#just sick of the state of streaming in general

[drtbrennan]

#SaveMyLadyJane

In a Variety interview, the Amazon MGM Studios head made a statement surrounding their "commitment to female programming". They recently held a trailblazer event in London, which celebrated the women of Prime Video and Amazon MGM Studios.

As you've guessed, My Lady Jane, a show that has critical claim, a 95% rotten tomatoes score, an endorsement from George R.R. Martin, and was top 10 throughout the summer on the platform in multiple countries, was omitted from this event. The show has an all female EP team and it is VERY clear when watching the show. The show emphasises consent and healthy communication, and does not resort to violence nor features egregious (often hard to watch) content.

Seeing a show be excluded from such an event is so disheartening.

If My Lady Jane was airing week to week it wouldn't have even finished before it was cancelled. No time was given for it to reach everyone, especially with no marketing (fan-driven only!), and being dropped in the middle of the Euros and right before the Olympics. People have lives!!!

There is a difference between a commitment to women in programming and simply having women in your show @ Prime. Celebrate your successes, and all of your trailblazers.

Please sign the petition and keep talking about the show. Visit the website and the #SaveMyLadyJane tag everywhere for further discussions.

[icewindandboringhorror]

mentally ill people who for whatever reason end up wearing the same exact clothing so many days in a row that it begins to disintegrate and will still not stop wearing it until it’s literally just scraps of fabric VS. those weird shitty rich people who ‘’can’t be seen in the same outfit twice’’ human dichotomy 

[miley1442111]

saving me- s.reid

-------------------------------

-------------------------------

a/n: fem reader, but as always imagine what you like :)

summary: spencer has to save you before it's too late.

pairing: spencer reid x fem bau! reader

warnings: general cm topics, sexual assault, hostage situation, drugging, the team don't know about you and spencer, injuries, reader gets injured, reader is allergic to opioids, drugs, alergic reaction, knives, guns, reader begs to be killed, spencer shoots someone. (i think that's it, tell me if i missed anything :))

-------------------------------

Another migraine. Another fucking migraine. 

Your life was truly a joke. 

You sat beside Emily in the car, eyes heavy with pain as you profusely rubbed them, the sunlight from the sky beside you far too bright. 

“Y/l/n? Any ideas?” Morgan asked, kicking you softly under the table.

“The unsub will probably be extremely interested in the investigation but they probably won’t bring themselves into it. We’ll end up seeking them out,” you rattled off. 

“Are you alright?” Prentiss whispered. 

“Fine,” you lied. “Just tired eyes.” 

-------------------------------

Spencer’s eyes were on you from the second you’d spoken about your ‘tired eyes’. He was meant to be working up a geological profile, but his focus was completely on you. ‘Tired eyes’, you’d been wearing glasses or contacts all week, you’d been drinking enough liquids, you’d been eating, he assumed you’d slept, you'd been busy most of the week and sleeping at your own apartment instead of his. 

What could cause ‘tired eyes’?

“Reid!” Seaver all but shouted in his ear. 

“Y-yeah? Yes?” He answered, eyes focusing on the map again. 

“Is Y/l/n here?” Rossi asked. 

“W-what? No. I thought she went with Hotch and Prentiss,” he hesitated. 

“She told them she was with us,” Rossi sighed. “So then where is she?”

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “I’ll call her.”

Rossi held up your cell phone and Spencer’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” he cursed.

“Shit is right,” Rossi nodded. 

-------------------------------

It had been 24 hours, you were officially a missing person. You had no idea where you were, someone must’ve drugged you. That hadn’t been a regular migraine. Your head thumped with pain as you struggled against the duct tape around your hands and feet. 

“You’re one beautiful girl, aren’t you?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, feel the way he was watching you. 

You tried to scream but the duct tape around your mouth made it difficult.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he came closer, into the light. You could see his face. He was a white male, between the ages of 35-40, dad-build, and a sick smirk. 

You didn’t fight back, you couldn’t. You didn’t even notice the camera in the corner. You didn’t know that this was being recorded, or live-streamed directly to Penelope. Penelope, who showed it to the team. To your boyfriend. 

They were watching the worst moment of your life unfold. 

And you had no idea. 

-------------------------------

“Guys,” Penelope squeaked. “This j-just came through,” she showed them her laptop and looked away, tears clouding her vision. 

“Is that-” Derek started

“Y/n,” Aaron finished for him. 

“What about her? Did you find her?” Spencer asked, staring at the group from behind Penelope. “Is she ok?”

The team’s eyes were glued to the screen as Spencer stood there, demanding an answer. 

“Guys what?!” he shouted. “Someone answer me!”

“Come here,” Seaver sighed. Spencer stood beside her and watched in horror as the unsub hurt you. 

“We have to find her,” he stated. “Now.”

-------------------------------

“Please, please just kill me,” you begged. He’d taken the tape off a while ago. “Please kill me.”

“I’m not a necrophiliac,” he laughed in your face. “I like my girls alive.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed. Blood, dirt, tears, and sweat coating your skin. “Fuck you!”

“I’m actively trying to fuck you,” he laughed again. You hated him. You hated this. You hated everything.  

“Just kill me,” you sobbed. “Please!”

He hit you on the head and you went out again. 

-------------------------------

“FBI!” Morgan’s voice rang out through the warehouse. Spencer was hot on his heels, walking ahead of him and ignoring proper protocol. “Reid!” He ran after him. 

“FBI! Put the knife down!” Spencer shouted at the unsub holding a knife to your throat. Something had gone wrong. He scanned the room quickly. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- I was just-” The unsub stepped away, dropping the knife. “She wasn’t meant to die.”

Die. Dead. You were dead.

Spencer fired his gun without a second thought. He ran over to you and checked your pulse, there but barely. 

“Hotch I need an ambulance!” He shouted. “Y/n, baby, I need you to wake up,” he begged. “Please, please, wake up, I need you Y/n. Please.” 

“Spencer-” Prentiss started but Spencer silenced her with his own words. 

“We’re dating. We have been for a year and a half, don’t you dare tell me to ‘step away’,” he sighed. 

The paramedics rushed in, starting you on an IV. 

“She’s allergic to opioids,” Spencer rattled off. “She can’t have any opioids.”

“Spencer,” Hotch sighed. “She’s had some already,” Hotch pointed to the vials in the corner of the room and the rusty needle beside them. 

Fuck. 

-------------------------------

“So when were you planning on telling us?” Derek sighed as they all sat in the waiting room.

“I don’t know, soon-maybe?”

“A year and a half is a long time,” Emily smiled. “Congratulations.”

Spencer nodded.

“Dr. Reid?” The nurse asked. Spencer shot up and out of his seat. 

“Yes?” 

“Ms. Y/l/n is stable but she is severely hurt. Physically and... mentally. She endured hours of sexual assault and her body and mind reflect that. I suggest someone non-threatening to see her first. Maybe a woman?”

Spencer gulped and nodded. “Emily?”

“Yeah of course,” she nodded, walking behind the nurse as he led her to your room.

-------------------------------

You wanted Spencer. You needed him.

Emily walked in and tears filled your eyes. “Where’s Spencer? Is he ok?”

“He’s fine, they just thought that you’d want someone non-threatening to come in and see you first-” Emily explained. 

“Can you go grab Spencer please?” you sniffled. She smiled and nodded, then left the room. 

-------------------------------

“Spencer?” Emily called into the hall. “She wants you.”

Spencer had never walked faster in his life. 

There you were. Bruises and scratches littering your body and face. Your beautiful face. Your beautiful smile and teary eyes.

“Come here, please,” you whispered. Spencer sat at your side, your hand in his. “Thank you.”

He chuckled sadly. “For what?”

“Saving me. All the time,” you smiled softly.

-------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

[ellecdc]

Evan's little freak (affectionate)

prompt: There's something oddly comforting to me about how if I was freaking out about something and they were in their blitzed out state they'd help me calm down while sort of thinking I was a weird freak. - @moonstruckme

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who is having some sort of mental breakdown [1k words]

CW: reader is having a quasi-panic attack, rosekiller do their best to help but they truly Don't Get It™, they think she's weird but love her anyway

Evan found himself very much unprepared and ill equipped to handle this right now. 

You’d come flying into the flat in a tizzy rambling on and on about some great injustice or upheaval in your life at a million miles an hour without hardly even sparing him or Barty a glance. 

Granted, the second blunt may have been a little much, but he generally did not know how to handle big emotions. The horrified and uncomfortable expression that Barty was wearing told Evan that he, at least, felt the same. Neither boy grew up exactly encouraged to feel their feelings out loud; pushing down all upset didn’t exactly lend itself well to empathy and compassion.

He wondered if he was simply imagining the heavy smoke in the room or if you were just oblivious to it; either way, you were clearly not on the same level as the two boys.

He’d come to the conclusion about two and a half minutes into your tangent that no one was dead or dying, and when he deduced that those were the only scenarios worth this amount of anxiety, he more or less sort of tuned you out; only registering the panicky quality of your voice.

Barty had tried calling your name a few times which only seemed to spur you on and cause Barty to look over at him in a bemused sort of concern. “What the fuck? Are you seeing this?” Barty seemed to be asking. 

I am seeing this, what the fuck, indeed.

“Poppet,” Evan tried in his most authoritative tone, hoping to hell that his words didn’t sound as slow and languid as the felt on his tongue, “you need to settle down.”

That had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say if the way you turned your body towards him with wild eyes and nearly shaking hands meant anything. 

“I can’t!” You shrieked, causing Barty to actually wince at the pitch your voice took. 

“But…why not?” Barty asked cautiously, and you burst into tears.

“Fuck me.” Evan groaned under his breath as he stamped out the end of his blunt; he was clearly done for the day. “Alright, hold on. Let me get my shit together so I can talk some sense into you. Calm down.” 

“I can’t.” You keened, Evan tsked at you. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re wild today.” He commented as he flung open the windows. Barty was already in the kitchen grabbing bottles of water and some snacks; following proper sober up protocol. 

Evan took the time to actually move the ashtray to the opposite side of the room, hoping to have as clear a head as he possibly could to deal with his wound tight little minx. Ruining his high by being all adorable and weird.  You were lucky you were so cute. 

“Treasure, you need to go sit down.” Barty murmured then as you seemed to be frozen in some sort of panicky fright in the centre of the kitchen. “Or maybe light up for a minute…” He added sarcastically under his breath. Unfortunately for Evan, you heard him.

“I can’t do that, Barty! I get paranoid!”

“As opposed to whatever you are right now?” Barty asked incredulously then, and you let out a gut wrenching sob. 

“Okay! Okay, fuckin’ hell. Come here.” Evan called as he sat back down in his chair and beckoned you forward with one impatient hand. 

“This is too much, pet.” He chided as he pulled you down onto his lap. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“But-”

“Enough; your only job is to breathe right now, got it?” 

You sucked in a shuddering breath as you nodded; eyes squeezed shut, forcing a steady stream of tears down your cheeks. You looked pitiful. 

“He didn’t say to hold your breath.” Barty commented gently as he sat on an ottoman in front of Evan’s chair and tried to hand each of you a bottle of water - Evan took both. But the breath that escaped your lips was forceful and left you panting for more. “Oi! Not like that, hey. Deeper breaths, Tres.”

“Y/N. Relax, doll. Relax. You’re fine.” Evan chided; his hand resting on your lower back and his thumb drawing circles at the space between the top of your jeans and the bottom of your shirt gave way to skin.

The flat fell quiet save for the sound of your breathing - at first shuddering, then practised and intentional, and finally settling into a more natural cadence - as Evan drew lines up and down your back with one hand and drew circles with his thumb on your knee with the other, and Barty fiddled distractedly with your fingers. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered eventually, and both Evan and Barty let out sighs of relief. 

“That was fucking wild, Treasure. Absolutely deranged.” Barty scolded playfully, pulling your fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“Scared the shit out of me, poppet. I thought someone was dying.” 

“I didn’t mean to worry you…” you offered shyly, shoulders curling in on yourself as if you sort of wanted to disappear. Evan pulled you roughly into his chest and stamped a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m always worried about you, weird little freak.”

“I’m gonna need like, five more blunts after that. Do I have grey hairs? I feel like I have grey hair now. You’re ageing me, Treasure. You’re sending me to an early grave.” Though you clearly accepted Barty’s teasing for what it was when you returned his kiss fervently. 

“No more blunts.” Evan called as Barty moved to put on a record. “Next time she comes in like a bat out of hell, I would like to have our wits about us. Hm? Give us a fighting chance.” 

“So we’re rawdogging our way through life from now on? Alright, Ev; but if I start having meltdowns like our perfect little freak over there, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!” 

“....Maybe one blunt a day?” Evan asked you when Barty disappeared around the corner; murmuring the question into the slightly damp hairs at your temple.

“Maybe so.” You agreed with a tired chuckle turned sigh. He couldn’t blame you; if he was tired after all of that, you must be exhausted.

[frudoo]

Literally obsessed with your Slasher 141 series, its been giving me so much brainrot

I have a few ideas;

reader feels a bit self conscious about her body and the boys make it their mission to show her how beautiful she is in their eyes (could be fluff or smut)

OR

Reader decides to be a brat over text to the boys as they were out for the day, and hides from the boys once they arrive home, resulting in them hunting and chasing her down 👀👀 ( smut and a lil fluff )

This is very self-indulgent because I've been feeling bad about my own body lately. This is for my fellow fat girls <3

Warnings: Mentions of skipping meals, food in general. Self-deprecating thoughts, somewhat poor communication. Fem!Reader is fat (in all of the slasher!141 AU). Fluff!

You’ve been off lately. During mealtime with the boys, you barely eat, just poke at the food on your plate. It isn’t like you—you’re usually the one to cook and try out all kinds of new recipes to share with your lovers, or baking sweet treats to give them after a hard day—so for you to suddenly have no interest in food is concerning. Tonight is no exception. John made your favorite, beef stew and cornbread (a southern delicacy you taught him how to make), but you just mindlessly stir the stew with your spoon, eyes focused on nothing at all.

     “How was your day, dove?” Kyle tries to break you from your trance, but you only nod.

     “Helped a chicken give birth today,” Simon stares straight at you, ignoring the incredulous looks the other three men give him.

     Still, no sort of reaction from you, other than an uninterested hum. 

     “Ah went tae the doctor earlier,” Johnny says next. “Turns oot ah’m pregnant.”

     “Nice,” you deadpan, completely oblivious to the outrageous lies these dumbasses have been telling you. 

     “Enough,” Price furrows his eyebrows, dropping his spoon with a clang. “Darlin’, you haven’t eaten in two days.”

     This time, you listen. Immediately, you rush to defend yourself, eyes narrowed at the bearded man.

     “I’ve just been fe-”

    “Don’t you give me that bullshit about bein’ sick, either. I’ve seen you sick, and it was completely different than this,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Speak, baby. Tell us what’s goin’ on in that pretty head o’yours.”

     “It’s nothing,” you grumble.

     Simon sighs dramatically, slapping his palms down on the dining room table to push himself up out of his chair. Before you can protest, he picks you up and sits in your seat, then settles you in his lap. You try to wriggle free, but his hold on you is unwavering. 

     “Stop strugglin’ and tell us wha’ the fuck is wrong w’you,” the blond man grunts, strong arms wrapped around your waist so you can’t move as much. 

     “I hate my body!” You blurt, and the room falls silent. “I-I don’t know what you all see in me. I just… I look gross.”

     Tears build in your eyes and spill past your waterline, streaming down your round cheeks. All four men look at each other wordlessly, unsure of what to say. Their silence breaks your heart, and you manage to wriggle out of Simon’s lap. 

     “I’m going to bed,” you mumble, wiping your eyes with your sweatshirt and moping your way upstairs.

     Your bedroom is the furthest down the hall, the longest walk. Usually this fact doesn’t bother you, but with your state of mind the way it is right now, you can’t help but feel like it’s purposeful. You slam the door shut and lock it, purposefully avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror as you flop into bed. It creaks with your weight, and you let out another sob. 

     You end up crying yourself to sleep, clammy face stuck to your pillow. When you wake up, you find that your door is still locked and try your hardest not to burst into tears all over again. Not one of the boys came to check on you last night? It makes you feel even worse—are you that much of an eyesore that they don’t dare come see if you’re okay? The thought makes your stomach churn. A knock makes itself known on your door, pulling you from your thoughts.

     “Dove? Can you let us in?” Kyle’s soft voice sounds from the hallway. “Please?”

     “We wanna talk to you, sweet girl,” Price’s voice comes next, followed by more pleas from Johnny and Simon.

     With a shaky sigh, you oblige, unlocking the door and swinging it open. When your eyes fall on them, you bite back a gasp—they all look exhausted, puffy bags beneath their bloodshot eyes, frowns tugging their lips downward. You can’t imagine you look any better, but still, your heart aches seeing them look so down.

     “Hey, bonnie,” Johnny instantly brightens up when he sees you, and you have to fight the urge to push him off when he wraps his arms around you. 

     “Hi,” you mutter, impartial to the kiss the Scotsman plants on your temple.

     They all trail into your room nervously, and it’s just then that you notice a large jar in Simon’s arms. Your eyebrows furrow as you sit on the edge of your bed, waiting for one of them to speak up first.

     “I want to start by apologizin’, sweetheart,” John begins, sitting beside you on your bed. “We were all… well, none of us were expectin’ to hear you talk about yourself like that, and we panicked. That wasn’t fair to you.”

     You shrug, eyes focused on your lap. Price reaches out to grab your hand, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. 

     “You are absolutely stunnin’. You are the farthest thing from gross, dove,” Kyle sits on your opposite side, grabbing your unoccupied hand. 

     “Ah think ah speak fer all of us when ah say tha’ we love yer body,” Johnny hums.

     “I’m fat,” you frown, and Simon scoffs.

     “Yeah? And?” He narrows his eyes at you. “We like y’like tha’. More t’grab, more t’love.”

     “I don’t understand why,” you whisper, chewing on your bottom lip anxiously. 

     “What’s not to understand?” John squeezes your hand. “You’re soft, and warm.”

     “The fuckin’ best at cuddlin’, too,” Kyle grins.

     “Great tits,” Johnny butts in, earning himself a jab to the ribcage from Simon. “Och- wha’?! It’s true!”

     “Wha’ the wanker is tryin’ t’say is tha’ you’re perfect. For us, in general—y’complete us, love. Your body is jus’ a plus,” Simon concludes, finally stepping forward to offer you the jar.

     “What’s this?” You ask, carefully pulling your hands out of Kyle and John’s. 

     “We spent all nigh’ gatherin’ up pictures of you tha’ we love,” Kyle explains, watching excitedly as you screw the lid off. 

     Inside, the jar is filled to the brim with photos and polaroid pictures—candids of you baking in the kitchen, napping on the couch, tending to the garden or the animals, even selfies you sent to Johnny when the two of you first started talking online. Mixed in with those is printouts of text messages they’ve all sent each other, fawning over you, some of which dating back to even before you met the others. Tears stream down your face yet again, but instead of being sad, you’re overwhelmed with love and joy from these men you get to call yours.

     “I-I don’t know what to say,” you sniffle, setting down the jar to wipe your eyes.

     “Don’t say anythin’, darlin’, just let us hold you,” John murmurs, pulling you onto the bed and wrapping an arm around your waist.

     Maybe being dogpiled by your four huge husbands on an already creaky bed isn’t the best idea, but hey, all that matters is that you’re happy.

[dangerousartisanwerewolf]

To all the Americans on tumblr rn...

I am not American, nor am I old enough to vote yet as I missed being the legal voting age for my province by only about a week- curse my extremely late birthday.

(which weirdly enough has also had such an incredibly tight election that they are still counting the votes right now even though it happened 2 weeks ago because the two parties are basically tied. }

but I am also very worried for you guys way down south. Hopefully America will put the right person into power this time and everything ends up being ok for you all. Not to be too cliché but I am sending thoughts and prayers and I hope you guys all stay safe down there. I honestly can't even imagine how you guys fell- I don't even live there and I've been feeling increasingly nauseous as the hours go by and I have had to offline for the most of the day.

Remember:

To take care of yourselves. Just in general, in whatever way you see fit

You absolutely do not have to live stream the election polling/results thing on TV, doom scroll election content the whole day long, watch the news, or consume any other election related content. As horrible as it feels to say this; the results will be the same regardless of whether or not you are watching it. Sometimes it is just better for you and your mental health to just log off of sm/screens for the night

If it all does feel like its getting too much for you, please log off/take a sm/screentime break

Most importantly, if you haven't already, please vote!!!! I am not American and am barley old enough to be considered a legal voter (Missed my own countries election *tears*) so I can't really help in terms of providing resources but I am sure there are all sorts that can help you I'm sure. I know that its getting late at night; some polls have closed already but not as many as you would think. I found out that most are actually open way later than I thought. As it turns out, some are even open til 1! You learn something new every day I guess!

Just Please, Please, Please go out and cast your ballot and make your voice known, with how close this is quite literally every voice matters!!! GO VOTE!!!

Poll closing times in case you need it (I only included ones that close 8pm and upwards because it is 7:30 at the time of writing this)

8 p.m. ET

Alabama

Connecticut

Delaware

District of Columbia

Florida (Polls in Eastern time zone close at 7 p.m. ET; part of Panhandle are in Central time zone)

Illinois

Maine

Maryland

Massachusetts

Mississippi

Missouri

New Hampshire (Polling hours vary by municipality and are listed by location here)

New Jersey

Oklahoma

Pennsylvania

Rhode Island

Tennessee

8:30 p.m. ET

Arkansas

9 p.m. ET

Arizona

Colorado

Iowa

Kansas (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties in the west)

Louisiana

Michigan (Polling locations close at 8 p.m. ET in all except four counties)

Minnesota

Nebraska

New Mexico

New York

North Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in all but eight counties)

South Dakota (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET in the east)

Texas (Polls close at 8 p.m. ET for most of the state except three counties in the west)

Wisconsin

Wyoming

10 p.m. ET

Montana

Nevada (The polling location at City Hall in West Wendover closes at 9 p.m. ET)

Utah

11 p.m. ET

California

Idaho (Polling locations in the south close at 10 p.m. ET)

Oregon (Polling locations in Malheur County close at 10 p.m. ET)

Washington

12 a.m. ET

Hawaii

1 a.m. ET

Alaska (Polling locations close at 12 a.m. with the exception of Adak)

I'm not really sure what other useful info I could put as I don't know much about America or it's electoral system but I hope that helps.

A lot of people I have seen have been posting about how they feel sick to their stomach's and that they can't get off the news and how they just feel terrible so...

Things you can do to distract yourself for the rest of the night (And possibly the next few days, idk how long it takes to count votes)

Have an early bedtime/take a late nap (Only go to bed after 9 at least though, otherwise you'll mess up your sleep schedule and make you feel worse.) Just sleep your way througb it if you cant help it.

To add on to point one I often use asmr if I can't fall asleep right away/to distract myself. My favorites are: Jaden Aliana Asmr, Oceans Asmr, Kaitlynn Reha asmr, and my absolute favorite Goodnight Moon ASMR (Check out her babble brook, 1920's, or valley girl series')

Listen to a podcast (I like Rotten Mango- informative true crime, Buzzfeed unsolved- funny true crime/ghost hunting, Look behind you- also true crime, and Chris Chan; a comprehensive history)

Never too late for some cleaning! Clean your house, bathroom, bedroom, closet, do a deep clean.

If your a student like me- do your schoolwork! I know you have some studying or homework that needs to be done! Get on it!! I use the pomodoro method if that does anything

Have a self care night- do an everything shower or fancy bath, make facemasks, mani pedi's ect.

Watch a movie or marathon t.v shows you love/that are comfort shows (Some of my comfort shows are; Bobs burgers, Gravity falls, the moomins 1990, the office, what we do in the shadows, black books, derry girls, moone boy, and all creatures great and small and M.A.S.H. Some of my comfort movies are; Little women, the cornetto trilogy, Emma, Legally blonde, Pride and Prejudice)

Never too late for some cooking! One of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking (Mostly baking) Make some chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies, muffins, cupcakes or try a fun cake.

Go for a night walk! Just make sure you bring a buddy and some flashlights of you're in total darkness like I am right now. (Love me a Canadian fall! Already snow where I am so of course that means everyone now needs to immediately put up Christmas decorations lol. At least the lights are nice at night)

Spend time with loved ones. Call or text a friend, spend time with your family, roommates, whoever. If your on campus at a uni see if there's literally any activities or clubs open at this hour you can go to

Read. I know you have a tbr you keep meaning to get to

Go on a research rabbit hole about something interesting. Try to learn something new. Some topics to get you started relating to where I live cause why not; Try to learn about : The Animals of Canada, Indigenous cultures and peoples of Canada- ex: try to learn some Cree or Halqemeylem phrases, try to memorize all of our provinces and territories.

Get through any chores you still have to do

Make/do something creative: Play an instrument, record a song, make a collage, paint, draw

Play some music, listen to your favorite songs on loop (Spotify's still collecting data for wrapped!)

Download a videogame on your phone- just one to pass the time even if its total addictive trash. Some ones I like: Moomin town- Idle, relaxing, town building, slowpaced, free, Miriam webster quizitative- free, wordgames, has an end to it, Toca boca hair salon- not free, hair salon game, endless, Toca boca town- not free but there are dupes, dollhouse game, bird bnb- townbuilding, slowpaced, as well theres all sorts of cute isle cat games; I like the grocery store and cafe ones

Make sure to:

Drink water

Eat at regular intervals

take breaks from screens (It'll hurt ya eyes)

get some sleep at some point

Don't sleep all day (Try to get up at a normal time)

if you feel like you need- put screen time limits on your phone. Or as well, turn down the brightness if you feel you have to doom scroll.

That's all for now. Hope you guys are doing ok and that the results are what we are all hoping for. Just know that you are in pretty much everyone's minds and we are all thinking of you (Even if we don't live in America). Stay safe and take care of yourself and your mental health.

Love, thoughts, prayers, and support from Canada/Tumblr and have a good night.

Congrats if you managed to get through this absolute brick of text. I commend you. I'll probably check back in tomorrow.

[tree-obsession]

2.2 SPOILERS!! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

this is a small lore discussion! mostly speculation and theories- i have not seen leaks about 2.3 plot yet, but i have seen a couple about boothill's character stories, so please keep that in mind!

trigger for mentions of suicide(aventurine) and mega corps(the ipc)

we have to talk about the ending cutscene with aventurine and boothill more! i'll start with my fav parts that no one really has brought up yet:

Aventurine intimidating Boothill after mentioning the guards are out- Boothill sounded so offput and hasty while reassuring him they were just knocked out, and we have to talk about aventurine himself just being intimidating more honestly his glare actually did kind of scare me.

Boothill pointing a gun at aventurine was. well. i'm sorry i did actually laugh at that. boothill i think you should research your targets a bit more honestly that guy is NOT afraid of guns. he fully walked into the nihility and pointed at least one gun at himself, and just got out of his own meticulously-planned suicide. threats of death won't work, sorry. also he has good reason to hate oswaldo schneider as well- threats didn't even have to be used, probably! he would kill him too, probably(revenge arc go go go!!)

the convo between aven and jade was. yeah. why he's betting his life again, i don't know (maybe sarcasm? or it was really just banter?) but it does seem like the two of them aren't super close at all, at least from what little i could gather. also if diamond hurts aventurine the entire fandom will kick his ass, emanator or no, so he better be prepared for that too lol. also, it was a pretty common theory aventurine would leave the ipc after exiting nihility, since acheron presumably broke his ties- i wonder why he went back? perhaps he had no plans as to where to go, or he has some ulterior motive?

how did he get out of nihility so unscathed? (for context, i haven't gotten aven's text messages yet, but i'm aware of some of their contents since they've been floating around w/out spoiler tags. the messages are mentioned a bit here if you wanna avoid spoilering!) i know argenti got him out, but 1) why was argenti there, or where did he even find him? and 2) that seems so random- both argenti and jade confirmed it, but plot-wise what's even the point of argenti pulling him out? also argenti said he was in a "woeful state" when he got out, and apparently the stonehearts are willing to give aven a break (which i'm assuming is major, since stonehearts are super important and have a lot of responsibility, plus he just destroyed a cornerstone) so him already being back on his feet when we see the phone call is a bit weird right away. he doesn't even sound sick, and ratio or any other doctor is nowhere in sight! (message spoilers start here) i'm aware the aventurine cornerstone was fully shattered/destroyed while protecting him from nihility- was he really in there for who-knows-how-long without any protection at all? he's apparently having nightmares and the ipc needed to call in a doctor of chaos to treat him, which is concerning considering his mental health and general will to live were extremely low even before walking into the nihility. like he genuinely has some of the worst will to live i've ever seen in a character or human being- walking through the nihility should have utterly destroyed him mentally and physically, but it didn't. 2.3 HAS to give us a whole lotta context, especially with nihility lore (my favorite aeon, i may be biased) and more about the ipc!

anyway, thank you for reading this poorly formatted, stream-of-consciousness word vomit about 2.2's aventurine lore. hope you liked it! drop ur thoughts in replies and reblogs plz they give me life(although i will be very busy next few weeks, so please don't be offended if you want a reply and don't get it, im so sorry!)

2.2 was peak- a bit slow, but the story was some of the best, if not the best stuff hoyo has given us in terms of writing quality. so great! i cried for sure, and that boss battle was just everything- especially the music. robin my lesbian queen if i didn't have to pull for firefly i would get your lightcone for sure...

see you all next time! thx for sticking around (:

[mariacallous]

An online course founded by far-right influencer Andrew Tate was breached by hackers, revealing the email addresses of roughly 325,000 users.

The self-described online university, known as The Real World, offers users “advanced training and mentoring” for around $50 per month. Formerly known as Hustler’s University, the platform focuses on topics such as health and fitness, financial investment, and e-commerce businesses.

“Money making is a skill,” the website states. “We will teach you how to master it.”

On Thursday, the hackers made their actions known by flooding the course’s primary chatroom with emojis they uploaded while Tate was streaming an episode of his show “Emergency Meeting” on Rumble.

The emojis included a transgender flag, a feminist fist, an AI-generated image of Tate draped in a rainbow flag, another where his buttocks are enlarged, and the cat character used in the “boykisser” meme.

The Daily Dot was provided with approximately 794,000 usernames for what are believed to be the site’s current and former members, as well as the contents of the platform’s 221 public and 395 private chat servers. A list of 324,382 unique email addresses that appear to belong to users who were removed for failure to pay was also handed over.

In a statement on the breach, the hackers claimed that after accessing the data they were able to leverage a vulnerability “to upload emojis, delete attachments, crash everyone’s clients, and temporarily ban people” from the platform.

The Real World claims it currently has over 113,000 active users. If accurate, the site at minimum would generate upwards of $5,650,000 every month.

A source with knowledge of the breach told the Daily Dot that “hacktivism” was cited as a motive, and that the platform’s security was described as “hilariously insecure.”

Analysis of the chat logs by the Daily Dot shows everything from inspirational quotes and progress updates to complaints over the “LGBTQ agenda.”

“Maybe it’s just the MSM, but I am starting to fear for my own safety and the future of the USA,” one user wrote following the first assassination attempt against former President Donald Trump. “Shootings every day, LGBTQ agenda, the matrix, I live in a very good area with a very good home life but I am sick of all this garbage happening here.”

Tate, a 37-year-old former reality TV star and kickboxer, is known best as a leading figure in the “manosphere.” The manosphere is described as a series of websites, blogs, and forums that primarily promote masculinity, although critics argue that a significant portion of the content is toxic in nature.

Tate previously described himself as a misogynist and is known for his disparaging views towards women. A dual U.S.-U.K. national, Tate is currently awaiting trial on human trafficking charges in Romania. In total, Tate is facing five legal investigations stemming from Romania and the U.K. Other allegations include those involving the rape and sex trafficking of minors, as well as forming an organized crime group to sexually exploit women. Tate has denied the charges.

The email addresses from the dump were provided by the hackers to HaveIBeenPwned, a service that alerts users when their credentials are leaked. Those email addresses as well as the chat data were also handed over to the journalism collective DDoSecrets, which hosts hacked and leaked data in the public interest.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Okay so maybe this it too dark, but I’m taking a chance because your inbox said “disgusting or dark themes” lmao. Imagine Dick goes through with the paralyzing of his darling, and it’s successful, but something goes wrong during one of his patrols, and he gets knocked out/kidnapped or other. Now Darling is there in the apartment all by herself, with no way to move or care for herself. I imagine she’d be incredibly sick if enough time passed, like near death if she’d been allowed to just sit there for a few days or more. What would dicks reaction be once he finally made it back to her and saw her in that state? Would it be enough for him to admit what he’s doing is wrong, or would he rationalize it away?

Love your work btw!! 💗 you keep us fed!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇…

!!! GN reader, paralyzed reader, drugging, starvation, dehydration, brief blood mention (extremely non-graphic), emaciation, near death experience, brief mention of poor hygiene, feeding tube, infantilizing.

(I know this ask uses she/her pronouns, but I thought it was better to keep this consistent with the other immobilization asks, so I used the same gender neutral reader.)

(Also, how dare you think this is too dark for this blog. I eat this shit up, MM-MM-MMMMMMMMMMMMM.)

I’ve actually wondered about this before. If you’ve seen my previous asks, then you know that yandere Dick Grayson is still all in with the hero game. This already has an impact on his ability to care for you, as he sometimes comes home later than he’d want to, so it’s only natural that something like this would happen.

I can see him having to leave for a Nightwing emergency around noon-ish. You’re left sitting upright in his bed, head lulling to one side with your hands delicately poised in your lap like a porcelain doll. Now, whether you imagine him paralyzing just your legs or your arms as well, I think it’s safe to say he’d still keep you on a drug that immobilizes as a precaution, so the only movement you can manage is your eyes. With any luck, he wraps up whatever he needs to quickly and he brings you back to the living room where you can at least watch TV. You can only sit alone with your thoughts for so long before you become just as fucking insane as your captive has…

Noon turns into evening. Evening turns into night. Your stomach bubbles uncomfortably from the lack of dinner, making it difficult to fall asleep. Still no signs of Dick when you finally manage to drift off, and when you wake up the next morning, your mouth feels like sand paper. A loud gurgle emits from your stomach, your groggy mind filled with prayers that Dick got home last night and is currently preparing your breakfast in the kitchen, but those holes slowly diminish as the hours tick by, the pain in your stomach becoming almost unbearable.

From the corner of your eye, you can see your IV drip practically empty. This confirms the unfortunate reality that Dick has yet to return; otherwise, he’d take the needle out of your arm, or at the very least, replaced the bag. You’re still unable to move with the drug still in your blood stream, but as soon as it wears off, you plan to use the limited control you have over your body to at least try and inchworm your way out of here… or even just to the kitchen.

By the time you approach the 24-hour mark of Dick’s sudden departure, you feel like you’re agonizingly rotting away. Dehydration is making your mind fuzzy, but before you’re granted the release of passing out, starvation sharply pulls your consciousness back in. This a persistent cycle that taunts you through the day, midnight providing a small reprieve as your mind finally shuts down before the torture begins again in the morning.

The drug has long left your system, allowing you to try and generate some moisture in your mouth. You viscously gnaw at the inside of your cheeks, swallowing the chunks of skin you manage to tear off and almost crying in relief when you’re blessed with the flavor of blood. It’s not much, as you doubt you can survive off this alone, but it would tide you over long enough until Dick showed up, right?

… He’s on his way home… right?

It’s been 3 whole days. You’re fighting a losing battle between a mouth filled with sand and a stomach trying to digest itself. Through your bleary vision, you can vaguely make out the outline of bones in your arms, the twist of the radius and ulna prominently bulging through your skin. Drifting between two planes of consciousness, you tried to focus on anything other than your eminent demise, like memories before this never-ending hell or the smell of your own horrendous odor.

This is it. This is how you die. If you didn’t feel like your brain was slowly turning into mud, you might’ve been more afraid. But fortunately for you, death seemed to be kind enough to numb your thoughts entirely, allowing you to pass on with serenity rather than terror. This may have been the most merciful thing the universe has been towards you in the past several months. After weeks of being a captive in your own body, you’re finally being relieved of this nightmare…

… But, of course, you should’ve known you would never be granted the privilege of pity.

Dick is greeted with the horrifying sight of you on death’s doorstep by the time he stumbles into his room. After making sure you’re still alive — and almost sobbing from relief when he feels a feint pulse — he quickly prepares an IV bag of actual sustainable fluids to replace the empty one filled with just the drug. Hopefully, it would be enough to stabilize your electrolyte levels until he can put you on a feeding tube.

Now, remember that Dick isn’t an idiot; he does his research before doing any sort of medical procedure on you, and it helps that he already has some preexisting knowledge thanks to his field of work. But, again, since he isn’t an idiot, he knows that there’s only so much he can do as one guy, and a condition like this requires a team of professionals who can monitor your vitals and nutrient levels. There’s a chance he may actually take you to Gotham, either to Leslie’s Thompkin’s clinic or even the Batcave depending on what’s closer. I think it’s possible that Leslie and/or Bruce are already aware of your paralysis, albeit not the true story behind it. Dick wouldn’t have to explain himself much other than the reason he couldn’t take care of you for the past couple of days.

However, after you’re fully stabilized, it would only be a matter of time before someone talks to Dick about what’s good for you. Having your only caretaker be a vigilante who can’t always be there for you is a huge risk to your safety. Leslie, and/or Bruce would try to convince him to move you into the manor, where Alfred could keep an eye on you, but Dick would only be enraged at the suggestion. He almost just lost you, and now they want to take you away from him?! He’s the only one who can take care of you because he knows what’s good for you!!

(The cracks in Dick’s carefully crafted façade are showing… Leslie and/or Bruce can only hope this is just him being overwhelmed from all that’s happened.)

Anyways. One way or another, you find yourself waking up to the familiar sight of Dick’s ceiling. The stinging sensation of a feeding tube irritates your nostril, and you feel like you’ve just been hit by a steamroller. Dick immediately takes to your side the moment he realizes you’re awake, desperately clutching your hand (which you can’t feel, cuz… y’know… paralysis) as he sobs into the bony crook of your neck. He’s practically in hysterics; the way he gasps for air between agonizing wails makes you distantly worry he’s gonna pass out on your weak form.

So, what would be Dick’s takeaway from this? Does he finally recognize how fucked up it is to paralyze someone so he can take care of them easier? Well… no. Not at all. In fact, as soon as he’s allowed himself to grieve over the fact you almost fucking died, he realizes that this is actually perfect for him. You’re in a critical state and he needs to nurse you back to health? He absolutely adores coddling you to the extreme, so this is like living the dream. Really, the only thing he regrets is not putting you on a more sustainable drug before he left (though it’s not like he could foresee his initial Nightwing emergency going south like that. But it’s okay, cuz now he knows to take precautions!!).

Your recovery would take months, but things return to normal very quickly… much to your anguish.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 14 (A Terrible Loss)

Distracted by work and trips to the city to see Malcolm, Heather hadn’t had time to properly explore Brindleton Bay since her arrival. But rather than stress a possible move to San Myshuno - which she wouldn't have to make if Malcolm never asked her to marry him - she decided to explore her new home with her future sister-in-law, Cassandra Goth.

Who better to show her around Brindleton Bay than someone born and raised among the windy coastal beaches dotted with fishing boats?

Unfortunately, when she finally had a Saturday off, it was raining, so their plans to explore the beach fell through. Worse, when Heather, Tut and Boomer arrived for a backup feline playdate at the Goth mansion, she found their elder Siamese, Socks, in a state.

"She just started throwing up everywhere, but she ate this morning without any trouble," said Cass, cradling her pet with fear in her eyes. "I've never seen any of our cats this sick."

"We'll take her to the clinic. I'll work all night to figure out what's wrong if I have to," Heather vowed, trying to soothe her own fears as well as Cassandra's. "Socks is strong. She'll get through this."

Heather tried everything she could to save her, running test after test, taking x-rays, and running through half a tube of belly rub simulation gel. "I've never seen such a severe case of swamp mouth."

"Can you do anything?" Cassandra held her breath waiting for an answer. Heather's heart broke.

"I can make sure she's comfortable. But the infection's spread too deep."

Cassandra sobbed. "How did this happen? She was fine this morning!"

Heather tried to comfort her, but she was wracked with guilt over Socks' death. She'd been fortunate thus far not to lose any of her patients, but the first was Cass' family pet! She knew death could be part of the job, but that didn't make it easier.

"Can you bring me the rest of her food? Don't let your other cats have any of it. Here." She grabbed a few jars from one of her supply cupboards. "I can make fresher jars, but these should be good meal replacements for them for now."

"Is this homemade pet food?" Tiny kibbles chimed against the glass as Cassandra examined the gift.

"It comes in handy with hungry pets sometimes, but I'm not allowed to sell it."

Heather stayed up late for weeks running tests to try to figure out what happened. She suspected Socks’ diet – a steady stream of Landgraab Industries Pet Food for as many years as she’d been a patient at Brindleton Pawspital – but only after she compared other charts was she certain. Landgraab pet food wasn't meat and it wasn't organic. Heather had no idea what it was, but it had FDA approval! Knowing Landgraab Corp., they probably paid someone off to get it.

Heather was beside herself. Whatever it was, or whatever it wasn't, she was disgusted with herself and called her father in a panic. "I signed a contract to own a hospital that isn’t helping pets as well as it should. If I keep Landgraab pet food in the supply closet, I'm helping them. You always knew the food was bad for animals, but there's a contract and I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" she cried.

"It's alright, Buttercup, just slow down."

"I can't sell food that makes pets sick, Dad."

"What about your mother's cookbook? It has all those recipes for homestyle pet treats."

"I wish I had time to make enough to replace what I'd need at the clinic, but I work twelve hour days! And the contract says I have to use Landgraab supplies."

"They can't force you to buy their products."

"What do you mean? The contract says-"

Neal laughed. "I grew beet meat on a garden wall and now Nesbeets ready-made sandwiches are available in practically every cafe, restaurant, and vending machine in Simlandia. I never told you kids how hard it was to get Nesbeets on the shelves in the early days because of exclusivity agreements and other legal clauses. Real boring stuff! The point is, not every great lawyer works for the Landgraabs, and my distributors know a thing or two about that. Let me make some calls, but when I find you the right, eco-conscious supplier, you might have to pay a little more."

"I don't care. It'll be worth it. Thank you thank you thank you, Dad! I love you!"

Heather hung up with her father feeling grateful for her family, and it wasn't long before she was able to offer homestyle pet food and treats that gave partial proceeds to the local shelter. Neal's latest idea took off, promoted as the next great addition to the world of pre-packaged foods from the man who invented Nesbeets! He even branded the puck-shaped treats 'Buttercups.'

Owners were grateful because their animals loved it, and soon her order for Landgraab pet foods had dwindled to the point Petcare executives noticed.

They sent a strongly worded email she pretended she never received.

How would Heather's rebellion go over with the Landgraabs? ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: You may be thinking 'Cats don't die at the vet in The Sims' and yes, that's true, unless a glitch causes the exam never to end and the cat never to heal (I've never played the vet owner career before and I did something, not sure what, that broke the examination cycle when the clinic wasn't open, and my only options were close without saving and try again, or be a vengeful Watcher and turn it into plot. And I hate closing without saving and replaying time. 😬

[sp00kymulderr]

our house of flames

Part 1 - Spark

series masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (no pronouns)

Warnings: M, heavy details of grief, blood, implied canon typical violence, suicidal thoughts, injury, trauma, reader is dealing with death of a loved one, general sadness, kissing. Please let me know if I missed any.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Years after the outbreak the unthinkable happens and you lose the person who means the most to you. You’ve chosen to give up when Joel Miller finds you and decides to take you in, but is he the best person to help you deal with your grief?

A/N: Whilst this part is M rated, future parts will be very much 18+. This was meant to be v simple pwp but became a different beast entirely oops. If you like it please please comment and/or reblog. To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist

When Joel had found you, you’d thought it was the end.

In some ways you’d hoped it was.

In the years since the outbreak, everything had changed – you’d learnt to fight, to fend for yourself, to trust few and to hold on to those you cared for with everything you had. That was how it had to be now, so different from before. Those people – the ones you loved – had dwindled dramatically over time. Most were lost to the cordyceps, some to hunters or raiders until eventually it was just you and her, your closest friend through life and hell.

You’d spent over a year just the two of you, drifting from town to town looking for somewhere safe, secure, somewhere to rest your heads for more than a few hours. You’d heard rumours of strongholds you desperately wanted to find, but with the infected population increasing by terrifying numbers it was becoming more and more impossible to imagine a haven in this new world.

So while you’d searched and tried not to yearn for what you might find you’d both learnt instead to survive as ghosts, to keep quiet and out of sight – alive and uninfected.

Until you’d made a mistake.

One that cost a life.

Joel had found you blood-stained and afraid, stuck still in a state of shock. You were shivering violently, huddled down next to a body that you couldn’t seem to look at. Blood on your hands, blood on your clothes, it was starting to pool in the snow. The sticky red of it was making you sick. A gun lay thrown to your other side, muzzle partially buried in the snow.

Your breath ragged, puffing out in white clouds as you heaved with panic, and he had looked at you with cold eyes as you shuddered on the icy ground. You were more than sure that he was another threat – another monster – but you were too adrift to run for your life, too lost now to find a way out of this.

You had sobbed, pathetic and broken, and waited for the man to kill you. You thought perhaps it was all you deserved, to die here beside the last person you had cared about. And the man did aim his pistol at you, his first instinct taking over.

Holding up your hands in defeat, those red stained traitorous hands of yours, you watched almost lifeless as he rifled through your pack. You sniffled, the flow of tears streaming steady down your cheeks.

So this was what surviving had gotten you.

“Please” you had sobbed and wiped your cheeks, smearing them red-tinged. He had placed the pack back down having not taken anything from it. You had nothing he needed you guessed. You had nothing, after all.

“Please” again, and truthfully you didn’t know if you were asking him to end your life or spare it.

He’d looked at you then, properly, and you felt you saw pity in the eyes of this stranger. He remained pointing the pistol at you but something had made him hesitate. For a few moments there was only the puff of your still panicked breath, his much calmer and floating above you in disappearing wisps.

“You bit?” he asked, and was clearly relieved when you shook your head. “She was bit, right?” he waved the gun in the direction of the body you dare not look towards.

“She was...she...we were so careful. We were – She just couldn’t outrun them…” you couldn’t say it, not fully, but the missing parts of your words provided the answer for him.

You’d looked up at him then, with wide eyed fear from the horrors you’d seen and watched the man take a long breath, thinking something over.

“I’m sorry” he murmured, hesitant. You braced for the kill shot then, but all that had come was a sigh as he lowered the gun.

He extended a hand, it had shocked you – scared you more than the thought of dying. You flinched, and he just stayed like that, offering his help.

“It’s alright” he muttered “I ain’t gonna hurt you. Looks like you’ve already been through hell” he looked to the scene before him. The blood and the tears and the discarded gun somewhere to your left.

You had finally, nervously, taken his hand and let him pull you up from the ground. You didn’t look behind you, but you saw him eye you and then reach down for your pack and the gun that you never wanted to have to touch again.

“You got anyone else...anyone waiting on you?” he asked, and you saw a sympathy in his eyes when you shook your head timidly.

“Why...why are you helping me?” you questioned cautiously, voice barely there. You had screamed it away.

He didn’t answer, just handed you your pack – but not the gun – and told you “I got a place to sleep, sheltered, gonna be there a few days hopefully before I move on again. You can come with me, while you get your bearings”

“I don’t understand” you stood away from him, wary and confused and he just waited, too calm.

“You’ve been through something. Way I see it, leaving you on your own out here to die – that would be cruel...there’s infected out here, and worse. I’m not blind, you’ve given up fighting – you’re scared and alone. I’ve got enough humanity left in me to know you need help” he had shrugged and started walking.

And maybe it had been foolish, but you followed him. Because what he’d said, how he’d said it, it sparked something in you.

Hope.

If only you’d known how dangerous hope could be.

***

Three weeks later, and you were starting to feel like a person again. Not the person you had once been, no, they were never coming back to you. But more than a husk, with perhaps at least part of your soul intact.

Beyond all odds, the man had spared you. He had helped you, taken you back to shelter and patched you up. Sure, he’d checked you for bites – never quite believing your words for himself – and it had been humiliating to let him inspect you like that but you couldn’t blame him for not trusting you.

Trust was earned, and not often in a world like this one.

“You’re good” he had said, passing your clothes back, and though you hadn’t quite found relief in that you were at least grateful he wouldn’t put you down the way you had had to…

He hadn’t spoken much, in those few weeks between finding you and now. His name was Joel, he had told you between bites of some miserable canned beans, but that was about all you got from him in the first week. Slowly, ever so slowly you had earned tiny snippets of information from him, but it all felt trivial in the shadow of whatever agony he must’ve lived through to be here now. Everyone had gone through something, and he wore his woe like a heavy cloak that he had no choice but to bear.

You learned that Joel was gruff, controlled, clearly capable of enduring on his own, but there was something else to him too – a sadness you knew better than to talk about. A part of him was missing, you could feel it in everything he did and maybe it should’ve scared you but he had saved you, and you would always see that in him first and foremost.

He was ruthless, too. And you realised very soon that you had been lucky in your fate with him. You  learnt quickly of his ferociousness, his base violence, when some raiders had caught up with you and his eyes had gone black – soul leaving him as he did what he had to to survive. You tried not to think about it, about how he surrendered his humanity in those moments of blood and pain and horror and did what needed to be done. He was like another person entirely, you wondered if he even realised it sometimes.

It is all about surviving, though. You see that now, being alone in a way you haven’t been in the last 10 years. The goal now is only to survive, and you could do that with violence like Joels or you could die...or worse. You know in reality he isn’t good, but really what is good now? Does it even really exist? In the time before the outbreak it had all seemed so clear cut but now the morality of good and evil was so blurred and frayed at the edges, the word had so little true meaning to those still breathing. You know he would’ve killed you if he had to, if you had given him a reason, but still it is difficult to be truly scared of his brutality when you know he is the lesser of many, many worse things out there. So maybe you could not call him good, but his heart persists in spite of his wrongs and that matters the most.

Besides, the moments he didn’t have to be steely and cold he happened to be quite nice. Certainly not sunshine and rainbows, but he looked out for you while you travelled together. And even though he was no conversationalist he never once let you feel left completely alone. In his own way, he was kind and caring and full of compassion that he perhaps hid from himself. Every day since meeting you had felt this string of connection forming between the two of you, barely seen thing string but it was there. It felt like you shared something deep, something between your souls that you didn’t expect to find anywhere other than with her. It terrified you.

Every few days, you moved to a new location. He had told you he was travelling north, and you’d said you’d leave him soon but you both knew you weren’t going anywhere, just sticking along for the journey. You had no where else to be after all.

Tonight, you’re staying in another abandoned house in what was once a small, active town. It’s empty, everything is empty, and even though you know no one is coming back to the house it feels like a violation every time you step inside what had once been a home. It makes you shiver, walking through the dark rooms with the dust lining everything, rising and settling as you move through. Once upon a time, not really that long ago at all, the place might have been full of light and dreams and life. And now it is a roof over a head for you and Joel, a place for you to lay your head and pray not to dream or die.

“Hey” you hear him call in that low voice from another room “Boots. Should fit you”

“Score” you make your way to the bedroom, where he’s holding up an old pair of walking boots that, yes, look about your size. They’re tatty but wearable, and your current shoes are in dire need of replacement.

You sit on the bed behind you, sinking on to the soft mattress, and pull off your shoes to try on the others. It feels wrong, but you have to remind yourself no one is ever coming back to claim them. Joel doesn’t seem to have those thoughts, and you envy him for it.

He smiles as you tug on the boots, just a small smile but it sends something jolting through you.

You look at him for a moment, as he busies himself with checking through the rest of the room for any supplies you can use. Joel is handsome, there is absolutely no denying that, even with the dirt and the sweat and the scruff. He looks tired, desperately so, but even so his dark brown eyes have this shine to them, and his smile though rare is a gorgeous thing. You’ve thought about him, of course you have. When you had met you hadn’t noticed it but the more time you spend with him the more you see him. The more you feel for him. He is beautiful.

You feel a pang, and it’s horribly like guilt, as you think of him like that. Is it wrong, so soon after losing someone, to want someone else in your life? It feels wrong, like sin even though doesn’t make sense. You’re relationship with her had been full of love but it had only been platonic, yet it still feels like...like you’re being selfish, letting her go. It feels like a great betrayal and it stabs you through the heart.

In a moment the grief spills like a mighty flood threatening to consume everything in it’s wake. You stop still in tying the laces of the boots as you feel your breathing quicken in panic. There’s a sting in your eyes but know you wouldn’t cry yet. You can’t breathe, but you won’t cry. Can’t cry. You call the tears back in. Those tears are saved for when you are alone; in the moments when you wait for him to come back from a hunt or a scout, when you sit on the forest floor or on a sad, dusty, long-forgotten chair on your own and panic at the feeling of being by yourself. That is the time for misery, not here. Not now.

“You ok?” he turns to you concerned, noticing the change in your demeanour.

You clear your throat and nod, comforted by the way the tone of his deep, sad, voice speak volumes more than his words do. He worries about you, he does. He cares about you, even though he probably doesn’t mean to. It helps, calms you a little.

You’ve both kept your distance for all these weeks, only close when you need to be, but when you don’t answer he comes to sit right besides you. He’s warm. His body is warm. You’ve felt it at night when you share a bed or when he was showing you how to shoot better, but right now he’s just sitting there besides you his shoulder gently bumping yours and you feel the sweep of comforting warmth.

“I’m fine. I just…They’re good boots”

He lets out a grunt of a laugh.

“They must be damn good” he smiles barely but doesn’t press for a real answer.

The grief is a monster that holds you by the throat, and you are relieved he doesn’t make you give name to it.

Joel knows all about not talking about your pain, after all. You feel it every day and every time things get even a little more personal between the two of you as you slowly slowly inch closer together. He’s holding back on something and trying so hard to pretend it’s not there but what he doesn’t seem to realise is it’s always there. In those quiet moment where you’re just sitting, just trying to get through another harsh night.

***

Tonight you agree to share the large bed with the soft mattress in this house that will never again be anyone's home. He never insisted but you agree it’s safer if you’re both trying to sleep that you’re not separated. Usually you’d split a watch shift and sleep alone but you’ve been walking for miles, you’re sore and tired and miserable in your own little ways.

So you share the bed and to being with you keep your ever-dwindling distance as always but tonight...tonight is different. You drift a little closer than before, unintentional but god you just need the comfort of human touch or something right now. Your body begs for it ever since that crashing wave of heartache engulfed you earlier.

You’re filled with the need to erase that feeling. To replace it with something better, something warmer and kinder. It scares you how much you crave to feel his hands on you, how much you want him to wrap his arms around you. It scares you because you’re not even sure if you can face it – intimacy – or the rejection of it.

Still you move closer and you feel him move on his side of the bed...closer or further away? You can’t bring yourself to look.

“Joel?” you whisper after a breath, hoping he’s sleeping.

He kind of grunts a response and you don’t know what to say next so you don’t say anything. The air moves around you in gripping quiet.

“You alright?” he asks in to the silence, the enveloping dark.

He waits for your answer and you lose yourself in his steadiness. How does he do it? How does he manage to appear so composed even when you both know he isn’t? You want to cry or scream or rip your flesh from your bones. Something to stop all this noise in your head.

Silence still and he doesn’t move, doesn’t ask again. You think he’s probably settling back in to sleep and maybe you should just leave him be.

“Does it ever hurt less?” you whisper and your voice shakes. You regret it immediately. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk about things like that, he’s never even brought up the past.

He sucks in a breath, quiet, but doesn’t answer and you curl in on yourself. The desire to run floods you, the desire to be anything but you; to be strong and unaffected and more like him. You feel the prickle of tears in your eyes and it makes you hate yourself, hate your grief and your guilt and her for making you hurt like this.

And then you hate yourself even more.

“I’m sorry, darlin’….Wish I could lie to you but..” he sighs and you feel the shift of the mattress as he turns towards you. After a long pause and what you think is a hitched breath you feel the press of his large hand at your waist. “It’ll hurt forever”.

“How…” you force back the tears “How do you live with it?”

“You keep trying” his voice is thick with compassion and something else, “You find a way”.

You just nod and let him pull you closer, his body curving around yours, the weight of his arm over you making you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. You wipe away those treacherous tears and focus on just the feeling of him. It’s more than you had imagined. More than you’d dared to think about. His breath is warm on the back of your neck and it floods every part of you.

He lets out a sigh that sounds like relief. You feel something in him start to relax, just a little.

You want the pain to go away so desperately, at least for this moment. And so does he.

And so, he turns your head gently, thumb under your chin. You feel it leaving you already, some of the anger and pain. His face is above yours for maybe three seconds that feel like an eternity and then he’s kissing you. It’s soft, his lips are chapped but it doesn’t bother you. The kiss envelops you and the air around the two of you shifts.

Everything is pulled away.

Even if just for the briefest moment, he helps you let it go.

[fernlessbastard]

im the psychotic wilbur anon (forgot to note im paranoid schitzo and i see myself so much in him ANYWAYS) BUT CWILBUR BPD FOR THE WORLD. (< ALSO BPD.) hottest take is that him and quackity are bpd4bpd and a huge part of their relationship is a learning curve figuring out how to navigate communication with each other and each others splits and such. i also think that wilbur tends to black split on HIMSELF more often, and quackity tends to black split on OTHERS more often. i also think that wilbur white splitting on quackity would be a whole nother thing they have to deal with, with wilbur suddenly being like "you are literally god to me and the only person who loves and cares about and understands me you are the greatest human being alive please let me worship you i love you so much" and quackity just being like "woag dude" LIKE. also im so so so for real wilbur has so much paranoid schitzo swag i dont know how to explain that this man is fucking TEXTBOOK paranoia and he has so many paranoid anxiety habits that make me feel insane. i think he always makes sure to lock the door and check the lock like six times when he comes home and he cant sleep at night if hes alone in the house so he barely slept in paradise and didnt sleep right until he moved in with quackity, i think he has really severe paranoia about imposters and intruders and also barely slept and was constantly on high alert in pogtopia and he could only really sleep when quackity visited or if tommy or technoblade shared a mat with him, i think he also has delusions of grandeur that he has to deal with a lot and reality checking him can be really dangerous especially coupled with his bpd because he then SNAPS to black splitting on himself so hard he makes himself sick, ohhhh cwilbur my sickly man i adore you so sorry for being insane in your inbox

The first ask in question

(Ok so as a disclaimer obviously headcanons are personal and there's no wrong ones and you're valid for reading it this way)

With Wilbur I very much agree, but I don't see bpd in Quackity tbh. It more so looks like ADHD alongside shit like abandonment issues, being invalidated his entire life, being generally overworked and having no healthy outlet for his feelings, having trouble identifying said feelings in the first place, etc - all of which are very common in/characteristic of ADHD. I don't remember him ever splitting. His shitty love life makes sense with ADHD too - deficiency of dopamine makes it very easy to mistake the dopamine boost from "new person to talk to" for a crush (believe me). Hypersexuality is also common in ADHD, as well as emotional dysregulation, alexithymia (difficulty/inability to identify one's own emotions), overstimulation, shutdowns, etc, which can occasionally resemble splitting, but is very different, and works through exhaustion and frustration rather than delusions. Various types of paranoia as well as heightened irritability are also very common, especially when your senses are clouded by sensory/information/emotional overstimulation. And especially the splitting outwards part just doesn't sit right with me - maybe i missed a stream or sth but I haven't seen anything like that in him. Furthermore I'd actually say he generally points negative feelings/breakdowns etc inwards for the most part - and when ADHD is being pointed inwards it usually leads exactly to developing/heightening shit like paranoia, rejection sensitivity, hypersexuality, emotional dysregulation, alexithymia, etc. He can snap and isolate himself, but it's very different to splitting. ALSO - very important part - Quackity doesn't exhibit mania episodes. He occasionally exhibits the type of hyperactivity and excitement representative of ADHD, but it's never this state of delirium with feelings of grandeur, delusions, etc. Wilbur does exhibit mania episodes - pretty heavily at that - and the contrast makes it pretty apparent that Quackity's case is different.

THAT BEING SAID I don't have bpd, so for a perspective from someone who does, here's a rant from @octobre-ackedia: <<On so many levels, Quackity doesn't show bpd symptoms. Not all abandonment issues are borderline personality disorder. I don't think I need to say it, but bpd takes over the entire life of a person, it's not just trauma. And I don't really have much to elaborate on with the ask, mostly showing Wilbur's bpd traits but that's for an entirely different rant, and I need to chill out. Quackity doesn't black split on others. It was not shown a single time. He slowly loses trust in people, he builds walls, but that's not splitting. He doesn't start to irrationally hate everyone around himself, think that people are just cruel and bad, and more importantly don't care about him, suddenly becoming aggressive towards them. He backs off a little bit more with each disappointment in people around him, ending up not so much hating, as avoiding human relationships. And he doesn't have a favourite person, not even Slime who was just so perfectly there to be an example of that. Quackity learnt how to trust the guy, building a friendship, but never became truly "obsessed" with him. He grieved his death, tried to save him, but FFS, that's not a favourite person, that's how human relationships work (or more so, hybrid relationships haha). He doesn't get manic. You could say he becomes strongly confident, hypersexual or overworking himself, but the important part in it is the reasoning. He doesn't start believing he is some sort of a saviour for the world and can build a perfect country, or that he doesn't need anyone for that. He starts a project and might go overboard with it, but it's never this... aggressive as with bpd. With the 9 most visible symptoms, he has maybe 3 of them, which are all clear reactions to specific situations. Unstable relationships? Schlatt became an abuser, Karl and Sapnap abandoned him, he never really influenced any of that happening. The abandonment issues and feeling of emptiness are simple reactions to that trauma. His moves are calculated, he doesn't really show any mood swings, he has a quite clear image of himself, he doesn't experience any suicide ideation or shows extreme examples of self harm/putting himself in danger. And what about the part of splitting when he pushes people away after getting scared of becoming too close? He always stays, in the end. Even when he tried so hard not to get attached to Slime. Where's the white splitting? Where's anything, really. I still stand with the headcanon of them having to navigate a hard relationship, with both of them experiencing severe mental issues, but it's not bpd4bpd. Q is my depressed ADHD bitch, who struggles with trauma.>>

Also I'd say Wilbur's heavily autism coded too - as a bonus it does frequently "strengthen" bpd cause of the type of trauma autistic people experience. Q I see as very much ADHD but I also low-key hc him as somewhere on the spectrum too, though I'm not as heavily set on that

Tldr while Wilbur absolutely clearly has some severe mental issues, Quackity's seem (to me at least) to be more easily and consistently explainable by a combination of ADHD (maybe low support needs autism) and some (pretty damn severe (canonically - looking mainly at all the abandonment + sa hints)) trauma

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Response to the Form! Part 1

Hello, my lesbian twinks, my twink lesbians, and everyone else like deranged bisexuals, gunslinging heteros, and fire blasting asexuals.

Today, I will go through the form, and see what people say about where they are from and stuff like that. I will not share the personal testimonies from that section, however!

We had 59 replies in total, by the way!

As expected, the majority of people are from North America. I say 'as expected' because I'm just assuming that's the largest CoG demographics? Also the story takes place in a nefarious place in the United States, so I feel USAmericans might be more interested in that than like... someone from Australia. That being said, here are the percentages:

60.3% (or 35 answers) are from North America.

12.1% (or 7 seven answers) are from Western Europe.

8.6% (or 5 answers) are from South East Asian/Oceania.

6.9% (or 4 answers) are from South America.

5.2% (or 3 answers) are from Eastern Europe.

5.2% (or 3 answers) are from Central America.

1.7% (or 1 answer) is from South Asia.

Quickly, I had assumed the numbers to be around that. While there may be to some degree fewer non-white people within the CoG community, I don't believe this to be entirely true. But I feel there may be an unspoken social contract that if a character's race will always have the basic race (white) and I think to some degree that doesn't foster a space for people who are not white to have the ability to go 'hey, I am represented in this work, I want to be involved more within the community involving this work.' Something about the default being white, I'm assuming? I've noticed it's more apparent for Black people.

Products are made with white people (the assumed default in mind at least here) and to some degree, a video video is a product despite being an artistic project. Anyways, this is just a segway to roll games made by non-white people through our asks and I'll publish them with a link.

yea

yea x2

The politicized nature of indigenity and Indigenous struggle by default restricts who can possibly be Indigenous from a state pov (further reading: Paper Genocides (two links)). Also, well, there is an ongoing genocide in Canada that is largely unspoken (and in America, and in various places in the world) on Indigenous places.

This is the segway that the donation for next month will go to the following group:

Many reserves literally don't have access to running water. If you have ever been on reserves, the state actively lets its Indigenous population become sick from drinking tainted water or forced to buy bottled water amid food deserts. At the same time, the nearby stream is being used for large-scale production. The passivity from our government to just wash their hands and look around as if nothing can be done is part of the ongoing attacks on several communities in Canada.

this was 90% at some point lol

Compare and match: the same amount of Yes and No responses for the white/racialized question. That being said, that was one of the sections in the follow-up in the bottom section that we received a lot of inquiries about, like how many works don't have characters with disabilities, and that's something we are eyeing.

For the record, the next three questions will all be paired together. It's hard for us at this stage of development to like include the groups mentioned, but that's something to keep in mind with future works or sequels or prequels.

First and foremost, despite the current lack of representation from these three groups in our IF, we still want to cater to an environment where people part of these communities are welcome to talk about how they feel about the IF itself, and possibly the lack of representation and how they may feel they are portrayed by characters who fit these themes. (This applies to the other categories!) The IF is being written by an immigrant, so that's an issue that is personal to xer. For the refugee and intersex categories within the IF, while neither of us is part of these communities, though being an ally (especially during the current world events) is rather important to us.

So essentially if you got anything to say about these three groups because you feel a character might have a theme that is similar to one that someone from one of these communities might experience, you are 100% allowed to talk about it, criticize it, and feel however you want about it, and if you tell us, we will give it a big eyeful.

anyways! that's just part one ;)

let us see who got stickers tomorrow MWAH

[professionalranter31]

I have more general headcannons for the Overwatch heroes

Bastion has yet to really figure out their gender, they identify as he/him currently because of their relationship with Torbjorn but they are still discovering parts about who they are

Bob used to have a voice but Ashe’s parents had it removed when Ashe started to treat Bob as her parent instead of them, it had the opposite effect that they had intended. Ashe is determined to find a copy of Bob’s voice so he can tell her his stories again and talk to her while he makes meals and hum to her when she just needs a hug

When Efi began to create Orisa’s Javelin update she let Orisa pick out her own hairstyle, there are several hair styles stored away because Orisa went slightly overboard with picking one out, Efi is currently debating getting into selling hair styles to Omnics she’s made so many that she’s become that good

Brigitte had a habit growing up of trying to make mech suits for various animals, from a jet pack mech for a cat to a flying suit for a squirrel, Torbjorn already warned Bastion that she may try to do this with Ganymede, but he also knows that Reinhardt encourages the behavior

Widowmaker’s brainwashing did not simply affect her current emotions, the way that the brainwashers ensured it worked was that they altered her memories of her past emotions so that she felt like she was faking them instead of actually feeling them. Once that process was done then they implanted that she only feels real emotions when she kills someone and implanted the urge to kill Gerard. It also has to be stated that barely anyone knows that she is actually brainwashed, the only people who do are those that brainwashed her, some of them are dead, and Doomfist. So most people thinks this is the real Amelie instead of the fake. Angela and a few others just thinks she suffered a psychotic breakdown

Ana has a small holo disk that holds articles about all of Fareeha’s achievements, from her promotions to her completed missions, everything. Fareeha does not know about this

Ramattra has been analyzing certain individuals in order to create generals for Null Sector, or at the very least super soldiers (this is in reference to the Null Sector skins some heroes have, I want all of them to be canon to the lore)

Sombra hates hacking Omnics, the first time she tried it felt so wrong that she ended up getting sick. The issue that arises is that with manipulations there is always some sort of choice, no matter how much of an illusion one may be, but hacking an Omnic takes away all choice, and Sombra hates that because it makes her feel like the people she’s hunting down to uncover the conspiracy. She was sick for several days after she hacked several Omnics in Numbani for Doomfist

D.Va is a really good at making meals, and I mean like from scratch, it was something she learned to do when first entering the streaming scene because she didn’t want to become reliant on cup noodles and snacks for sustenance, which is ironic because she absolutely sucks at cooking games, which is made further ironic because Tracer, who can’t make a meal to save her life is amazing at cooking games

Doomfist’s philosophy was born when he lost his arm, he cried out for help but no one came even though he could see that people heard him, but no effort was made to save him. He had to force himself out of the rubble pinning him down, and forcefully tearing his trapped arm off to get out. That is when his philosophy first began to develop

Lifeweaver is constantly studying plants to try and find new effects he could create with his biolight that could help people, but the first plants he researched after he left Vishkar were some of Satya’s favorites. She had a small garden that she would trim and keep from overgrowing, with a bonsai tree to round it all together. The first plants he designed and created after leaving Vishkar and joining the Arcology were from that garden, he keeps a replica in his room to remember his best friend

[saturnsmocha]

READ MY RULES BEFORE LIKING, COMMENTING, AND REBLOGGING!!!

Hey y'all! Remember when I said I had a Lucky Contestant FC of my very own? Well, here they are! They mainly appear wearing the mask, but I wanted to show off their face for this bio so y'all can get a taste of what they look like.

Onto my Contestant...

Leni Sorensen had it all. They were the star athlete/gymnast at their high school, found the perfect man and moved in with him in a nice house after graduating. But then, something crashed and burned in their mental state and now they've turned into a bitter adult who lives in a crappy rundown apartment, has gone through a breakup, dealing with a smoking addiction, and is struggling to find a job. Desperate to get their life back together, upon hearing that if you managed to find a VHS tape in one of the Frankie's Fruit Flake boxes, you'll be granted to participate in a private indoor gameshow with the promise of 5 million dollars, they obsessively remuage through every box for the to be signed up and luckily for them, they finally found it after 769 boxes. They even toke rehab to get rid of their addiction and train really hard so that they can regain their parkour skills in time for the game. Under the impression that it was a simple and harmless yet goofy gameshow like Wipeout, they quickly realize upon being accepted that this "gameshow" is actually a streaming podcast located in the dark web AKA a "red room", where sick fucks pay money to watch people get sliced up by saws, have their skins melted by toxic slime, and be hunted down and killed by monstrous versions of the mascots. With Leni being the only surviving "contestant" able to outwit the monsters with her athletic gift and win the prize, they ended up making the red room more money and is now forced to remain imprisoned at the Parkour Palace until the next season arrives, rather they accept the offer or not.

Extended Bio:

Full name: Magdalena Sorensen Nickname: Leni and Maggie (but if you value your life, don't call them that. Just don't) Age: 24 Gender: Nonbinary (goes by any pronouns) AFAB Nationality: Dutch-American Orientation: Bisexual Family: Mother and father, older sister named Amelia (26) and younger brother James (20) Personality: Leni is as confident and boisterous as they are arrogant. They often act rude, dismissive, and sarcastic. They have an ego the size of Jupiter, they know that they are a gifted athlete and won't let others forget. They believe in "survival of the fittest" and looks down at the more weaker ones, blaming them for their shortcomings and willing to leave them behind if they were in a survival setting.

Leni in general isn't the most pleasant person to be around, which was why they don't really have friends, not that they wanted any to begin with (or do they?). But… They are not without a few redeeming qualities… Right? Yes, their negatives do outway their positives, but Leni's not evil. The whole reason they wanted to enter the gameshow was not just because they want a better living space, but to also have a better living space and makes things right with their ex Brett, so they are capable of feeling remorse. Deep down, Leni does long for companionship, but they don't know how, and because of their crass attitude, no one's willing to tolerate them. Needless to say, they are one tough nut to crack.

Fun facts:

🐇Leni has near vision so she wears glasses, but she does sometimes wears contacts. They wore contacts during the gameshow. They hated wearing the mask and if they have an opportunity to take it off they will. 🐇Leni didn't have the best homelife. Their parents (although they love all three of their kids squally) have jobs that require them to work for long hours, so they're rarely at home and when they are, they are exhausted. But that is not the worst part, they often leave her at home with her older sister who makes it her goal to make Leni's life a living nightmare. James however, is the only one who sees the good in them (and still does) and has looked to them his life, but has unfortunately inherit some their boasting which they nowadays try to discourage. 🐇Before moving out, Leni was the one who does all the chores around the house and prepare food. Amelia is more concerned with being on the phone and James was little at the time, but as he grew up he tried to help their older sibling out. 🐇Outside of a boyfriend, Leni did have a small group of friends at one point, although they all got fed up with their prideful nature. 🐇When they're not training for season 58, Leni would try to come up with plans to escape, lay in bed all day, thinking back on their time with Brett and their friends in guilt or trying (and failing) to avoid conversing with Frankie. 🐇James refers to Leni as his "brother". Amelia and their parents refer to Leni as their "sister" and daughter. Brett referred to them by they/them pronouns. Frankie and Henry also refers to them by they/them pronouns. That was when they came out as nonbinary and say they don't mind being referred to as a "he", "she", or a "they". 🐇Leni sleeps in a fetal position and always hugs onto their pillow or blanket. 🐇Leni has a soft spot for animals, although she has a fear of rats, or atleast used to. It helps that every animal she comes across like her, or atleast don't mind her presence. 🐇During their imprisonment, they noticed an injured rat. Despite their phobia of rats, pity overcomes fear within them (and because they were desperate for a companion to stay sane) and they toke it upon themselves to try and nurse it to health. The rat started to imprint on them and they ended basically adopting it. They haven't thought up a name for it. 🐇Leni does become a amicable person in the future. The gameshow shattered their pride and made them question their motto especially regarding the Noob Noobs and eventually Henry. There are still a few bumps in the road, but they are trying their best to be nicer. Leni isn't fond of children. 🐇They hates anime and sees them as overrated and stupid. 🐇Leni thinks that vegans are pathetic. Leni is a big eater. 🐇Their favorite food are ramen noodles and their favorite drink is strawberry and cream soda. 🐇It's possible that her rudeness and sarcasm is also a defensive mechanism. 🐇They haven't been to college. 🐇They are suffering from nicotine withdrawals.

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 25 ~ Enough

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: just that air of unreality that’s become real familiar to Resh and probably isn’t going away anytime soon XD 

WC: 1803

Taglist: @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles

In which Resh is sick and tired; literally and figuratively

AN: This one's on the shorter side; a "we need to get from point a to point b" kind of chapter with a liberal dose of angst and a pinch of magic whump mixed in. I know I promised some better times for Resh but uh... listen. I wrote these chapters I'm posting now like 4 or 5 months ago, and I knew where I stopped but uh. Well. My eyebrows were in the sky when I reread it directly after promising Resh comfort soon. So... sorry? 😅 Plus, angst is different than outright physical torture/pain (of which there is still some... pain, not torture XD), so... I'm going in the right direction? 😂😅

Resh

Movement woke him, a soft swaying motion interrupted by the occasional bounce of whatever was conveying him. 

Wait, what? 

For a moment, Resh thought he felt the ghost of Carr’s touch on his cheek, but when he cracked open his eyes, she wasn’t there. His heart thwacked against sore ribs, which protested heavily when he tried to jackknife up. He tried to brace himself with his arms only to be rewarded with a searing pain that shot across his chest. Fuuuuck. 

Okay, that was enough of that. Panting, he laid back, staring at the light filtering in through a canvas canopy as he tried to make sense of things. His eyes darted to the side, noting the wooden slats. His fingers dug into more of the same. A wagon. He was lying in canvas covered wagon, being transported like a sack of grain to the gods only knew where. 

Where was Carr? Was she okay? Had she even been real, or had the whole thing been just another all too real dream, mocking him with maybes and could have beens? He raised his good arm to his head, clenching stringy, greasy hair in a fist tight enough to tug at his scalp. 

A faint purple glow began to suffuse the area, his magic reacting to the emotions flooding through him. Once, he would’ve been able to suppress such a reaction, no matter what was happening. It had been a matter of life and death, after all, having magic an unquantifiable offense to human sensibilities. 

Now, he didn’t give a shit. He was tired of being dragged around, held down, hurt hurt hurt. Tired of not knowing. He needed to know. Needed to know! 

The light didn’t grow much stronger, his magic stores only having sluggishly regenerated in accordance with the sorry state of his body. But as his breathing quickened and his mental state spiraled, panic outweighed caution and limits. With an effort that left him with tears streaming down his face, Resh managed to lever himself into a sitting position, leaning uncomfortably against the sideboard at the back of the wagon. 

Then, with a flare of pain in his head that left him nearly blind, he grasped inwards for the remnants of his magic and ripped the canvas off the wagon entirely. 

Blazing sunlight finished off the job the pain of overextending himself had done. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision enough to figure out what the fuck was going on before someone decided to punish him for his actions. 

Shouts and generalized chaos broke through the ringing in his ears before sight returned, leaving him flinching back when something thumped on the other side of the wagon. 

No no nonono! He hadn’t seen yet, didn’t know yet. He blinked harder as footsteps approached, desperate to see something–anything–before he was knocked out again. Light broke apart into flashes of darkness, receding with each blink until he could make out the outline of a looming figure approaching him. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He would’ve whimpered had he been able. Instead, he pushed himself to the side, using the sideboard of the wagon to brace him, trying to buy time. Swiveling his head, he looked over the edge of the wagon, catching a view of what looked like an army of people milling around. He registered then that they’d stopped moving. They’d stopped moving and there were so many people and one was coming for him and he’d used his magic and oh gods. He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t… 

The figure crouched before him, and he cringed into the corner of the wagon, every too shallow breath feeling like fire coursing through his lungs. They were speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. The black spots grew larger, obscuring the person, and he wondered faintly if he would pass out before they could hurt him again. 

“Resh, stop it!” 

Harsh words, the first that broke through. He froze, more at the tone, the pain behind them, than from any hint of self-preservation. 

“... safe.” 

Safe? 

He caught motion, flinching despite himself, but when the motion brought only a soft, familiar touch against his cheek, he had to gulp back a sob. Closing his eyes, he leaned into the warmth. Carr? he whispered soundlessly. 

“Yes, it’s–” Her voice broke, and she said nothing more. 

But her fingers curled, playing with the scruff lining his jaw. He felt something in him relax, then tense all over again. Real? he asked. Please gods, please let it be real. Please. Please. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

He dared to open his eyes, because this was what he had wanted, wasn’t it. To see. To know. Bright sparks flashed in his vision, slowly fading to reveal features he’d never thought to see again. 

But he had, hadn’t he? He hadn’t believed then, couldn’t believe. But here she was, again, and maybe this time… maybe it was safe to believe. To hope. 

His gaze roved over her face, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the lines of tension bracketing her mouth. Slowly, slowly, his eyes rose to meet hers. She didn’t avoid the eye contact, in fact, she held it just as fiercely as he did. 

Someone called for her, but she waved them away. The distraction broke the moment though. Resh reluctantly ripped his eyes away, scanning the area around them for danger. The first thing he noticed was the lack of trees. They weren’t in the Wood any longer then. 

Across the way, in a field of sun-seared long grass, several people with swords at their belts were struggling with the canvas he’d ripped off the wagon. They kept glancing his way warily. Others walked around, filling water skins in a trickling stream, stretching their legs, taking the chance to eat some travel rations during the break. And a break it was, one forced by his actions. His magic. 

He couldn’t help but notice all were armed, men and women alike. None had come to restrain him. None were pointing or shouting. He’d blatantly used magic and no one was batting an eye. Well, except the people forced to deal with the canvas. And that man, standing on the dirt path behind them, arms crossed and gaze assessing. He looked young, maybe only a handful of years older than Resh, with short, light-brown hair that gleamed in the light. 

The man carried an unmistakable air of authority despite his apparent youth, and Resh straightened with a wince. Carr turned, dropping her hand as she zoned in on what he was looking at. He missed the contact immediately. 

“Oh, that’s Adan, the Head Elder of Hallin,” she said, turning back to him. 

That was… so unhelpful. How? His thoughts circled back to bandits and the Seleni Wood and that whitewashed room and pain, so much pain. Had that happened? He reached out for her hand, needing to feel that she was solid, that she was real. 

She let him. And she was. 

He let out the breath he’d been holding. I’m… confused. 

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. 

“Can he not speak?” the man called Adan asked. He approached the wagon, arms still crossed, eyes still assessing. 

“No,” Carr said shortly, angling her body in front of him. 

She was still wearing that dress, Resh noticed. The skirts puddled around his legs. There was a blade strapped to her hip, and her free hand hovered over the handle for a moment before dropping to her side. Her fingers curled into a fist, then relaxed, then curled, then relaxed. She didn’t want to appear threatening to this man but was also prepared to do so should the need present. 

Adan cleared his throat. “Are we settled? Or is he going to rip anything else apart?” 

Resh raised an eyebrow when Carr looked to him for an answer. Such a casual response threw him off. Safe? You’re sure? 

Her lips compressed for a moment. “Pretty sure. Brought his guard t’ help get us out of the bandit camp. At a moment’s notice, no less.” 

Us. 

Restraints at his wrists. Hands on his shoulders. Pain, burning, searing pain. Had they done that to her? Tortured her? He forgot those actions had been done to help, not harm. His heart skipped a few beats as he yanked up the sleeve of her dress, searching her wrist for signs of the same treatment. She pulled away from him, startled. 

Did they hurt you? Are you okay? he asked frantically, keeping his hands to himself by sheer force of will. 

Her brow furrowed, and she held up her arm. “I’m fine. Was there on purpose, to find you.”  

His eyes latched onto the fading bruising circling her wrist, breath catching in his throat. Too late, she noticed what he was looking at, and dropped her arm with a muttered ‘fuck’. 

“It’s not what you think.” She sighed at the look he gave her. “Look, can we talk about this later? Right now, it’s hot as fuck and we need to get moving. You good? Actually, no, you don’t look good.” She turned back to the Head Elder before he could respond. “You got anything for pain?” 

A look of contrition crossed Adan’s face. “Of course, my apologies for not offering sooner. One moment.” 

Instead of calling for someone, the Head Elder actually walked away to find something himself. Resh blinked. Then blinked again, the black spots returning as the rush of danger faded. His shoulder throbbed, and his head, and every breath was an effort. He slumped back against the sideboard, exhaustion slamming into him. 

Soon enough, Carr was holding a cup to his lips, but he turned his head away. 

No, I don’t want… he paused, pressing a hand against his side in an effort to alleviate the pain. Don’t want to be drugged. 

“What? Don’t be a shit about this. You’re hurting, and this will help,” she said, but she pulled away and sat back on her heels, not forcing the issue. 

He looked at her helplessly. 

“What is it?” 

Don’t want… you to. Disappear. Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden? 

She scowled. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Drink.” 

The cup appeared at his lips again. He hesitated. 

“Please?” she tacked on. “Promise, I’ll be here when you wake.” 

He parted his lips, giving in to her. She tilted the cup, just the right amount to let the bitter liquid wash over his tongue. He swallowed, staring at her the whole time. He stared as she helped him lay back down. Stared as she sat beside him, taking his hand and holding it between hers in her lap. Stared as his vision faded, her hazel eyes following him into the nothingness of his dreams.

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