parents’ choices on their children? Here he says, that’s not how it works: everyone is responsible for his own choices and will reap his own rewards.

When I see apparent conflicts like this in the Bible, I like to think that people were misunderstanding God’s meaning in one passage, so he gave us the second passage to counterbalance the first one and adjust our understanding. The Ezekiel passage warns us against interpreting the Exodus passage so strictly as to mean that, if a parent ate sour food, the children would taste the tartness. The conflict challenges us to think harder about the Exodus passage and what else it could mean. As an example, perhaps these two passages together mean that, while our sins do have serious consequences for our children such as teaching them bad examples and unhelpful ways of coping with stress which they will carry with them into adulthood and pass on to their children in turn unless something changes, God does not administer a 1:1 punishment for every sin of an ancestor. These consequences are more like the natural consequences of sin, rather than an external punishment assigned from above.

You may have noticed that so far we are talking about parents and children, not male fathers and sons specifically. That’s not an accident: these passages aren’t meant to be about males only.

Turning to the pain in childbirth question, let’s take a look at Genesis 3: “To the woman [God] said, “I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be [either toward or against - the meaning is debated] your husband, but he shall rule over you.” And to Adam he said, “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

So yes, one passage in the Bible does explain pain in childbirth as a punishment for Eve’s sin, but in the next breath it explains manual labor as a punishment for Adam’s sin. Looks like both Eve and Adam will suffer pain as a consequence. So it seems to me that there isn’t really a sex/gender discrimination thing happening here - both sexes are being punished, and we know, because we’ve read ahead a few thousand years, that both sexes will continue to sin and pass on suboptimal habits and behaviors to our children.

Maybe our inability to avoid picking up sinful habits and patterns from our parents and the culture around us is why some say we need to be born again - to enter into a new and perfect heavenly family where we sit at the feet of God and learn from him and absorb his ways instead of the ways of the world.

Thanks for these fun questions and the opportunity to wrestle with the stories!

Question for anyone on Tumblr with a good knowledge of the Bible and Christian beliefs:

Isn't there something in the Bible about children no longer bring responsible for the sins of their fathers?

Follow up question: is it true that the Bible explains the pain women feel in childbirth and during menstruation as a consequence of Eve committing the original sin?

So men aren't responsible for heinous actions committed by their own dads, but women are paying with intense pain and sometimes their lives for something one woman did thousands of years ago?

I promise I'm not trying to argue, bait anyone or offend anyone. I am angry though.

Is there any way to explain this without saying that God loves men and hates women or at least doesn't care about us?

[robininthelabyrinth]

"The Untamed", but Jiggy has a white cat whom he tells everything.- May or may not be sentient or 'spiritual' like Fairy in the book. (From an idea I've thrown around with my friend @yraelviii)

ao3

He found the cat in Qinghe.

“What are you doing here?” Meng Yao said, crouching down to try to scoop out the little handful of white fluff underneath his cabinet only for it to bare its infantile fangs and him and hiss, moving its butt around as if it thought his fingers ought to be running in fear from its fearsome pounce. “How did you even get in here?”

The cat – a kitten, really, small and scrawny, dirty and covered in ashes as if it had just run out of a forge, but no less passionate for it – squirmed in his hand as he picked it up.

“Who owns you?” Meng Yao asked, and the cat hissed viciously as if to shout no one owns me!

Something about that echoed in Meng Yao’s heart – no one owns me, he thought – and so he fished up some extra meat from his plate, filled a small platter with water, and used the sleeve of an old outfit that needed to be taken to be laundered anyway to wipe the grey ash off of the cat’s white fur while it was distracted by sniffing suspiciously at the food and water that it ultimately declined to consume.

“Just this once,” he told it.

-

Doing good work will often only bring you more work, Meng Yao reflected, and so it was with the cat as much as with anything else. He still didn’t know how the cat managed to get into his rooms, and he sometimes dwelled on paranoid suspicions that there were hiding-holes in his chambers designed to allow others to spy on him, just as there had been in certain rooms in the brothel – though even at his worst moment of uncertainty and doubt he didn’t really think so. He knew that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s style even if Meng Yao had been someone important enough to care about, and anyway he didn’t question his own ability to discovery such a thing if it had really existed. He’d checked.

At any rate, however it kept getting into his rooms, the cat was now a regular presence there, lurking around.

It didn’t want to be petted and greeted all attempts to feed it with utter disdain, but despite its general standoffishness it seemed to like being in the same vicinity as Meng Yao, enjoying nothing more than to settle haughtily by the window in his room and watch over Meng Yao as if it thought he might get lost without its supervision.

Meng Yao thought it was probably someone’s pet gotten lost, or maybe even just a feral cat from outside (Qinghe had a fair number of them) that had figured out that it could access the good life by going inside, but it was very hard to sincerely worry over the ill-intentions of a cat, and he was already very busy.

If he didn’t need to care for it, then it wasn’t adding to his troubles. Let the cat sit where it liked!

Meng Yao had found that life in Qinghe was both different and similar to life in Yunping, the only life he had to compare it to, and it amused him to think of the great and righteous Nie sect as an overly large brothel, with the main difference being that they sold their strength where women sold their bodies. In both places there needed to be order, someone to sort things out and tell people where to put things and what to do; in both places Meng Yao, with his quick mind and excellent memory, his sense of understanding people and anticipating their needs, was utterly invaluable in arranging such things.

He had, admittedly, expected it to take a little more time to climb up to the top – the only person he couldn’t understand in this place was Nie Mingjue, who was far too easy to deceive and smiled at him like he really thought they were friends instead of just being master and servant, who appreciated his talents and told him so, who shrugged off his mistakes and had faith that he would do better, who ignored his status instead of lording it over him the way Meng Yao had expected him to. Even when he was angry, when he shouted and slammed his hands against things, Nie Mingjue never once mentioned Meng Yao’s background, and the only things he seemed to hold against him were his own mistakes.

Meng Yao still didn’t know why Nie Mingjue would act so rashly as to promote someone he had just met to a position as high as viceroy, much less actually trust him, but it didn’t really matter. However quixotic his method of reaching a place of power, he was here and his next task was to keep his place until he’d made a reputation for himself.

Part of that he did through his work, good critical work that people needed and which had always won him gratitude even if not respect, but the other part of it was in cultivation. That was the way in which the Nie sect was not like a brothel: you couldn’t just be clever, you couldn’t even just be beautiful - to be respected, you had to cultivate.

Not that wanting to cultivate was a problem for Meng Yao.

He’d always had a memory like a sponge and a body that obeyed his every wish, his childhood of mimicking the beautiful dances of his mother and her ‘sisters’ serving him well in transitioning to learning the sword even if he was years behind everyone else; his mother had bought a thousand fake cultivation manuals for him and he’d learned them all, each one of them more useless than the next, and now that he was here in the cultivation world at long last, he was finally, finally, finally able to cultivate for real.

Using Nie sect methods, of course, even if that wasn’t what he really wanted.  

He’d started as soon as he could when he arrived, endlessly grateful that the Nie sect provided training sabers without cost, and he’d snuck one away back to his room so that he could practice on his own time, knowing it would take a long time to form his golden core. He’d debated with himself for a long time as to whether or not it was worth it to invest in a real one – if the training sabers were free, then real proper Nie sabers were somehow three times as expensive as the swords you could buy in the marketplace, and you could only put in a deposit without any notion of when you’d actually get the saber, apparently subject to the contrary dispositions of the spiritual weaponsmiths that made them.

In the end he decided to go for it more or less on a whim, emptying out his hard-built savings to place the order, even though he knew he would one day need to discard whatever they made for him in favor of a sword.

The Jin sect would accept him one day. He would make them.

(If the Nie sect cultivation style was good for one thing, he thought as he went through endless drills of slashing and thrusting, it was that you could work out your anger while you were doing it. There was nothing quite like imagining the face of someone you hated and then bringing down the practice saber in a vicious slash, and oh, but Meng Yao hated so very many people.)

The cat liked watching him train most of all, although Meng Yao suspected it was because seeing him jump around panting was funnier than watching him sit at his desk and gracefully write out letters. It would occasionally start purring, a sound a little like a crackling fire, and eventually Meng Yao got into the habit of going to run his fingers through its fur as a reward for himself when he successfully completed a training sequence.

After a while, he started talking to it, too.

“That commander,” Meng Yao said as he brought the training saber down. His real saber was still on the order, probably stalled purposefully; the smith assigned the task was probably one of the people that thought they were too good to deal with him because of who his mother was, and it’d all been a waste of money in the end. Completely a waste, even if Nie Mingjue had smiled so happily at him when he’d heard about Meng Yao placing the order, his eyes warm and soft and how had that man survived so long in this wretched world of politics and pain, didn’t he know he would always be deceived and betrayed?

Why should he be the exception to the rule, when everyone else had to suffer?

Meng Yao threw away the unhelpful thoughts and thrust the saber forward, as if piercing his invisible opponent straight through the chest.

“That commander.” He minutely corrected his form and stabbed again, this time as if piercing through the belly: a gut wound, a slow and awful way to die. “He’ll regret what he said to me.”

The cat’s purring intensified.

Meng Yao briefly had the wild thought that it approved.

“I just –” Another thrust. “– need to figure out –” An overhead slash. “– how.”

-

Meng Yao ended up taking the cat with him when he left Qinghe.

It probably was someone’s pet and he was opening himself up to a charge of stealing, a charge he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against now that he no longer had Nie Mingjue’s protection –

(Nie Mingjue who had wept tears and blood at what Meng Yao had done, betrayed at last after having finally encountered a deception he could not swallow, who had banished him from the Unclean Realm even after everything Meng Yao had done for him – who had, despite it all, still hidden an entire bag of gold and Meng Yao’s favorite Qinghe snacks in Meng Yao’s things with a short note claiming that it was for unpaid wages. As if Meng Yao had ever let a single pay period go by without claiming exactly what he was due. As if Nie Mingjue still cared despite throwing him out, as if he worried about how Meng Yao might live, as if he hadn’t given up the privilege of caring about things like that – )

He didn’t really care.

He wanted the cat, so he took it. It was the least Qinghe could do for him.

The cat spent all its time in his new rooms in the hotels he stayed out as he traveled: in his bedroom and study, the little gardens that, when available, he liked to use to train in the mornings and evenings. It would even follow him when he took a bath (although that was with great reluctance on the part of the cat, and only if Meng Yao were taking an especially long time in the bath and the cat was worried he’d drowned, yowling angrily as if it could revive him through the power of its voice). If it had once belonged to someone else, it now belonged to Meng Yao, and Meng Yao didn’t give away anything that was his.

“I’ve made worse mistakes,” he said defiantly to the cat, which blinked at him from its side of the carriage he’d used some of the gold to rent. “It’s only that I don’t want to review them in order to think of which ones those might be.”

The cat got up, stretched its back, and walked over to butt its head against Meng Yao’s hand before turning and going back to its spot by the window.

Meng Yao wasn’t sure if that was a sign of agreement or if the cat just thought there was a treat in his hand. Not that the cat had ever accepted treats from his hand.

He still wasn’t sure what the cat ate, actually, but he was sure the cat would make its feelings known now that they weren’t somewhere with a dependable kitchen, though he supposed there was always the possibility that it would start picking up hunting.

“Wen Chao said that they’d aimed at the Cloud Recesses,” Meng Yao said, deciding not to dwell on the things of the past. There was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do about Nie Mingjue’s betrayed eyes or the snacks he hadn’t even known Nie Mingjue had known he’d liked, about the hand-me-down guans and trinkets that Nie Huaisang had insisted were part of his wardrobe when he’d helped him pack even though he knew Nie Huaisang still wore them sometimes, about the fact that he should have been ordered to take the Nie sect’s braids out of his hair when he passed by the gates for the final time since he didn’t deserve them anymore but the two disciples there had just nodded at him and let him pass without a word – nothing to do about the saber he’d ordered, still on the list to be made, and maybe if he made something of himself out in the world alone he would one day come back to claim it at last. “That’s where we’re going now. Lan Xichen might be in danger. I have to help him.”

The cat made a sound like it was considering hacking up a hairball.

“He was kind to me,” Meng Yao said, feeling defensive. “The only one who never judged me –”

Since he’d decided to forget about Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, wiping it out of his mind as if it had never been, that was even true.

“– and he’s a proper gentleman, a good man. I’ll help him.”

That Lan Xichen was also a powerful man was something he wished he didn’t think of, but he couldn’t help the way he was.

“After I help him, I’ll figure out what to do next,” Meng Yao said, like a liar, and the cat looked at him like he was stupid – which he was being, because of course he’d already planned out what to do next, figured out his next move, and there was no point in lying to a cat about it. Meng Yao had skills that were only useful in management, not labor, and the only thing he left to sell was information about the sect from which he’d just been ejected. “No one owns me, right? Let it be the Wen sect.”

The cat did not purr, but it didn’t condemn him, either.

That would have to do.

-

It was a good thing that Meng Yao’s cat was self-sufficient, he thought, because he had neither the time nor the stomach to feed it during his time at the Wen sect.

If he had thought he had worked hard at the Nie sect, he now knew differently: at least there the worst he had faced from his colleagues had been disdain and not outright murder attempts, back-stabbing and undercutting to try to show off to Wen Ruohan, and all the while the man himself demanded more and more from him without the slightest care for his own well-being. He was grist to the mill for Wen Ruohan, no matter how much the Chief Cultivator enjoyed having another man’s prized deputy as his own – Wen Ruohan might had been very nearly driven insane by the Yin Metal, but he still remembered old grudges – and it was night and day away from Nie Mingjue’s reliance on him that was based on trust, rather than reluctantly satisfied suspicion and paranoia.

Meng Yao had hidden the cat as best as he could from the start, thinking rightfully that people would try to use it against him, and to his relief it seemed that no one else had yet laid eyes on it and identified it as his own, despite its white fur standing out like a beacon to his sight. Unfortunately there were some people that had managed to figure out that he had a cat, even if they didn’t lay eyes on it themselves, and he’d had more than a few incidents in which someone had left poisoned meat out on the floor by his room in order to catch it.

The cat seemed as unimpressed with that as anything else.

Instead, the cat seemed to have taken up hunting as its pastime. It brought back the corpses of small birds, the Yin Metal-infused little spies, full of resentful energy, that Wen Ruohan had developed for his sons to use. At first Meng Yao worried about the cat getting somehow poisoned by them, but time went on and it seemed to be fine, even thriving. It had grown into a proper cat now, no longer a kitten, and it enjoyed licking its white and shining fur until it was gleaming.

It didn’t like Meng Yao’s training sessions as much – he trained with a sword now, two-faced just like him, and in a dozen different styles, Wen and Jiang and Jin, always Jin – so sometimes Meng Yao would go back to doing the old Nie sect style again, knowing the cat would recognize the familiar movements, and it was a surefire way to get the cat to purr.

The Nie sect style was also still the best for getting out anger, all aggression and sharp movements, and Meng Yao still had a lot of anger inside of him. He was starting to think he always would.

At least here in the Nightless City he could kill the people he hated, as long as he did so in low and dirty ways that didn’t trouble Wen Ruohan or interfere with his plans, and yet every time he did it, he felt no relief, only a vile and wretched stickiness that came, perhaps, from that awful Yin Metal that he had schemed over yet couldn’t seem to escape.

The cat didn’t like the Yin Metal one bit. It hissed and scratched, and in one notable incident seemed like it was going to pounce on it directly if Meng Yao hadn’t caught it mid-leap and shoved it into his sleeve before anyone had noticed it.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” Meng Yao told the cat next time he trained, using the soft sword he’d hidden away for a time of need to hack and slash in the Nie way, which didn’t work with a soft sword at all but which made him feel strangely better. He was currently imagining Wen Ruohan’s head underneath a saber, his head and the heads of all those corpse puppets he’d created. “I will cut you loose if you do that.”

The cat rolled onto its back and showed its soft and fluffy belly, which only the truly unwise would seek to lay a hand on – Meng Yao still had scars – and Meng Yao rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “No one owns you, not even me. But do me a favor and don’t screw this up for me. Not when I’m so close.”

Lan Xichen had been accepting his letters and feeding them to Nie Mingjue, who trusted as blindly as he ever did. Meng Yao wished sometimes that he didn’t, that he would learn, that he would put some defenses up on that stupid reckless heart of his, but on the other hand it suited his plans very well that he didn’t.

Soon, he thought. Soon.

Soon he’d know what he needed to do.

-

“Now he chooses not to trust people,” Meng Yao complained to his cat. “Now. Now!”

The cat purred.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao (damnit, Jin Guangyao, he had a new name, he was Jin Guangyao now) couldn’t understand Nie Mingjue’s reluctance to trust him – fool me once, fool me twice, but three times seemed to be the other man’s breaking point – and in some ways he understood it more than ever now that he had been accepted back by the Jin sect, clothed in the gold he’d always deserved to wear.

Jin Guangshan hadn’t lost much in the war, not like the other sects, and the second it was over he was already scheming. Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao – was pulled right into the thick of it at once, less for his spying capability than for his sheer disposability, the fact that Jin Guangshan wasn’t willing to burden his pure and righteous heir with black matters that he was more than happy to taint the son of his whore with. With Nie Mingjue, general and hero of the Sunshot Campaign, representing the only real threat to the Jin sect’s domination, even if he didn’t want to be, Jin Guangyao was bound to be in opposition to him.

It made sense for Nie Mingjue not to trust him.

It irritated him regardless.

Still, lack of trust or no, Nie Mingjue had succumbed to Lan Xichen’s impassioned arguments and had agreed to swear brotherhood with him, even if Jin Guangyao suspected that Nie Mingjue’s primary motivation was to keep a better eye on him and scold him the way he did Nie Huaisang. It would be politically beneficial to Jin Guangyao to be tied in such a way to Nie Mingjue – it would suit his own desires as well, though that was less important – and so he had of course agreed as well, and he was planning on going to their oath ceremony in the outfit he had chosen for himself, gold from neck to foot, a sword he’d taken from the treasury since no one would order him one of his own, and a hat on his head like the ones his mother so admired to make up for his lack of height and to hide the Nie sect braids he still habitually wore underneath.

An old habit, and one he really ought to break, really. Ideally before Nie Mingjue figured it out and told him to cut it out.

There was a knock on the door, a familiar pounding, and the cat looked up, intrigued, even as Jin Guangyao sighed voicelessly to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long.

Perhaps it would be better to make a clean cut in this way, too.

He opened the door.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he greeted, thinking to himself that it would only be a few more hours before he was entitled to call the man da-ge as if they were nearly equals and how strange that would be. “Can this humble one help you?”

“Can I come in?” Nie Mingjue asked gruffly, his eyes lingering on Jin Guangyao’s uncovered and Nie-braided hair, just as he might have expected. Had expected.

Jin Guangyao nodded and stepped back, allowing him in, and closed the door behind him. “Could I get the sect leader some refreshments?” he asked politely, but Nie Mingjue seemed to have come to a stop right in the entranceway, surprise written all over his features. “Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie Mingjue was staring at Jin Guangyao’s cat.

“…Sect Leader Nie?”

Did Nie Mingjue not like cats? There were an endless number of feral cats in Qinghe, so it seemed implausible, and yet, here Nie Mingjue was, looking at the cat like he’d never seen such a thing before in its life.

Of course, at that exact moment, Jin Guangyao’s cat, the traitor, hopped off its pillow and went straight to rub itself against Nie Mingjue’s leg, purring like a little maniac.

Jin Guangyao stared at it, feeling thoroughly betrayed by what he would have previously said was his thoroughly unsociable cat, who had taken years to warm up to him enough to give him half the attention it was now bestowing freely on Nie Mingjue. Was this the heavens deciding to mock him for his earlier betrayals?

Alternatively, Nie Mingjue might just be very good with cats, which Jin Guangyao could believe. Perhaps he even carried in his pockets some of the Qinghe vine that cats were said to be so enamored of, although certainly Meng Yao’s cat had never once before shown an interest in such things before.

“…what’s its name?” Nie Mingjue croaked, voice hoarse. He was still staring fixedly at the cat, looking as though his entire world had shattered around him. He hadn’t even looked so unsettled when Jin Guangyao had so viciously mocked him at the Nightless City, and at the time he’d thought he was going to die and be turned into a corpse puppet to murder all his loved ones.

Jin Guangyao was tempted to say something rude or facetious, something like ‘I just call it Cat, why, do you name random cats?’, but the cat had been a good companion of his for a long time now and he couldn’t do that to it, even if he was currently planning on taking an extra long bath to force the cat to miserably linger by the door to the bathing room, screeching in unhappiness at the wet, but bravely (if grumpily) supervising him to make sure he didn’t drown.

“Hensheng,” he said, because that was in fact what he’d named it – it meant hatred for life, which was not exactly an auspicious name but which had stuck from the very moment he had thought it up – and waited to hear Nie Mingjue’s judgment. “It’s not normally quite so sticky,” he added in an attempt to save some face. “With most people.”

“Well, it’s me, that’s different,” Nie Mingjue said, and maybe the man really was just the human incarnation of the plant cats liked so much. Meng Yao really wouldn’t put it past him. “You...you cultivate in the Nie sect style? Still?”

Jin Guangyao blinked, surprised by the change in subject.

“Yes,” he said, a little hesitantly. He cultivated many styles now, although it was always the Jin sect style when he was in public. But he still had all the anger in his belly to vent – even more so now than before, anger at his father, anger at Madame Jin, anger at his brother born to a blessed life, anger at all those disciples that sneered at him even after he’d been legitimized, anger, anger, anger – and the Nie sect style had always been the best for that.

And anyway, it made the cat purr.

“Is that a problem, Sect Leader Nie?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Nie Mingjue said, and when he turned to look at him his eyes were warm and soft the way they’d been all the way before the fiasco with Xue Yang, shimmering with tears of joy and a smile that seemed to come straight from his heart, the foolish easily deceived man. It was so unexpected that Jin Guangyao actually took a full two steps back, his jaw dropping a little. “I’m happy for you. Very happy.”

He actually wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, dashing away the tears.

“You should come back to the Unclean Realm to pick it up when the brotherhood ceremony is done,” he added nonsensically. “I can’t imagine how long it’s been waiting for you.”

“…what?” Jin Guangyao said. “Pick up what?”

“Hensheng,” Nie Mingjue said, which – what? “Your saber. Hensheng.”

His saber?

The saber he’d never gotten, having been banished from the Unclean Realm before the order was finished, the one he’d spent all his savings on just in putting in the deposit, the one he’d never actually finished paying off? He remembered it, of course, and sometimes it still itched under his skin that he’d never gotten what he was owed because everything that was owed to him he deserved to get in the end. But…

“Hensheng is my cat,” he said.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “That’s not a cat,” he said. “That’s a saber spirit.”

Jin Guangyao’s gaze dropped down to the cat.

The cat that never seemed to eat anything or drink anything, that never once fell for the poisoned meat or accepted his offers of treats, that no one in the Nightless City had ever seen with their own eyes; the cat that could consistently get into his rooms despite there being no holes for it to enter, as if it had simply passed through the walls like a ghost.

Like a spirit.

The cat, which purred whenever Jin Guangyao practiced the Nie sect forms, swinging a saber with rage in his heart.

The cat to which he had confessed all his anger, all his frustration, all his rage, all the feelings he never gave to any human being around him – the sabers of the Nie sect thrived on such emotions, those feelings that encouraged them and strengthened them, developing the saber spirits that made each one of them a spiritual weapon unlike any other, with power and rage infused into the very blade.

Saber spirits, which only those born into the Nie sect or adopted early, raised in their ways, one of them, could form.

“A saber spirit?” Jin Guangyao said weakly, and his knees suddenly didn’t seem strong enough to hold him; he swayed and Nie Mingjue stepped forward quickly, catching him by the shoulders to steady him. “I cultivated a saber spirit?”

“The saber is back in the Unclean Realm,” Nie Mingjue said, not without kindness. “It was only ever waiting for you to pick it up once you developed the spirit, so that you could introduce the two.”

“It hasn’t been – I would have thought it would have been thrown away, or repurposed –”

“It’s a Nie saber, Meng Yao. It won’t obey anyone else ever again, not in this life; it is yours, yours alone. When one day you die, it will be buried with honor in our saber halls, just like all the others.”

The cat looked up at him and purred.

No one owns me, Jin Guangyao thought – the first thing the cat had said to him, and he’d always had a good understanding of what the cat wanted from the very first. No one had owned that wild spirit then, but it had stayed by his side, at first from curiosity and later from habit, and it was his now.

His, and no one else’s.

“Will you come pick it up?” Nie Mingjue asked, hope in his eyes. “Will you come home, if only for a little while?”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao said. “Yes, I will.”

-

Later, Jin Guangshan told his son to kill Nie Mingjue, that fool who trusted too much and didn’t know when he was being deceived, finding him in his rigidity and righteousness too much of a burden on the power he planned to wield.

Jin Guangyao bowed as deep as he could, a smile on his lips, saying nothing, and the next day, when Jin Guangshan went to the brothel as he always did, drinking tea served by his son the way he always did, he never did figure out why his heart had stopped.

(The saber Jin Guangyao began to wear openly after the funeral – a gift from his sworn brother, he said with a smile, in remembrance of his time at the Nie sect – purred in pure satisfaction.)

[manonamora-if]

Is there an easy way to find the average playthrough word count for a twine game?

Hi Anon!

Unfortunately, nope.

I am assuming that you are a creator, wanting to find how to get your average word count. If you are just a player, some creators may include it in the description of their game or in their blog or just as an average play time. All this is obviously an indicator as different player will see different amount of words and people have different reading speed.

Twine only gives you the total amount of words/characters in story passages (not widget or code-only Special Passages) and that includes the code too. See example below from one version of TTTT:

At that point, I had coded probably 10k-ish of story proper (maybe even less), but the word count took into account codex passages and the code for menus.

TOTAL WORD COUNT

To get a total wordcount excluding code, I just use my writing file total world count (or the word count of the folder with all coded passages) and just round it.

AVERAGE PLAYTHROUGH WORD COUNT

As far as I know, there is not special code to help creators find the average word count during playthroughs (though if someone creates it and find that code, SEND IT MY WAY PLEASE!). So it has to be done manually.

What most creators having this word count public do (afaik) is play their game, do a general route, copy-paste the words shown on the screen into a document and get the word count of that document. It is probably the easiest way to get it.

Now if you have beta readers, you could ask them to do the same as written above, giving you a larger sampler and a more 'true' average.

Otherwise, here are some ways of getting an average word count:

Play the Shortest and Longest possible route, get the word count for each, and take the mean between the two. May note be accurate if there are more longer rounds than shorter rounts.

Play all (main) routes and get the mean of all playthroughs counts.

Play your project multiple times, making sure the choice taken are random, and take the mean of those word counts.

Be lazy like me and only do one route (because who has the time...) that you would consider going through the most important checks and take that value as a general indication.

Hope this helps. Sorry for giving you extra work :/

[lovingnerdmaker]

What's The Magic Word?

Albus Dumbledore x Male Reader

Warnings: Dub-Con, Manipulation, SMUT

"How are you feeling?" His voiced echoed through the skin of my back, lips gently marking my skin, slowly but with an unrivaled passion I'd ever experience.

It was hard to think through the foggy haze, senses on fire as I knuckled the crimson sheets beneath me, I felt so full of him, borderline painfully but I wouldn't stop him, not when he had begged so desperately for me.

It had been a rough year for Albus, his Sister and Mother had died, his former lover had abandoned all contact and his Brother outright disowned him, it must've been enough to drive him insane, at least insane enough to wallow down in a back-alley pub and drink himself into a stupor, I'd never admit to him that seeing such an atteactive man there, teary-eyed and buzzed, sent my heart into a spiral.

I remembered asking if he was alright, if he needed a lift somewhere, but through the tears, he politely rejected the offer, auburn hair swaying over his shoulders.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked nursing what I thought was fire whiskey in his hands "do you believe people can be forgiven for their actions?"

"...." I didn't know how to respond, how could I respond to such a topic, he took the silence with a scoff.

"Sorry, just hating myself right now I'll just go-"

"I do." I had said it so suddenly, so firmly, it surprised me so. "I do believe people can be forgiven, so long as they understand the consequences of their actions." I watched his glassy dazed eyes begin to sparkle as he stared at you, the wrinkles of a smile pushing up the fine hairs of a blossoming moustache, he silently offered the seat next to him and you took it thankfully. He talked quietly about what had happened, and how he believed it all to be his fault, how his ignorance and inexperience had swallowed him like quicksand.

My hand lingered over his as the tears began to flow and I had expected him to flinch away, but he didn't, quite the opposite and just hugged me tightly against himself and cried into my shoulder. His hair smelt of fruits and ginger, and I felt guilty for abusing the proximity and circumstance to draw in his scent. I didn't say anything more, just paid for his drinks and left with the man in my arms.

"W-What are you doing?" He asked through a hoarse voice.

"Do you have a place to stay for the night?"  I whispered into his ears and he positively stretched into my touch.

"I hadn't planned that far ahead, no." I hummed in response, walking over to my car and setting him onto the hood to grab the keys.

"There's a hotel not far from here, it's no paradise resort but it should be enough-" I had my key in the manual lock when he grabbed your hand instantly, trembling softly as he pressed himself against me and leaned in to whisper.

"S-Sorry but can I stay with you tonight? I'd like to talk more with you, maybe get to know you better." His somehow slender and fair toned fingers grazed my shoulder and neck, awkwardly turning my gaze his way, the look in his eyes hiding more than a simple chat "please?"

"I don't want to take advantage of you, not like this." I held his shoulder in place with his forehead against mine, the warmth of his breath fanned against my face.

"I-I know I sound like a creep right now, but you're the only I'd ever told that too, and I-" he cut himself off and slowly let his hands fall from you "you're right, this would be bad wouldn't it?" He muttered it under his breath and stepped back "maybe the hotel would be a good idea, then I can contact someone, I'll get a cab don't worry...." He turned to walk away but this voice in the back of my head told me that this was a mistake.

"Albus wait...."He stopped to look over at me, "if we do this, just promise that this won't be a regular thing, I'm not prostituting myself for a guilt tripper."

"Y-You mean that? That you'll..." He looked between us and I nodded, rolling my head towards the car.

The drive home was quiet, not quite happy and comfortable, but quiet at least. I took him inside and pressed him against the shut door, peppering his pulse with little kisses and grazing teeth. He shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, moaning from the feeling, with his hands in your hair and your name on his tongue. If this was supposed to affect you, then it was working.

You peeled him off the door and took him to bed, the crimson sheets fading under the moonlight as he softly fell back, his hands tremble for the buttons but a gentle swat from me was enough of a response, one by one they popped off and soon his chest, sprinkled with light hairs and a happy trail, was exposed to the moon.

"Look at you, such a rich colour..." fingertips grazed his chest and he moaned softly in response, all while mumbling pleas and begs "shh, shh, it's alright now" He exposed his neck so I pressed open kisses to the skin and ear "you're safe here." I tugged off my own clothes till it was just us in underwear, the outline of his erection showcasing his desires, I pressed my own against his and lazily rolled my hips.

"Nnngh!" His hands shot up to my waist to hold me in place "I-I had an idea, you said it would be wrong if you took me drunk right?" I nodded as he reached up to grab my cheeks "s-so would it be less wrong if I took the lead?"

"That's probably worse actually," I chuckled while holding his hands "and if you wanted to top, you can."

"A-are you sure?" I pressed kisses to his wrists and palms and rolled over so he was above me now. "Well then, what's our magic word then, darling. I can call you that yeah?"

"Don't see why not" I answered shuffling into a comfortable spot "Well then how about.....'Red, Yellow, Green?'" He chuckled quietly, running a hand through my hair.

"There's beauty in simplicity, and intimacy, I might add." He knelt down and locked his lips on mine, slow, sensual, passionate, and it felt like forever before we resurfaced, a string of saliva connecting us, he dove back in quickly now pecking while moving a hand down to my cock-

....Wait when did he take my underwear off?

"Something wrong?" He whispered against my lips, hands hovering on my hips.

"Nothing, just...lost in my head." He smiled gently, baby-blue eyes twinkling mischievously before returning to kisses. He danced with the grace of experience beyond his age, he looked pretty young so it made sense to me. He took his time for prep, condoms and lube seemingly apporating from thin air, and soon enough he had turned me over.

"I should admit I haven't done this in a while so if I hurt you, please say something." I nodded into the pillows and relaxed, as best as I could but feeling his size slowly enter had panic surging through me, he hushed me with tiny whispers and praise, kissing the exposed skin of my back and gripping me like a vice, once he had reached his base and made sure I was comfortable he lazily rolled his hips, groaning out his praise.

"Merlin's beard you are tight!" He hissed while pressing his body on top of mine "am I the first to have you like this darling?" The words left his lips like steam and I could only nod in response, my voice long since left, "you're doing so well, taking me beautifully." He soon picked up the pace and dropped his butterfly touches in place of a vice around my hips, bruises awaiting the next sunrise "I fear I may not last long."

"S-Sir-" I choked out through the growing haze, I could only feel the tickling strings of his locks caging my head behind an auburn curtain and his lips on my skin felt like magic.

"How are you feeling?" His voiced echoed through the skin of my back, lips gently marking my skin, slowly but with an unrivaled passion I'd ever experience.

It was hard to think through the foggy haze, senses on fire as I knuckled the crimson sheets beneath me, I felt so full of him, borderline painfully but I wouldn't stop him, not when he had begged so desperately for me.

"Perfect, keep going, please." I whispered out, his right kept my hips in place while his left hand found my knuckled one and gently grasped it, rubbing smooth circles against the skin.

After what felt like ages he finally flipped me over to look me in the eye, blue irises sharp like machete blades cutting through my fog, shakingly, I reached up to cup his cheek and he leaned into the touch, the warmth of his blush felt relaxing in the moment.

"Are you close darling?" I nodded "then cum, do it for me." My name left his now hoarse voice as he gripped tight enough to hurt, his command was answered with a euphoric wave up my spine followed by exhaustion. He only lasted seconds longer than me but pulled out to spill into the condom. My eyes felt so heavy, the waking world slipping away until Albus' touch brought me back.

Hushed praise and gratifying kisses washed over me as he took care of cleaning up, I wanted to see if he was okay, but I struggled with my words since we started, so I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

Albus watched with a warmth in his heart, you looked so beautiful to him, you did every night he came to you...

Not that you ever remembered.

This wasn't the first night Albus had come to you, he had seen this house, this bed, your gorgeous face, once a night every month on the anniversary of his lover's departure, and every time you answered his sorrowed prayers with blissful words and passionate sex, he grabbed his wand and clothes from the edge of the bed and escaped to the adjoining bathroom.

"Soborus" he tapped the wand against his head and drained the alcohol from his senses, amber mist flowing into the air and dissipating, he fixed on his suit and crept back out to you, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead as you deserved and held his wand out in front of him with a heavy heart, "obliviate"

...and after a few moments, it was done.

All known memory of him had left you, it was safer for you this way, at least until Gellert was taken care of. "I'll see you next month, my darling y/n."

[eternally-writing]

chain reaction | jjk

genre: fluff and angst

rating: PG

pairing: Jungkook x reader

theme: college!au , enemies to lovers, series

word count: 1.3k

warnings: light swearing

synopsis: A semester with your mortal enemy, Jeon Jungkook, as your lab partner was bound to be an experience to remember.

banner by me!

A/N: hey everyone! This is my first series that I’m writing and I’m so excited to share it with all of you! If you want to be tagged in future parts, reblog and mention that you want to be tagged in the caption, or you can send me an ask!

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

“You’re late”

Swinging your backpack onto the lab bench beside you, you glare at your lab partner.

“Shut up Jeon, it’s only 8:04am and our TA hasn’t even finished introducing the lab yet”.

Introduction to Organic Chemistry was all set up to be your favorite class. You were a chemistry genius in high school, your professor had amazing “rate my professor” reviews, and the class fit perfectly into your schedule, finishing right at 2:00pm so you could walk back to your dorm under the radiance of the afternoon sun.

It was all going well until you walked into your 8:00AM lab and found that due to budget cuts, all labs would now be done in pairs. And you had been paired with none other than the bane of your existence, Jeon Jungkook. As if doing an amide reduction wasn’t hard enough on its own, you had to do it alongside the biggest thorn in your side.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was about him that irked you so much. Maybe it was the way the girls tried to flirt with his constantly over the open flame of a Bunsen burner, or the way that he sucks up to your extremely old TA in order to get full marks on his procedural skills, or maybe it’s the fact that he somehow managed to look effortlessly put together at 8am on a Tuesday morning, while you looked (and felt) like absolute crap.

Either way, you were counting down the seconds until this semester would be over and you wouldn’t have to look at Jeon Jungkook again, but time seemed to be moving extra slow today.

“Late and spacing out today? Wow, lucky me to have you as a lab partner.”

Scoffing at him, you adjusted your protective glasses and readied your labware for today.

“180 minutes until I’m free. That’s it,” you thought to yourself.

“Technically it’s 170 minutes now, but if we don’t get started someone soon so we can hand in our product by 11am, we’re going to be here for a lot longer than that.”, snapped Jungkook next to you, already starting to mix chemicals together in a beaker.

Well, looks like your habit of accidentally saying things out loud gets worse when you’re tired.

“Let’s just try and get through this lab today without stepping on each other’s toes Jeon, okay?” you said, trying to catch up to Jungkook in the lab.

There was one part of chemistry labs you disliked the most. The waiting time. In some labs it was only 30 minutes, while in other labs it had taken almost an hour, but the constant in all of the situations was that waiting made it feel like time was passing at an infinitely slower rate. Taking out your laptop would violate lab safety protocol, and you couldn’t do any further steps in your lab until your reaction in your solution was done progressing under the fume hood. Since there were no other options, the only other thing left to do in moments like this was talk to Jeon Jungkook.

“So I was -”

“What did you -”

Yikes, add the awkwardness of starting conversation with Jeon Jungkook to the reasons you never talk to him.  You decided to pause and let him carry on with whatever he was saying, giving him a semi-pleasant smile to hopefully help distract from the embarrassment you were feeling.

“I was going to ask what you wanted to do our lab presentation on,” said Jungkook.

Your eyes widened at his statement. Looking at the whiteboard situated at the side of the room, you saw that in the 4 minutes you were late to your lab you may not have missed your TA explaining the procedure, but you did the big words on the board that said:

“FINAL LAB PRESENTATION: 3 weeks from now, worth 20% of your grade, done with your lab. 5-10 page paper and 10-15 minute oral presentation”.

Unable to contain your discontentment with the situation, you let out a groan and leaned back in your chair in frustration, almost falling off your lab stool in the process.

“Well aren’t you just little Miss Sunshine today? I’m not thrilled about this either, but I’d rather pull out my eyelashes than have to repeat this course again next semester,” scoffed Jungkook.

No morning ice coffee + Jeon Jungkook being annoying + a looming group project was more enough to make your head hurt.

“Can we just talk about this later Jeon? My brain can’t process this right now,” you pleaded as you put your head in your hands.

Leaning closer to you, Jungkook spoke at a whisper-level near your ear so nobody else would hear.

“Is your brain too busy processing my charm, sunshine? Don’t worry, I’ll try and tone down the charisma for you,” he joked with a smirk.

Your head went from being in your hands to plopping flat onto your (no longer sterile) lab counter at Jungkook’s comment.

First of all, ew. You don’t know how Jungkook was possibly picking up girls by talking like that. Second of all, charm and charisma were probably two words that you would NEVER associate with Jungkook, so his statement was definitely wrong.

A project with Jungkook meant that you would be spending a LOT more time with him, and the prospect of that happening made you wince internally. Group projects meant libraries, evenings, and , ugh, probably weekends with Jeon Jungkook.

You were snapped out of your internal despair by the sound of Jungkook’s voice.

“Hand me your phone.”

You froze. “Hm?”

“Well I don’t know what you think of me Y/N, but unless you think I can read your mind we’re  going to need to text to figure out when to meet.”

Giving in, you quickly tossed your phone into his open palm while grabbing his phone which was sitting on top of his backpack.

Glancing over his shoulder, you took a peek at your contact name.

“little miss sunshine? really Jeon?”

“Of course sunshine, i had to pick a name that encapsulated your positive and radiant energy,” he retorted, sarcasm practically dripping off of his words.

You definitely were picking your battles today, and one over a silly contact name didn’t seem to be worth it.

“You can do whatever, Jeon, but you’re sticking in my phone as “Jeon Boy” and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“We’ll see about that Y/N,” remarked Jungkook as he opened up his lab manual to read the next steps in the procedure.

Your mom had always taught you that the word “hate” was a very strong word and was only to be used in extreme situations. To this day, there were only 3 people in your life that you truly hated in every sense of the word: your ex-boyfriend, Jimin, your ENGL 101 Professor, Dr.Lee, and your neighbor’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, who chewed up your grade 8 science project the day before it was due.

You wouldn’t say that you hate Jungkook, but you were definitely getting close.

“Yknow, I don’t like you Jeon. Actually, scratch that, I really don’t like you.”

Glancing over at the timer on your lab bench finally reaching 0:00, Jungkook began walking over to the fume hood. Turning back to you, he smirked and started to speak.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual sunshine.”

Boy, this was definitely going to be a long semester.

--♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡--

If you want to be tagged in future parts, reblog and mention that you want to be tagged in the caption (or you can send me an ask)!

If you liked what you read, please write/follow! Thank you for reading♡

- Emily

[lesbiansforboromir]

Let me tell you all about a very personally satisfying HC I have that, whilst perhaps explaining some things within the books, is really just for my own enjoyment. 

So, the idea originates in the concept that everyone in the Dol Amrothian line are very spooky. The close elven lineage and living near an old abandoned elven haven had particularly mysterious effects on the whole family. Sure there are Dunadain in Gondor and they can develop certain spooky traits, but the Lords of Dol Amroth start out spooky and usually stay that way. It goes up and down depending on the individual, but generally they are all uncanny at the very least.

Denethor can see into the hearts of men, yeah ok cool I guess. Imrahil goes down to the Dol Amroth harbour at dusk and whispers to the swans until midnight, he answers questions you were sure you did not say out loud, he can make you weep with genuine grief over a sadness he hasn’t even mentioned. Speaking with Finduilas sometimes makes you feel like time passes in an instant, or incredibly slowly, or not at all... except no... really... how much time has passed? Wasn’t it just morning? How is the sun setting already? Or, oh my gosh, I’m going to be late! Or... not..? it’s barely been a few moments, yet I feel like I just lived a lifetime...

Ivriniel insists this is all nonsense, doggedly, she refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many political rivals raise her considerable ire and come down with a mysterious and debilitating illness the next day. Grandmother Duilindes is just straight up a witch. ‘It’s all for the honour of Eru’ she says placatingly, as she enters her rooms in the Palace that she forbids anyone else from entering.

Denethor had heard these rumours before meeting Finduilas and, sure, he sometimes feels like he is being hunted, only to turn and find Adrahil’s eyes on him. But Dunadain are just a little strange like that! Surely it’s been blown out of proportion. He believes this up until he comes to Dol Amroth as Finduilas’ suitor. 

Denethor: Shall we take a walk after dinner? Everyone looks up from their plates in alarm Adrahil: Are you joking? Denethor: ??? Imrahil: It's the seventh day! The gardens aren't to be disturbed! Denethor, whispering to Finduilas: What does that mean?? Finduilas, chuckling: oh, Denethor! 

He sees Imrahil whispering to the swans at one point and is about to call out to him before Finduilas quickly gestures him silent.

Denethor, whispered: What is he doing? Finduilas: Shh, if the swans hear us we'll surely be attacked. Denethor: But then shouldn't Imrah- Finduilas: SHH.

One evening Ivriniel sweeps in with a stormy countenance, muttering over Lord Garahel’s stupidity. The next morning Denethor hears Imrahil mention that Lord Garahel has been taken ill with some fainting sickness. The look he gives Ivriniel is enough for her to know his mind. 

Ivriniel: Your imagination will run wild Denethor, I had thought you more reasonable. You think I, what? Cursed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Denethor, turning to Finduilas: Do you think... she knows she's doing it? Finduilas: Oh no, in fact she's determined to remain ignorant to it. Denethor: Can you... do that? Finduilas: I havent tried :)

At some point Finduilas had told Denethor that ‘Imrahil is the odd one of the family’ and by the end of the visit all Denethor can think is ‘by what metric??’

Denethor had to admit to himself privately that he was not at all put off by Finduilas’ nature, but he did have cause to worry what their children would be like. Finduilas came across Denethor, early after Boromir’s birth, rocking him to sleep and murmuring softly; 'I may have my failings as a father, I am sure I shall, but I swear they will be honestly meant, I love you so dearly my son... please do not curse me when you are older and I do not allow you everything you ask. I promise I only ever have your wellness in mind.' And she thought it was very sweet and proper, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong! And for very good reason! 

Boromir was an unnerving child. He learned to speak just a little too quickly, and when he did he would often say uncanny things, too knowing things, indecipherable things that became daunting the longer you thought about them. He had such a powerful grasp of complex feeling that he would often solve arguments between adults, explain emotions back at his parents or offer reasons for another child’s behaviour that were so accurate it became uncomfortable. 

3yo Boromir: (explains the reason Denethor’s secretary was distracted that day unprompted) Finduilas: (laughs) yes that's right! Denethor: It's.... TOO right. Finduilas: Oh well children are intuitive aren't they? Denethor, picking Boromir up: ... I feel under qualified to teach you things. Boromir: (baby-giggles but in a like way too knowing way)

And then sometimes Denethor would be sitting reading on a bench on a balcony in the early evening with Boromir contentedly playing with a fiddle-toy beside him, and suddenly his son’s voice would break the silence with; 'When I wasn't here I was colder, so I think I like it here, I'll stay. The air isn't as delicious but there's more to see.'

And then he’d go back to playing as though nothing was wrong whilst Denethor had an existential crisis. 

Denethor: W.. where were you, before? Boromir: Well I didn't know, because I couldn't know, but now I can know things, just not that. I haven't decided if I like it.

He asks Finduilas about it as soon as he can find her and she just laughs, ‘don't worry he'll forget he knows that in a few years’ she says, as though that helps at all.

But in general this is as far as Boromir ventures into the ‘spooky Dol Amroth’ territory. Sometimes he mentions things he CHOSE NOT to do that suggests he is capable of more, but other than randomly forcing Denethor to consider his position in the universe and reading him for shit, the first five years of being a parent is fine for Denethor.

At one point, when Boromir was about two, someone asked Finduilas if they were planning for another baby soon. Finduilas laughed ruefully, as though everyone would know that was a foolish question. ‘Oh no, much too soon for that’ she said. Denethor knew he had to follow up on what the hell that meant later. But when asked, all Finduilas said was ‘Oh you know! If siblings are born too close then they align their powers. Haven’t you heard my father talk about my uncles?’ She says it with the same tone as reading something out of a parenting manual. Denethor doesn’t want to hear about Finduilas’ uncles, but accepts this is important and stops thinking about it.

And it’s a good thing they did wait because, whilst Boromir was unnerving, Faramir is straight up terrifying.

What Denethor realised was that Boromir had been showing restraint. Faramir however was very comfortable with his powers and saw no reason not to use them. Denethor would find himself lost in baby Faramir’s eyes, feeling unable to move simply because of the weight of his stare. Finduilas and Boromir would have to save him from Faramir’s grasp, an act that would make Faramir look very put out. 

If people irritated Denethor when he was holding his youngest son, then just a glance from this child would make them drop whatever they were holding, Faramir grinning victoriously all the while. If Faramir did not want to take a bath then Finduilas would have to be present in case the baby decided to make Denethor relive his entire childhood. 

Sometimes Denethor would come outside to see his toddler just surrounded by the street cats of Minas Tirith, conducting some kind of incomprehensible tribunal that all the cats appeared to abide by. At one point Boromir was holding Faramir when Faramir grasped his brother’s face and pulled so that their eyes locked. Boromir passively held Faramir’s intense gaze for a while in this charged and tense moment, before calmly looking away as Faramir pouted. Denethor once again begged Finduilas to explain, but all she had to give was a fond sigh and a ‘Aw, Faramir just wants to get to know him, but our Boromir is too canny, Ivriniel and I used to do that.’ Denethor is used to helpless bemusement and concern by now. 

Now the SECOND part to this HC- YES I’M STILL GOING, THIS IS ALL IMPORTANT- the second part is that Dol Amrothians ALSO get a kind of ‘choice’. (This is likely not at all canon friendly tbh but uwu I can have a leetle canon noncompliance if it doesn’t effect the vast expansive canon... as a treat) It is far more unconscious and happens in childhood, but there is a point where a child will ‘decide’ to continue being spooky or to be more mundane. This never overrides ALL the spookiness, hence Ivriniel’s intermittent cursing and Finduilas’ occasional time dilation, but Imrahil still out spooks the lot of them. Amongst the family this is known as ‘settling’.

Boromir settles when he is eight. One day he comes to breakfast and Denethor looks into his son’s face and feels like he is suddenly more in the world, more in the moment. Boromir seems as himself as ever, but he makes friends easier afterwards. Whereas he had always been liked, now he is popular and has close relationships with children, rather than always seeming too distant. This also coincides with one of Gandalf’s rare visits. He had been trying to connect with Boromir, trying to engage him on very specific topics. Boromir had not been amused. 

Denethor would never say that Boromir hating Gandalf’s vibes was the reason he settled for mundanity. Boromir had many good reasons, he is sure. But the fact that he chose that moment to settle, so that Denethor was allowed to watch Gandalf also realise that Boromir was no longer ‘apt to his hand’, well he might have gleaned some little pleasure from it. 

The only aspect Boromir retains is his general resistance to such spookiness. Hence his frustration in both Rivendell and Lothlorien, the time distortion of those places not effecting him and the imposed rest not touching him, meaning he feels every passing day keenly. It also explains his resistance towards the Balrog’s doomful presence, as well as his heightened distress at Galadriel’s ability to see into his mind, where he had always been able to defend himself before. 

Faramir on the other hand is seven when he settles, thoroughly content with his spooky powers and wanting even more command over them. It is with this settling that he becomes able to sometimes cause people pain for lying to him. Denethor... struggles as a single father for many reasons.