#so deal with my long-windedness

[ooc-miqojak]

LFRP/Character Info: Lilliana Whitedawn

Name: Lilliana Whitedawn

Alias: Lily

Species: Sin'dorei (Felblood?)

(This character is very specifically not an Illidari/Demon Hunter.)

Age: (Young Adult) 140

Pronouns: She/her

Height: 6'1”

Eyes: Fel-green

Complexion: White, sun-tanned

Hair: Platinum Blonde

Build: Lean/Toned

Prominent Features:

Fel-green thorned vines tattooed about her torso and hips – not unlike an Illidari's...but not entirely like them, either. There's binding that's been done, however stylized the vines may be; perhaps in homage to her nickname, 'Lily', these tattoos have been shaped like thorned, flowering vines.

There are several notable pieces of jewelry – from a few rings, to a necklace, to several small, delicate golden earrings along her lengthy ears; the specifics are best left to RP, and though this may come across as a display of status... it is, to her, a collection of memories of those now lost to her.

Dark-hued, ridged ram's horns sweep low and close to her head, to curl behind those long, slender ears. (The in-game model is... not as sleek as I'd like, alas. Hers have moreso the shape and form of the version that male Sin'dorei get.)

Relationship Status: Single, divorced from a very brief marriage

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Children: One daughter (Caitiri Whitedawn), age 10 at the beginning of DF

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Residence: Quel'thalas apartment, Eversong Woods Estate, Eastern Plaguelands Estate

Faction: Faction neutral. The Alliance races are often accepted more readily than Horde ones. (Extremely human friendly! They were her people's first allies, after all.)

Languages: Thalassian, Common, Draconic, Demonic, Orcish (she may be able to fumble around in Darnassian). Likely in the order of how well she speaks them, to boot (she doesn't use orcish unless she must, frankly)

Occupation:

Noble of Silvermoon; Knight of the Argent Crusade; retired from the Blood Knights after the Cataclysm. Does some pirating as a way to 'blow off steam,' in her struggle against her corruption. Her name is also often seen in charities around Silvermoon/the Quel'thalas area – donations to rebuilding efforts, and animal shelters mostly.

Over the last decade, she's had an estate built in the Eastern Plaguelands. She's hired – and keeps on staff – a number of druids and shaman, to tend to the land and heal it... and not just for her estate, either - they are encouraged to heal the land as they see fit, and she will continue to provide housing and pay.

Other nights, she haunts a nightclub in the underbelly of Dalaran known as The Nathrezim, owned by old friends from stories long told. The towering, horned woman can often be found making deals of a many and varied sort in a VIP booth – be it for drugs, connections, a boon, or favors-to-be-paid. It's the sort of place where any and all are welcome, and almost anything can be had... for a price. Race and faction don't matter where the deal is king.

She's a woman who keeps the very different facets of her life very far apart, and intends to keep it that way.

Appearance:

Tall and lithe, this platinum blonde, suntanned woman seems all but crafted to draw the eye, despite - or perhaps in spite of - the curl of wicked horns that sweep behind lengthy, pierced ears. There's a subtle allure - to scent, to voice, to form, to charisma in general - that's difficult to put one's finger on. Though in light of all this, it would be difficult to miss the ripple of lean muscle, the dark shadow of markings that slash through her eyes, or the flash of small fangs in a mischievous smile. Despite the dark edges of this Blood Elf, freckles splash merrily along her nose and upper cheeks; this terribly tall, horned woman retains her somewhat-delicate-seeming features, despite the rather obvious fel aura that most would sooner attribute to a powerful warlock...or even a demon.

Scars are usually hidden beneath clothing that is finely tailored, though never gaudy - unless comfort or utility is paramount; armor consists of dark, typically roguish, leather that sports a myriad of pockets, pouches, straps, and (often unnecessary) buckles...not to mention weapons both seen, or otherwise.

Do you know your demons? With curling horns and the dark, vertical markings on her eyes that attest to a Dreadlord, one might guess at her origins. But then, what research has been done on the long-term effects of fel on elves? If you know your demons...you don't know this one.

Personality: Impetuous; Mischievous; Distant/mistrusting; Loyal; Flippant, prone to impulse. Also, loves animals (cats mostly, but she owns birds as well)! ...and baked goods.

These days, Lily isn't the people-pleaser she once was – indeed, she's far more interested in her own goals – striving, in ways, to preserve parts of who she was... while knowing, ultimately, that she will fall to her corruption in time. (I love Vampire:The Masquerade, and I like to keep their humanity system in mind.) She still feels deeply, even if she plays it off better these days – no more heart-on-her-sleeve. Though she is a loyal friend and partner, if those attachments are to be made, it's much more difficult a task, anymore. Loyalty is important. But few are loyal, and even fewer are worth her loyalty. Once bitten, twice shy jaded.

OOC Notes:

Hey there! I've played WoW off and on since Wrath, and started Lily near the end of Wrath/beginning of Cata, so she's been through a lot! Even the demon she fell into trouble with was a player, and her current state of being was all achieved through RP – I love angst, and I love consequences. I like dark RP – dark themes, explorations of morality (what is 'right' or 'wrong'? And who says so?), explorations of the darkest (and often through that, the brightest) parts of people of all kinds of backgrounds. (Not all RP has to be dark! As a note. I like angst, but coming up for air is nice too!)

I prefer (21+) RP partners who are proactive, and aren't afraid of OOC communication! (Especially in the dark RP niche) I like RP partners who know how to keep IC and OOC separate, and those who are able to step back from emotionally intense scenes once they're over... i.e., keeping the IC drama/angst purely IC! I love to talk about scenes, and RP ideas OOC, but I'm not a fan of when IC is taken OOC. (And admittedly, I like not giving away everything about a character up front... the mystery/the journey is why we tell stories, no?)

No out of game RP for me, unfortunately, unless I specifically invite it! I simply cannot stay in character in roleplays that last for multiple days in a forum style. I will need you to work with me on scheduling RP, as well! I can't be IC at a moment's notice, and prefer to schedule RP ahead of time to make sure I'm in the right headspace (the ADHD just functions better knowing when things are going to happen).

Also, I tend to be a para-poster! I mirror as well, but I tend to be descriptive, and that results in long posts - as if this long post wasn't warning enough...

Server: Wyrmrest Accord

Playlist:

This playlist has been around for many years - I long ago migrated it over from Youtube, since it existed before Spotify did, even! I've been updating it throughout the years as I've played Lily, and even tacked some songs on while I wasn't actively writing for her, so it's a good look back in time at who she's been - and perhaps a bit of a look at who she's becoming.

History/Hooks:

Almost anything you've read thus far could most likely be used as a hook! That's often why I include such details.

She used to run with a less than savory crowd, post-retirement from the Blood Knights, though it's rumored that the horned young woman now stands on her own two hooves feet in the shadows of Murder Row, and similar communities beyond. Maybe you'll find her there, or at the club in Dalaran, if you're not too picky about who you ask favors of.

- She spends a lot of time at Light's Hope, and still works with the Brotherhood of the Light... though if you know of this particular sect? You know why someone like her was assigned to a sect like theirs. She began squiring during the Cataclysm era, and went on to earn her Knighthood – so Argent connections are still great!

- She's still a Silvermoon noble of quite some rank - though she's rarely comported herself as a noble woman 'ought'... and yet, despite fel trappings, she seems to go above and beyond to ease the suffering of those under her charge, after the ravages of far too many wars... she's fought in most of them, after all.

- Gets up to pirate stuff sometimes! That's always a good hook. Maybe you're intrigued by the rumors of a 'demonic pirate crew' pillaging the high seas that no one can seem to confirm.

- Lily has a passion for history – her people's history, mostly. She's spent years flying around Azeroth with her draconic best friend, scouring ancient ruins for artifacts and anything else... often laying the spirits therein to rest, as well, considering she wielded the Light for most of those travels. Talk about Elven culture/history with her, or show off some artifact of your own! She's a secret nerd.

- Light Wielders beware... she has complicated feelings about the Light - very love/hate. (Although I do think it would be a blast for her to have a Light-based confessor-type she could speak with? But I can't promise she won't be creepy about it.)

[a-big-chicken-nerd]

i always imagined the way the forbidden scroll works was it like put artificial ideas and thoughts of assurance and self-righteousness in ur noggin that were indistinguishable from ur own regular thoughts. like it doesnt Talk To You it Influences You from the inside out

anyway ice emperor doesnt know what his own scepter is he has noo idea it messes with ur head at all. imagine if it made him think of something upsetting to him and he didnt know those thoughts werent even his haha would that be messed up or what

A pack of hostile wolves had been reported to have grown defensive of their territory surrounding a lake, one that was an important staple to one of the fisher villages. Several villagers had been attacked and injured by the beasts.

“It is my advice to you that you should send a few of your ice samurai to deal with the creatures there before any more harm is done,” Vex stated conclusively. 

It had taken the Emperor’s advisor several minutes to reach the point, among a decently long list of other happenings and concerns from his kingdom. The Emperor hardly minded Vex’s detailed long-windedness, though. The words were something clear, concise, and trustworthy to the cluttered fogginess of his own mind. 

“Send them then,” the Emperor agreed.

“It will be done as you command,” Vex nodded, unrolling the scroll he was reading from a bit further and moving on to the next point.

Vex was an excellent advisor. He could always be trusted to be on top of things regarding the well being of the kingdom. He would stand to the right of the throne and come up with the most efficient solutions to any issues, and the Emperor wouldn’t have to doubt them for a moment. The Emperor should get rid of Vex.

…

What? That last thought caused the Emperor to pause. Where did such an idea come from? He needed Vex.

Disturbed by his own thoughts, the Emperor refocused on Vex, who was still talking; halfway through a discussion about taxes now. There was no issue regarding them, it was simply a report for this period.

Perhaps he needed Vex too much. When was the last time the Emperor had bothered to gather information on his own kingdom? Or command action without blindly following Vex’s judgment?

It was because Vex’s judgment was always solid and his intel always thorough and trustworthy, that’s what made him such a good advisor.

But was he really just an advisor if he was the one truly running the show?

The Emperor closed his eyes. Taxes, taxes. Vex was talking to him, he needed to pay attention. He could trust Vex’s words.

What if Vex was deceptive in his intentions, and really he was just using the Emperor for his power? He should be punished for his deceit.

That wasn’t true, though. He didn’t believe that, he didn’t want to do that. Vex was his trusted advisor and friend.

Was that actually true? Or was that just what was easiest to believe? The advisor could not be trusted. Be rid of him.

The Emperor gripped his scepter, tilting it away from Vex as if it would give in to the impulsive thoughts on its own and do something regrettable. The tighter he held it, the louder the thoughts seemed to grow.

Be rid of him. Be rid of him. Be rid of him.

“My Emperor?”

The Emperor blinked and realized Vex’s concerned eyes were watching him, scroll rolled up and forgotten. In the same moment he noticed liquid pooling on the edge of his mask, and beginning to run down the front. He wiped the stuff away and it stained his glove a darker shade. His tears were strange that way; water would freeze far before it could come anywhere near his palace. Whatever he cried wasn’t water.

He should just kill that liar now and take back your kingdom. He should, even if it would pain him to do so.

“What troubles you?” Vex spoke again, softly.

Freeze him freeze him freeze him

Clutching his scepter as close as he could and doing his best to shrink away deeper into his throne (as unbefitting of an action as it was for a royal), he closed his eyes tight and hid them behind his glove. He growled out a sigh that did nothing to release the tension in his chest.

“Leave me, Vex,” the Emperor finally commanded.

There was a pause.

“Are you sure? I may be of assistance with whatever disturbs you.”

And now he questions your word. He cannot be trusted. Destroy him.

“You heard me,” the Emperor snapped shortly.

Another long pause before Vex finally responded with a simple “as you command, my Lord.” The throneroom sound doors closing behind him as he left echoed around the now empty room.

[emmersreads]

Foreign Bodies: Pandemics, Vaccines, and the Health of Nations by Simon Schama 3.5/5 stars

bear with me lads, this is an Extremely special interest book review

Foreign Bodies: Pandemics, Vaccines, and the Health of Nations is a generally good book marred by a few incidents of absolutely deranged framing. I liked a lot about it, but it lacks focus. While it is an in depth look at an interesting subject for a popular audience, it doesn’t always hold up on an academic level. Ultimately, for me it worked better as a companion read to Seth Dickinson’s The Masquerade, which also deals with colonial medicine and hygiene, but in a fictional setting. Foreign Bodies covers a lot but it doesn’t stand up on its own.

The elephant in the room was, for me, that Simon Schama is an art historian, not a historian of science or medicine, and you can tell.

Or, well, I could tell, because I am a historian of science; I have two very expensive degrees about it. That’s why I have so much to say about the minor things that are wrong with this book.

First, the good. Foreign Bodies is a fun and eclectic look at the unfortunately not widely popularized niche of medical history: colonial medicine. I would actually highly recommend it as an anti-colonial read to flesh out one’s understanding of British occupation of India and China. The exploration of the racialized and colonial politics of hygiene and cleanliness — and how the principles of sanitation formed a cornerstone of the ideology of empire — is perhaps this book’s best contribution. As I mentioned above, I read this book directly after The Masquerade series. The series uses a fictional setting to explore the ethics of resistance to colonization. The most complete resistance to colonization includes refusing to adopt colonial practises of sanitation and medicine which do save lives. Is this a necessary sacrifice? Medicine is the poisoned fruit of empire; access to it is used to as both carrot and stick to ensure colonial obedience. The Masquerade is very thoroughly researched and incorporates a dizzying array of historical influences, and Foreign Bodies serves as an exploration of many of them. It contextualizes the fictional constructions in our real history.

I also, personally, loved the verbose literary style. This book is way way more complicated than it needs to be, but I found it fun and funny. My favourite example was the use of ‘conurbation;, rather than ‘city’ or even ‘metropolis’. What the fuck. If you prefer clarity and directness, you might not enjoy wading through this book’s extremely languorous prose, but for me it had a certain academia-camp charm. And I can appreciate the compulsion to explain and clarify that leads to long-windedness like this. I feel #seen.

What I appreciated less were the weird quirks of framing. Foreign Bodies is pretty aggressively anti-colonial. I’ve read a lot of books where the author is reluctant to explicitly ascribe responsibility for the cruel and unusual behaviours of colonial regimes — all of which were ultimately perpetrated by individual human beings — and this is not one of them. But it exclusively uses the 19th century European terms to refer to Asian locations. That was the detail that tipped me off that this was Schama’s first foray into the field. Unless the context is extremely specific to the 19th century geography or regime, I’m used to seeing Myanmar, not Burma. The 19th century names are technically not incorrect, it’s just not the sort of thing I’d expect to see in an academic work.

The other thing I wouldn’t expect to see, and to my mind the far more egregious error, is the continuous framing of inoculation as new and scientific while previous regimes of sanitization were superstitious and religious. Actual historians of science simply do not think like this.

I think it’s absolutely accurate to say that the Europeans, and especially the British, approached protocols of carbolic sanitization with a fanatical zeal, but to suggest that this was the religion of carbolic to the science of inoculation is misguided and ultimately distracts from the book’s more interesting questions. First, let’s quickly dispense with the idea that science and religion are two opposite poles of knowledge, as diametrically opposed as black and white. It’s especially out of place in a book that is otherwise attempting empathy towards non-western traditions of medicine, culture, and belief. Science is just another belief system grounded on very specific verification procedures (as opposed to faith, or criticism of certain texts, etc). The sooner we understand that science is a system of belief rather than a privileged access to The Truth, the better we will be at handling the times that science is wrong.

Because science is wrong all the time. Our understanding of our reality is is constantly changing as we refine pre-existing theories and discover new ones. Carbolic was exactly such a case. Fifty years previous, sanitization was the scientific doctrine bravely fighting the superstition of doctor’s honour and the religion of laudable pus.

I found it especially deranged that Schama frames inoculation as part of the vanguard science of bacteriology in opposition to sterilization. Sterilization is grounded in bacteriology just as much as inoculation, if not more (the evidence for the effectiveness of inoculation was exclusively statistical in this period, not microbial). Disease is caused by germs. To treat the disease, use carbolic to kill the germs. The germ are invisible and everywhere, so carbolic your shrivelled British heart out. This is mixed, of course, with the colonizers’ fundamental lack of respect for the personhood of the colonized, and you get the so-called religion of carbolic. It’s just out-dated science strained through a conservative and slow to adapt colonial bureaucracy.

This framing of inoculation and sanitization as two opposite poles of scientificness obfuscates the fact that inoculation was was just as much a part of western science, the western culture and technologies that were steam-rolling their way over Ayurvedic and Chinese medical systems. Does it make it better than this fruit of empire fulfils its promise? Schama isn’t interested in asking, and treats inoculation as unambiguously good, free from the colonial baggage of the rest of medicine. I get that the exploration of this question would be limited by the extreme paucity of non-European sources, but the execution here was still disappointing.

Ultimately, while Foreign Bodies is informative and interesting, it works best as a companion read because it doesn’t really come together by itself. It addresses the obvious, but fails to move any deeper. I have a distinct memory of being struck by the realization, a third of the way through the book, that I didn’t know what it was actually about. Schama draws a connection between viruses and bacteria as foreign bodies causing disease (this is the detail that separates germ theory from humoural theory), to suspicion of inoculation being grounded in fear of injection with foreign bodies, to key figures in the history of inoculation as foreign bodies both within the Asian countries where they worked and within the Western European empires that employed them. It’s a tantalizing idea, but Schama never explains what this connection is (beyond a literary image) or what it might mean. There is meat on that bone. What is the meaning of native and foreign in medicine? How does it interact with our ideas of sanitariness and cleanliness? How can we use this information to decolonize medicine and hygiene in the future? Foreign Bodies pivots so hard from wrapping up its many historical tangents to bemoaning COVID vaccine denialism that it never has time to address them. (This is putting it charitably; put uncharitably, one might suspect that this sort of thing never occurred to Schama at all).

I think the book is an admirable effort for a non-historian of science. It hits the mark way more than it misses. I just did find myself wishing that it had a little more of an understanding of the history and philosophy of science as a field. We’ve been over this sort of thing, but if that work never gets picked up but outsiders, we’ll keep spinning in circles.

[ex-textura]

4 and 15 for both! ^^

Aww yiss!! Long-windedness incoming! 4. Do you remember in which order you recruited your companions? Which companion introduction would have felt the most familiar / like home to your Character? I do! So as Auric I knew exactly who I was going to romance so after we grabbed Shadowheart I went STRAIGHT to Gale. Did not pass GO. Did not collect $200. Then we went to Astarion and let him jump Auric so that Gale would get defensive and kick off his crush. Then we swapped out Shadowheart for Astarion and went to get Lae'zel and then after that was Wyll. We got Karlach very late on because my friend was keen on getting Halsin as quickly as possible. Gale's intro was also the most interesting for Auric because he distrusted everyone else (Astarion especially) right from the beginning but Gale just seemed so genuinely happy to see him and after bonding over a shared love of poetry and wine he took an instant liking to him. For Naught, I was less certain. So we got Shadowheart and then Astarion and then Gale but I left him at camp. Then the same order with Lae'zel, Wyll and Karlach as before. We got her much earlier this time, though, as getting Halsin was less of a pressing concern. It was Astarion's intro that Naught resonated most with, though. The shadiness, the trickery, the back-stabbing and self-preservation spoke to an older part of him and they totally got where he was coming from and truly would have done the same thing in the same position.

15. How did the situation with the grove, the Tieflings and the goblins turn out for your Character? Very similar for both! Auric and Kira let Halsin deal with Kagha while Naught and Dahlia found the incriminating note and killed her outright. No one spoke with Abdirak in Auric's run but Dahlia took the beating with eagerness in Naught's. Otherwise, both groups protected the tieflings, saved the children, and cleaned house in the goblin camp. I just dunno if I can bring myself to attack the grove lol. I'm way too attached to the tieflings.

[gingernut1314]

Songbird Pt. 4

Buggy x F!Reader

Summary: Buggy and you have successfully escaped Alrong Park and the Marines, but you can't help the anxiety that has welled in your chest. An anxiety brought on by Buggy and his quietness. A strange and unusual quietness that had a million and one thoughts running through your head. So when you finally make it onto his ship and he leaves you to fend for yourself with his freaks, you can't help but think those thoughts might be true. That Buggy might have grown bored of you.

Tags: Angst, fluff?, Smut (p in v, slight misuse of devil fruit powers)

Word Count: 5.7K

A/N: Guys...please forgive me for my long-windedness/word count. I really can't help it. But it's not fully my fault because these two have more nerves than I know how to deal with. Anyywayy, thank you for reading and I hope you guys enjoy it!!!! 🩷

...Also do I plan on this having at least 2 more parts...yes. Definitely.

Requested by: @srgtjamesbarnes (🩷)

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The boat ride to find Buggy’s ship had been quiet. A quiet that was very, very unlike the clown. A quiet you tried to break a few times here and there, but whenever you would finally get his attention he would look at you with such…anxiety it had you pausing. Had a bubble of anxiety welling within your own chest.

So you left Buggy to be look-out as you rustled through your bag, grabbing out your make-up and fixing the damage those fish-man had done to it. As you worked, you began to hum. A hum that turned into soft lyrics of a song you had been toying around with for a few days now. 

It was one of longing. Of a restless need to be around someone so much it was maddening. One of freedom and the sea and two people who could do nothing against that need. But it was one you never could quite figure out the ending to.

An ending…maybe that’s what you had done when you fucked Buggy behind that boulder. Maybe you had ended whatever attraction he had had towards you. Maybe he had gotten what he had wanted from you and your continued burning need to be around him was misled--vastly misled. Did he even want you on his crew? 

All these thoughts and feelings turned your song bitter--sharp.

“My crew is going to think I have a siren with me.” Buggy’s voice suddenly spoke from before you. You cut your song quickly, looking away from your small hand-held mirror for a split second to look him over. To find him lending against the railing, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you right back with those intense green-blue eyes of his. 

“Siren…has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Maybe my act should be Buggy’s Siren. Dress me up as big fish.” You said, averting your eyes away from the man who was already drawing out such burning desires from within you. And he did it so simply. So…nonchalantly it rustled up a frustration from your chest you couldn’t help.

“You’re ship is in sight I take it?” You asked, brushing the last bit of mascara onto your upper lash.

When he didn’t answer, you closed your mirror with a sharp snap, blinking his way again. Blinking in a slow, piercing manner. In a way you had always used to intimidate and unsettle. 

And hell if Buggy didn’t look intimidated and unsettled. And hell if you didn’t want to grab him and pin him to the splintering deck of this small ship and fuck him while he looked just the slightest bit scared of you.  

But that anxiety and unsureness filled his green-blue eyes again. An anxiety and unsureness that, in turn, all but squashed your hard glare. Made you feel unsure of yourself all over again. Had you’re chest welling with that same anxiety. Anxiety you absolutely hated feeling.

“Why do you keep--” You were cut off by a massive ship moving up alongside yours. Its wood a darkish maroon in color with red and white stripes painted along the front of it. The sounds of commanding shouts and rushing around floated down to you from the crew aboard. 

A ship you easily could tell was Buggys, not only from the paint job, but by looking at the flag with his clown skull and crossbones Jolly Roger stitched onto it.

Buggy marched off to drop the anchor of your ship as you put away all your things. He came back around to flash you that overly confident grin of his.

“Show time.” And as if on some dramatic queue, a rope ladder came tumbling down the side of the ship's hull. Buggy gave you his signature clicking wink before climbing up the ladder. You watched him climb for a moment, your own nerves and anxiety fluttering around in your chest uselessly.

It had been a long time since you had been on a real pirate crew. One that was bloodthirsty and ruthless and chaotic. The Straw Hats were almost the complete opposite of all that. Chaotic, yes, but they believed in mercy. In helping people rather than taking them for all they had. They didn’t actively enjoy causing pain and suffering.

Buggy’s crew would be vastly different and it help that you had been one of the people to beat their asses only a few weeks ago. Wouldn’t help that you had been a part of the crew that had kept their captain’s head hostage. 

And Buggy’s quietness--that anxiety in his eyes--did nothing to help any of these facts. It only made them all that much worse. 

You threw your bag over your shoulder, Buggy disappearing over the railing, before following after him. As you climbed, you overheard the joyous greeting Buggy received from his crew only for the clown to start shouting at them for being complete idiots. 

You had just swung your legs over the railing, landing on the balls of your feet, when he had demanded his hat back. A hat you found in the hands of the green-haired man who’d had such a burning hatred for Zoro. A man whose eyes narrowed upon seeing you. 

You sharpened your gaze right back, scanning over the crowd of circus-themed pirates, finding a few you had fought back when they had captured you. A few looked outright scared of you while others wore icy glares. 

One of them, a polar bear hat-wearing man, looked a little frightened at your appearance. You didn’t blame him, having terrorized him the most out of all his other crew mates. He backed up the slightest bit into a large shadow that loomed over him. A shadow, upon closer look, you found to be a lion. A lion that looked very pissed off at you. Looked at you like you might be his next meal. 

“Captian Buggy, what is she doing here?” The green-haired man asked with a hiss in your direction. Buggy turned his green-blue eyes on you and gestured you over with a gloved hand. 

“Y/N has decided to join this merry band of freaks.” He said as you almost intsntaly made your way over to his side, hardly letting up your tough exterior. 

Weakness was always snuffed out on ships like this. You’d seen it first hand--had snuffed it out yourself a handful of times. 

“I decided to add a new act to my show.” Buggy widened his stance, throwing his hands up in an arching motion as if showing off some sign. “Buggy’s Magnificent Songbird!” He paused for a moment as if waiting for something. Something he snapped his sharp eyes back onto his crew for. 

“Applause?” And his crew instantly began clapping, a few shooting you sharp looks before you started clapping alongside them. “Gods--I leave for a few weeks and everything goes to hell.” He hissed, before waving his hand in a sharp cutting motion which was everyone's queue to stop.

“Please make her comfortable--feed her, give her the grand tour, maybe get her something else to wear.” Something else to wear? Your clothes were fine. You almost snapped this his way but bit your tongue. 

This was not Luffy’s crew. You couldn’t just smack talk your captain--especially in front of the entirety of his crew. 

“Don’t disturb me for any reason.” He snapped, his crew giving a round of understanding. Those green-blue eyes found your face again, looking it over like he might say something and you stood there, ready to hear his voice, foll--but he turned on his heel and marched off into the inner workings of his ship. 

Was he just going to ignore you? Ignore you when you had just joined his crew?

He was done with you. Your brain mused. A dark musing you refused to humor. You weren’t done with him. Wouldn’t be done with him until he told you with his own words he was bored of you.

“You a spy?” A gruff voice belonging to a very large, buff man asked from the gathered crowd of pirates. Every last gathered pirate watched you, waiting for an answer with guarded and hate-filled features.

“You were a part of that kid's crew. Punched me right in the face--my face.” The polar bear hat-wearing man hissed, seeming overly upset about the whole thing. His lion gave a low growl, seeming just as upset. You tried to not show fear at the massive beast behind him, to just bat your lashes at it as if it was just a oversized house cat.

“You worked with Roronoa Zoro--a pirate hunter. How do you expect us to trust you?” The green-haired man said, arms crossed over his chest. A chorus of agreements and little mean stabs directed at you filled the air. You looked over every last face assembled before you slowly--marked each and every last one of them.

You blinked once, twice, three times…

“Shall I tell our dear Captian I found most of you running away from that fight? That, had I not beat your asses, you would have left him?” A few faces paled, eyes going wide. The only one who seemed to keep their near pissed-off demeanor was that green-haired, scarf-wearing pirate.

“And while you were all sitting on your asses, I was the one to free his body from Alrong and his fucking fish people. Humm…I wonder where you all were? Hiding? Not giving one shit about your Captain?”

“You made your point.” The bear-hat-wearing man spoke, his hand having found its way into his lion’s pink-dyed mane as if seeking comfort. The green-haired man continued to stare daggers your way, his mouth opening, and the first few syllables of whatever else he had to say spilling from his mouth before he was cut off. 

“Enough Cabaji.” The lion’s master snapped. You quickly came to the realization that this pathetic man, who you had knocked out after two punches to the face, must be a high-ranking member of Buggy’s crew. Must have some power over the rest of the crew because every last one of them seemed to back down. To avert their eyes from you as if the warning had been directed at them. 

“Now--you. Go get her something to eat and find a place for her to stay.” He commanded, pointing to a spindly woman who gave a little squawk at the sudden attention. 

“Y-Yes, sir.” She said, hopping forward to greet you. You looked her over, finding she wore a red, black, and sparkly two-piece outfit that seemed to be loose enough to give her free range of her body. Found her make-up was just as equally sparkly. “Follow me.” She said and you did, continuing to hold Cabaji’s sharp glare as you passed him.

The woman showed you around the ship, which was called the Big Top. She told you of how things worked here and told you of her own act, that of a juggling contortionist--though she confided in you that she had yet to learn the juggling part, her face as red as her outfit. 

She found you a new outfit which was very tight, very showy, and very sparkly. You wanted to refuse it but knew it probably was for the best, changing into it as she set up a space for you in the women's quarters. There were only seven women on Buggy’s crew you found out, you bringing the number up to a stunning eight. 

It was honestly more then you had expected, seeing as most pirate crews had only one woman, if none at all

After that, she gave you a plate of food from the kitchen, which seemed to have just been made. It consisted of rice, fish, and some sort of brown sauce you were told was not gravy. It was a far cry from Sanji’s cooking, but you had lived off this sort of food for most of your life--Sanji had spoiled you in that manner. 

Seeing as you had just eaten about an hour ago, you were not hungry, but you knew in an instant who would be. Who probably hadn’t bothered to feed himself despite his hunger. 

You had all but had to beat the information of where Buggy’s quarters were out of the very skittish woman before you could make your way there, your outfit itching at the skin under your armpit. 

You couldn’t help the nerves that fluttered into your chest as you stood before his door. You wondered for a moment if he truly was bored of you now. Bored now that you had fucked him and he was back to his former glory. If he was…uninterested in you now. 

Shoving all your thoughts down, you pushed through his door, finding it was stupidly unlocked. His room was dimly lit by the one oil lamp on his vanity, which was cluttered with tins full of grease paint and make-up brushes that looked like they had seen better days. 

The rest of his room, from what you could see not showered in shadow, was just as equally cluttered. Clothes and shoes were thrown to the ground in a way that showed he had no real care for the space. A space that was very, very circus-themed to the point it almost hurt your eyes. 

“I will fucking kill--” Buggy’s voice, dangerous and pissed, started, but cut shortly when he spotted it was you. 

You found he had been laying over top of his red-sheet-covered bed, which didn’t look like it had been made in days. Found he was in nothing but a pair of dark boxers, his clothes thrown to the ground. He had even thrown his banana off, allowing his blue, bed-mused hair, which ended just around his ears, to flow free. You also found he still wore that smudged face paint, which had only grown more messed up thanks to the little dip you both had taken earlier that day. 

And you found you couldn’t look over his body enough. Couldn’t stop the heat that began to pool within your body once more. 

“Out.” He commanded, his voice faltering in such a small manner many might not have caught.

“No.” You challenged, shutting the door before you made your way through the clutter-filled room. 

“Excuse me?” He challenged right back, sitting fully up now as if he planned on throttling you. You may know not to challenge and butt-heads with him in front of his crew, but you knew you would continue to do it in private like this. Not when you loved teasing the man so much. “I’m your--”

“Captian,” You said, dropping your voice to that of a sultry tone. One that left Buggy’s mouth hanging open like he forgot what he was saying. “I only wanted to bring you something to eat--because I’m so grateful for you allowing me to work under you--under such a strong, feared pirate captain.” You said, coming to a stop next to his bed. 

Green-blue eyes stayed glued to you. Eyes that scanned over your body, all but eating it up. You couldn’t help the little smirk that pulled to the corner of your mouth--he was still very interested, but he was fighting it for some unknown reason. Some reason you were sure as hell going to figure out. 

You gave a little twirl, moving in slow, rounding motions that put every little detail of your body on display for him--every little detail you used to taunt and bait the man. 

“You like it?” You asked, facing him once more. He nodded, words seeming to fail in that moment. Words that never, ever seemed to fail him, no matter how stupid or annoying they were. “It’s just a little tight here.” You said, tugging lightly at the fabric around your breasts. “Might have to take it off.” 

“Take it off.” Buggy's voice came out rough and commanding and dangerous and it made your pussy throb all so painfully. Had an uncontrollable whine escape your throat as you nodded. 

“Yes, sir.” You lulled, placing the plate of food down on the bedside table. Buggy watched you intensely as you pulled your arms from the long sleeves, and as you pulled the fabric down, your breasts all but popping out, thankful to be rid of the itchy and tight fabric. Their appearance had Buggy’s fists clenching, a small sound escaping his own throat. 

“Slower.” He commanded and you obeyed, slowing your actions as you shimmied out of the extravagant outfit. You kicked it to the side, adding it to the clutter of clothes on his floor. Now fully bare to him, having opted out of any sort of underwear while changing, you did yet another little twirl. 

“It was so itchy.” You said, facing him again. “I think this is much better.” 

“Fuck,” Buggy said lowly on a breath. “Songbird--”

“Captian Buggy…” Another little breathy curse left his lips. “What’s your next order?” 

“Come here.” He said, voice sounding as if he was struggling to even form words. You climbed into his bed without a second thought, Buggy watching your body move with a lick of his lips. 

You reached a hand out, touching his arm as if testing the waters--to see if you could touch him. He had been so aloof during the journey here, but his eyes glanced to your fingers for a moment before returning to your body--to your face as you swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. 

His calloused and scared hands ran over your thighs, giving your flesh tight little squeezes as he moved them slowly upwards. His touch sent your body buzzing in a way that was crazy. In a way you’d never experience with any other person. 

As you allowed him to touch you, you took notice of the bruises covering his skin. Bruises that came in varying sizes and colors. 

You remembered darkly back to both your time on the Merry. Remembered catching him flinching and hissing in pain at being used as someone's fucked-up punching bag. Leaning down, you pressed a feather-light kiss to a bruise on his collarbone, your hands roaming around his sides to rest on his back as if to hold him. Buggy took a shuddery breath, his own lips kissing at your shoulder.

“I should have kept one of those bastards.” You murmured against his skin as you moved on to the next bruise, giving it the same treatment. “Given them to you as a present.” Buggy gave that little funky laugh of his, squeezing your hips tightly. 

“Finding them dead around your feet was good enough for me, songbird. Was so fucking hot.” He said, tugging on your hips to try and get you to sit yourself fully on his lap. You allowed it, his erection, which tented his black boxers, now between your thighs seeming so ready for your attention. You kissed another bruise on his chest, which was covered in a dusting of blue hair. 

And despite wanting to fuck him into oblivion, your brain dragged up how he had looked on the journey here. How he had been so anxious and nervous. So much so he hadn’t talked to you except to point his ship out. So much so it made your own thoughts an anxious mess. 

He only wants your body. Your brain sang in such a horrible, mocking way. You knew thats all he wanted. Knew you two were just fuck buddies…but then you thought of the way you wanted to be around him. Thought about the conversations you’d had with him. You had told him about your enslavement and he--he had told you nothing. You knew nothing about his past. 

Just fuck buddies and you knew that…but you couldn’t help how he made you feel every time he graces your presence. How he, despite bing a pain, made you laugh.  

“Captian?” A little moan rumbled through his chest, his teeth giving your shoulder a little bite.

“Songbird?” He questioned back, you kissing yet another bruise. An older one you could tell from its browning color. 

You let your fingers draw lazy circles along his spine. A movement you used to prolong your own asking of that questions which bugged you to no end. 

Anxious. You couldn’t get past that anxiety that was boiling in your chest. An anxiety you had been fighting off and learning to live with your whole life. An anxiety this fucking idiot clown was bringing out of you. 

“Do you want me here?” You all but whispered, not pulling your face away from where you rested it on his chest. He was quiet for a moment. A moment that only made your stupid anxiety rise sharply in your chest. 

“What?” He asked, sounding utterly confused. A hand moved from your hip only to grab your chin in a surprisingly gentle grip, forcing you to look at him. His green-blue eyes looked over your face, brows furrowed and that same nervousness you had been seeing laying just below his confused features. “I asked you here.” 

“Yes…but asking and meaning are two different things. And on the way here--I just felt maybe I had overstepped. That you…” You bit your lips.

This was just a fuck buddy situation. You reminded yourself yet again. You two had no real commitment to the other. So airing your feelings to him--Buggy who was now your Captain--was a weak and pathetic move. A really, really stupid move. Weakness was snuffed out on pirate ships and connections were far and few apart between.

“That I what?” He asked and you found yourself shaking your head like you were suddenly shy. Slight annoyance at your refusal to talk had Buggy’s grip on your chin tightening in a way you absolutely loved. His hand which still remains on your hip did the same thing, sharply pulling your body closer to his. Bringing his hard cock flush against your pussy, which had no interest in your anxiety-filled conversation.

“I can make you walk the plank if that would motivate you to tell to me more.” He threatened in that low, deep tone of his. Fuck--you almost forgot about your stupid thoughts and continued what you had started. You rolled your eyes at him in some show of dominance. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You grumbled, only making that grip tighten the slightest bit further.

“Ah, ah, ah. Is that any way to talk to your captain?” He said in that deep tone, pulling your face closer to his. 

Your pussy hated you in that moment. In that moment when Buggy was looking so dangerously attractive and all it wanted was for his attention. “Now, do I have to command you to tell me?” 

“I thought maybe…” You breathed, trying to settle your racing heart. “maybe you weren’t interested in me anymore. That you had gotten everything you had wanted from me.” Buggy’s grip loosened and that nervousness he had been wearing, even in all his dangerous glory, switched to something like--relief. 

“You’re joking?” You narrowed your eyes down at him before yanking your face from his loosened grip. 

“No, I’m not--” You started to snap, but Bugy’s funky little laugh cut you off.

“Who wouldn’t be interested in you? Fucking--look at you! You’re…” He took a deep swallow, eyes scanning over your face. “You’re gorgeous.” He said fighting against his words like he might be saying too much. 

Gorgeous? It was--not what you had expected him to say. At all. You had expected him to say sexy or hot and say you had amazing tits, but gorgeous? 

“W-What?” You said dumbly making him shake his head a little like he was amazed at your lack of knowing.

“My crew--we’re a bunch of rejects. People no one cares enough about and throws away. But you--people care about you. That kid and his doofus crew care about you. Hell--that hot-shot pirate hunter was drooling like some fucking lap dog every time you walk by or gave him an ounce of attention. You don’t belong here.” You stared narrowly down at him. 

“So…just to make sure I’m hearing you right. I’m too--social to be on your crew. Too Normal?” He gave a sigh, that anxiety wreaking havoc on his typical flashy confidence. A confidence you gathered was just an act. An act he took and lived in for as long as he could keep it up.

“You’re young and have your whole life ahead of you. You have dreams--ambitions. My dream is old and shared with every last pirate sailing the seas. I’m scared--” His words died in his throat, the sound that spilled from his throat like some frog had been killed in his room. 

Scared. He was scared--of what? 

Normal pirates didn’t share emotions. Kept them buried deep and behind iron fortresses. Pirate Captains never showed an ounce of feeling so that they would come off as fearless--demon-like. 

Buggy had almost let that facade slip and you loved it. Wanted to drag every last little feeling and fear he had from him.

“Scared of what?” You pressed. Buggy’s eyes hardened as those walls began to rebuild, but you were quick to smash them back down. Quick you pull yourself closer, rubbing your arching pussy against his cock to get him just flustered enough to forget about those walls. His lips parted on a huffed breath at the sudden movement. “Remember what you said, Captain, communication is key.” 

“Fuck--Songbird…” He grabbed two fistfuls of your ass, all but helping you grind on him. A grind you stopped suddenly, making a small whimper-like noise leave his lips. Holy shit--it was probably the hottest noise you had heard him make. Maybe even hotter then that danger that lined his voice.

“Captian--I’m all yours. I’m your loyal servant, your weapon to wield, your body to use, and…” You leaned down closer, his eyes blown out and mouth parted, watching your every move.

“You can talk to me. Say anything and it will die with me because I believe being here, on your crew and with you, will lead to great things. Things that will allow me to be free.” You said lowly so that he would be the only one to hear. You watched as his adam’s apple bob on another swallow. 

“I don’t want you to hate it here and then leave…leave me.” He gruffed the last part out lowly. 

Leave him. Not just his crew, but him. It had your stomach flipping and flopping around like some beached fish. 

“But I know you will.” You narrowed your eyes but quickly remembered you had told him you would be taking down the king who had enslaved you. 

“I’m staying and I won’t leave. Not fully. Not forever. You are my Captian now and my loyalty is something I take very seriously.” You said, his breath all but hitching in the back of his throat. You peered into his eyes, finding something like unbelieving living in them. “I’ll prove it to you. Everyday.” You said, brushing your lips against his. “Now…what’s your next order?” He gave your ass a nice squeeze. 

“How about you help me take these boxers off?” You nodded, kissing his jaw and throat. As you continued downward, you left a trail of wet, sloppy kisses on his skin. Kisses that had Buggy making those small little moany sounds you wanted to draw out of him more and more. 

When you got to the edge of his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric and brushing against your throat, you turned your gaze back up onto him. Found all that anxiety and nerves which had filled his green-blue eyes replaced by nothing but foggy-lust. 

“These?” You questioned, hooking your fingers in the elastic band only to let it go with a sharp snap. His body gave a jerk. 

“Songbird--” He all but warned, making your pussy clench. 

“Sorry, Captain…All I want to do is please you.” You said, pulling his boxers down slowly. Pulled them down until his cock was springing free and you were tossing them off the bed. You smiled as you turned your gaze back to his cock, which twitched for attention. A gaze you snapped back up to find Buggy watching you, near panting. 

You leaned down and gave his pre-come dripping head a kiss, never once daring to break eye contact with Buggy, who gave another one of those little moans you loved to hear. You liked it so much you ran your tongue over the small slit there, licking away the droplet of liquid there just to hear it again. 

“Orders?” You said, voice honey-thick, before licking the full length of his cock.

“Fuck, baby--come here.” He said, hardly waiting for you to move before he grabbed your face up and claiming your lips against his. Regardless of it only having been a day since kissing him last, you missed his lips. Missed how his stubble scratched at your skin. Missed the softness of his lips. Missed how all-consuming his kiss was--how fiery. 

You began to grind yourself against Buggy’s cock, trying to give your begging pussy any sort of friction and relief. Buggy moaned against your lips as he slid his hands from your face and down your neck.

He gave your breasts a tight squeeze, running his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. It sent pleasure shooting fast through your body before his hands found their home back on your hips.

“Songbird--I have to be back in you. Fuck--please let me be inside you.” You gave a moan of your own at his near beg, nodding against his lips.

“Yes. Please, please, please.” You begged right back, moving your own hand down his chest and over his toned abdomen to take hold of his cock. You ran his head through your dripping folds before sinking slowly down onto his cock. 

Buggy pulled away from your lips to watch you descend downward, splitting you open in such a wonderful way. Watched and cursed on a moany breath as you took him into you inch by glorious inch. You kissed his temple, his cheek, and his jaw before resting your head against his shoulder, which flexed against his tight hold on your hips. 

It was much easier to take his cock than it had been back on that beach. Your pussy formed around him near perfectly as if it remembered every little dip and vein it possessed. 

Sitting flush on Buggy’s lap, all but skewered on his dick, he kissed your neck right over the sensitive area he had all but dug his teeth into earlier. 

“So good--feel so fucking good around me, songbird.” He mumbled into your neck, his teeth grazing over your neck in a way that drove you crazy. 

“I-I dreamed of this too--of you inside me.” You mumbled right back biting at his shoulder as he gave yet another one of those little moans. “Make me feel so good, Captain.” You said, beginning to move your hips upwards. “So fucking good.” You sunk back down and started up a slow and steady pace, pulling moan after moan from Buggy’s lips. Moans you couldn’t help but meet as tingling pleasure moved through your pussy and up into your whole body. 

Buggy moved his hand from your hip so that he could grab your face and all but devoured your lips once more. A kiss that demanded entrance to your mouth, which your hunger allowed. Your tongues moved together in a wicked dance that had your brain spinning. 

His hand moved away from your jaw and found its way to where the two of you were joined together--where you were moving yourself up and down on his wonderful, wonderful cock. 

His fingers easily found your clit and began to rub slow, torturous circles over it. Such a touch that had your hips moving closer to it, almost faltering in your pace. 

Your legs began to shake from the effort of dealing out such pleasure for both you and Buggy. Shake and slow in a way that nearly brought tears to your eyes. 

“Getting tired?” He panted against your mouth, never pulling his fingers from your clit. You nodded on a small whimper. “Want me to take over, baby?” No sooner had you nodded than had Buggy flipped you onto your back, making your body bounce slightly against the bed. Buggy stood on his knees as he spread your legs as far as they went, green-blue eyes watching as he began to thrust down into you. 

You watched as one of his hands detached from his wrist, which still spread your leg wide, and floated back between your legs. Watched as it started back up the circling of your clit, sending sparks shooting through your body. 

Buggy’s thrusts gradually became quicker and quicker. Became ruthless in just the way you wanted. 

You reached your hand down to place it on top of Buggy's detached one, helping him move his fingers faster against your clit so that it drew you closer and closer to your finish. A finish that grew closer and closer, building up deep within you. 

“I’m gonna--Captian, I’m gonna come.” You moaned, eyes fogging over in a pleasured daze. 

“Come for me, songbird. Fuck--let me feel you come around my cock.” He said, hand running over your leg in a way that sent your skin on fire. “Come, baby.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” You whined out, feeling your pussy clench around his cock in twitching spurs as your finish flooded through you. You shut your eyes tight on a low moan, Buggy’s thrusts become that much quicker and uneven before he slammed his hips flush against yours, his hot come rushing into you. He moaned out your name as he did. Moaned your name on that little breath you loved hearing. 

You reached for him, grabbing hold of his arm to yank him down over top of you. His lips found yours again in a lazy kiss as his hand reattached to his wrist.

“Thank you for that warm welcome, Captain.” You said, tangling your fingers into his long, blue hair to keep him close to you. Buggy gave that funky laugh of his, his lips finding your neck again.

“I do pride myself on my warm welcomes.”

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Tag List: @synoname-wordsmith , @cefni , @solarrexplosion , @empressofmankind , @luvrsbian

[multimoth]

It's not as though Shepard doesn't like Mordin's company, or anything. She can deal with the long-windedness and all that science stuff that flies straight over her head - hell, Liara's one of her best friends, so obviously. It's just that her idea of unwinding after a mission usually involves sparring or knocking back a few drinks; stuff Garrus or Jack might be more well-suited for. Even Mordin's version of relaxing feels more like intense busywork to her, something she'd just be in the way of.

But Jack's in no mood to talk and Garrus is buried up to his neck in calibrations (or so he claims; it's been weeks, how much more could he possibly have to do?) and Mordin is part of her crew, and anyway, she likes him. So, yes, she's fully prepared to sit in a corner of the science lab and sip a couple of beers while he talks (and talks, and talks). She just wasn't as prepared to have to be an active participant in the conversation, though Shepard at least isn't too proud to look slightly chagrined, lifting her hands in surrender.

"No - come on, I'm not that socially inept. It's just that most meaningful conversations I have don't tend to involve... what was it, again? Turian glycogen bodies? C'mon, Mordin, you have to admit I might be a little out of my league on this one."

@multimoth asked :

❛ i'm not drunk enough for this. ❜ from shepard

There's a moment of pause at Shepard's complaint , looking up at her from his omnitool. He's not one that she usually comes to for " relaxing " or " winding down " ―― nor does he consider himself to be a very good drinking companion. Perhaps it was the fifth consecutive minute of him talking about his latest research that finally set her off.

❛ Is there a proper amount of alcohol necessary for you to have a meaningful conversation ? ❜ He asks , playfulness seeping into his tone. �� Would love to test , if so. Could consider this control group. Many variables to account for. ❜

[dont-reblog--i-moved]

Yesterday was a p lazy but good day. I've kinda sorted out a lil bit of the stress at home that I make for myself n I've taken steps to combat that. It seems to be going well so far. Like even when my mood has dipped how it always does, I've been able to change what I'm doing or let my mind wander into Katie's Slut Dreams World and that helps me stay calm.

I don't think I've been in a bad mood when Daddy got home from work once this week. I'm v proud of me for that! ^.^

[whatspastisprologue-blr]

Hellooooooo 😊. For the ruin album ask game, 12 and 15?

12 and 15, got it! Be warned, I wrote this on my phone at about 1:30 in the morning. My already tenuous control over my long-windedness is virtually gone. This isn't quite stream-of-consciousness but it's close.

12.

Which song do I always sing to? I mean, all of them? Lol! I really love the vibes for The Calling (gender, identity, past self versus who you're becoming now, "I really fucking tried" and "I watched that woman drown" and the whole chorus), The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace is one of those wild songs that makes you feel powerful while regretting your lack of an archenemy to have ~tension~ with, and Ruin itself is just... It's just a really good depiction of repairing a relationship.

The answer is certainly not Chords, but only because I can't get through it without crying. It's a beautiful song but it hits me in a really vulnerable place and I just can't go there often (like Marbles, actually, though Marbles is worse).

Blossoms hits home a lot ("as I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right"), and as an introvert with social anxiety (well, anxiety in general, including social situations), I relate a lot to Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious. I also enjoy D&D and I might dress my cat up as Batman for Halloween.

But I think, ultimately, it might be down to Secret Worlds and Inkpot Gods.

I really love the excited energy of Secret Worlds, "come on!", this sense of wonder, "do I have to be who I am", "cause I will suffer silence for the strings you tune and I will stand what's written for the writer in you/write me well, my love, write me weird, write me willing, write me well". I get a laugh out of Joey's tone of voice at "well, we thought you were mental/you were talking to trees".

And, oh, Inkpot Gods. Just, Joey's whole verse, really, and Madeleines. Really gives me hope and comfort. These aren't tears, it's just your voice learning for once to stand up tall. Making a vow to the dark for someone's life. And then Madeleine shows up with, "what you hear is not silence, it's just the trees waiting to hear what makes you howl", which is such a raw and wild line followed by a moment of actual silence to emphasize the point. Picking up with "what you see is not the dark, it's just the gods upturning inkpots cause they know what you'll become". Just, unending the plans of the gods as they realize you've gone outside their plan, no big deal. And then she doesn't bother to make a vow to some other entity, no, she outright threatens the gods to keep this man safe or else she'll make them pay. I really resonate both with "I will be the man my father never was" and "Cause I'm more than what my mum taught me to be". And, of course, "If I don't make it back from where I've gone, just know I loved you all along."

So, all of that to say, it's probably Inkpot Gods. Especially since it's the last song on the album, it feels like TAD is assuring us as we go on our way that we'll be just fine.

15.

What song would I recommend? Well, I've recently told my mom about Chords, though I didn't technically recommend it because I knew she wouldn't like the swearing. I did tell her about the chorus and "they might laugh because you're leaving but know we'll sing your name when you come home".

The song I've recommended most, actually, is Drinking Song, because I love how it depicts that anxiety so well and how there's no shame or embarrassment over not being an extrovert. I enjoy the bonding moment when you realize someone else at this gathering is also a nerd and it's just such a relief because, whew, I'm not alone anymore. There's someone else standing awkwardly in a corner not knowing what to say to anyone, feeling like a total outsider, wondering when they can finally duck out and missing their cat/questioning why they thought going to hang out with humans was a good idea when they could've been relaxed at home with their cat this whole time. Finding someone you can be an introvert with, someone you can just exist alongside, both of you maybe doing separate things but in the same room and that honestly feels really nice, just existing quietly around someone else without necessarily interacting with them and having that be okay between you.

[razieltwelve]

An Observation On Length

As readers will undoubtedly have noticed, The Unconventional Heroes Series has been getting longer. Here’s how the books measure up:

Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf – 31,000 words

Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord – 70,000 words

Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire – 165,000 words

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company – 157,000 words

Two Necromancers, a Dwarf Kingdom, and a Sky City – 223,000 words

As you can see there is a massive, massive difference in size between each of the books. In particular, the fourth book in the main series is seven times longer than the first book. This has some important implications from a storytelling perspective.

First and foremost, novellas and novels do not approach storytelling the same way. When you have less words to work with, you tend to move more quickly and to accelerate plot advancement and character development. This naturally can make it a bit more difficult to do a lot of world building since there simply aren’t as many words available for expositions, description, and so on.

At least, that would normally be the case.

The critical point here is that the first book in the series was not written to be a novella. Instead, I simply had an idea, wrote it, and it just happened to be as long as a novella would be. That’s probably why it doesn’t feel cramped or cut off. It’s as long as it should be, not as long as the word count would allow it to be.

The other major development with having a longer book is that you can simply have more stuff happen in a longer book than in a shorter one. Indeed, you could make a decent argument that the last book could be split in two and still make sense, which is something you’ll often find with longer stories. Furthermore, in contrast to the shorter books (books 1 and 2), you’ll find entire chapters set aside for character development and world building, whereas the shorter books made use of individuals scenes for those same purposes.

Longer stories also allow for more points of view. Some readers have pointed to the chapters told from Spot’s point of view as their favourites. Others are fondest of those from Timmy’s point of view. In any case, it is a lot harder to have multiple points of view in shorter stories because it tends to come across as jarring switching back and forth so often. However, having each chapter, or at least each chunk of a chapter, devoted to one point of view can make it feel far more natural to have different points of view.

Of course, longer stories aren’t without disadvantages. They are naturally prone to bloating and long-windedness in a way that shorter stories simply do not allow. The trick is trying to manage the advantages and the weaknesses to maximise the former and minimise the latter.

It is also worth mentioning, that the increase in length for the series corresponds to the widening scope and importance of the missions that Timmy and the gang take. They go from dealing with fairly local problems to helping with things that are likely to have a decisive impact on the coming large-scale conflict.

Anyway, I thought it was an interesting trend for the series. I’d also like to share a bit about what’s coming next. I cannot give a time frame (although I’m hoping for some time this year), but the next book in the series is likely to be a sequel to The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company. It’ll be a series of short stories covering various characters at various points in time. I don’t have a name for it yet, but there are a few in mind.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

[growingingreenwood]

FOLLOWER SUBMISSION:

Hello,I would like to share my HCs if I may (not an english native speaker so sorry for the long-windedness and mistakes):

1. Oropher is an "Awakend One" or AO

- and him and a sister of Elwe, Olwe (who are identical twins* but Elwe was the taller even before Melian's influence) and Elmo,

were the first to follow the instinct to combine their Feäs to create a baby, so Thranduil is the first born Elf.

*I love to think the whole "twin-thing" started with them.

Thranduil is only the eldest "first born" by a few hours, because other couples almost immediately followed Oropher and his wife's example.

2. When the Sindar lead by Oropher came to the Greenwood, the Silvan elves refused to let them join them, because they feared to

become a "lesser" people in their own home (like the Noldor did with Sindar, Men and and others),but they gave them "Amon Lanc" to settle there - so they where neighbors first.

Each group learned to appreciate the other's knowledge/wisdom and the trust and love grew.

The Silvan and Sindar saw that Oropher is a good leader who always puts his people's wishes and needs first, plus alot of the Silvan elves were his friends back in Cuiviénen, too so they finally allowed the Sindar to join them but only if Oropher took on the mantle of the combined peoples' King.

4. Oropher desperately wished to return to the peaceful life he remembered from the early days at Cuiviénen so becoming King was actually a sacrifice he made so his Sindar-followers could join the Silvan.

The woodelves put that condition on the refugees joining

them, because they just want to live their lives in and with the forest and not have to deal with the Noldor, Dwarves or Men. So Oropher (after him Thranduil) is elected King in order to deal/trade/communicate/fight with that "outside world"

often utilising the more experienced immigrant Sindar, and only the Silvan if necessary (like in the wars).

Silvans step up to the task if there is a need for it - they are wise and kind, they just don't want the outside worlds unnecessary wasteful conflicts and greed to dictate their simple, slow way of life and they also are fiercly independent.

5. Silvan don't want to maintain a "grow-bigger-faster-richer-more powerful society" - Silvan's just want to do what they enjoy -

but some enjoyments produce tradeable goods and of high quality,too, because the elves who create them do it with love and

dedication, but in their own time.

So the responsibility of the king is to harness what the Woodelves are willing to sell and by trade gain enough treasure to trade with the outside world for goods they do not produce themselves.

Both Oropher and Thranduil are really good at this - and there is great mutual love between king(s) and their people.

6. After Thranduil is elected king and the Woodelves' final move northward - the new King, after enchanting the forest and the river (something he learn from Melian) as a defence against Sauron's forces, sought the northern Dwarves' help to carve out a Fortress as close as his limited means could get him to a replica of "Menegroth" - partially paid with a percentage share of all the ores and gems that they unearthed in the process - indeed this proved to make both sides reasonably rich  - that's why the Woodelves party decked out with gems in "The Hobbit".

Also just like in Menegroth of old - Dwarves and Elves combined there skills to create the Woodelves' last protection against the Darkness haunting the forest.

7.Not  a HC just a rant, but one thing I wish people (especially PJ and Co.) would understand is, that:

Of all the elven realms the Woodlandrealm is the most open to the mortal-/"not elven-" world:

e.g.Trade with Esgaroth and beyond, the Woodsmen villages, Radagast's dwelling, maybe even trade with Erebor and Dale (including the raft-elves  routinely sitting and feasting at a table in the Great Hall of Lake Town)

In contrast:

Imladris is open but hidden - entrance only VIP on a need-to-know basis.

Lothlorien's border are practically sealed - Ring and Marchwardens only granting entrance on special occasions (and by law not to Dwarves.)

- indeed for Mortals of Rohan and Gondor Lothlorien is a mythical place of Evil.

I'm not even bashing here, each realm has their own way of ensuring their safety, fair enough, but to then go and try to potrait the Woodelves and Thranduil in particular as isolationist xenophobes is just annoying and insulting. ( - and worrying because it seems to me that people are always eagerly jumping onto the "lesser, less wise/ more dangerous" betiteling as permission to "dehumanise/de-elvenise?" the Woodelves - "lesser" meaning "inferior" meaning "of lesser worth", "expendable" or even "evil" in their minds - mirroring a IRL problem - such a bad aftertaste in fanfics and movie adaption.

Mithlond seems open but is a place of depature and maybe trade for Elves but mortals don't seem to go there, not even the nearby hobbits*

*though that's the hobbits' thing, isn't it, to not stray far from home.

Going to end here, it's so long already and the HCs somewhat character-sue-ish I admit, but charcters who get so unnecessarily bashed all the time, as Thranduil and Oropher are - often to generate more angsty man-pain for their son/grandson in fanfiction or to justify Th.Oakenjerk-centred storytelling in a movie titled "the Hobbit", deserve to be special snowflakes in my head at least.

What do you think?

Growingingreendwood reply:

Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!! I love all of these!!!!!! Some of your Headcanons are very close and very similar to my own, which is always amazing and exciting!!!

You're the second person now (or perhapes the same person??) To headcanon that Oropher married one of Elwé 's sister's and it's safe to say I've officially adopted it myself. But I never thought about Thranduil being the FIRST 'born elf' to exist and honestly the idea fills me to the brim with excitement.

I enjoy that we both headcanon the Silvan Elves to be really stand-off-ish to the Sindar originally, until it was proven to their satisfaction that the Sindar would respect their way of life and not force them to change. And that eventually the Sindar were INVITED to join their society. And that Oropher was CHOSEN as their King because they had grown to respect his leadership.

I always headcanoned that the #1 job Thranduil saw himself (and father before him) having as a King was protection and guidance, NOT to 'rule' them.

I also believe the Silvan Elves require all if their leaders to be chosen, rather than for them to just take the throne after their father dies. So while there is a VERY VERY good chance that while Legolas would be elected King after his father, it's never a for sure thing.

I love the depth you thought out exactly HOW the Woodland Realm gets their income for trading. It was so interesting to read!!! And I might have to write a little fic about it cause the idea is so precious to me.

I also deeply appreciated your rant about people seeming to always try and come up with way (or excuses) for them to be 'lesser elves' than the rest in middle earth. It's actually something I bring up quite often in my fic writing.

(As in written from the Silvan Elves point of view about how negatively the other realms often veiw them. And it is often shown to be one of the main reasons that the Woodland Realm vanishes into itself and very little contact with the other realms aside from their nearby allies.)

Thank you so much for your thoughts!!! I loved them!!!

[sigritandtheelves]

You told me you don't believe in canon, can I ask why? I am really curious, and I don't mind a long detailed answer ( lol). Also what are your thoughts on the difference between canon divergent and AU?

Crisis on Infinite Truths, or, Why I Don’t Believe in Canon (And Neither Should You)

Thanks for this ask, friend. I’ve thought about this quite a bit, especially when I see occasional comments about what or when events “really” happened, or people saying that they don’t like AU (by which they often mean any canon divergence). So here’s my little manifesto on why I think adherence to canon is pointless (and painful).

The world of the X-Files contradicts itself. Constantly.

Mulder and Scully met in March, 1992 (Pilot). But in December, 1993, they’d known each other only a few months. Scully was missing for four weeks. No wait, Duane Barry clearly takes place in August, and she was returned in November so that’s three months!  Samantha’s middle name is Teena—no, Anne! Margaret Scully gave Dana her cross necklace for her birthday… or was it for Christmas?

Anyone who’s ever tried to piece together a coherent timeline for this show knows that there are constant, frustrating contradictions, and numerous impossibilities—but not the good kind that Mulder likes to investigate. We pick and choose these minor points to accept or deny all the time without worrying about betraying canon. Why, then, do some remain committed to the idea of a “true” storyline (canon), even after major contradictions in story, not to mention the betrayals and cruelties of our Clueless Creator? It’s a matter of personal preference and one’s own relationship to the show, but here’s why I don’t believe in canon.

The smaller discrepancies listed above (just a tiny sampling) appear early in what I think of as the main timeline of seasons 1-7, but the contradictions that began to appear afterward were truly egregious: major changes in the mythology and characterization that were incompatible with earlier seasons, and which were sometimes later retconned by the show itself (Supersoldiers? Never happened. Colonization in 2012, “The date is set!”? Nup.). The plot became desperate (for ratings and to intensify its drama), cruel (to both Mulder and Scully in its violences and unjustified, poorly handled traumas), dictated by real-world constraints (Duchovny’s absence), and utterly nonsensical (the Smoking Man appears to be an otherworldly demon? He dies how many times?). I mostly hang with canon in the first seven seasons, but after that, I feel absolutely no obligation to this nonsense. Season ten was so painful and so offensive in so many ways—I won’t ever go near most of that season. I don’t think any fan should feel obligated to believe in one “true” timeline, especially when it seems written into the show that there are multiple possibilities and versions of truth.

My orientation toward canon, and I think that of many fanfic writers, is based on this multiplicity: we pick narrative elements that are grounded in what’s given or represented in the show itself. We reframe and retell. We offer something new. I’m going to draw, just briefly, on the work that I do academically, and talk about hermeneutics. Writing fanfiction is a transformative act of interpretation. By necessity, all of it is canon-divergent to some extent, because canon (like any primary text) contains no “true” interpretation. There is no single and correct reading, no singular meaning beyond what we, as readers and viewers, bring to it. A text is worth what we make of it and nothing more. Isn’t that incredibly liberating?

Why are some people so committed to the idea of canon?

When I first returned to writing fanfic, I had an epic goal in mind—I wanted to trace the relationship development between Mulder and Scully through all of the years of the show. I failed very early on because the project quickly felt both impossible and unnecessary. Most fic that is “canon compliant” emphasizes a particular piece of the timeline in order to parse out the distinct emotional and psychological nuances of a single arc. We zero in on one place to make sense of it (hermeneutics) and then tell our stories that offer more than the original. Already, we diverge from canon.

Rather than an account of the whole series, my idea became an effort to understand and reframe the reproduction arc, beginning in season five. It became the “Bearings” series of four stories, which attempted to be faithful to canonical events as much as possible. But even then, it diverged after the beginning of season eight because the things that happen in that season do not make sense in the arc of the rest of the show. I could find absolutely no justification for Mulder’s “death” based on what we know of the alien plot. Supersoldiers? They get written out of the show after season nine! They don’t make sense in relation to anything else we know about the aliens, and they never appear again. Screw supersoldiers, and screw the nonsensical mytharc of seasons eight and nine. I rewrote it in the final part.

People focus on the canonical because they want there to be coherence and consistency—they want a true truth that is grounded in the show’s representation. I say: let go of that. It is impossible both because the writing contradicts itself, literally, over and over again, and because many of the events that do become consistent (Scully gave up William? Really, we’re sticking with that one because no one in Hollywood knows how to write children?) are so fundamentally wrong in relation to what we know of the characters.

There is no dogma, there is no truth, there is no single and correct canon. We have pieces. Let’s make beautiful things with them.

Through all of a narrative’s divergent possibilities, we choose our elements.

We know that the arc of this overall story was not planned. There’s no show bible, no “truth” that was ever out there, in the end. What we have instead are truths (plural) and infinite possibilities: factoids, events, feelings, characters. Personally, I have a few things that I hold as true across most versions of the stories that I like to tell, and some of that borrows from post-season-seven events, even as I tend to rewrite canon after that point: Mulder and Scully tried IVF, but it didn’t work. Afterward, they had two children together (at a reasonable human age for conceiving children). They find their way (in all ‘verses) to the unremarkable house. They keep fighting the good fight and are as tough as nails—but they always love the absolute hell out of each other and their kids. These are the elements that I often choose to keep, and the rest I can play around with. Others do great things with other bits and pieces, and I like to experiment with angsty vignettes, too. I dig a good break-up fic, for example. Even an on-the-run fic: I love those, too. There are interesting, nuanced, painful, and beautiful things that can be done with what 1013 gave us—but not with everything it gave us and nothing else.

What’s the difference between AU and Canon Divergence?

This is a difference that gets conflated all the time, and I’m just as guilty of this mix-up as anyone else, because of the way the term AU gets used these days. It’s not a huge deal; I’m not really into taxonomizing and hair-splitting. But I do think story metadata is useful for finding what you’re looking for, so maybe we should clarify what these things mean. AU stands for Alternate Universe, and initially, that’s what this term was used to designate: a fundamental difference in worlds. Let’s put Mulder and Scully in the Wild West, or the 1950s, or in space, and see how their story changes or stays the same. I love these stories, as many do, because they maintain essential elements from the world of the show (characterization, certain plot points, family relations, approximations of life-defining events), but allow readers and writers to speculate about how things might have played out, were the world not as it is.

Canon divergence is different, and also is pretty self explanatory. This is the world of the X-Files, but here’s how things would play out if just this one thing (or these five) happened differently: Melissa didn’t die in Paper Clip; Scully and Mulder kept and raised William; Mulder finds Samantha alive at the end of Closure; etc. These stories are great because they allow for imaginative speculation, but keep us in a world we’re familiar with. But again, all fanfiction involves creative speculation. All of it diverges from what we actually saw. These just diverge a little more widely. They speculate a little bit harder, maybe.

The difference between canon divergence and AU gets fuzzy in spaces like pre-XF, because it’s kind of an AU—a world that takes place before the timeline of the show, and therefore makes major changes before there’s such thing as “canon” (see—we using scare quotes now). It seems like hair-splitting to argue for one or the other, but AU probably makes the most sense, unless you’re going to incorporate major elements of the canonical storyline too.

So that’s pretty much all I have to say. Sorry for the long-windedness, but I’d love to chat more about it.

[lawofavgs]

The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 6

A/N: I swear, I haven’t forgotten about this story! Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Despite my best efforts, there weren’t many places to hide from Brian Fraser in and around Lallybroch. Visiting tenants and tending gardens could only keep me occupied for so long, and it was only a matter of time before I was forced to face the questions no doubt swirling in his mind.

And even if I could, I wouldn’t lie to him, not after all he had done for me.

So when he invited me to sit and have a meal with him at the impressive dining room table, I took a seat and mentally ran through what I would say to him.

While he didn’t come right out and say it, Brian seemed to have no intentions of beating around the bush with small talk. He simply took a deep breath, chose his words, and stated, “The father of yer child, I assume ye had to leave him on the other side of the stones at the fairy hill.”

“Yes,” I replied, taking a moment to even out my shaky voice. “I married him in 1743. He couldn’t travel through the stones, and he knew he had to fight the final battle at Culloden Moor.”

I watched him nod slowly, and despite the mask he wore to shield his emotions, I knew where his train of thought was heading. He took a healthy swig of the whisky in front of him, tapped the mug with his finger, and held a tight rein on his composure. He looked every bit the Laird he was, strong and calm and controlled.

“Ye came here six years ago to warn me against tragedies that would befall my family, said it was because the Frasers had always been good to ye. Is…is Jamie…”

“He is,” I interrupted before he could fully get the question out. Just saying it – to anyone – lifted some of the weight that had been sitting on my shoulders since I arrived back at Lallybroch and discovered how life had turned out after my intervention. In the face of dealing with the conflict with Jamie and subsequent thawing of his emotions, it was easy to forget the issue of my baby’s parentage, but the relief I felt was proof of the burden. Now, my only fear was Brian’s reaction.

I watched him digest the information, eyeing the meager plate of food on the table that he had barely touched. Finally, a small smile appeared on his face.

“I always told the lad that when he met the woman for him, he’d ken her right away. I worrit though that perhaps I set his expectations too high. Any lassie that caught his eye never held it for long, and he’d tell me she wasn’t the one. I almost feared he would never marry and have a family of his own, but maybe it was because his heart kent to wait for ye.”

My own heart soared at his words, at the thought that on some level Jamie knew to wait for me. I told him once that the only way I could explain my ability to time travel, the fact that I was brought to him, was because he and I were meant to be together. We were soulmates, in every clichéd sense of the word. I had spent many nights recently trying to figure out this new layer of my travelling capabilities. Did I create an alternate timeline by changing things? Where in this blasted universe did I exist? Questions I couldn’t figure out the answers to plagued my mind, creating confusing tangles out of my trains of thought. The only constant that I knew for sure was my love for Jamie, and maybe that was enough of an explanation.

“He doesn’t know,” I informed Brian, watching him nod in understanding. “I haven’t figured out a way to explain it to him. He’s only just started to accept my presence here and I didn’t want to do anything to damage that.”

“I’ve seen the lad, Claire. I’d say it’s more than simply accepting yer presence. I kent it as soon as I saw him escorting ye back to the house. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. I thought for sure he would trip over his own two feet,” Brian disclosed with a grin. “Any ill-will or mistrust he once felt towards ye is a thing of the past. I dinna ken how you should tell him the truth of things or how he’ll take it, but he’ll trust yer heart. That’s the type of man my son is.”

I smiled warmly, covering his weathered hand with mine. “He’s a good man, just like his father.”

My smile was returned tenfold before Brian nodded almost bashfully and turned his attention back to his food. As we ate in a companionable silence, I couldn’t help but wonder if telling Jamie would be anywhere near as easy. All I could do was hope, and practice the words until they made some semblance of sense.

Before he left the room, Brian turned to me with a pleased, faraway look on his face. “Another grandchild. We certainly have been blessed.”

Little did we know, even the most blessed cannot stay that way for long.

---

The morning had barely begun, the sun slowly touching the rolling hills of heather and the inhabitants of Lallybroch finishing with their breakfasts, when a breathless stable boy came bursting through the door.

“Redcoats,” he gasped out, fighting valiantly to speak despite his windedness. The boy must have ran a great distance with his message, as evidenced by the trails of sweat tracing down his forehead. I turned to look at Brian, who squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.

“Jamie, get in the priest hole,” he ordered before giving Ian a nod, its meaning clear: take care of your family.

“Da, I –“

“Now!” The sudden boom of Brian’s voice startled me, the first time I had heard that tone from him in the month I had been here. The muscle in Jamie’s cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw and the desire to defy his father raged in his eyes. In the end, deference and obedience won out as he reluctantly acquiesced.

“Come, Sassenach,” Jamie’s gruff voice broke through my thoughts and I stared at him in a stupor. His annoyance at his father’s command and worry over the situation meant his patience was limited. “Come now before they question what an unmarried Englishwoman is doing in a Scot’s manor.”

Without waiting for my response, he grasped my hand tightly – the same hand I had once healed as best I could, one that now bore no signs of being crushed by evil masquerading as a man – and pulled me towards the secret room in the house. I felt every millimetre of contact between our fingers and palms, my skin tingling from the simple touch. I followed behind him in a daze, our footsteps echoing over the stone floor. We stopped before a wooden panel and I watched as Jamie pulled it and its mortar frame up. The barest amount of light in the hallway showed the ladder leading down into the hidden space, and Jamie guided me towards it with no hesitation.

Should a person have a fear of enclosed spaces, this would certainly not be the place for them. Seated on a bench, I took in the contents of the room without turning my head. The sound of Jamie replacing the wooden panel held my attention, and the limited light was cut even further once his task was finished. Only the weak beams shining through the drilled holes allowed us any sight at all.

In any other circumstance, watching Jamie’s large frame lumber down the short ladder and fill up the space around us would be amusing. But nothing seemed very humorous with the Redcoats on our doorstep.

I was struck with a sudden thought: I had told Jenny to build this hideaway, back before I changed everything. “Whose idea was the priest hole?”

“Da’s,” Jamie muttered, clearly distracted by the situation and frustrated over being hidden away instead of helping. He was a man of action, one not used to sitting on his hands while others tended to a situation. “After ye came ‘round the first time, he eventually started ranting like a madman, saying we needed a place to hide from the English.”

I nodded, eyes darting from Jamie to a jug of water, the chamber pot, and back to Jamie. His tense stance didn’t lessen, and I expected this ‘wait for the all clear’ plan coupled with the small room would do nothing to ease him. I shivered slightly at the colder temperature of the hidden room, which caught his attention. Before I could blink, he grabbed a folded up blanket and draped it carefully about my shoulders with a nod of satisfaction.

“Sit,” I implored him, scooting to one side of the bench to allow him room beside me. He did as I instructed, and even if I had moved half off the tiny seat, I still would have felt the warmth of his side against my own. As it was, we sat with knees, hips, and arms pressed together. My heart, up until now only mildly affected by the fear of the Redcoat patrol, was now beating double-time over the proximity.

‘Control yourself, Beauchamp,’ I told myself, ‘this is not the time.’

I was suddenly sweltering under the thin, raggedy blanket.

“I hate this,” Jamie snarled out, annoyed by the impotence he felt in this scenario. “I am a man grown. How can I be expected to take over the title of Laird Broch Turach if my father hides me away like a helpless wean at the first sign of trouble?”

“Have you tried talking to him? Preferably when the English aren’t on your doorstep?”

“Aye, every time the Redcoat bastards leave our lands, it’s the same argument. He just tells me I’ll never be Laird if I’m dead and walks away.” I could practically feel the thrum of agitation coming off him in waves, washing over me in the crowded hiding spot. If we weren’t careful, his emotions would drown us both. I didn’t allow myself to think as I scooped up his hand and cradled it gently between my own. We sat silently, the pace of our breathing syncing as the seconds passed.

A huff of a laugh broke through the quiet and I could see Jamie turn slightly to eye me. “Are ye sure you arena a witch? It certainly feels as though you’ve placed me under some kind of spell at the moment.”

“I swear,” I reaffirmed, chuckling around the words, “I’m not a witch, or a fairy, or the Loch Ness monster.”

That got him laughing harder as he squeezed my hands tightly. His proximity was not lost on me, covering my side like a shadow. With his eyes gazing into mine, I would happily sink into the depths of the ocean blue before me. The light around us might be weak, but I believed with my whole heart that his glance dropped to my lips, that his pulse beat as quickly as mine as the tension rose.

The muffled sounds overhead broke our revere, words not discernable but the accent clear. It was an Englishman, stomping down the hall and speaking in an accusatory manner. The soldier stopped before the wooden panel, casting the room into darkness as he blocked out the weak light. It sounded like he was asking about the ventilated area. Holding my breath, I took comfort in Jamie’s presence beside me, in his work-worn hand gripping mine in reassurance.

We would be okay. He would keep me safe.

Though it felt like hours, it was only a minute or two before the Redcoat moved on, apparently satisfied with the answers and explanations he was given. I screwed my eyes closed tight and let out a ragged breath.

“Dinna fret, Sassenach. We’ll be out of this wretched room soon.”

“I know you wanted to be out there with your father, but I’m really glad you’re here with me, Jamie,” I admitted quietly, suddenly fascinated with the shoes on my feet. I was startled when I felt warm fingers on my chin, guiding my face to look up at his.

“You have kept my family safe. And for that, I swear to ye, we will see you safe.” The raw honesty in his voice was a strike to the ribs, making it hard to breathe normally. I wanted to say something – to thank him or tell him of my love for him – but the moment ended when the wooden panel overhead was removed. For a brief flash, Jamie laid his hand upon the handle of his dirk before recognizing the face of his brother-in-law, who promptly informed us that the Redcoats had moved on and it was safe to come out of our hiding place.

I moved mechanically, climbing up the small ladder with Jamie’s assistance and making my way down the hall. The sound of my steps on the stone floor thumped in time with my racing heart, a fearsome beat I had no chance of controlling. My desire to flee to the sanctuary of my room was snuffed out when I saw Brian, hand pressed to his forehead as blood trickled out of a head wound and through his fingers. I wasted no time hunting down a few clean cloths and ordering Mrs. Crook to boil one of them. Despite his grumbling and protests, I managed to get Brian seated in the parlour while I tended to the cut. A sigh of relief left me as I confirmed it to be a superficial injury. As I patched him up, I heard Jamie pacing back and forth behind me, ready to explode.

“Those bastards,” he gritted out, eyes never leaving his father. “I should have been there with you!”

“And what good would that have done, eh? Yer temper and stubborn pride would have made matters worse. We’ll no’ make ourselves a target for the Redcoats.”

“We’re Scots! We’re already their targets!” Jamie’s snarl rattled straight to my bones. Sadly, he was right. The British government hadn’t even passed the Act of Proscription yet. The worst was yet to come.

Without waiting for his father’s response, Jamie turned on his heel and stormed out the door. His heightened emotions lingering in the room coupled with the events of the morning caused a tremor in my hands as I worked to bandage Brian’s wound. Once the task was finished, I shared a look with him, my unspoken meaning clear: I would go talk to Jamie.

He didn’t necessarily belong down in the priest hole during times of potential conflict, but his hot-headed reactions could get him killed.

Something had to give.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

I read ur post about p3 remake... and what stumped me was the persona primes... what did you mean by thsat?

Hmmmm where to start... I’m gonna just start explaining what a Prime is, in case other’s don’t know. But don't worry I'll go into the why shortly after.

A "Prime Persona" can also be called "Custom Persona" (alt eng translation), "Kai Persona/Persona Kai" (what it's called in Japanese), or "Modified Persona" (a literal translation of what Kai means in the Japanese). We're going to go with the word "Prime Persona."

(you know me and my long windedness, under the cut~!)

So a Prime Persona was introduced in Persona 2 IS. And their role is to serve as "upgraded versions" of the initial Persona. They get a little stronger, their sprite changes a little. Really reaching for the stars (jk). Here's a pic to compare so you get an idea:

Think of it as the middle form of a Pokemon starter evolution. So if you mean the story requisite, you get Initial -> Prime -> Ultimate.

In P2EP, the only one to get a Prime Persona is Maya, but P2EP is not where the Prime Persona was last seen. The last Prime Persona is actually Orpheus Telos! In Japanese, his name is actually "Orpheus Kai" (aka "Orpheus Modified", and boy does he live up to that). Of course OT doesn't follow the same pattern as P2's middle pokemon evolution (cause P3 is funky with the MC’s special Personas, and OT is technically the Ult of all Ults), but it's still a prime Persona.

Now, since P4 we've moved to a more "SL level up gets me a Persona evo" type of deal instead of gameplay/story unlock like P1-3. And since P4G, Persona's decided to do.....3rd tiers/3rd Ults when they "remake" (*cough*enhanced port*cough*) the game like P4G/P5R. So now the new evo line now looks like this: Initial-> Ult -> 3rd Tier

And that's all fine and good, it being optional allows devs to choose which Persona for later games, and it's always nice to feel rewarded at the end of a link with a Party member and getting a little something extra for focusing on them instead of a non-party member........but we have a problem with P3.

P3 their Personas are not tied to the SL, but to the story. And since some, not all but some, of the chars can have their SL’s finished prior to their Ult in the story. So that puts a wrench in just “oh just make a third tier happen after the SL!” 

There’s also the fact that we've already had sequels......we know it's the Ult/2nd Tier they have. But you know the devs know we might want a new Persona (or really new skin for the Persona as we get a new skill) for our party members.....so how do we fix that?

Prime Personas! It’s a lot easier to wave away it being a temp buff than a 3rd tier. Esp for P3′s situation. (I mean obvie the real solution is to not have anything but that’s no fun, if you want that then play the other versions! 8U)

The Prime Personas will be tied to the SL, and unlike P2, we’d get both an initial and ultimate variation (not all the Personas will have initial but some..... and shouldn’t be that bad, copy and paste the model, change a color portion around and add an item and voila you are done! I know I know not that easy shhhhhh it’s not like you’re asking for the moon either! XP)

The reason is......well.....again.....some SLs can be finished before story evolution. Yukari and Fuuka (and iirc Junpei if you are fast enough, but if you aren’t then he obvie falls under the Ken/Aki category) can have their SL complete prior to their Ult evolution, so they would get Prime versions of their initial persona. Mitsuru/Aigis SLs don’t start till well after their evolution iirc, and Ken/Aki have a mandator roadblock (aka, we’d only get primes of their Ult). That leaves only Shinji/Koro....who are black sheep. They don’t evolve. They never evolve. They were never going to get a 2nd tier/Ult, let alone a 3rd tier. BUT..................I think they can get away with a Prime Persona. They essentially did that with PQ1 and PQ2 (along with Goro). You know they get the blue glow and the pose changes? All it does is strengthen the initial Persona? Well that’s essentially what a Prime Persona is, a strengthened version of the Initial one!

I mean Shinji would only be available for like a handful of days (unless they increase his SL’s availability sched). Haha but hey, didn’t stop them from doing that to Sumi! 8U 

So basically the evo tree for the P3 cast would look like this:

Shinji/Koro: Initial -> Initial Prime

Fuuka/Yukari/Junpei (if fast enough, otherwise they fall under the below tree): Initial -> Initial Prime -> Ult Prime

Aigis/Mitsuru/Ken/Aki: Initial -> Ult -> Ult Prime

But yeah, Prime fits the best for this kind of thing. Avoids big paradoxes later , allows Shinji/Koro to get a buff, brings back an old idea again (and in a game where there is one other Prime existing to boot!) And you still get (an extra) reward for completing your party member’s SL! And.....might also be a good way to test the waters on a new formula, both reintroducing Ult’s as a story progression thing while allowing a Prime evol in the meantime. 

And that’s why I think that if we get a P3 remake, and they want to do the whole “new Persona/persona skin and new skill” thing, they should adopt the Primes back instead of a 3rd tier. I hope that helped my point a bit more! ^^;

[delta-altair]

Ok I think this is the last one, apologies as always for my long-windedness

You know I think I’m starting to feel more and more like I don’t so much need to step away from Critical Role, but moreso I want to jump past the next couple of episodes and ignore large swaths of the fandom forever. Because Twitter right now is just a DELUGE of ‘that’s how D&D is supposed to work’ and ‘why are they watching if they can’t handle this’ and ‘characters die!!’ and ‘it’s better storytelling’ and ‘the dice will be cruel’ and ‘if you didn’t think this would happen you shouldn’t be watching’ and ‘you need to realize the story will be dark’. There is an implication that people wanting to take a break or even quit are not ‘real fans’.

I have scoured twitter and tumblr and while yes I’ve seen like 20-25 or so people who are throwing hate at Matt and those people are total wankrods, the overwhelming majority of ‘non-positive’ things are people being sad or upset to themselves with no reference to the cast or even (a LOT of the time actually) saying very positive things about the cast while being upset or disappointed about Molly. But that isn’t mosts of the posts on Twitter or Reddit (tumblr is very different, I will say that). The majority of posts are what I mentioned above.

It seems like a lot of the fandom is incapable of understanding that there are many reasons people may stop watching, and most of them are not because they’re mad at Matt (which is dumb). For me I know that sudden, unexpected, and ‘pointless’ feeling death and the reactions to it is something I find upsetting and extremely difficult to reach a ‘catharsis’ point, like many did during Talks Machina but I did not, for very personal reasons. 

Being sad or upset, or supporting people who are, or needing to step away for whatever reason does not nullify the set-in-stone iron-clad truth that no one in the cast and especially not Matt should ever receive any kind of hate. First just because it’s rude as hell, and second because they are also all mourning Molly right now. I’m just so tired of the knee-jerk reaction of what appears to be the majority of people on twitter, reddit, and twitch and somewhat on tumblr that upset=DON’T HATE MATT. Not everyone means ‘it’s not ok to be upset’ with their words, but the waves and waves of ‘it was great’, ‘this will make the story better’, ‘lorenzo is now a great villain’, ‘this gave it great steaks’ ‘WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL UPSET’ is just exhausting.

Some people want to step back right now because they want to keep loving the show. And some people need to step back for themselves, for whatever reason. And if you want to do that for the show, the fandom, or both, power to you. I’ve come to the realization that by passing by a few episodes I can leave the anti-catharsis of Molly’s death behind, but the fandom “tone policing” isn’t something I want to deal with.

I will, however, no matter what, be 100000% excited to see Tal’s new character because he is a freaking genius and he seems pretty excited about it too. I don’t know if they’ll be a bard or a sorcerer or a paladin or something else totally crazy but we KNOW they’re going to be amazing.

[ignitesthestxrs]

FOR THE COMMENTARY MEME: "Whoever they are, they certainly aren’t Jedi. As for Ben--(and he has become Ben when he is around her, even in his own mind, something that terrifies him more than any Supreme Leader ought to be terrified). As for Ben, this is Rey. And he is learning just how far he will follow her." (from "somewhere a clock is ticking" also known as my favorite fic at the moment)

Whoever they are, they certainly aren’t Jedi. LMAO obi is like...intrigued by this situation but very obviously they couldn’t be jedi, one of them has a red blade! and also...like it’s obi, he has definitely clocked that the two of them are holding hands and that the force itself is like ‘idk man i can’t tell em what to do’.

As for Ben-- STRUGGLING A LOT with how a) i personally think of ben/kylo these days, and definitely with how the character thinks of himself.especially given certain pre-story events that will come up later. i settled on Ben just because that is largely how Rey is thinking of him, and she’s thinking of him as Ben partially because she still has some hope, and partially because it gets under his skin lol

(and he has become Ben when he is around her, even in his own mind, something that terrifies him more than any Supreme Leader ought to be terrified). So this is me using character to explain the above author choice - acknowledging that a character change has taken place, that it’s a Big Deal he refer to himself as Ben, shoving some characterisation in there at the same time. like he’s doing it BECAUSE OF HER, not because he’s really chosen it for himself.

also pointing out that he’s a terrible fucking supreme leader because. well, he is.

As for Ben, this is Rey. And he is learning just how far he will follow her. 

This line and the one previous to it intentionally stand in juxtaposition to anakin’s distraction, and obi wan’s long windedness. it’s short, and it serves to define Ben (as a man who is being infected by the lightsided side of himself, as a man who defines himself by how Rey thinks of him), and define Rey--

she’s all those things listed at the opening to this section, but the truth is that she’s just Rey. and he’s learning THAT as well as how far he will follow her. like this realisation that he can’t change her and doesn’t actually want to, which is the genesis for realising that means he has to change (and has already, on the path from kylo to ben, started that transformation).

fun fact: this line was originally ‘And he is learning just how far he will go to save her’, but i decided that was too spoilery :B

I AM GLAD UR ENJOYING THE STORY MY DUDE THANK U

[vikrantbhagat]

7 Reasons Why Covid-19 Is Nothing Like The Flu ?

Overview

Various engineered mixes today are known or suspected to be associates with threatening development, early youthfulness, thought insufficiency hyperactivity issue (ADHD), strength, compound irregularity, and diverse certifiable clinical issues.

At this point, you've most likely experienced critique comparing the COVID-19 pandemic to the occasional influenza. Now and again it's about the numbers influenced by the two maladies, and once in a while it's about the genuine ailment, manifestations, and results. On a post about my own COVID-19 recuperation, a colleague stated, "Sounds like you had a terrible instance of seasonal influenza

COVID-19 and this season's flu virus are totally different conditions and the two infections that cause them, SARS-CoV-2 and flu an or b, individually, share little practically speaking. The correlations are not just erroneous, they're risky, quite often intended to limit the danger presented by one of the most perilous viruses we've at any point confronted.

7 Reasons Why Covid-19 Is Nothing Like Flu

1)Symptoms-The occasional influenza and COVID-19 have totally different symptomatologies. Both for the most part include a hack, sore throat, and fever, yet these present in an unexpected way. For instance, this season's flu virus causes chest clog, the hack is "beneficial," and there are additionally upper respiratory (nasal) manifestations, for example, sniffling and runny nose. With COVID-19, there are typically no nasal side effects, the hack is frequently dry, and there isn't a great deal of bodily fluid when all is said in done (though bodily fluid is the sign of influenza). Cerebral pains, body throbs, and weariness are likewise basic to both, however those are felt in basically all contaminations, as these are reactions of safe framework proteins called cytokines. COVID-19 likewise includes helpless oxygen conveyance and windedness, and, peculiarly, loss of taste and smell. These are not normal indications of this season's cold virus.

2)Seriousness and span. By and large. While this season's flu virus will in general last 5-10 days, instances of COVID-19 are estimated in weeks. I was wiped out for three weeks, longer than I've at any point been sick with seasonal influenza or whatever else. A work associate of dig has been debilitated for two entire months. Our sitter has been debilitated for about a month and a half and was hospitalized twice for a few days each. My uncle has been in the medical clinic, all through the ICU, for five weeks. Another work partner was debilitated for seven days before being admitted to the emergency clinic and going through almost three weeks in the ICU before at long last losing his fight.

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3)Mortality. This is an intense issue since we don't yet have strong measurements for COVID-19. A few nations like Belgium have announced that 15% of cases are deadly, while in  India . death rate drifts somewhere in the range of 2 and 5%. Yet, these numbers mirror the way that solitary the most serious cases were being tried as of not long ago. The genuine death rate has all the earmarks of being simply underneath 1%, however is a lot higher in those with co-morbidities, for example, corpulence, hypertension, diabetes, congestive coronary illness, asthma, malignancy, kidney disappointment, and so forth., and that is many individuals, particularly in the U.S. The death rate starts to seize around age 70, executing 10-15% of those in their eighth decade. For those above age 80, over 20% who become sick will pass on, predominating the death pace of flu.

In the most recent 10 years of occasional Flu , the death rate has never penetrated 1%, even in the 65 or more age gathering. In aggregate, COVID-19 is more deadly than influenza over all age gatherings however is 10 to multiple times more deadly in the older. I haven't actually known any individual who kicked the bucket of flu, yet I know five individuals who have passed on of COVID-19 in the previous two months.

4)Infectiousness. How quick an irresistible illness can spread through a populace is a significant factor for understanding its risk, yet this measurement is a moving objective, particularly when precautionary measures are set up to lessen the spread we're attempting to gauge.. For as far back as 10 years or something like that, the BRN for occasional influenza has been somewhere in the range of 1 and 2. Infectious, yet sensible. During the 2009 influenza pandemic, the BRN was almost 2. During the worldwide flu pandemic of 1918, the BRN was 2.8. Most estimations for COVID-19 are somewhere in the range of 3 and 5, making it more infectious than SARS, Ebola, and Smallpox (yet less so than Measles, Mumps, and Chickenpox).

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5)Socioeconomics. Much has been made of the age inclination of SARS-CoV-2 by those wishing to limit its perils. While the facts confirm that this infection preys most seriously on the older and those with basic wellbeing conditions, that is valid for actually every irresistible malady, in light of the fact that the adequacy of our invulnerable framework disappears with age and is hampered by certain co-morbities. Not to lose all sense of direction in this conversation is the stunning number of in any case sound individuals in their 30s, 40s, and 50s who have gotten fundamentally sick with COVID-19. I've had seasonal influenza previously and never missed in excess of a few days of work. I'm 41 and COVID nauseated me for three weeks.

6)Long haul inability. It is enticing to imagine that COVID-19 resembles seasonal influenza or a cold in that, when you recuperate from it, you are actually as you were previously. However, there are numerous infections that leave patients with long haul handicaps. Polio patients stay incapacitated long after the infection has been cleared. Numerous patients with terrible instances of West Nile infection create Parkinsonian quakes, neurodegeneration, and other psychological disabilities. Indeed, even chickenpox can prompt difficult shingles for a considerable length of time to come, because of the reactivation of torpid infections inside tangible neurons. Since it is so new, we don't yet have the full image of long haul issues COVID-19 may leave afterward, yet the early signs are inauspicious.

7)Blood clumps, including deadly pneumonic embolisms, are currently a perceived confusion of COVID-19. On a possible related note, medical clinics around the globe are revealing a surprising number of strokes in any case sound patients in their 30s and 40s experiencing a gentle or asymptomatic instance of COVID. The infection has additionally been appeared to cause changeless liver harm in certain patients. Recall the loss of taste and smell? That is a neurological side effect (!), one of a few that COVID-19 can create including turmoil, seizures, and even cerebrum harm. COVID-19 unleashes destruction all through the body and can prompt a condition called various organ disappointment, which is as wrecking as it sounds.

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We likewise realize that many recuperated COVID-19 patients (counting yours genuinely) have relentless joint torment and those with rheumatoid joint inflammation report enduring flare-ups of their indications. This is likely because of the misrepresented safe reaction, yet what is not yet clear is whether the joint harm is changeless or simply difficult. The fact of the matter is that we are simply beginning to learn of the foundational harm the infection causes all through the human body, something we don't frequently observe with flu.

Thinking Of The Future

COVID-19 and seasonal influenza are totally various diseases. Beside some covering manifestations and inclination to spread everywhere throughout the globe, they are not promptly practically identical. The explanation they present such unmistakable difficulties is that they are brought about by altogether different infections

-Vikrant Bhagat