#I stand by tracing as being a great tool

[the-amethyst-artist]

Working on another study, but the sketch looks cool too!

[loaksky]

Hi I was wondering if you wrote or if you will write a part 2 to neighbour Ellie x reader, cause I would love to see how their relationship will progress and maybe there can be a bit of jealous Ellie and insecure reader, in like maybe they meet their exes or something like that

neighbor!ellie x sunshine!fem reader, hurt + comfort / fluff / smut MDNI!! or we’re beefing!! / established relationship, wc: 5.2k

synopsis: things between you and ellie seem to be going great! that is until you pay her a visit at work to drop off lunch and find that the threads that tie her and an overfriendly coworker tangle too much for your liking.

content warnings: language, slightly mean!ellie makes a return, reader isn’t necessarily insecure, but a little unsure of the circumstances, 18 + content / filthy make-up sex that consists of: brief shower-sex, scissoring, fingering / oral (reader & ellie!receiving), thigh-riding, so much kissing and mushy feelings.

author’s note: in love with this idea ! been mulling over how to expand on their relationship & i feel like this is a great segue ! hcs below; leave some more scenarios for existing couples (emt!abby, collegebff!ellie or others) and i’ll answer them ! (also not proofread well like usual lmao)

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

jealous!ellie & jealous!reader are SO different, but i feel like the outcome would be so…YUM.

feel like you’d be more reserved about being jealous.

like lately, it seems like things between you and ellie seem like they can’t get any better.

the two of you spend so much time together, whether it’s having picnics in the park with some pastries you make, testing out recipes after close at your cafe or having sleepovers at one or the other’s apartment.

ellie’s lowkey obsessed with you and at times it makes you blush because after the initial stages of feeling your relationship out, you find that ellie’s extremely vocal and outright with her affection for you.

and for the longest time, you don’t question it. don’t really say much because ellie’s particularly good at reassuring you even if you don’t ask.

it’s why you think you’re overreacting when you decide to surprise her and bring her lunch on a random afternoon in the middle of the week.

the top half of her coveralls hangs around her hips, dirtied white tank exposing tanned, inked flesh and lean muscle when you enter the lobby.

she’s leaning against one of the tool carts with her arms crossed over her chest, gaze unwavering.

when you trace her eyeline, you realize there’s another girl nearby bent under the hood of a shiny red car.

she says something imperceptible and suddenly ellie’s throwing her head back with a laugh, sound muffled by the sliding plexiglass.

“hey, receptionist is on break, can i help you with something?” a mechanic is poking his head into the lobby from an adjoining office.

“uh, i’m here for ellie?” the mechanic’s glancing through the glass into the main garage before standing from his rolling chair to dust his hands on his coveralls.

“yeah, she’s supposed to be watching the front,” he laughs. “too busy flirting with her lil girlfriend to pay attention.”

he doesn’t notice the way your face falls or how you almost drop the little canvas bag altogether.

you chance another glance at the two, find that the girl has emerged from under the hood and you swallow hard because god, she’s so fucking pretty.

doesn’t help that seeing her and ellie side-by-side makes you wonder if the two of you look that good together.

they look like they were made for each other and they even share similar interests! you don’t know a damned thing about cars and ellie’s gaze nearly glazes over every time you’re talking about your recipes and coffee pairings.

“uh, actually,” you stop him. “i don’t think she was expecting me, so i’ll just drop this off.”

he pauses.

“you sure? i can get her real quick, she’s not busy.”

ellie still hasn’t clocked you, so you shake your head.

“it’s fine,” you assure him. “i’ll talk to her later.”

he merely shrugs, meets you halfway for the canvas bag, and you’re quickly ducking out of the garage.

“babe?”

ellie’s right on the dot, you realize, when you hear her through the cracked sliding door to the balcony.

you’ve just finished watering your plants and now you’re jotting down a quick brainstorm for the upcoming spring launch.

through the window, you see ellie kicking her shoes off at the entrance before assessing her surroundings and poking her head into your bedroom for good measure.

“babe?” she calls out.

you stand, tucking the little notebook under your arm before sliding back inside.

she seems to light up when she sees you, crossing the living room to meet you halfway.

“hey, els.”

you’re letting her engulf you in a hug, arms wrapping around your waist as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“missed you today,” she hums, rocking your weight from side to side.

“missed you too,” you say gently.

ellie’s pulling away a short distance, finger bumping under your chin so you’ll look up at her.

“why didn’t you say hi when you stopped in today?” she nearly pouts. “zack came in when we were slow and said that someone dropped something off for me.”

you shrug, unable to tell her that insecurity was rearing its ugly head and you didn’t know how to deal with it in that moment.

“my girl didn’t wanna eat with me?”

“sorry,” you mumble, burning up under the heat of her gaze. “i couldn’t stay long.”

her brows are furrowing, hands coming up to smooth your hair from your face and brush over your shoulders.

“everything okay, babe?”

you nod once, then twice.

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?”

ellie’s watching you closely, fingers cupping your neck.

“talk to me,” she encourages softly. “did something happen?”

you swallow, shake your head, and put on your most convincing smile before leaning up to give her a peck on the lips.

“m’okay,” you tell her.

she doesn’t look convinced, but she also doesn’t wanna pry.

changes the subject instead.

“so does this mean, you’ll swing by and actually hang out with me soon?” she asks, body relaxing when you start smoothing over the wrinkles in her coveralls as a distraction.

you nod, smile widening when she starts peppering kisses all over your face.

for a little bit, you forget about ellie’s coworker and you forget about the comment that zack made, but then you’re popping in again almost two weeks later.

they’re shoulder to shoulder in the body shop, looking at something under the hood of a silver pick up truck. ellie’s engrossed, but the girl’s fullblown staring, paying no mind to whatever ellie’s explaining in the engine bed.

makes you sick to your stomach thinking that if ellie so much as chances a glance, their noses could brush.

“hey receptionist is— oh.”

it’s zack, the same mechanic from last time.

he’s wiping his hands on an old towel as he emerges from one of the bays.

“ellie!” he shouts past the propped open door.

she nearly jumps out of her skin, parting from her coworker as she throws a cross look over her shoulder.

“your girl’s here,” he announces.

ellie’s straightening up, craning her neck even more before her face splits into a bright smile.

she’s abandoning the girl by the truck, jogging across the body shop to duck into the lobby.

“hi, angel.”

your cheeks warm when she slides her arm around your waist to pull you into her.

“gonna go on lunch break, don’t wait up,” she calls & you’re sparing the girl near the truck a glance.

her name’s emma if the stitching on the right breast of her coveralls is anything to go by.

she makes a show of taking you in from head to toe before her gaze cuts to zack and they seemingly share a wordless exchange.

oh.

you have no clue what to make of that, but ellie’s steering you from the lobby and out into the crisp air.

it’s still a little chilly outside, but you’re wearing one of ellie’s favorite sweatshirts and she’s shrugging on a hoodie hanging from a coatrack by the door.

“my truck?” she offers when a chill rips down your spine.

you only hum.

when the two of you are settled, her in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger’s, she’s taking the little bag with lunch containers and setting it on her dash before pulling you towards her to eliminate every inch of space between the two of you.

“whaddya doing?” you sigh out a laugh.

“i missed you,” ellie says simply.

“ellie, you slept over last night,” you squeak out a breathy laugh when her ice cold hands slide under the warmth of the red fleece. “we saw each other this morning.”

“so?” she replies petulantly. “wanna be with you all the time.”

you’re wearing a turtleneck underneath the sweatshirt so she’s nosing along your jaw before pressing a few soft kisses there.

“you’re so clingy recently, els,” you giggle, arms winding around her neck.

“duh.” and your belly flips when she doesn’t even deny it. “you’re so fucking cute and i just wanna keep you in my pocket all the time.”

that earns her a full-hearted laugh and you really begin to wonder why you let that girl with her stupidly perfect blown out hair and stupidly rounded ass and the most stupidly pretty face ever make you question your ellie.

you live in bliss for the duration of her forty-five minute break where she does a whole lot of eating, but not necessarily the food you made for her.

the windows are equal parts fogged and frosted by the time she’s done with you and you’re shimmying your jeans back up in the back seat of her truck as she shrugging the top half of her discard coveralls and her hoodie back on again.

“you didn’t even touch to food i made you,” you whine.

“i’ll eat it on my ten,” she assures you, and your toes curl when she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

“liked what i had for lunch better,” she says so casually, your cheeks are on fire.

“ellie!”

“definitely need dessert when i get home,” she insinuates, leaning her weight over your blissed out body.

she plants a kiss on your mouth before climbing back into the front seat.

but, in the lobby, when she’s bidding you a farewell with another peck on the lips, promising she’ll try to come home early, you notice emma’s eyes again. they’re searing, laced with obvious annoyance.

ellie’s returning to her duties and you’re ducking into their restroom for a moment to splash your face with cool water.

ellie’s never given you a reason to doubt her, has been a perfect girlfriend since the beginning, but you can’t help yourself.

especially not when you’re ducking out and you hear it.

“so i’m not the only one surprised that her girl looks like that?” you think it’s zack, but you can’t be so sure.

“i dunno, she’s hot, but they don’t really match,” another voice sounds. “especially since her last…thing was with emma.”

and, wow, fuck, you hadn’t been expecting that.

“damn, i forgot about that,” maybe zack says. “it was at the party mel and them threw, right? when they fucked?”

you’d wanted to give the benefit of the doubt. maybe they’d been a thing once upon a time, kissed on occasion, but hearing it put so crassly makes you feel like you’re gonna throw up.

the bell’s tinkling hard against the glass when you throw the door open.

and perhaps the situation with finding out about ellie and emma goes hand-in-hand with the way ellie experiences her jealousy.

maybe the fact that ellie still works closely with a previous situationship and is obviously on friendly terms with makes you withdraw a little.

you’re spending a lot more time at your cafe, readying for spring launch and brainstorming new recipes.

you don’t want to bore ellie, especially when you’ve been so in your head about everything lately, so you’re putting in more hours, coming home late at night.

truthfully, ellie’s devastated because she misses her girl :/ why are you always so busy suddenly?

so when a familiar face comes poking into the cafe a few weeks down the line, your eyes are as wide as saucers.

“wow, alex, is that you?”

she’s an ex who’d moved abroad for work a few years back. and the break up had been amicable enough, but she’d moved on and so had you.

the only contact the two of you keep is the occasional comment on social media and a text or two during the holidays.

she’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“what are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, setting the rag down on the bartop to round the counter.

you’d been in the middle of prepping to close up shop when the bells chimed against the glass.

“visiting my parents for a few weeks,” she answers. “thought i’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“great, i’m doing great,” you assure her with a warm smile. “what about you? how’s germany?”

“definitely miss the food here sometimes, but you know,” she shrugs and you’re letting out a laugh. “and...julia’s pregnant.”

and your brows are shooting up, arms wrapping around her middle.

“alex, that’s so exciting!” you cheer. “congratulations.”

her cheeks are red when you pull away.

“yeah,” she says softly, eyes gentle. “i’m so excited.”

and you’re glad to hear that things are working out for her, that she’s established herself well and she’s building the family she’s always dreamed of.

“and you?” she asks.

“what about me?”

“are you seeing anyone?”

it’s your turn to warm, fidgeting under her expectant gaze.

“i am,” you confirm.

her smile widens

“that’s great,” she says genuinely. “i’m glad. i hope they make you happy.”

and it really makes you draw into yourself for a moment because ellie does. she makes you so fucking happy, you don’t know what to do with yourself sometimes.

“yeah,” you hum. “she’s great.”

the two of you end up catching up a little as you close, and she even takes you up on your offer of visiting again for a tasting before she leaves!

and this is most likely what sends ellie over the edge.

at first she didn’t know why you were suddenly so distant, knew you were dedicated, but didn’t know why you were so invested as of late.

recently, it’s been her popping into your apartment, but being disappointed to find that you’re not even home.

and the days that she does catch you, you’re pecking her on the lips and rushing out the door.

makes ellie question if there’s something she should be paying closer attention to.

honestly, she’s just really worried that she did something wrong, so as she’s trekking up the sidewalk to approach your little cafe with a bundle of cute flowers around 10 in the evening, she’s feeling a weird sense of deja vu.

finds that the open sign has been flipped and that the lights are dim, but nearly trips over her steps when she peers inside and sees you behind the counter.

you’re not alone, a tall figure leaned up against the bartop, obviously deeply interested in whatever you’re animatedly talking about.

you’re still wearing your apron, hair falling from its hold and a lump is lodging its way into ellie’s throat.

tugs gently on the handle to see that it’s locked and the motion catches both you and your company’s attention.

god, whoever you’re with is an absolute stunner and ellie’s swallowing hard as you round the counter and flit through the tables to come let her in.

“els, what are you doing here?” you ask, smiling softly.

barely registers what you’re saying because the girl you’re with has straightened and there’s something so put together and elegant about the brunette that makes a pang of insecurity begin to coil in ellie’s stomach.

“wanted to see you,” she says simply.

“oh,” you reply. “we were just finishing up here, i would’ve been home in like an hour.”

and that leaves such a sour taste in her mouth because a lot can happen in an hour, in forty-five minutes even.

“great, i’ll walk you home,” ellie says, tone pinched.

your brows furrow and you’re opening your mouth to ask ellie if everything’s fine, but alex is placing a casual hand on your shoulder to remind you she’s there and ellie can’t help but zero in on the way her slender fingers curl.

“alex,” she introduces, offering her other hand.

“ellie,” your girlfriend bites back, glancing at alex’s outstretched palm before glancing back up at her.

there’s a twinkle of knowing in alex’s eye as she nods thoughtfully.

“heard a lot about you,” she says simply.

ellie merely hums.

and god, you’re mortified because you’d spent the entire night raving about ellie even though alex was supposed to be giving you feedback on launch ideas.

you’d told her how kind and great ellie was. instead, here she is, ice cold and glaring.

“well...” alex turns her attention to you. “i really appreciate tonight, everything was phenomenal.”

you preen under the praise and ellie’s rolling her eyes, fist tightening around the stems of the flowers.

“of course, anytime,” you assure her. “thank you for visiting me again.”

and seeing the two of you side-by-side, ellie feels so small. because you’ve always been so pretty, so out of her league and the two of you look like a match made in heaven.

“always,” alex replies, and ever the instigator, she adds, “text me when you get home?”

“i will,” you tell her, brushing past ellie to lock her out. “goodnight, alex, be safe!”

she says something in return that evades ellie’s hearing, but she’s far too livid to even tune in.

you’ve barely locked the door behind her when ellie’s voice cuts through the tense air.

“who the fuck was that?” she asks sharply.

you turn on your heel, brows dipping because ellie’s rarely let her anger get the best of her.

“ellie, what are—”

“i asked you a question,” she says firmly.

you roll your lips, gaze downcast because such a good moment has been obliterated by ellie’s fiery temper.

“we dated a few years ago,” you answer honestly. “she was back in town for the next few weeks and i wanted to do something nice.”

ellie lets out a humorless laugh.

“so i’ve been worried sick for weeks because you wanna ghost me when you’ve really been parading around with your ex?” ellie huffs.

and okay, wow, you hadn’t really expected that from her because your ellie is usually relatively level-headed.

“this is only the second time i’ve seen her, ellie,” you argue. “we were friends way before we even dated and it was a clean break up. we were just catching up.”

ellie’s tossing the bouquet of flowers, now crushed by her unrelenting fist, onto the nearest table top.

“just catching up, huh?” she mocks. “so a romantic set up, just the two of you, is just catching up? you said not to wait up for you because you’d be caught up with work. good to know that screwing your ex is—”

“this is work,” you bite back. “i’ve been trying to get my bearings for this upcoming launch and she was kind enough to put up with all my crazy ideas and all my rambling,” then quietly, “given ninety percent of it was about you.”

“what, you couldn’t ask me?” ellie huffs. “you know i’d help you if you wanted me to!”

“i didn’t ask because i know all this shit bores you,” you say weakly. “alex was just being nice.”

that shuts ellie up, douses her anger like a bucket of ice cold water on a fire. and now she feels like a piece of shit because she hadn’t known that you felt that way.

“and she’s engaged,” you add, pulling away from her when she takes a step towards you. instead you busy yourself with gathering your spread and all the silverware. “they’re expecting a child.”

and fuck, ellie wishes she’d slowed down. wishes that she hadn’t talked out of her ass.

“i didn't—”

“you’re one to talk, ellie,” you add coldly. “you work in close proximity with a girl you used to fuck regularly. you’re still friends with her, and it’s obvious to every single soul imaginable that i’m just an obstacle to her and that she’s still interested. but i didn’t say anything even if it fucking ate away at me because i know you. you’ve never given me a reason to doubt us.”

that knocks that wind from ellie’s lungs because she hadn’t realized that you knew. just wanted to sweep it under the rug because her and emma were never serious and she didn’t want you worrying.

“wait, angel, i’m sorry,” ellie says. “i—”

you shake your head.

“whatever, ellie,” you whisper. “i have to close up.”

“c’mon, babe, don’t—”

“i don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” you cut her off. “i’ll be home soon, but i wanna be alone right now.”

when you get home and see ellie’s sneakers by the door, you take in a deep breath and try to mentally prepare yourself for the inevitable conversation, but instead, you’re met with the smell of your favorite take out and a soft murmur from your vinyl player in the living room.

when you make it to the end of the corridor to peer into the kitchen, you see ellie taking down a few plates.

she’s glancing over her shoulder, body seemingly relaxing when she finds you standing in the archway of the kitchen.

“hey,” she greets softly, and you belatedly realize that her voice is hoarse.

“hi,” you reply.

“wanna eat first?” she asks you, but you don’t answer, too busy analyzing her.

you put two and two together; figure that she’s been crying if the red bags under her eyes and the dying flush on her cheeks is anything to go by.

she takes a step towards you and you seem to snap out of it.

“wanna shower first,” you tell her.

you hear her gulp.

“okay,” she says.

and you hate this. you hate being upset and you hate that she’s upset and knowing that ellie cried makes you wanna cry, so you’re taking a step towards her.

she’s glancing at you.

“shower with me?” you offer timidly.

ellie’s pushing off the counter, nodding eagerly.

and truthfully, ellie had every intention of keeping her hands to herself, but then you were asking her to help work the soap down your back.

then you were turning to face her to rinse under the stream of the showerhead. the sudsy water’s making its way down the column of your throat and the curves of your body and ellie’s tongue is so dry, she feels like it could crack in her mouth.

her hands settle on the narrow of your waist, right over the swell of your hips as she presses open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder.

“i’m so sorry, angel,” she whispers, hands sliding to rest against the small of your back.

you give in even though you’re still in your head, arms looping around her neck as she brushes your hair to one side and starts paying a lot more attention to the spot right behind your ear.

“s’okay, els,” you assure her softly. “i’m sorry, too. i was being a brat.”

your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, breath hitching when she grabs a palmful of your ass and breaks away from your neck to catch your lips between her own.

“you don’t know how much i love you,” she murmurs between kisses, sighing brokenly when the plush of your tits presses against her sensitive nipples.

you moan when one of her hands slides down your front and gently brushes over your clit.

“ellie,” you whimper.

“let me show you?”

your head is lolling back when the pads of her calloused fingers circle your entrance to gather the slick that’s accumulating there.

you nod.

“yeah, yeah, ellie, please,” you choke.

she’s reaching behind you to turn the shower off, ducking outside of the tiled space to grab your towel.

and she’s slow, meticulous as she dries you off, mouth watering when the cool air of the bathroom makes gooseflesh ripple over your smooth skin.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” ellie whispers, standing behind you in the mirror. “so fucking perfect and all mine.”

your eyelids are drooping shut as she discards the towel, hands wandering as her teeth sink into your neck.

“oh, fuuu—”

ellie’s jostling you back into your bedroom. when she’s about to push you back against the mattress, you’re spinning so that she’s falling against the unmade duvet, taking you with her.

and ellie’s gaze is glazing over when you spread her legs to reveal a pussy slick with need and a clit so swollen, it makes you salivate.

“what are you doing?” she whispers, fingertips denting the fat of your thighs.

“wanna ride you, els,” you whimper, climbing to straddle her heat. “wanna take care of you.”

one of her legs stretches to settle over your shoulder and you’re kissing her calf as your clits bump.

“fuck,” ellie chokes when you start rolling your hips. “fuck, wait, angel, just—”

the slip is delicious, obscene sound of your combined arousal echoing through the room to mingle with ellie’s throaty moans.

ellie’s used to watching you ride her strap, used to fucking you and giving you everything because it’s one of the things that makes her the happiest, but, fuck, she could get used to this.

“you gonna cream all over my pussy, ellie?” you whine, pace relentless as you ride her.

she lets out a breathy laugh.

“you feel how wet i am?” ellie gasps, thumb coming to nestle between your heat. the friction feels so fucking good against your clit, has you throwing your head back as you fuck her. “god, you’re fucking delusional if you think i’m not a hundred and ten percent obsessed with you.”

“oh fuck, ellie, your pussy feels s’good,” you whine, eyes watering when her other hand settles on your hip to guide you.

“does it, angel?” she moans breathily. “only you can get me like this.”

“you’re so wet, els,” you marvel. “your cunt’s so soft and so...so—”

“it’s all yours,” she whispers shakily, hips jerking because she’s close. “all yours, angel.”

and she’s crying out when you slip off of her, hands grabbing for you desperately.

she’s throwing her head back against your pillows when your lips latch onto her clit.

“oh, shit,” she moans. “wait, wait.”

but you don’t wait, in fact, your ministrations quicken, tongue lapping at the slick that gushes from ellie’s cunt.

“fuck, angel, i’m gonna—”

the broken moan that leaves ellie’s lithe body has you clenching your thighs. and you think she’s gonna cum, but her palm is firm against your forehead to push you away gently.

her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head when a string of spit webs from your chin to her clit.

“m’not cumming before you do,” she swallows. “this was supposed to be about you.”

“it is,” you assure her. “all i care about right now is making you cum.”

“jesus, you’re actually something else,” ellie sighs shakily, combing a tattooed hand through her damp locks.

you’re making a move to close in on her pussy again, but she’s pushing you onto your back, settling her achey cunt over your thigh as she circles both of your wrists in one hand.

“let me take care of you and you can do whatever you want with me for the rest of the night,” ellie promises, sloppy kiss turning into her licking into your mouth.

her fingers waste no time finding your folds, pads eager against your bud before dipping lower to tease at your entrance.

“how could you think i’d want any other pussy other than yours, angel?” she whispers against your mouth as she stuffs you knuckles deep. “this is all mine, you hear me? all fuckin’ mine.”

you nod, squirming against where she’s still got you confined with a bruising grip around your wrists.

“s’all yours, els,” you whimper.

“just like this pussy’s all yours,” she husks, hips rolling over the swell of your thigh. “would never fucking dream of giving myself to anyone but you.”

and god, ellie knows all the right things to say to have you winding tight.

you’re arching into her, jaw slack and eyes crossing as she hits that spot inside you that has you feeling fucking boneless.

“c’mon, angel,” she encourages you. “just once all over my fingers, then you can do whatever you want to me.”

the squelch has ellie’s thighs shaking as she rolls her hips, knuckles curling hard inside the warm heat of your needy pussy.

“don’t stop, els,” you beg her. “i’m gonna—”

she’s freeing your wrists, climbing from your thigh to settle on her knees at the end of the bed.

“wait, els, i’m gonna—”

and the moan that leaves you can be heard by the entire apartment block, no doubt, because ellie’s sucking your clit past her lips and eating you out like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do.

the shit she’s murmuring against your folds is filthy, has you trying to squeeze your knees together because ellie’s that good.

“ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” you cry out when she adds a third finger.

it’s all it takes because a few moments later, your back’s arching all the way off the bed, thighs vibrating as she continues to toy with you through your orgasm.

“that’s it, angel,” ellie whispers. “ride it out.”

your chest heaves through the final waves, a sheen of sweat making your dewy skin look like it’s glistening under the lowlight of your bedside lamp.

“you did so fuckin’ good for me,” ellie says gently, standing naked between your parted legs as your arm drapes over your eyes in embarrassment.

“stop hiding,” she scolds, climbing to straddle you.

her hands are wandering, smoothing over every available expanse of skin as you cover your face and shy away from her.

she’s shocked when she pries your arm away and finds tears welling in your eyes.

“babe,” she calls incredulously. “why are you—”

“we wouldn’t have been in this situation if i wasn’t so immature and just talked to you about it,” you hiccup.

ellie’s face is falling, pulling you up to wrap you in her arms.

“babe, stop,” she whines softly, rocking you as a shudder rips down your spine. “i should’ve said something and i definitely shouldn’t have acted the way i did earlier. if anything i was immature.”

“you’re such a good girlfriend, ellie,” you whimper. “and i’m...i’m sorry, i—”

“hey, hey,” she stops you firmly, peeling away from you to thumb at your chin. “don’t do that.”

and you feel like such a big fucking baby as ellie repositions the two of you so that she’s leaning against your headboard and she’s pulling you against her sweaty chest.

“i’m sorry, ellie,” you choke again.

“stop apologizing,” ellie croaks, and you realize that the emotions are welling inside of her as well. “none of this was your fault, angel. i should’ve been honest and just told you, but i was scared.”

you’re still hiccuping, ear pressed over her heart.

“you’re my first real girlfriend in a really long time, and it doesn’t help that you’re so grossly out of my league, and—”

“ellie,” you chide.

“i don’t wanna mess things up with you,” she admits softly. “especially after the way we started.”

“i’d never hold that against you,” you swallow.

“and that’s what makes it worse. i know you wouldn’t even if you should,” ellie whispers. “and then today, i saw you with someone else and it made me so fucking mad because the two of you look so good together. it made me feel like i don’t deserve you.”

“els.” and you’re crying harder now, arms winding so tight around her waist, she feels like she’ll burst.

“i’m sorry,” ellie says gently. “you’ve always been so fucking good to me and—”

you’re leaning up, kissing her to shut her up before she starts crying and she’s cradling your face like you’re the most fragile thing.

“i love you so fucking much, ellie,” you tell her between kisses. “let’s just...let’s just put this behind us, okay?”

she nods, pulls from your lips to nestle her face in your neck.

“i love you more, angel,” she murmurs against your skin. “you don’t even know.”

neng © 2023

[whore4abby]

pottery; abby anderson

a/n; saw this pic on pinterest and had to write this 🤭

warnings; smut - tit/nipple play, shower sex, improper use of a shower head, mdni

wc; 1k

you find yourself in abby's pottery studio, a small, cozy and warmly lit room filled with shelves of clay pots, tools, and other supplies. a small cabinet sits against the wall, filled with various pottery pieces - bowls, cups, plates, and vases - all created by abby herself.

abby sits at the potters wheel, her strong and toned body visible in her sports bra and shorts. her blonde hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, wispy strands framing her gorgeous face. she smiles at you as she beckons you to sit on the stool between her legs. “come.” you walk over and sit down, your back against her chest as her muscly thighs press into the outsides of yours.

you look down at the uneven lump of clay, hesitantly moving your hands towards it, not sure what to do. she chuckles softly and takes your smaller hands in her big ones, dipping them into the water bowl and guiding them to manipulate the wet clay. she demonstrates to you how to shape the clay by gently pressing down on it with each fingertip, shaping it into a small bowl.

abby tries her best to guide your hands, but with your small hands and lack of experience, you're finding it hard to get the shape right. abby guides your hands over the clay, carefully showing you where to place your palms and where to push. “don’t put so much pressure on it doll, let the wheel do the work…” abby whispers in a soft tone as she leans in close to you. “you’re doing great, baby… you’re a natural at this.” she kisses the side of your face, trailing her lips down to your neck, making you giggle and look back at her over your shoulder. “stop distracting me~” you mumble before she starts to plant kisses on your lips, quickly shutting you up.

"i can't help it." she whispers against your mouth, "you're just so damn cute~" before locking your lips together in a deep, heated kiss. abby’s hands then start to wander up your forearms, slowly spreading the wet clay along your skin.

you pull away quickly as the strange feeling of the cold, wet clay being spread across your arms, “abbyyyyy….!” you pout, drawing out the end of her name in a disgruntled whine. she rolls her eyes playfully and gives your forehead a kiss, “don’t be so dramatic, it’ll wash off~”

with a sultry smile on her face, she takes your clay-covered hands and leads you into the bathroom where you begin undressing each other slowly and sensually, your clothes now a clay-filled mess scattered across the bathroom floor. she pulls you into the shower and pins you to the wall, the cool tiles making you gasp as your spine presses against them. “shhh…” she then spins you back around and into her arms, standing with you directly under the stream of water with her chest flush against your back.

the steaming water and the suds cascading over your bodies washes away any traces of the clay as abby takes her time to wash you carefully. she runs the soapy loofa across your chest, creating a creamy, sweet smelling lather. abby moves her hands down to cup your boobs, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh and swiping her thumbs across your nipples and watching the bubbles slide down the rest of your body.

you moan softly and rest your head back against her as she continues to grope you and kiss the side of your neck. she gives your nipples a harsh pinch, eliciting a squeak from your lips. abby slides one of her hands down and in between your legs, cupping your slick pussy. “abs~” you breathe out and look back at her, a needy look evident in your eyes. she can’t help but to smile as she sees how pretty you look with the water droplets running down your face and down your cleavage.

“shh, baby….” she whispers against your neck, moving her fingers down to rub at your clit, sighing happily as she hears your pleasure-filled reaction. “oh, you like that?” she teases, obviously already knowing the answer thanks to your needy moaning, even from the lightest of her touches.

“mhm~” you nod, turning your head to let your lips meet again. with her hand, she gently cups your face, abby's tongue slips past your lips and moans softly into your mouth, pressing her body tightly against yours as she grinds her hips into your ass.

“lemme try something…” she smirks and takes the shower head, adjusting the setting before spreading your puffy folds with her thick fingers, exposing your sensitive clit. she directs the water straight at the shiny pink bud, causing you to arch your back into her and moan her name. she lifts one of your legs up over her arm, giving the strong jet stream of water a better angle on your clit.

it feels too overstimulating but so so good at the same time, and you can't help but moan as the water hits that special spot. "oh my god, abby….that feels so good. nnghhhh~” your voice is wobbly as you grab onto her veiny forearm for support as the water continues its assault on your poor clit.

abby chuckles and turns the jet setting on to full blast, causing you to squeal and try to shut your legs at the intense sensory stimulation. she holds your legs open and starts to move the jet setting up and down, keeping a steady stream of water hitting you just right. you can't help but moan louder as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasming. "fuck, abs….m’cumming!" you whimper as you cum, leaning back into abby and letting her support your body weight as you legs continue to shake.

“it’s okay, i've got you~” she whispers soothingly and slowly moves the shower head away from you and back up to the stand. she turns you to face her and leans down to kiss your parted lips. "you wanna return the favour?" you nod frantically and shakily drop down to your knees before she can even react, eagerly staring at her cunt and waiting for her green light.

[backfromtwitterforw]

Pomme's diary found in the place she was with Richas (30 first pages)

Day 117

We walked for so long, longer than a day.

Chayanne thinks we'll be safe if we're far enough. I doubt that, because no matter what threatened us manage to find my secured bunker 200 000 blocks away, and even succeded to get into my room to put its letter. Honestly, I think we'll never be really safe anywhere.

Chayanne was panicking so much that we didn't even have time to prepare stuff before leaving. I tried to talk him out ot it, but they were all already gone and I couldn't leave them alone.

At least, I had the reflex to take one of my scythe. And fortunately so.

During our journey, I had to fight a lot of monsters. It's a miracle we all survived without armor or anything else.

We weren't far from death on multiple occasions.

I'll protect them no matter what.

That's a promise.

Day 118

We could build a little improvised camp. We're exhausted from the walk we had, we don"t have alot but it's better than nothing. The most important for now is to survive.

Dapper made a small makeshift field and planted seeds and potatoeshe had collected along the way, while we prepared tools and cut wood.

Tallulah played the flute to try to confort us and give us courage. She even leanred one of my favorite songs on the flute to try to make me smile again.

We make progress, slowly but surely.

Day 119

I think each one of us has tools now. We continued to gather ressources, especially trying to find enough food for everyone, because Dapper's field is not enough. But we didn't have great success, we have to be comptent with the bare minimum. We'll try to build a small shelter tomorrow.

It's hard to do anything because we are all exhausted from the trip. We found materiel to make sleeping bags, so they will finally be able to rest in better conditions.

I'll try to stand guard and watch over them during the night.

Day 120

We were able to start the construction of a small makeshift shelter. It doesn't look great but at least we have something to be protected now.

Truth be told, I haven't slept in a few days, I cannot allow myself to sleep.

We could be attacked at any time, by monsters or by the thing that threatened us. I'm scared it may trace our steps.

On multiple occasions, Chayanne asked me on multiple occasions to share the watch during the night, but I refused systematically.

I'd rather let him rest, and watch over Tallulah during the day. He's the one she trusts the most, he needs to be there to for her, and to protect her.

But I feel the tiredness winning over me.

I fight against exhaution as hard as I can, but I can see my reaction time and my moves becoming slower.

Day 121

The shelter is almost done, I'm so proud of them. They never let themselves be overwhelmed by fear and they do their maximum for everyone to be safe. We watch over one antother and that warms my heart to see it.

On the other side, food is continuously missing.

It soon gonna become a huge problem if we don't find a solution, we won't be able to hold much longer with the ressources we actually have...

I believe it's been a week I haven't slept, I'm trying to stay awake with always being busy. As soon as I am not, I feel my eyes closing by themselves.

It's especially difficult during the night. I spend them looking at the campfire crackling and making sure it doesn't extinguish by itself. We found material to make a lighter, so I play with it to pass the time: I found out the burning feeling is particularly effective to wake me up.

I miss my parents. I miss them excruciatingly.

It's so hard that they're not here with us. I regret all the time that we couldn't leave any note, any letter. They must be terribly worried for us, i feel terribly guilty...

I hope they won't resent us...

Day 122

Dapper amost died.

Dapper.

Almost.

Died.

We were talking about the pending lack of food, and he suggested we could explore the surroundings to find something to eat. I know exploring is something he adores, and he knows better than anyone the different kinds of existing ressources, so I also thought it was a good idea.

I suggested to come with him, but i assured me I didn't have to worry about him, that it wouldn't take him long to come back, and that it would be better for me to stay with the others to watch over them. So, I accepted. I trusted him.

But he went to fight against a skeleton. Or at least, what looked like a normal skeleton, but it wasn't one; this one had an armor and was able to shoot arrows at an abnormal speed, in addition to having knockback.

He thought it was a normal skeleton and attacked. But the skeleton was stronger and knocked him off.

I ran.

I ran so fast, every second mattered.

He cannot die, not like this, not now.

If he dies, I'll never forgive myself.

I managed to find him, and I could finish the skeleton off.

I ran to him to save him, just in time.

With tears in my eyes, I asked if he was ok and why he wanted to attack that monster way to strong for us even though we have no armor and barely any defense.

He just answered that he wanted bones to make bonemill, to speed up the growth of the seeds in the field. And also because he wanted to make a bone mask for Chayanne, since he didn't have his fetish skull.

He was so nonchalant in explaining it all, as if he didn't care about being do close to death.

[mac-kd8]

Where are Your Wings Iruma-Kun?

Summary-

What if Ali didn’t think quickly enough to create Iruma a fake pair of wings?  What if Iruma actually got scars from his past hardships and trauma? What would the teachers of Babyls do when one of their beloved students tried to escape from their questions about his past? And to be honest, they really don’t know how to deal with a kid who has been through the most illegal form of torture in the entire Netherworld.

                  Chapter 1: Meeting Professor Balam for the First Time

“It’s most likely that Imaginary Creatures live in a peaceful environment. However, the Netherworld’s ecosystem is unforgiving.” Professor Balam stated after finishing his drawings on the chalkboard.

He then walked over to where Iruma was being held down by vines while talking to the class.

“ That's how we demons developed our wings.  In the race for survival, wings are essential tools.  Even without horns, you can escape safely as long you have…huh?!  ” There was a short pause when Balam try to search for Iruma’s wings. 

No matter how much Balam touches and felt around the young boy’s back, Balam couldn’t find any traces that Iruma had what pretty much all demons had.  The professor being shocked was an understatement, he was completely mortified at the chance that one of his students doesn’t possess any wings.

Balam can't or will not believe that a demon as young as Iruma had gone through the worst type of pain known to demon-kind.   Without wasting another second, Balam picked up Iruma and run in the direction where the teacher's lounge was located.

“Master Iruma!” Alice called his master's name as he and Clara watched the white-haired teacher carry Iruma like a sack of potatoes.

When Balam loudly slammed open the door it got the attention of all of the teachers who were currently occupying the room.  Buer Blushenko, Morax Momonoki, Marbas March, Orias Oswell, and Bars Robin then turn their focus onto the 2 new incomers.

“Pardon me! Someone!!” Balam shouted when entered the teacher's lounge.

“What’s the matter, Professor Balam?” Robin asked worriedly, not used to seeing the giant teacher in such a panicked state.

“It’s an emergency!  This boy doesn’t have any wings.” Balam then pointed to the sweating boy.  Everyone only raised an eyebrow at Balam's statement, knowing that he can sometimes jump to conclusions.  Buer only scoffs at Balam’s statement, pretty much all demons in the Netherworld have wings, it’s even more ridiculous for Balam to think someone young as Iruma has none. Buer then made eye contact with the blond Astrology teacher. Orias Oswell was thinking the exact same thing as his coworker. 

It’s common knowledge in the Netherworld that the few demons who are wingless are usually strong full grown demons who can defend themselves.  Not children who are learning the basics of magic.  It’s simply impossible or a miracle for Iruma to last this long in the Netherworld without any wings.

 “Of course he has wings,” Robin stated in his usually cheerful tone.

“He might just tuck his wings into his body.” Momonoki tries reasoning with her coworker.

“Or maybe they're just really tiny,” Orias suggested nonchalantly.

 “He doesn’t have wing roots,” Balam exclaimed, which made all of the teachers a little more suspicious of the boy. To ease everyone's nerves and his own, Robin decided he would be the one to check if Iruma really didn’t have any wings. 

No matter how much he twist and turn his way out of the giant teacher’s grip, Balam was just too strong for the human boy to even stand a chance of escaping.

     So many emotions and thoughts were running through Iruma’s mind, realizing this may be the end of the road for him.

“Nooooo, If I knew I was going to be eaten today, I would tell just how much I appreciate Grandpa and Opera for giving me a great life.  And what would Alice and Clara do once they found out that their own teachers had eaten their friend?” Time moves slower for Iruma as he remembers all of the memories he made with his best friends. 

“I never even get to tell them how much they mean to me, I never got to tell them that I’m actually human. 

 Alice, Clara, I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my secret for just a little bit longer.” Iruma mentally apologized to everyone who had loved and cared for him as he accepted his faith.

Iruma only closes his eyes, hoping that his teachers will devour him quickly enough so he won’t feel anything.  After  5 seconds went by, Iruma wonder why he wasn’t in the demons’s stomach already. When he looked at his teachers for the first time after they saw his back, he didn't see hunger or any type of blood thirst in their eyes    

No one had their claws out,  no bite marks, no pain, just empty tense silence.

A hand-covered Momonoki’s mouth, trying her best to hold back a gasp.  Robin’s knees gave out as his body shake in horror. 

“His wings?!” Buer whispered under his breath.

“Those scars,” Marbas commented only to himself.

If only the clueless blue-haired boy knew that in the Netherworld, if a demon doesn’t have wings that doesn’t automatically mean that they are human.  For all his teachers know, Iruma is a young demon boy who has been through the most horrendous and traumatic experience that even most seasoned demons couldn’t handle.

Chapter 2 https://www.tumblr.com/mac-kd8/721977396410155008/where-are-your-wings-iruma-kun?source=share

[flamingphoenixfox]

So… I’m obsessed with Warframe. Especially the Solaris. Back in early 2022, I was wandering around Fortuna with the goal of finding and translating text that wasn’t on the wiki yet. That's when I noticed what appears to be hidden text on some of the posters!

If you look closely, you can see it. It’s almost like there are letter indentations in the paper (I've traced some of the indents so they are a little more visible—unsure of accuracy).

Transcription Key: (Printed Text) [Indented/hidden Text] Transcription: Image One: (The Orb Vallis: Fortuna) [Solaris United: Unite ??] Honestly I couldn't figure out all of what was on the same line as Fortuna on the posters. It might just be "United" again or "Unite" and some diamond symbols they use for binary - it's just too difficult to see to say with any certainty. Image Two: The black/dark blue poster at the top of Image Two is the same poster as in Image One. The pink/red poster says (Fortuna) [All workers must log extra time with formsmen/forms.] I don't really know what the last word is. It could be formsmen or forms with a mistaken "n" or something else. There might even be something hidden on the same line as Fortuna with this poster as well. I see hints of stuff, but that could just be my mind playing tricks on me after I've been staring at these for hours. Image Three: (Fortuna: For Sale Tools Weapons Food Supplies) [Solaris United: For Sale Tools Weapons Food Supplies]

These specific words and phrases don’t seem to exist anywhere else, so instead of being a glitch (insert joke about Warframe glitches here), it’s probably intentional - both from a game design perspective and a lore perspective! It's fascinating to consider, given the social environment in which the Solaris are forced to live. Under the control of Nef Anyo and the Corpus, they would have to be very careful with how they pass around information, and secret text would be a great way to do this! I think this is a good example of subtle world-building by DE, and I really appreciate them for that!

Speaking of more world-building—they also have additional signage that hints at other stalls available somewhere in Fortuna:

Transcription: (Kinoko) (Hanaset's Bar) (Aphrodite's Tavern)

I really wish these were places we could visit! Wouldn’t it be nice to order food that offers a temporary buff or rewards standing? You could visit the bar or the tavern and listen to different Solaris pub songs or eavesdrop on new conversations about SU! Access to additional vendors in general would just be great! Like, y’know, a clothing shop for example! (I’m actually working on that particular concept myself, but that’s a topic for a future post lol)

[folkdevilfables]

MC uses ketchup and mustard to summon the brothers

repost from my instagram @/simeonsblondepeugot

cw: mild swearing

Scenario:

You found yourself in the predicament of not having any chalk, markers or any decent writing/painting tool at hand, however it was urgent so you grabbed your ketchup and mustard bottles from the kitchen to improvise a pentagram and summon your demon brother of choice.

Lucifer

...

why

you have made pacts with SEVEN demons, yet you still chose to summon Lucifer in this situation?

...f, respectfully.

he was just doing very important paperwork for Diavolo, next thing he knew he was standing in front of you, covered in ketchup and mustard from top to bottom

he won't give you any time to run or explain your situation

what kind of flowers would you like on your grave, MC?

Mammon

"What the- OI MC, what the heck?! Wait, is that ketchup on my designer jacket??!"

complains and bickers the entire time, even after all the ketchup and mustard are off his clothes

will try to help you, but will also try to use the situation to his advantage in order to get a date with you

"Now that ya ruined my expensive designer jacket, ya owe me big time! Ya heard me? Ya owe The Great Mammon, MC!"

insists that his jacket now has a stain (it doesn't)

seeing that you summoned him out of all his brothers gives him a mood boost, he very happy boy~

Leviathan

his first reaction was pure confusion

you interrupted him live-streaming a Devil Kart speedrun

as soon as he realizes what had happened, he's like:

"Oh MC, this is just like the one anime I recently watched where something really similar happened...!"

Levi is now in the process of giving you a passionate oral presentation and in-depth character analysis for seasons 1 to 23 while still being covered in ketchup and mustard

will you ever be able to tell him why you summoned him? nobody knows.

legend says he is still ranting to this day

Satan

Satan was just reading a book he borrowed from the Royal Library

said book was among the more rare and valuable ones in the library's inventory

said book now has ketchup and mustard splattered all over its cover and pages

don't worry, the damage can be fixed with a simple spell

he still needs a couple of minutes to adjust to the situation and not lose his temper though

he didn't immediately remember the spell either; the sudden state of the book really caught him off-guard

after that, he will ask you why you summoned him and calmly help you to solve the problem

Asmodeus

same as with Lucifer: Why the hell did you summon him out of all the brothers?!

congratulations

Asmo now has a hysteric meltdown

his hair is a mess (and also sticky) and his new rose cashmere top that he just bought at Majolish yesterday is ruined. good job.

instead of helping you, he's looking for the closest bathroom in a frenzy to fix his appearance

before he hasn't fixed himself to his satisfaction, you won't be able to talk to him properly

unsuprisingly, he is upset at you, even though he knows you had no malicious intent

however, he can't even ignore you for two hours before caving in and wanting to cuddle again <3

Beelzebub

HECK YEAH Beel approves

a couple of seconds after he was summoned, every trace of you ruining the floor is gone

the only remaining evidence is some ketchup on your cheek, which Beel removes with your consent

"MC...I'm hungry..." *cue the roaring stomach*

of course he'll help you with your problem! but maybe food first...?

suggestion: maybe use cheeseburgers for the pentagram next time

Belphegor

unsuprisingly, even being summoned didn't wake Belphie up from his nap

he now has a very wonky two-toned mustache

and he's drooling on the floor

why did you summon him? didn't you see this coming?

good luck trying to wake him up

[cxsmicvega]

I have proof that webby-mogai sent a horse to shit on my head

Theories of humor

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Although humor is a phenomenon experienced by most humans, its exact cause is a topic of heavy debate. There are many theories of humor which attempt to explain what it is, what social functions it serves, and what would be considered humorous. Although various classical theories of humor and laughter may be found, in contemporary academic literature, three theories of humor appear repeatedly: relief theory, superiority theory, and incongruity theory.[1] These theories are used as building blocks for the rest of the theories. Among current humor researchers, there has yet to be a consensus about which of these three theories of humor is most viable.[1] Some proponents of each theory originally claimed that theirs, and theirs alone, explained all cases of humor.[1][2] However, they now acknowledge that although each theory generally covers its area of focus, many instances of humor can be explained by more than one theory.[1][2][3][4] Similarly, one view holds that theories have a combinative effect; Jeroen Vandaele claims that incongruity and superiority theories describe complementary mechanisms that together create humor.[5]

Relief theory

Relief theory suggests humor is a mechanism for pent-up emotions or tension through emotional relief. In this theory, laughter serves as a homeostatic mechanism by which psychological stress is reduced[1][2][6] Humor may thus facilitate ease of the tension caused by one's fears, for example. Laughter and joy, according to relief theory, result from this release of excess nervous energy.[1] According to relief theory, humor is used mainly to overcome sociocultural inhibitions and reveal suppressed desires. It is believed that this is why we laugh while being tickled, due to a buildup of tension as the tickler "strikes."[1][7]

Relief theory dates back to the Greek Philosopher Aristotle. In Poetics, he suggested humor to be a way in which one releases pent-up negative emotions that may have been caused by trauma or tragedy we have experienced. Many philosophers and researchers took the idea of humor being a release of tension and have evolved relief theory or comic relief over time.[8]

In the eighteenth century, English drama theorists John Dryden and Samuel Johnson argued that relief theory was to be used as a dramatic tool. John Dryden (1668) believed mirth and tragedy would make for the best plots.[9]

On the other hand, Shurcliff (1968) argued that humor is a mechanism to relieve tension. When in anticipation of a negative experience, one may begin to feel some heightened arousal. According to Shurcliff, the heightened arousal is then reduced through mirth or laughter.[10] Comparably, an English Scholar, Lucas (1958), wrote that audiences respond better based on the "strain-rest-strain-rest" idea in which a tragic event may happen with moments of relaxation.[11]

According to Herbert Spencer, laughter is an "economical phenomenon" whose function is to release "psychic energy" that had been wrongly mobilized by incorrect or false expectations. The latter point of view was supported also by Sigmund Freud. Immanuel Kant also emphasized the physiological release in our response to humor.[12] Eddie Tafoya uses the idea of a physical urge tied to a psychological need for release when describing relief theory in his book The Legacy of the Wisecrack: Stand-up Comedy as the Great Literary Form. Tafoya explains "…that each human being is caught in a tug-of-war: part of us strains to live free as individuals, guided by bodily appetites and aggressive urges, while the other side yearns for conformity and acceptance. This results in every normal person being continually steeped in psychic tension, mostly due to guilt and lack of fulfillment. This tension can be relieved, albeit temporarily, through joking."[13]

Superiority theory

The superiority theory of humor traces back to Plato, Aristotle, and Thomas Hobbes's Leviathan. The general idea is that a person laughs about the misfortunes of others because they assert their superiority based on the shortcomings of others.[14] We feel superior to the person who is the target of the joke. Plato described it as being both a pleasure and pain in the soul. One may experience these mixed emotions during the malicious person's happiness at the victim's misfortune. For Aristotle, we laugh at inferior or ugly individuals because we feel joy at feeling superior to them.[15] Aristotle observed that many jokes relied on a combination of incongruity and hostility. He explained that jokes are funny because they catch the listener off guard, introducing a surprising and unexpected twist that amuses them. However, this incongruity alone does not entirely explain the mechanics of laughter. There also appears to be a component of hostility from both the comedian and the audience. What makes something funny often involves ridiculous features, such as a physical deformity or a slip-up. Therefore, whether through jokes, situations, or physical characteristics, while humor's laughter-inducing quality primarily stems from incongruity, aggression is also intertwined with it.[16]

Nevertheless, Aristotle regarded humor as a positive phenomenon as long as it was not excessive. Aristotle believed that humor could be used effectively in rhetoric, but it must be used in a way that served the argument. The speaker should avoid inappropriate jokes that could alienate the audience. He considered irony to be an acceptable and effective tool if used sparingly. Buffoonery, on the other hand, or crude humor, should be avoided altogether. One of the most important contributions of Aristotle to the future development of the theory of humor is the opposition of comedy versus tragedy, which has been a major theme in the study of humor until the 20th century.[17]

In the 17th century, Thomas Hobbes described superiority theory in two pieces, Human Nature (1650) and Leviathan (1651), which have very similar views. Hobbes describes laughter as the sudden glory one feels that one is better than the target of the humorous narrative. The sense of glory comes from the recognition of power. Hobbes also mentions the theory of passion in which laughter is not passion; however, laughter is how the body manifests a particular emphasis.[18] Hobbes proposed there are several which typically evoke this feeling of glory:

Success in one's actions beyond one's expectations.

The perception of infirmities and defects in others.

The perception of infirmities and defects in one's past.

The conception of some absurdity is abstracted from individual persons.

According to Hobbes, laughter evoked by these circumstances always has connections with the feeling of superiority.[18]

While Kant is not usually recognized as a superiority theorist, there are elements of superiority theory in his account. Kant thinks that there is a place for harmless teasing. In addition, philosopher of humor Noël Carroll observes that even the structure of a narrative joke, on Kant's view, requires the joke teller to "take in" or outdo the joke receiver, even if only momentarily. Because such joking is recognized as joking and it is carried out in a playful way, it does not imply that the joker feels or thinks they are actually superior.[12]

Criticisms of Superiority Theory

The main criticisms scholars make of the superiority theory, are the following. Philosophers, beginning with James Beattie in response to Thomas Hobbes, have objected that there are many types of humor that do not, in themselves, have anything to do with feelings of superiority (Beattie, 1778/79). More recently and broadly, it is argued that even in humor that is always directly accompanied by feelings of superiority, those feelings are in fact always distinct from the humor itself and they are never identical with it (Morreall 1983, Levinson 2006, Marra 2019). There is a wide consensus among theorists of humor that the feeling of superiority is extraneous to humor, and this discrepancy contributes to the dominance of the incongruity theory.

Disposition theory

Feelings of superiority in humor are examined more closely in disposition theory. Disposition theory is explained in Zillmann and Cantor's disposition theory, which states that in media and entertainment, audiences make moral judgments, and the attitude (disposition) towards a person can affect the audience's experience of humor.[19] Audiences enjoy the attempts of humor more when good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. Thus, for good characters, good fortune is hoped, or tragedy is feared—while characters who are disliked are the complete opposite. If what the audience hopes for is achieved, then they may feel a sense of enjoyment or, in this case, humor. Similarly, audiences may find a comedian's jokes more humorous if they like the person delivering jokes.[20]

However, when good things happen to people who deserve it, very little amusement is experienced by the audience. Thus, it is more beneficial to mirth in situations of misfortune rather than instances of fortune.

Disposition Toward Victim

The more intense the negative affective disposition toward the disparaged agent or entity, the greater the magnitude of mirth.

The more intense the positive affective disposition toward the disparaging agent or entity, the smaller the magnitude of mirth.

Disposition Toward the Victor

The more intense the negative affective disposition toward the disparaging agent or entity, the smaller the magnitude of mirth.

The more intense the positive affective disposition toward the disparaging agent or entity, the greater the magnitude of mirth.[20]

These guidelines examine how amusement is expected when an extremely liked individual disparages an extremely disliked individual. On the other hand, one may experience less amusement when a disliked individual disparages the desired individual.[20][21]

However, It is not in every instance of disparagement that humans experience mirth and laughter. In some cases, the comment or act of disparagement can be too much of a tragedy for such a reaction. Aristotle mentioned the emotions that come with instances of death, serious harm, or tragedy overpower laughter and instead evoke pity.

Superiority and disposition theories also play into the idea of punching up or punching down in comedy. Making jokes about someone who is superior to us is considered "punching up," while making jokes about someone who is inferior to us is considered "punching down". Due to these power imbalances, punching up is seen as ethical, where punching down is seen as the opposite.[22] Note that punching up in this context is different to punching up a script (such as in improvements made by a script doctor).

Humor is complex, and different theories attempt to explain its various aspects. The disposition theory adds a psychological perspective by suggesting that individual differences play a crucial role in determining what people find funny.

Incongruity theory

Incongruity theory, otherwise known as incongruous juxtaposition theory, suggests that humor and laughter rely on incongruity, which denotes anything contrary to expectation according to some norm.[8] The type of humor most often described by this theory is that of a play on words. Zillmann (200) says that linguistic humor "requires the deciphering of ambiguities, a process that can be likened to problem-solving."[23] For example, "What is black and white and re[a]d all over?" "A newspaper!" The part before the punchline can evoke puzzlement due to the cognitive dissonance of not anticipating the punchline. Subsequently, the punchline itself might puzzle the hearer until they see the resolution of incongruity, when humor is perceived.

Francis Hutcheson in Thoughts on Laughter (1725) was the first modern thinker to account for humor by the term "incongruity," which became a major concept in the evolution of this field.[24] In this early version, incongruity was mostly a singular clash between two opposing ideas. It can be compared to Aristotle's notion of ugliness,[25] but is much broader. After Hutcheson thus initiated the incongruity theory, later thinkers developed it. Now a dominant version states that humor is perceived in the realization of incongruity between a concept involved in a certain situation and the real objects thought to be in some relation to the concept.[14] In that explanation, which is from philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, he meant by a "concept," in most cases, a word. Hence, he was referring to the type of joke cited above. It is primarily due to Schopenhauer's fame that his expression on this topic is granted such prominence.

Accordingly, such a version of this theory is not original to Schopenhauer, so much as to the Scottish poet James Beattie who wrote only fifty years after Hutcheson. Although not widely read today, historically, Beattie's presentation of the theory has, consequently, been very influential.[26] He made the theory more universal, and instead of incongruity per se, emphasized its partial appropriateness by the idea of "assemblage." In turn, incongruity has been described as being resolved (i.e., by putting the objects in question into the real relation), and the incongruity theory is often called the incongruity-resolution theory (as well as incongruous juxtaposition).[14]

A famous version of the incongruity theory is that of Immanuel Kant, who claimed that the comic is "the sudden transformation of a strained expectation into nothing."[27] Kant explained laughter at humor as a response to an "absurdity."[28] We first expect the world. Still, that expectation is then disappointed or "disappears into nothing." Our response to humor consists of a "play with thoughts." According to Kant, humor must involve the element of surprise. It creates a sense of cognitive dissonance and builds up tension, which is a pleasurable relief or laughter.[29]

While Kant is an incongruity theorist, his account also has elements of release theory (emphasizing the physiological and physical aspects). It also evokes the superiority theory. He thought that teasing was acceptable as long as it occurred in the right setting and did not harm the person being teased.

Schopenhauer argued that humor results from the sudden recognition of an incongruity between the representation of an object and its actual nature. He also proposes the more unexpected incongruity, the more violent one's laughter will be.[29] Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel shared almost the same view but saw the concept as an "appearance" and believed that laughter negates that appearance.

Henri Bergson attempted to perfect incongruity by reducing it to the "living" and "mechanical." He proposed that comedy/humor lies in the portrayal of situations experiencing mechanical rigidity. Bergson emphasizes that humor involves an inappropriate relationship between habitual or mechanical behaviors and human intelligence. In Bergson's many types of combinations of the mechanical and the living, there is much similarity with the incongruity theory.[29]

There has been some debate attempting to clarify the roles of juxtaposition and shifting in humor, hence, the discussion in the series Humor Research between John Morreall and Robert Latta.[30] Though Morreall himself endorses a cognitive shift theory, in this particular dialogue he indicated examples of simultaneous contrast, while Latta emphasized the mental shift.[31] Humor frequently contains an unexpected, often sudden, shift in perspective, which the incongruity theory assimilates. This has been defended by Latta (1998) and Brian Boyd (2004).[32] Boyd views the shift from seriousness to play. Nearly anything can be the object of this perspective twist; it is, however, in the areas of human creativity (science and art being the varieties) that the shift results from "structure mapping" to create novel meanings.[33] Arthur Koestler argues that humor results when two different frames of reference are set up and a collision is engineered between them.

Benign violation theory

The benign violation theory (BVT) was developed by researchers Peter McGraw and Caleb Warren. Their ideas build on the work of Linguist Tom Veatch, who proposed that humor emerges when one's sense of how the world "ought to be" is threatened or violated. BVT claims that humor occurs when three conditions are satisfied:

Something threatens one's sense of how the world "ought to be."

The threatening situation seems benign.

A person sees both interpretations at the same time.[34][35]

From an evolutionary perspective, humorous violations likely originated as apparent physical threats, like those present in play fighting and tickling. According to Benign violation, people often laugh when being tickled or play fighting because laughter signifies the situation is somehow threatening but safe.[36] As humans evolved, the conditions that elicit humor likely expanded from physical threats to other violations, including violations of personal dignity (e.g., slapstick, teasing), linguistic norms (e.g., puns, malapropisms), social norms (e.g., strange behaviors, risqué jokes), and even moral norms (e.g., disrespectful behaviors).[34]

There is also more than one way a violation can seem benign. McGraw and Warren tested three contexts in the domain of moral violations. A violation can seem benign if one norm suggests something is wrong, but another salient norm suggests it is acceptable. A violation can also seem benign when one is psychologically distant from the violation or is only weakly committed to the violated norm.[37]

For example, McGraw and Warren find that most consumers were disgusted when they read about a church raffling off a Hummer SUV to recruit new members, but many were simultaneously amused. Consistent with BVT, people who attended church were less likely to be amused than people who did not. Churchgoers are more committed to the belief that churches are sacred and, consequently are less likely to consider the church's behavior benign.[38]

Furthermore, it is essential to note that one must have a slight connection to the norm that is being violated but, at the same time, cannot be too attached or committed. If a person is too attached, then there will be no humor. The violation will then not be considered benign. On the contrary, the violation will not be a moral norm if a person is not slightly attached. Thus, both of these must simultaneously be categorized as benign violations to emerge as humor.[36]

The benign violation theory helps explain why some jokes or situations are funny to some people but not to others. It emphasizes the importance of context and individual differences in humor appreciation. A violation that one person finds amusing might be offensive or upsetting to another, and the perception of benignity plays a crucial role in determining the overall humor response.

Other theories

Script-based semantic theory of humor

The script-based semantic theory of humor (SSTH) was introduced by Victor Raskin in "Semantic Mechanisms of Humor", published 1985.[39] While being a variant on the more general concepts of the Incongruity theory of humor (see above), it is the first theory to identify its approach as exclusively linguistic. As such it concerns itself only with verbal humor: written and spoken words used in narrative or riddle jokes concluding with a punch line.[40]

The linguistic scripts (a.k.a. frames) referenced in the title include, for any given word, a "large chunk of semantic information surrounding the word and evoked by it [...] a cognitive structure internalized by the native speaker".[41] These scripts extend much further than the lexical definition of a word; they contain the speaker's complete knowledge of the concept as it exists in his world. Thus native speakers will have similar but not identical scripts for words they have in common.

To produce the humor of a verbal joke, Raskin posits, the following two conditions must be met:

"(i) The text is compatible, fully or in part, with two different [semantic] scripts

(ii) The two scripts with which the text is compatible are opposite [...]. The two scripts with which the text is compatible are said to overlap fully or in part on this text."[42]

Humor is evoked when a trigger at the end of the joke, the punch line, causes the audience to abruptly shift its understanding from the primary (or more obvious) script to the secondary, opposing script.

As an example Raskin uses the following joke: "Is the doctor at home?" the patient asked in his bronchial whisper. "No," the doctor's young and pretty wife whispered in reply. "Come right in."[43]

For this example, the two scripts contained in the joke are DOCTOR and LOVER; the switch from one to the other is triggered by our understanding of the "whispered" reply of the "young and pretty wife". This reply only makes sense in the script of LOVER, but makes no sense in the script of a bronchial patient going to see the DOCTOR at his (home) office. Raskin expands further on his analysis with more jokes, examining in each how the scripts both overlap and oppose each other in the text.[44]

In order to fulfill the second condition of a joke, Raskin introduces different categories of script opposition. A partial list includes: actual (non-actual), normal (abnormal), possible (impossible), good (bad), life (death), obscene (non-obscene), money (no money), high (low) stature.[45] A complete list of possible script oppositions for jokes is finite and culturally dependent. For example, Soviet political humor does not use the same scripts to be found in Jewish humor.[46] However, for all jokes, in order to generate the humor a connection between the two scripts contained in a given joke must be established. "...one cannot simply juxtapose two incongruous things and call it a joke, but rather one must find a clever way of making them make pseudo-sense together".[47]

General theory of verbal humor

The general theory of verbal humor (GTVH) was proposed by Victor Raskin and Salvatore Attardo in the article "Script theory revis(it)ed: joke similarity and joke representation model".[48] It integrated Raskin's ideas of Script Opposition (SO), developed in his Script-based Semantic Theory of Humor [SSTH], into the GTVH as one of six levels of independent Knowledge Resources (KRs).[49][50] These KRs could be used to model individual verbal jokes as well as analyze the degree of similarity or difference between them. The Knowledge Resources proposed in this theory are:[51]

Script opposition (SO) references the script opposition included in Raskin's SSTH. This includes, among others, themes such as real (unreal), actual (non-actual), normal (abnormal), possible (impossible).

Logical mechanism (LM) refers to the mechanism which connects the different scripts in the joke. These can range from a simple verbal technique like a pun to more complex LMs such as faulty logic or false analogies.

Situation (SI) can include objects, activities, instruments, props needed to tell the story.

Target (TA) identifies the actor(s) who become the "butt" of the joke. This labeling serves to develop and solidify stereotypes of ethnic groups, professions, etc. This is an optional KR.

Narrative strategy (NS) addresses the narrative format of the joke, as either a simple narrative, a dialogue, or a riddle. It attempts to classify the different genres and subgenres of verbal humor. In a subsequent study Attardo expands the NS to include oral and printed humorous narratives of any length, not just jokes.[52]

Language (LA) "...contains all the information necessary for the verbalization of a text. It is responsible for the exact wording ...and for the placement of the functional elements."[53]

To illustrate their theory, the authors use 7 examples of the light bulb joke, each variant shifted by a single Knowledge Resource.[44] Each one of the KRs, ordered hierarchically above and starting with the Script Opposition, has the ability to "determine the parameters below themselves, and are determined [circumscribed] by those above themselves. 'Determination' is to be intended as limiting or reducing the options available for the instantiation of the parameter; for example, the choice of the SO [script opposition] DUMB/SMART will reduce the options available to the generation in the TA (in North America to Poles, etc.)"[54]

One of the advantages of this theory (GTVH) over Raskin's script-based semantic theory (SSTH) is that through the inclusion of the Narrative Strategy (NS) any and all humorous texts can be categorized. Whereas Raskin's SSTH only deals with jokes, the GTVH considers all humorous text from spontaneous one-liners to funny stories and literature. This theory can also, by identifying how many of the Knowledge Resources are identical for any two humorous pieces, begin to define the degree of similarity between the two.

As to the ordering of the Knowledge Resources, there has been much discussion. Willibald Ruch, a distinguished German psychologist, and humor researcher,[55] wanted to test empirically the ordering of the Knowledge Resources, with only partial success.[56][57] Nevertheless, both the listed Knowledge Resources in the GTVH and their relationship to each other has proven to be fertile ground in the further investigation of what exactly makes humor funny.[58]

Computer model of humor

The computer model of humor was suggested by Suslov in 1992.[59] Investigation of the general scheme of information processing shows the possibility of a specific malfunction, conditioned by the need that a false version should be quickly deleted from consciousness. This specific malfunction can be identified with a humorous effect on psychological grounds: it exactly corresponds to incongruity-resolution theory. However, an essentially new ingredient, the role of timing, is added to the well-known role of ambiguity. In biological systems, a sense of humor inevitably develops in the course of evolution, because its biological function consists of quickening the transmission of the processed information into consciousness and in a more effective use of brain resources. A realization of this algorithm in neural networks[60] justifies naturally Spencer's hypothesis on the mechanism of laughter: deletion of a false version corresponds to zeroing of some part of the neural network and excessive energy of neurons is thrown out to the motor cortex, arousing muscular contractions.

The theory treats on equal footing the humorous effect created by the linguistic means (verbal humor), as well as created visually (caricature, clown performance) or by tickling. The theory explains the natural differences in susceptibility of people to humor, the absence of humorous effect from a trite joke, the role of intonation in telling jokes, nervous laughter, etc. According to this theory, humor has a purely biological origin, while its social functions arose later. This conclusion corresponds to the known fact that monkeys (as pointed out by Charles Darwin) and even rats (as found recently) possess laughter like qualities when playing, drawing conclusions to some potential form of humor.[61]

A practical realization of this algorithm needs extensive databases, whose creation in the automatic regime was suggested recently.[62]

Misattribution theory

The misattribution theory of humor describes an audience's inability to identify precisely what is funny and why they find a joke humorous. The formal approach is attributed to Zillmann & Bryant (1980) in their article, "Misattribution Theory of Tendentious Humor." However, they derived ideas based on Sigmund Freud. Initially, Freud proposed that audiences do not understand what they find amusing.[23][63] Freud suggested the tendentious elements paired with the jokes evoke people to experience laughter. It is the taboo and hostility that create such a reaction. Thus, the theory explains how individuals misattribute their responses and believe they laugh at the innocent elements; in reality, the hostility has individuals rolling on the floor.[23]

Freud made distinctions between tendentious and non-tendentious humor. Tendentious humor is that of a victim, someone whose shortcomings are used for humor. Non-tendentious humor is victimless. Although Freud determined tendentious elements pushed individuals to potential laugh attacks, innocuous elements were still essential. Hostility alone cannot be enjoyed because society deems it wrong. In society, one cannot laugh when told a story of tragedy. The only way it is accepted is if they are embellished with jokework. Freud argued that innocent jokework was a disguise for the hostility in humor. The elements of innocuous (innocent) features make such wordplay socially acceptable.[23]

Zillmann and Bryant (1980) conducted a study to test Freud's ideology and combine or separate non-tendentious and tendentious humor. The results confirmed their expectations.[23] Amusement was high when 'good comedy' was presented. As predicted, participants laughed at instances of victimization and demise of the individuals. Zillman and Bryant proved Freud's finding to be accurate. Innocuous cues only amused to double in response to the misfortune.[64]

Ontic-epistemic theory of humor

The ontic-epistemic theory of humor proposed by P. Marteinson (2006) asserts that laughter is a reaction to a cognitive impasse, a momentary epistemological difficulty, in which the subject perceives that Social Being itself suddenly appears no longer to be real in any factual or normative sense. When this occurs material reality, which is always factually true, is the only percept remaining in the mind at such a moment of comic perception. This theory posits, as in Bergson, that human beings accept as real both normative immaterial percepts, such as social identity, and neological factual percepts, but also that the individual subject normally blends the two together in perception in order to live by the assumption they are equally real. The comic results from the perception that they are not. This same result arises in a number of paradigmatic cases: factual reality can be seen to conflict with and disprove social reality, which Marteinson calls Deculturation; alternatively, social reality can appear to contradict other elements of social reality, which he calls "Relativisation". Laughter, according to Marteinson, serves to reset and re-boot the faculty of social perception, which has been rendered non-functional by the comic situation: it anesthetizes the mind with its euphoria, and permits the forgetting of the comic stimulus, as well as the well-known function of communicating the humorous reaction to other members of society.[65]

Sexual selection

See also: Sexual selection in human evolution

Evolutionary psychologist Geoffrey Miller contends that, from an evolutionary perspective, humour would have had no survival value to early humans living in the savannas of Africa. He proposes that human characteristics like humor evolved by sexual selection. He argues that humour emerged as an indicator of other traits that were of survival value, such as human intelligence.[66]

Detection of mistaken reasoning

In 2011, three researchers, Hurley, Dennett and Adams, published a book that reviews previous theories of humor and many specific jokes. They propose the theory that humor evolved because it strengthens the ability of the brain to find mistakes in active belief structures, that is, to detect mistaken reasoning.[67] This is somewhat consistent with the sexual selection theory, because, as stated above, humor would be a reliable indicator of an important survival trait: the ability to detect mistaken reasoning. However, the three researchers argue that humor is fundamentally important because it is the very mechanism that allows the human brain to excel at practical problem solving. Thus, according to them, humor did have survival value even for early humans, because it enhanced the neural circuitry needed to survive.

Humor as defense mechanism

According to George Eman Vaillant's (1977) categorization, humor is level 4 defense mechanism: overt expression of ideas and feelings (especially those that are unpleasant to focus on or too terrible to talk about) that gives pleasure to others. Humor, which explores the absurdity inherent in any event, enables someone to call a spade a spade, while wit is a form of displacement (level 3).[why?] Wit refers to the serious or distressing in a humorous way, rather than disarming it; the thoughts remain distressing, but they are "skirted round" by witticism.

Sense of humor, sense of seriousness

One must have a sense of humor and a sense of seriousness to distinguish what is supposed to be taken literally or not. An even more keen sense is needed when humor is used to make a serious point.[68][69] Psychologists have studied how humor is intended to be taken as having seriousness, as when court jesters used humor to convey serious information. Conversely, when humor is not intended to be taken seriously, bad taste in humor may cross a line after which it is taken seriously, though not intended.[70][71]

Metaphor, metonymy, and allegory

Tony Veale, who takes a more formalised computational approach than Koestler, has written on the role of metaphor and metonymy in humour,[72][73][74] using inspiration from Koestler as well as from Dedre Gentner's theory of structure-mapping, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson's theory of conceptual metaphor, and Mark Turner and Gilles Fauconnier's theory of conceptual blending.

Mikhail Bakhtin's humor theory is one that is based on "poetic metaphor", or the allegory of the protagonist's logosphere.[75]

O'Shannon model of humor

The O'Shannon model of humor was introduced by Dan O'Shannon in "What Are You Laughing At? A Comprehensive Guide to the Comedic Event", published in 2012.[76] The model integrates all the general branches of comedy into a unified framework. This framework consists of four main sections: context, information, aspects of awareness, and enhancers/inhibitors. Elements of context are in play as reception factors prior to the encounter with comedic information. This information will require a level of cognitive process to interpret, and contain a degree of incongruity (based on predictive likelihood). That degree may be high, or go as low as to be negligible. The information will be seen simultaneously through several aspects of awareness (the comedy's internal reality, its external role as humor, its effect on its context, effect on other receivers, etc.). Any element from any of these sections may trigger enhancers / inhibitors (feelings of superiority, relief, aggression, identification, shock, etc.) which will affect the receiver's ultimate response. The various interactions of the model allow for a wide range of comedy; for example, a joke need not rely on high levels of incongruity if it triggers feelings of superiority, aggression, relief, or identification. Also, high incongruity humor may trigger a visceral response, while well-constructed word-play with low incongruity might trigger a more appreciative response. Also included in the book: evolutionary theories that account for visceral and social laughter, and the phenomenon of comedic entropy.

Unnoticed fall-back to former behavior patterns

This model defines laughter as an acoustic signal to make individuals aware of an unnoticed fall-back to former behaviour patterns. To some extent it unifies superiority and incongruity theory. Ticklishness is also considered to have a defined relation to humor via the development of human bipedalism.[77]

Bergson

In Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic, French philosopher Henri Bergson, renowned for his philosophical studies on materiality, memory, life and consciousness, tries to determine the laws of the comic and to understand the fundamental causes of comic situations.[78] His method consists in determining the causes of comic instead of analyzing its effects. He also deals with laughter in relation to human life, collective imagination and art, to have a better knowledge of society.[79] One of the theories of the essay is that laughter, as a collective activity, has a social and moral role, in forcing people to eliminate their vices. It is a factor of uniformity of behaviours, as it condemns ludicrous and eccentric behaviours.[80]

In this essay, Bergson also asserts that there is a central cause that all comic situations are derived from: that of mechanism applied to life. The fundamental source of comic is the presence of inflexibility and rigidness in life. For Bergson, the essence of life is movement, elasticity and flexibility, and every comic situation is due to the presence of rigidity and inelasticity in life. Hence, for Bergson the source of the comic is not ugliness but rigidity.[81] All the examples taken by Bergson (such as a man falling in the street, one person's imitation of another, the automatic application of conventions and rules, absent-mindedness, repetitive gestures of a speaker, the resemblance between two faces) are comic situations because they give the impression that life is subject to rigidity, automatism and mechanism.

Bergson closes by noting that most comic situations are not laughable because they are part of collective habits.[82] He defines laughter as an intellectual activity that requires an immediate approach to a comic situation, detached from any form of emotion or sensibility.[83] Bergson finds a situation to be laughable when the attention and the imagination are focused on the resistance and rigidity of the body. Bergson believes that a person is laughable when he or she gives the impression of being a thing or a machine.

Complex systems theory

A budding area of interest within humor studies is the application of complex dynamic systems theory. Also referred to as complexity or chaos theory, complex systems theory "aims to account for how the interacting parts of a complex system give rise to the system's collective behaviour and how such a system simultaneously interacts with its environment", with "change [being] central to theory and method" (Larsen-Freeman & Cameron, 2008).[84]

In his 2020 book The linguistics of humor: An introduction Attardo calls for a pivot toward transdisciplinary research in humor studies, noting the potential that complex systems theory has in regard to this.[85] Applications of this theory include Tschacher and Haken's (2023) study of incongruity and resolution using visual puns or verbal jokes, in which they connected the results of their research with dynamics seen in psychotherapy.[86] Demjén (2018) also applied complex systems theory to conversational humor to better describe how jokes, puns, and memes originate in a discourse community using complexity based models of understanding language and language use.[87]

[tiutale]

Earendil kept his little hands curled about the handle of his basket. Ladden with snacks and a drink for the elf he was visiting he was very ezcited to be given such a monumental task! Keeping his pace controlled so as not to spill anything, the youngling grinned at the sounds of Rôg of the House of the Hammer wirking outaide today!

Tink

Tink

Tink

Tink

Hisssss

Standing on the appointed side of the guardrail for observers he patiently set his basket at his feet and awaited acknowledment. It did not take long. The large elf looked up wiping sweat from his sun kissed brow with a dirty kerchief. Smiling broadly at his visitor he set his tools carefully down on a work table and placed the metal back in to heat. "Good day young prince! What brings you to my shop on such a lovely afternoon?"

Earendil bounced on his toes giggling as his dark curled hair was ruffled by the very large hand. "Amme and Ada were lunching with Gorfin and Thel! Thel said you did not break fast. Amme was worried so we all made you a snack basket!" He tried to lift the heavy thing to the rail but could not quite make it. He scowled at his arms a moment. Whu do they never do what he needs when he needs!

Rog laughed opening his metal gate and stepping out to the little one. "Do not make such a face you will find more strwngth sooner than you believe. Now." He peered at the array of foods and drink and his heart fluttered at the care his dewr friends put into it. "Well now I could not possibly eat all of this. Though it looks wuite delivious. All of my favorites in fact! Come. That journey of yours must have been exhausting. You can share some of it with me."

Earendil squealed and and bounced on his toes as Rog scooped up the basket and they moved toward the wash spigget and a table. He happily scrambled onto a bench as Rog washed. Picking out the cloth cover he arranged things as best he could. Keeping one of the strawberry tarts for himself. He nibbled on some hard cheese as Rog dug into a large bit of bread and meats. He nibbled thoughtfully his eyes roaming the bare chested elf.

Rog was no fool he knew the elfling had a question. He had watched him ponder it for some weeks now. He had to hand it to Tuor and Idril. Their young one certaintly thought his impulses through before moving forward with any of them. He took a drink of the summer wine nearly groaning at the delicious flavor. He was far to thirsty from all his work today.

"Adar and you have similar marks. But Amme and Daeradar do not. Why is that?"

Rog paused as he went to go for the tart. His hazel eyes stared at the child who was thoughtfully tracing a scar on his tanned arm. He took a thoughtful bite of the sweet. "If your question refers to my scars. You are a clever and observant young one. Aye. Your father and I have similar marks. Though they come from very different situations." He swallowed his food and steepled his fingers. He did not think his parents would appreciate this but he would not lie to a child. Not their child especially. "You know well from the stories you are read there is great darkness in the world. That Darkness can do tremendously horrible things to another being. I have had the unfortunate experience of being held captive by one such aspect of that Darkness."

Earendil nibbled his tart slowly. "Adar was taken to?"

Rog nodded. "By something othet than what I experienced. Yes he was."

The elfling pursed his lips staring at his fingers. "I would yave rescued you."

Rog chuckled at the sudden words. "Aye I bet you would have young one."

"Do they still hurt? You have many more than Adar."

Rog grabbed his wine swirling it about a bit. "At times they can. But it eases as time goes by." He grinned at the child. "And when one is in such good company the mind does not dwell on it."

The young Prince furrowed his brow a bit lost at the answer. Eating the last of the tart he dusted his hands of the crumbs and smiled at the larger elf. "Can we go swimming! Galdor says his pool is finally ready!"

Rog laughed from his belly. This child was wuite an adventure. "Aye we may. Let me finish this and set the forge with another minder!"

Earendil gave a whoop of joy reaching for another bit of cheese. If he helped Rog finishe they could get to swimming sooner!

[happyandticklish]

wait no because those rants are so relatable??? sometimes I find myself questioning if I'm still even ticklish, like I remember what it was like from when I was younger but now it can be so hard to laugh and it sucks because I really really want to. there are acceptions like if I go to get a checkup and they're checking heart rate or if I'm getting a back scratch I suddenly cant keep myself still or quiet, but then??? for example just last week a friend offered to tickle me when they came over and I was ecstatic that they'd offer, agreed like it was the best day of my life, only to barely feel it at all. It's genuinely upsetting and I was a little surprised to see these rants under your blog because whenever I get sad about not being as sensitive as I'd like I always think about your tumblr @ name and how great it is that people out there get to experience it to a fuller extent even if I got a smaller end of the stick. like no cap that has genuinely been my thought process and it's what brings me to a melancholy conclusion almost every time. Didn't know it was common to be like this? made my week seeing to I'm not the only one. like I actually dont know what to say this feels so refreshing thank you!!!!!????? ( + the anons :)

Aaaaaaa I'm glad you could take some comfort in this anon!! ^^ Even if it was born out of an intense lee mood and hormonal shit at 3 in the morning, it's cool that it actually resonated with some people! I COMPLETELY get your first point, there's so many moments of things that aren't supposed to tickle tickling (like shower pressures or putting your hands on the outside of a blender or someone pinching me) and it's hard to be chill about it, but then the second you ACTUALLY get tickled it's just,,, nothing.

If it makes you feel any better, I genuinely do believe that it is purely a matter of technique. The fact that other things are tickling you shows that at the very least you are ticklish, it just has to be unlocked through other methods.

A lot of times if you're anticipating the tickling, it can be easier to control your reactions, because you feel in control with it. Obviously most people aren't comfortable with this right away and you don't have to pick this option, but something as simple as tying your hands up so they're unable to help you can work, as it immediatelly increases vulnerability. Blindfolds and teasing can also help with that.

Also, sometimes it's about directing your ler, even if it feels awkward or stilted. If they stumble across something that even slightly tickles, have them stay there, maybe try more or less pressure, show them whether scratchy tickles or poking works, whether your need rough digging and grabbing or gentle traces. Everyone's different, and a lot of times the things that work on one person will be rendered null and void on another. Using tools can be useful too, or lotion, anything to increase your sensitivity.

Being ticklish is just as much a state of mind as it is a physical ability, so getting to a place where (a) you feel comfortable laughing and reacting around your ler and (b) you also kind of DON'T feel comfortable around them, more in the, 'they make you nervous and giggly right off the bat' type of thing. Our inhibitions can often choke up our responses, so teaching yourself to relax in those circumstances can greatly help.

It might also be that you're just not that ticklish, and that's okay too! Being a lee/switch is entirely based around how you feel about tickling as opposed to actually being ticklish. You can be a barely sensitive at all lee who still enjoys the feeling, or a hyper ticklish ler who can't stand to be touched, and both are incredibly valid! You should never feel like you're of less value because you feel like you aren't meeting certain "qualifications" of what a lee/ler/switch should be.

Here's to hoping you can get tickled to your heart's content in the future!

[eligalilei]

What Separates Transference and Countertransference?

The prefixation, though perhaps not obviously or traditionally, denotes a bivalent reaction and re-action. This relation is obviously 'graphed' from the perspective of the analysand: as it is a term of in the discourse of analysts, it marks operation in the gaze of the analysand. The transference is first. Of course, this is artificial: one is factically only ever apprehended as. The projection is always already. This is a point made throughout phenomenology of all sorts.

But is the standpoint, or even the projection as such, of a phenomenologist, distinct from that of Heidegger's bushman who seizes the lectern as something behind which to leap in order to fend off a torrent of arrows (which never seemed especially generous to me; a lectern in a hallway is hardly some great triumph of Western technological achievement)?

The sense in which the countertransference is secondary seems trivial, naive, and secondary to its being as transference. Not exactly a 'democratic' or 'flat' relation, but in that, tracing the situation. If one is aware of the transference, it necessarily has a different form; It iterates, but persists, evolves.

The analysand, then, may even develop a countertransference of their own. Wo Es war, soll Ich werden, and all that.

As an analysand, I talk about the analyst's transference, which emerges as his prehension of me as, for instance, a drug user, or someone with this or that diagnosis. He gets annoyed and deniably appeals to his authority as a psychiatrist to reinterpellate me as an object in the 'medical' gaze. It is not countertransference to which I'm referring, but rather transference, which is also of a different sort, at least so far as it has more than one layer; one is shared with the subject of analysis: familial, etc.

Additionally, and this isn't something on which I know Freud to have spent any time, there is prehension of the patient as a diagnostic identity: especially as the labels given them of the patient by other providers. It's not hard to see this as an obstacle to the encounter being an authentic one, and why I'm inclined to think that maybe psychiatry and analysis oughtn't have anything to do with one another. The tendency toward objectification of the analysand, which is counter to everything for which psychoanalysis is supposed to stand, is just so strong that I'm unsure whether the process of analysis can survive it.

In an interesting parable of the matter, recalling the right angle of the analysand's 'ungaze' relative to that of the analyst in traditional practice, I once had a psychiatrist who would, at the beginning of the 15 minute exchange, always excuse the fact that he wouldn't make eye contact with me, explaining that he 'had to look at my chart.' While a bit silly, this doesn't not exemplify that mode of unseeing far too characteristic of psychiatry. That this is inimical to analysis should go without saying.

Countertransference, insofar as it is the system of transference, its awareness, and thus a productive hermeneutic circle, so far as it emerges in a system exposed to psychiatric labels and abstraction must be a consciousness of the factors by which the practitioner is themselves interpellated. It is then a possible site for revolutionary theory and practice. I've thought of the unawareness of this interpellation as 'theory's fourth wall'. In theory, due to the practice of training analysis, psychoanalytic practice and subject-formation ought to provide unique tools for its overcoming: the analyst is no less an analysand, though Freud may not have anticipated or considered the fact that the institutions themselves ought to be recognized as a source of the analyst-analysand's projective baggage.

Or, perhaps one only acknowledges the first level or source of projective content, and the institution's voice is mistaken for one's own. Perhaps this is the real obstacle to analysis' incorporation into modern 'mainstream' theory (and hasn't it always been the issue?): we no longer deal with individuals, but rather categories that, now with purported biological identities, have been forced down to the level of 'essence.' The notion of a complex system and history of the subject is foreclosed in favour of 'diagnosis', the scientificality of which in turn precludes the elevation of its effects to the level of critique in the hermeneutic circle of countertransference, and they remain as actants on the level of transference pure and simple.

[fiddleabout]

hello my kingdom for your thoughts on taylor's new midnights album

okay pal let’s get into it

The Vibe: this is Reputation but from Swift’s Aaron Dessner era.  Which is not to say that this is the album that Swift would’ve made if she’d been working with Dessner back then-- both Lover and folklore had to happen first-- but the point stands that there’s a not-insignificant amount of anger underpinning this album and there is a sonic weight to it that, even if Antonoff is more technically present throughout the album, is very much the precise intersection of Swift and Dessner.  Even the bob/bop-adjacent entries throughout are still couched in a heavy, almost sludgy base, which works specifically because juxtaposition is a powerful tool.  The contrast of Lover-era Swift (big bright sounds, the way everything tilts towards shimmering) and folklore-era Swift (grounded, pulled back, the kind of warm sound that feel likes it’s holding you in one place against your will) creates this sound: that underwriting almost muggy synth with interpolated brighter pieces lifting the sound but never quite as much as you’d expect.  Swift took the sound she cultivated between Red and Lover and pulled it in, not so much giving it the folklore treatment-- there’s plenty of synth and keys on here and barely an acoustic trace to be found, and I don’t mean that as an insult at all-- as compressing it down into something denser and heavier, and for the most part it works.

Vibe Assessment: 8/10

Lyrics: look.  Look.  Look.  I’ve never shied away from that fact that I think Taylor Swift is an obnoxiously incredible songwriter, and I stand by that-- time can’t stop me quite like you did is incredible!  when my depression works the graveyard shift is like getting slapped in the face! and if i was some paint did it splatter on a promising young man! -- but to be frank, there are some lyrical clunkers on this one.  Sometimes I feel like everyone is a sexy baby.  I just.  Ma’am.  Please.  

Lyrics Assessment: 6/10

Individual Tracks: there is....a lot going on, and not all of it great.  Which is not to say that there are bad songs on here-- to be completely honest, I dunno that I’d say Swift has put out a bad track since London Boy-- but coming off the heels of folklore and evermore lifted Swift’s already-high bar even higher and honestly not everything here hits it.  There are some unequivocally great tracks on here: Anti-Hero stands singularly out, but also the quicker tilt and the bubbly little late-eighties flourish underpinning the verses of Mastermind are fantastic, and Question...? leans less on that heavy underwriting and does a masterful job of balancing it and a more traditional pop rhythm like what Swift used on 1989.  Would’ve. Could’ve, Should’ve is distinct from the rest of the album with those drums that pull the whole song up and keep it pushing forward at a clip that most of the rest of the album doesn’t hit while eschewing the mostly-traditional song structure that the rest of the albums uses, extending the bridge before barrelling into the last chorus. 

But there are also tracks that feel like a very distinct retread of old ground.  Bigger Than The Whole Sky, while still good, also feels very much like rewriting Clean with Aaron Dessner instead of Imogen Heap.  Paris is a stylistic sequel to Paper Rings with just a little less oomph (which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily-- I love Paper Rings and I quite like Paris-- but it’s still a retread).  Karma and Vigilante Shit both just sound like they were plucked out of Reputation and polished up with that now-distinct Swift/Dessner vibe. 

Tracks Assessment: 7/10

So, tl;dr final thoughts: much like evermore was a good album that had the misfortune of being constantly compared to folklore-- an incredible album-- Midnights is a good album that has the misfortune of being caught between two polarizing styles.  If this is the direction Taylor Swift is moving in then I’m delighted, because when it works out the way I think she intended for it to it’s phenomenal--again, there are some great standouts on this album-- but it also still has a feel of a bit of a work in progress.

Overall Assessment: 6.5/10 with the important note that x/10 for a Taylor Swift album is, crucially, an assessment of it as a Taylor Swift album.  Which is to say: like it or no, Taylor Swift is one of the best in the world at doing this, and 6.5/10 on that scale is still a very good album.

[classroomgraffiti]

(inspired by ”The End of Art: An Argument Against Image AIs” by Steven Zapata Art on youtube, watch it please)

If youve already decided ai art is bad for the art environment as a whole or have watched the video i referred to above then dont bother with this post as it was probably better elaborated on in said video, however, if you don’t have the time to watch a 47 minute video or are still either on the fence or a supporter of ai art then i implore you to read the rest of this post as im going to list arguments for ai art and try and counter them

firstly, ai art and people using references is not comparable, a person even if they follow an image as closely as possible will still have slight alterations whereas the ai can copy it exactly. to extend upon this akin to how someone may trace or use someone else’s art as a reference, these ai algorithms have databases which contain billions of images, including ones with copyright which we would normally not have access to in order to use like this, from hundreds of thousands of artists and will precisely and electrically splice your art into its results

corporations and stingy bastards stand to make ridiculous amounts from this, as people who may have hired an artist for a job or commission can now tell their ai to pull up desired images instantaneously, not to mention that the ones who sold these people their ai will be getting paid instead, and they will be getting paid NICELY with your money (openai etc)

finally, and i hope iv saved what i feel is my best point for last, is against those who argue “it gives people who were not gifted the ability to make great art” or “the ai is a tool which is dependant on us feeding it prompts”, starting with the first argument, no artist is “gifted” or “talented”, what artists actually are is determined and hard working and pillars of mental fortitude & work ethic, im no fine arts master but personally i have only gotten to the point i’m at because i would often spend all of brake & lunch at school and then anywhere between 1-3 hours nearly everyday just drawing, the fact that the act of drawing is what i use as a coping mechanism for any stressful times in my life is irrelevant as i and anyone else who partakes in art and the craft have only achieved there skill through effort which is possible and obtainable to absolutely anybody, if you are upset by your perceived inability to draw then either simply improve through practice and documentation until you create works which meet yours standards or just stop drawing until you can do it without becoming overly upset at your quality; do not steal the blood sweat and tears of honest artists so you can LARP about as somebody who is actually willing to put the time in for results (this does not refer however to those who happened to have innocently used ai art before or those who credit the specific artist/just share cool ai art as my anger is only directed at those who use this technology to pretend the work is theirs or avoid paying artists, i myself used dalli.mini to import burt reynolds onto the moon and into RGU some time ago out of pure curiosity); continuing further, referring to how this ai needs human made prompts, allow me to forwards you a question if you believe this to be the case, if algorithms akin to the ones on tiktok or other SM platforms and search engines which are massively capable of monitoring a persons searches and precisely adapt at using this info to show the users stuff that they know the user will enjoy, then what is stopping these algorithms from being applied to these ai art generators? if the ai art generator is given the capability to monitor and act upon your searches and info like the algorithms i just mentioned then what is stopping it from, for example, auto generating some images from your interests for you to look at? now consider that this ai will be making a sweatshops worth of generated images for literally everybody and that while this happens, as the the ai produces more and more, whether the prompts were manually put in or not, that it is perpetually and ALWAYS LEARNING. why stop at simple images? books, poems, animation, music, each medium with which man has used to express themselves since the start of time will receive its own ai with which to steal literally every recorded piece of art or literature ever in order to churn into automatic and spontaneous content, by then all we will be left with is this auto generated primordial pool of content puked up by the ai, you may look up references for a cool drawing you are trying to do and five minutes later youll receive a ping from your phone sayin “heres that drawing you were working on, dont sweat it i already finished it for you in color and everything just as you imagined” just so you can scroll through walls of images which each look like they were pulled from your head, 20 minutes later itll send you the drawings you were going to draw 2 years from now, and 55 minutes later it’s going to send you auto generated pictures of you next to your idealised and perfect partner going kayaking, on a picknick, getting married etc in an album under the name “your hopes and aspirations”; because these computers KNOW us, far better than you or anyone else could ever hope to know yourself or eachother, and if there’s anything that these algorithms and corporations know about the human brain it’s that it loves the quick, dopamine inducing, highly addictive, blitz krieg style content which allows tiktok and other SMs to fester in the modern atmosphere

im not saying we need to all smash our phones in tandem as that would be obviously ridiculous, neither do i have an answer as to how we should get rid of or counteract ai art, all i can say is that i believe ai art is the biggest threat to essential human expression, 2nd only to us all nuking eachother, and the we SHOULD be angry about it and SHOULD not simply sit around and let it ruin us, even if it’s jus by bringing up to someone else via conversation how awful ai art is then thats still fighting back art and i would implore that you do that if possible. thanku for reading my ramblings if ur still interested in the topic of ai art then simply search for the video i referred to at the start or do independent research on they topic outside of that, maybe what youll find may debunk me who knows anyway im very tired gn😑👍 (also again let me reiterate that those who use this technology while crediting the specific artist/ sharing cool ai art they prompted while fully acknowledging its ai art and not there own work are completely innocent, i’d rather you just share the work of actual people but whatever its hardly an issue when confined to this scale)

[everythingismonitoried]

Expectations were sky-high. It was November 22 1968 when Benny Andersson carefully removed the plastic sleeve from The Beatles “White” album. We were in his small apartment in central Stockholm and we had just gone out and bought it. He placed it on the turntable and we listened reverently — to every note, every word, every instrument, every voice, every sound. We absorbed everything and when we had finished, we started again. As did millions of others around the world.

The Beatles inspired more young people to start writing songs than any other band in history. It is by listening again and again to the songs you love and admire that you learn. If one day you’re lucky enough to write a hit yourself, you can be certain that all those songs helped you along. They’ve been lingering in your subconscious in some form ever since you heard them for the first time. You could say that you’ve been “trained” by them.

If you actually then make a living as a songwriter you should humbly acknowledge that you stand on the shoulders of others. Apart from admiration and gratitude, in monetary terms what the Beatles got from me were royalties from the records I bought. But now there’s another kind of songwriter in town, even more keen on learning. Deep learning. With a neural network loosely imitating mine but not quite there yet.

Protecting song rights (melody and lyrics) needs urgent attention. In almost all cases, training an AI model on unlicensed material is copyright infringement — unless the user can argue that an exception applies. Such exceptions generally allow for non-commercial use: this is not going to be the case for a significant amount of AI music. Who, then, should own it?

Copyright is the creator’s right to prevent their work from being, or to allow it to be, copied. Since the output may not technically contain any of the material that was originally protected, we’re in uncharted territory. As an artist, I think the overarching principle here must be freedom of expression. This may be controversial, but I’m beginning to think we must be open to seeing the prompter, however simple the prompt, as the creator and therefore the author of the output.

Entirely computer-generated output should not, of course, receive copyright protection. But human input should be protected — and my view is that humans will be involved most of the time.

AI tools in the right hands could result in amazing new artistic expression and the creator should have as much freedom as possible. I almost imagine the technology as an extension of my mind, giving me access to a world beyond my own musical experiences. The creator should not be boxed in by complicated rules about how much AI they have used or having to declare exactly who they were inspired by.

Instead I imagine a user entering a series of prompts, trying different styles, inspired by various composers and lyricists, perhaps even using parts of the generated melody and the lyrics. (It’s important to understand that these aren’t copies, they are original compositions).

In tandem with the user’s own input, this process could result in a decent — or even great — song. So how do you assign a percentage to the various different contributions? Even if it was technically possible to trace the origins, the amount of metadata needed to administer payments would be staggering. When it comes to that, the music industry is in disarray as it is.

The change coming in music, as in society as a whole, is monumental. No one knows what lies ahead. The tech companies will push to monetise and scale AI models rapidly, even as we only begin to understand their uses. But we need original creators to be both protected and fairly remunerated.

[bellsofblueficlets]

In Painful Memory

The armory was a dusty place, with none of the light and warmth of the library, but it was, if nothing else, interesting.

Cluttered, eclectic, and filled with untold hordes of weaponry of every shape size, and description, from towering battle axes- the nearest, for some reason left leaning against a shelf erect, the ancient iron wedged into it at just the right angle to keep it from toppling- to long bows of shimmering ebony- one of which was currently stuffed into an umbrella stand otherwise overflowing with crumpled paper, along with what seemed to be a broken scabbard- as well as great swords of impossible weight and heft-

The most obvious being the one suspended above their heads by what seemed to be piano wire, its length at least five time his mage's height, if not more, with a hilt nearly as thick around as his waist, and very clearly intended for no human hand.

This place promised untold secrets and stories, and things tucked away, waiting for just the right time-

And his mage? His mage acted like it wasn't even there, brushing aside a quiver of arrows, and lifting a mace out of the way, like they were so much clutter, clearing a space on the wall.

"There we are," He mumbles, before turning to look around the room. "Ah, now where did..." This is followed by a weighty sigh, and a shake of his head. "Yes. Of course I left it there." He combs his fingers through his beard, turning to look at the nightmare bitty currently on his knees on the table, stretching as far as he can over the edge to reach a gleaming rapier hilt propped close by.

Caught in the act, Gyre hesitates, looking between mage and hikt, before his tiny shoulders slump, and he retreats back to the safety of the table, not quite managing to hide his pout.

Rantrum gives his pocket sized apprentice a sympathetic pat. "I'm afraid I forgot my bag in another room- Can I trust you to remain here, and touch nothing until my return?"

Touch nothing... until his return.

...Okay, yeah. That wording worked. He could do that. Gyre nods, and Rantrum smiles at him, making a small, satisfied sound, before patting him once more, and leaving him there to vanish down a row of hand axes.

...Right. He could totally just sit here, and not touch anything. Gyre crosses his leg over the other, tapping his foot idly with his fingers. Yep. He could totally do this.

A minute passes. Then another. Then another. Gyre sighs, adjust his weight, and looks around. It was a formidable collection, or would be, if his mage bothered to maintain any of it. As it was, the greatest danger any of the pieces currently posed was as a tetnus hazard.

Well. Except for that one. Gyre lifted his head, the piece above him impossible to ignore for long. The sword is gigantuan, and gleams a golden hue to it's blade, while it's hilt is aged bone ivory, from what beast though, he can't begin to imagine. It must have been enormous...

Strange, that such a thing, which must have been wielded by, or crafted from, creatures so clearly not human, possessed no magic. In fact, he wasn't sure why, among all the weapons here, none held any trace of it. After all, shouldn't a mage's armory boast magical weapons?

Then again, it's hard to imagine Rantrum using a weapon at all, so maybe...

His thoughts are interrupted by Rantrum's return, a bulky, heavy looking bag of thick black canvas carried over his shoulder. This of course, immediately draws Gyre's attention far more than enormous, albeit magicless, and unexplained swords which admittedly he'd seen at least a dozen times by now.

"What's that?" He asks curiously, standing, and craning his neck for a better look.

"Ah, an antique learning tool," He explains, with that sage, mysterious affectation he sometimes dons, albeit with varying effectiveness.

The look of begrudgingly amusement he gives the bag spoils the attempt a little, since he's not quite able to suppress his rueful smile. "I remember my own teacher dragging this out for the first time... a foolish thing if you ask me, but I suppose it is tradition." With a small shake of his head, he begins unwrapping it. "It's an effective enough tool to explain the unexplainable, mind you, but really only works once you already understand it. Ah, well."

Rantrum draws forth a bulky bronze shape, elaborate and tarnished, and lifts the thing, hooking it upon a heavy nail that from his current angle, Gyre had previously taken for a broken chip, or stain on the stone. It's some small effort, and the older man grunts, then sighs, and bids him wait again, wading back through the rows of weaponry.

Gyre walks cautiously closer, or as close as he can without stepping straight off the table, narrowing his sockets to try and make it out. It looked a bit like a bronze maze, fashioned like the face of some Halloween demon, its mouth stretched far too wide to make room for the twisty labyrinth within.

Huh. What kind of maze was this? Every path led downward, none back up, allwere curved, with no straight lines, and curiously, despite there being only a single entrance, there were multiple exits, without a single dead end. Some paths were longer than others, or had narrower paths, but for all the splits and turns, rejoinings and redirections, every path led back out. Didn't that defeat the point of a maze?

The sound of shambling sort of footsteps, the sort made by thick slippers when worn by a mage in no real hurry, draw his gaze back to the direction Rantrum had left in, just in time to see him return, with a small bucket of water in one hand, and an empty tray in the other. The second, he sets beneath the maze, before sighing, straightening, looking at it with bucket still in hand. "Well, then," He mumbles, shaking his head. "This will make sense to you one day, my apprentice. It always does."

With this, Rantrum lifts the bucket, and attaches it to a small hook previously unnoticed, at the top of the maze. At which point it just sort of sits there. Waiting.

Rantrum turns back to watch him, that same small, resigned amusement in his eyes. "So," He begins, patting his pocket for another chewing stick, and clamping it neatly between his teeth, reducing his next words to half mumble, "Tell me, my apprentice. If I tip this bucket of water down into this labyrinth mural, where will the water go?"

Fortunately, by this point, Gyre was familiar enough with this practice to gave little troubke understanding him. He looked from Rantrum, to the moral, to the bucket, and back at Rantrum, before suggesting dryly, "Down?"

A snort, and a chuckle from his mage, with a faintly wistful look in those clear blue eyes, like he was remembering something. "You say that sarcastically, but that's exactly the right answer."

Gyre blinked, taken aback. "...What?"

"Ah," Rantrum smiled, something that on another man Gyre might call faintly mischievous. "Well, you see," He's gestures vaguely at the thing, "There are many different paths and routes through which for it to get there of course, marked and routed by the maze, but," He tips over the bucket, which begins a small cascade of water spilling down the front, winding through various maze routes, and here and there simply spilling over them entirely, bypassing the whole thing, "The final answer is indeed 'down.'"

Gyre watches the water, winding and overflowing, and by every which means, flowing steadily down. "Uh. Okay..." He looks back up at his biggie. "And why is that important?"

"Ah. Well," He hemmed, looking at the maze, tapping his finger on the wall. "Ah, that is," His expression was hard to mustake as anything but one belonging to someone who'd known exactly what it was they were going to say, right up until the point where they actuallytried to say it. Gyre wondered briefly, suppressing a chuckle, how many times Rantrum has practiced this speech in the mirror.

A brief glance from the mage, reproachful, madd the bitty's smile vanish, and he sat up straight, doing his best to play the part of the dutiful pupil.

"Because Fate is the same way," Rantrum answers after a moment, drawing back to look at his demonstration- Which was now admittedly finished, save for clinging drops, agleam of wetness, and a not quite fully contained puddle where it had fallen into the pan, as well as here and there on the floor surrounding. "You see, sometimes though there are a thousand different paths, every end result of what may happen still leads to the same conclusion." A gesture, half at the mural- Half at the spilled mess at their feet.

Okay, so this was genuinely a lesson... All right, he was paying attention. "But only sometimes?"

"Ah," Rantrum pauses, thinking, before shaking his head. "Always, in fact."

The nightmare bitty gives his mage a dubious look, lifting a brow. "Okayyyy. Then, why say 'sometimes?'"

Rantrum hesitates, the bushiness of his brows draws together- then smiles, reciting matter-of-factly, "'Because sometimes the journey before reaching a point, makes all the difference in both how you reach it, and where you go after!'" Maybe he'd managed to remember part of his speech, maybe he was just good at improvising and pretending, Gyre had no idea, but when he offered his hands to his bitty, Gyre climbed on, soon transferred to Rantrum's shoulder.

Gyre got comfortable, easy enough with that mane of head and face hair his biggie has to lean against, and considered this, watching the water soaked mural and pan briefly, not overly surprised when Rantrum just turned, and left both there, with no attempt to clean the mess. "Sooo, nothing is a choice?" He asks, figuring they must really be done here as Rantrum absently waves a hand, extinguishing the lights before closing the door behind them.

"No, no. Everything is a choice." The mage denies, pausing to adjust his cufflinks, and search his pockets.

Okay... Gyre tries again. "Then, it makes no difference?"

"Ah, in fact," Rantrum denies, before making a small sound of satisfaction at finding the key he sought, "It makes every difference." The heavy door is locked behind them with a click of finality, before being slipped away into his robes again.

It was hard to say whether this way of speaking in riddles was more intriguing or frustrating, but at the very least it was quickly becoming familiar. "But how?" Gyre presses, "If we end up at the same destination either way, then why does it matter?"

"That," Rantrum answers, offering a small pat to his companion, "Is because only some things are set in stone as Fate, determined by choices which in turn become a bottleneck for the choices of others, when-" He offers a vague gesture with his hand, not quite dismissive, but in a so on and so forth sort of way, "Well, when taken in context with certain inexorable forces- gravity, for example, and myself, who hung the thing, as well as the one who shaped it, and i turn the one who forged the metals, where it was mined, how it was forged, the type of metal itself, the time and other factors with affect it's growing tarnished-"

"Yet the specific paths determines the speed at which it descends, the precise direction it takes, and the force with which it arrives there. In turn," He continues, a bit more softly, "This affects the path itself."

The mage pauses briefly before a window, gazing at the sky, currently dark and heavy. A moonless night... Yet without a single star to be seen.

Gyre looked too for a few second, then sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah. That kinda sounds like bullshit."

A soft chuckle, surprising him momentarily. "Absolutely." The mage agrees.

...Oh. Despite himself, Gyre can't help but be disappointed somehow. It certainly sounded like mystical sage-stuff. He tries to play the disappointment off, shrugging, as he lies, saying, "I knew it was."

"Ah. No," The mage denies, the words rueful, "But it certainly does sound like it."

Gyre doesn't know how to answer this, and Rantrum continues to watch out the window for a little longer, before finally nodding, though what he might have nodded for, Gyre didn't know.

"Occasionally," The mage continues, as if he'd never paused, "Though we cannot change our own fates? We can change those paths we take, as we take them, for those who follow. That way, theirs might have the chance to lead somewhere better than our own ever could."

"...Sometimes," This, said with a soft sigh, "That is all that even the best of us can do."

The nightmare bitty is turning these words over in his head, when he notices the direction they're heading, and a sudden chill shoots down his spine. "Where- Where are we going?"

"The... library?" His mage attempts to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "You asked to stop by there after our lesson today, remember?"

Library...

...Library. Gyre swallows, takes a deep breath, and forces a smile. "I changed my mind. It's fine. Let's do something else."

This time the mage stops, and something troubled passes his eye. "It's no trouble, Gyre. Rea-"

"No, no. You're always telling me ghat too much time in that place isn't good for you. Let's go somewhere else. Uh, we can go back to the weaponry! Or the map room! You had that map you wanted to show me, ri-?"

"...My Gyre," Softly, firmly, his mage interrupts, silencing him.

After a moment, he offers his hands to the bitty. Slowly, Gyre climbs out on them, though it's hard, the way his entire body is suddenly trembling. He lifts his head, eyelights shrunk to pinpricks as he fights down a rising panic. "We, can go look over the balcony, or take care of those dumb little plants, or-"

His voice is almost shaking to hard to keep going at this point, "Please," His gaze desperate as he looks up at his mage, his biggie... His best friend, and only family. "Rantrum. I don't want to go up there. Please."

Soft, sad eyes watch him, that same deep, clear blue that he remembered so well. "I am... I am so sorry, my friend. But the past," He reaches out, Gyre squeezing his sockets tightly shut as a hand closes over him, "Is the one path of fate, that is beyond my power to change."

"...It was never your fault. I promise. It was always going to be where my path en-"

---

It felt like he should have startled awake, he just couldn't remember why. But whether the exhaustion of everything had finally driven him to need a deeper, more genuine sleep, or the demon had just decided it for him, Gyre was somehow certain when he woke this time that he'd been asleep for a very, very long time.

It felt like coming back to himself, slowly, curling his fingers as he remembered how to move them again, and breathing, like it had been years since he'd last drawn breath. How slowly, slowly he pushed himself up, with deliberate effort, to reach his hands and knees again. Even opening his socket, blinking groggily, felt unfamiliar and wrong.

For an instant as his sight finally focused on the splayed fingers drenched in deep, viscose black, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, and his head seemed to swim in confusion. It was a beat, and then another, before the memories begin sifting into place.

Waking hurt sometimes. Rantrum had told him that once, and promised him that he'd understand one day, "regrettably, we all do, I fear."

He didn't know if this was the kind of pain the old mage had meant though.

His soul hurt, and his chest heaved, and before he could think not to, before he could think of the demon inside him, or the dust bitty close by, he finally started to sob at the full weight of everything that had happened. All the things that had gone numb in the midst of the chaos felt newly raw again, all the emotions he'd pushed away flooding back in an instant.

Droplets of black fell by his hand, one, by one, before falling to nothing on the empty surface, like so much soot scattered to the wind. Drip by drip, corrupted tears fell down his cheek, as he cried, unashamedly, not caring who heard, or who was there to listen.

Rantrum was gone. His mage, his biggie, his person. Gone, gone, his soul eaten hollow by the same demon trapped somewhere inside him. His home was gone, all his little trinkets and toys, his books and notes and soft things. The bed where his mage had sat beside him, telling him about places he'd been, things he'd seen, or secret wonders that might lie tucked away in some far off forgotten stretch of the omniverse.

Everything he knew, everything he loved, everything he'd worked for, it was gone, gone, and there was nothing left, nothing to go back to. Nothing to look to. Only this silent prison cell, empty and featureless, with nothing to touch, no one to talk to but that fucking demon who'd gnawed on his mage's soul, and the dust that had tried repeatedly now to kill him.

He didn't notice when his tears started going from black, to murky, to slowly, slowly, running clear. Droplets of brilliant cyan, gone in a breath as they were whisked away to nothing. He cried until every breath became agony, until he was shaking so hard that he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and his arms gave way.

And when he hit the nothingness that served as the ground, he just curled up where he fell, burying his face in his arms, and wrapping his tentacles tightly around himself.

He wanted his biggie. He wanted their home. He wanted to just wake up, and find out this had all been the bad dream, and his mage wasn't really dead, and he hadn't betrayed him, and their home wasn't gone, and he hadn't sold his soul to a demon, and he wasn't trapped in this horrible place...

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

But there was no gentle voice waking him. No soft touch to stir him from the terrible visions of what had happened. No weight on the bed beside him, as Rantrum sought gently to sooth his dreams. There was only silence. And he didn't come.

Every time he thought he was out of tears, he thought of his mage's sad, gentle eyes, and started crying again. Part of his soul felt like it had been ripped away. It felt like a hurt that would never, ever heal.

He knew the dust was there. He didn't care. The other bitty didn't interfere, didn't do anything that he could see. And the demon? The demon stayed silent. Not a word.

Gyre wasn't sure, in those moments, that this hell wasn't really his alone, and he'd only dreamed that the others had ever been real at all. But eventually, eventually, he ran out of tears, and just laid there, remembering. A dream... Of course he'd dreamed of him. Dream and memory and fear all twisted up into one. Gyre sighed, rolling to his back, and held up his hand against the near nothing.

What even was he now? Corrupted, sure. But that hadn't been a bitty's soul he'd held.

That wasn't when it happened. It wasn't when he died.

Dammit, what was he trying to tell me that day? Mazes and paths and-

His socket closed. His good socket. He only had one of those now. Just something else, lost...

Then something brushed against his side, and his socket opened again. He should've jumped, should've startled, bared his teeth- He was just too tired. And what was the point? He was pretty sure that no injury was lasting anymore. And he didn't think it was even possible for him to die now, anyway.

Two years is all but an instant in the span of time you'll one day live.

Bitties don't always live long lives.

You will.

...Immortality. Fun.

Turning his head to see what had brushed against him, not that their was more than one thing it could be, to see the dust bitty sitting by his side, his back turned to him. Gyre took a few seconds to process this. Someone trained to kill, turning their back like this...

It meant something.

"...What are you doing?" His voice is hoarse, or again, would be, if he could hear it.

"Waiting for orders." He answers. The dust doesn't turn around, or lift his lowered head, but holds his hands just far enough to the side to be seen- Even if reading them from behind takes him a minute to reverse in his mind.

Gyre sighs, just giving the other a weary look. "Your... whatever they were... aren't going to give you new orders. They can't control you, can't hurt you..." He doubted they ever expected to see him again, for that matter. And if he couldn't find a way out of here...

The dust bitty turns his head, the smallest bit. Enough for Gyre to see the smudges of black on his cheeks, though they weren't as thick as they'd been when he first saw them. His eyes, just as manic, cold and savage, as ever. "Waiting for orders." He signs again.

Gyre just stares at him a moment longer, then sighs, rolling his head back to look skyward again. The dust remained where he was.

...This was his life now, huh? Silence stretches for several minutes. Maybe longer.

{He means, from you.}

It was the first time the demon had spoken in a while, half a day or more, maybe, and that before sleep. Gyre sighs, too tired to be upset at the voice coming from inside him. "What are you talking about?"

{He's waiting for orders,} The demon repeats, drawing out the words slowly, as though Gyre might simply not understand them individually, {From you.}

"...What?" This actually gets him to sit up a little, but though the dust tenses slightly, he doesn't react further. "What are you talking about?"

There's a sigh from the demon. {When a dog shows trust, it lies with it's back to you. Demonstrating that it trusts you not to attack it from behind.}

{He's a hunting dog, and he's showing you in every way he has, that he's your hunting dog now. He's waiting to take his orders from you.}

Whatever answer Gyre had been expecting, it wasn't this, and it takes him a few seconds to manage, "I'm nobody's master," in a mutter, turning back away. "And I'm not interested in a slave."

{...Idiot.}

Gyre decides not to answer, closing his socket again. He... doesn't tell the dust to leave though. The company... is nice.

{Slaves don't choose their masters, smudge,} It growls, after several seconds of this implies that he doesn't intend to say anything else. {The chance to choose who he serves is something this bitty has never had before. It's a freedom to him.}

Still, Gyre remains silent. He'd... read. That dust bitties could forge an attachment to nightmare bitties. That sometimes, something in them drew them to a particular nightmare bitty, who they'd look to after. It wasn't something he'd ever expected to see first hand.

Panic blew the dust bitty's eyelights wide as he realized what Gyre was doing, and he tried to struggle free-

...It wasn't something he wanted. Still...

"He won't survive here, will he?" The words were quiet, well aware of the answer.

{Let's see, a bitty of his size? His type? With a stripped soul?} The demon snorts. {I give him maybe another day before he starts shedding dust. Don't worry,} It adds, with feigned cheeriness- At least he thought it was feigned- {His dust will just swoosh away and be gone, just like everything else dropped in this place! No cleaning required!} Check that, probably not feigned. It sounded almost gleeful, for fuck's sake...

Gyre grunts, turning this over, then sits up with a sigh, deciding that apparently rest time is over. "Then I'll get him out." His tone is quiet, and matter of fact. As if there was no question in his mind it could be done, which while not quite true, still sounded convincing at least.

{I told you,} The demon denies, an edge of irritation easily returning to it's tone, {We can't leave that easily. It-}

"We can't leave," Gyre reminds bluntly, getting to his feet. "The way I remember this cage working, the bigger the magic, the harder it is for it to escape... But I'm not trying to escape. And a dust bitty's magic should be 'small' enough to slip right through the bars of it."

The impossible silence still hung over the non place, and those bound within it's heart, but by now Gyre paid it little mind. Again tried to get a better look at their surroundings, his remaining eyelight trying to focus on any single point. There was something about this place that made it hard though, and it seemed like before he could fully focus on anything, the nothing/something he'd been trying to looking at had slipped away.

Annoyed, he kept trying, and failing, until his head started feeling dizzy, and annoyance slowly gave way to puzzlement, then slow realization, as he finally realized that what he was seeing was movement, despite there being nothing there. Or... maybe...

Maybe something was there, it just kept moving too fast to see.

{Do you even know where we are?} Now the voice sounded almost tired, and maybe a bit exasperated. {Are you that reckless, to twist yourself in a prison about which you know nothing?}

"What part," Gyre asks it flatly, not letting the demon distract him from continuing to examine his surroundings, "Of dragging you to hell with me did you not understand?"

Thus actually seemed to give the demon pause, and for several seconds there was blessed, blissful lack of interjection on it's part, before the demon finally muttered, {You're telling the truth,} It's tone, echoing disbelief. {You were really willing to bind yourself here for all eternity, if it meant taking me with you.}

Silence. Silence. And finally, just, {...You're a fucking idiot.}

While Gyre didn't know what he'd expected the other to say, it wasn't this. Bitterness drips from his answering growl, "The selling my soul part didn't convince you already?"

...This time though, the demon didn't answer.

Good. Gyre turns back to his task, ignoring the creature. Something moving too quickly to see? Everything moving?

Or. Maybe just them.

They were moving. So fast that nothing around them seemed real. So fast that no sound reached their ears, and anything that fell was ripped apart and scattered like dust in a heavy wind.

Many magics, but especially binding magics, were inextricably interwoven with the magics of specific locations. Since the bigger the magic that needed to escape a binding like this, the bigger the exit would need to be, that meant that the bigger the exit needed to be, the longer it would take to coax the woven magics to create an opening that was also big enough, which in turn meant that a continous, rapid change of locations made it all but impossible to adjust to the changing locations quickly enough to do anything.

That... was clever.

...Also bad. Very, very bad.

But the opening for a dust bitty? That would take less time. With a noncommittal huff, Gyre continues to watch, looking for a chance to create an opening... When he sees it, a tendril shoots out, and he grabs it, and to the surprise of maybe everyone there, the whole world- or their pocket version- is yanked to such a sharp stop that they all go flying.

All being limited to himself and the dust, he grabs the other before he can be dashed to pieces by the speed, tendril coiling harder against the... something he held in it tightly.

There it was, a glimpse, of something so distant that it seemed like a long tunnel lying before them. He could be the world... Well, a world...

He would never be able to reach it. But he was certain the dust could. Mind, he might have to add a little momentum, but-

Add momentum? Stars, it was still speeding by so fast. It would like trying to set a teacup on the sidewalk, while in a speeding car.

He stared at the opening, then looked back at the dust bitty in his coils, still watching him with the eyes of a deranged killer. Despite his claws being buried deeply in the corruption holding him, a pain that hadn't even registered to the nightmare bitty, he hadn't actually attacked. He just... watched, and held on. His features always, always unreadable. Waiting.

When a dog shows trust, it lies with it's back to you, The demon had said, Demonstrating that it trusts you not to attack it from behind.

Gyre let go, slowly, of his grip on the binding. There was a sense of vertigo, and things tilted a bit, before settling again.

He'd had an opening. And he'd let it close.

...It would have killed him.

Gyre sets the dust down, slowly, the other retracting his claws once his feet were back on solid... Well, not ground, but...

With a sigh, running his hand over his face, he sits back down. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill another one. His couldn't kill this one. Not... not this one.

{...It works both ways, you know.} Insight from the demon. Wonderful. Gyre tries to ignore it. {A dusty choosing a nightmare. A nightmare accepting a dusty.}

"Shut up." This time though, his voice lacked venom. His dusty. His. He'd never agreed to that.

...He was agreeing to it now, wasn't he?

After a few minutes, he felt the dust sit beside him again, but this time, he didn't turn to look.

For a while, nothing is said. Finally, maybe unsurprisingly, it's the demon who breaks the... Well, it doesn't break the silence, but it speaks. {You're not wrong. His magic may be small enough to sneak through. But it will take time, and it will take practice. And before you find a way to let him through, you'll need to find a way to slow us down.}

{Obviously? That's more time than he has.}

"Thank you," Gyre mutters, "For that enlightening bit of information." This must be why the demon doesn't want him to able to pull his soul put. The temptation to grab him and squeeze, at times like this, even knowing how badly he'd be hurt too.

{...You do realize that we have more than enough magic to sustain him, don't you?}

The nightmare bitty scoffed. "Oh, yes. Spreading our magic around even more. That's brilliant. I'm sure that won't fuck his magic up even more."

{Then,} Cold, and blunt, {Watch him die.}

For the life of him, he wanted to argue it, but the way his soul sank inside him, he knew it was true. "What are you proposing?" He asked, finally.

{I want what was promised to me,} It growls, as if this should be obvious- Which, in fairness, it was. {I can take it now, but our new self will be trapped here forever. And I'm not willing to stay here, even if you are.}

{You won't work to get us out, but you'll work to get him out, right?}

Gyre hesitates at the question, but finally nods.

{I'll take it.} The demon says bluntly. {I'll teach you what you need to know to get him out, and I'll help you keep him alive until you figure it out.}

{What do you say, dust? Do we have a deal?}

Gyre blinks, caught off guard, and opens his mouth to protest- Only to close it again as the dust looks back, and then at him. "Waiting for orders." He signs, then clarifies, a moment later, "Your. Orders. Not that one's."

He could... Hear it. All this time, everything...

"Have you heard," Gyre asks, stunned, "Everything? All this time?"

The dust simply signs again, "Waiting for orders."

Gyre closes his socket, resting his head in his hand. What was even happening anymore?

The demon seemed mildly bemused by his reaction. {He's a dust. Many are predisposed to interacting with hauntings, or various possessions. And his lack of a papyrus of his own just makes him even more receptive. How do you not know this?}

"How exactly would I know this?" He demands, starting to get impatient again. "I wasn't studying other bitty types, I was studying bindings and fate and-" A pause, as something sinks in. "Wait, he doesn't have a papyrus of his own? I thought all dusts-"

"Wait, no. Back up. Do you mean a dust's papyrus isn't just a hallucination?"

{It can be a hallucination rooted in the dust's unstable mind, or the projected manifestation of a secondary personality, or even simply an extension of the dust bitty's magic. It can also be a genuine secondary being, either specter or demon.}

{And no, they don't always have them, but-}

{What exactly did you think they stripped from this one's soul?}

A sense of sickness washed over him, his soul sinking. Did. Did it mean-?

{Put bluntly,} The demon says coldly, interrupting his thoughts, {They have a little arrangement set up that makes it possible to accrue and manipulate just the right kind of magic to force a bitty's 'wild' spawn, in a manufactured setting. Not too weird, lots of places do that-}

{They just, tweaked it, so that as the summoned bitty begins to form, parts of him are forcibly stripped away, and replaced, before he can finish. He loses his papyrus. He's stripped of his ability to feel anything but hate, pain, anger, and fear. And he's infused with magic harvested from another bitty, in his case a killer. That's where the liquid hate pouring from his eyes comes from.}

{When making a living weapon, you take away everything it has that makes it who it is, give it nothing of love or hope, and make certain it knows what happens if it disobeys you, then give it a target to take out all that pain on.}

With every word, his soul sinks, and he feels more and more sick. He'd figured out most of it, of course, but- "How. How do you know all this?" He asks, finally.

There's a long pause, before the demon explains quietly, {I've had many, many 'masters.' And they've taken my magic, and done things with it that if you knew, if you understood the true cruelty of the souls inside you, you would never sleep well again. I know what they do, because I remember. Because they used me to make it possible.}

{...I know what they did, because the magic that runs through both of us, is what they used to do it.}

---

[jcmarchi]

Jusant Review - Reaching The Summit - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/jusant-review-reaching-the-summit-game-informer/

Jusant Review - Reaching The Summit - Game Informer

Jusant asks players to do one thing: climb. As a silent mountaineer accompanied by a cute critter, the only thing standing between you and your mysterious mission is one very tall mountain. The journey to its summit is treacherous, but thanks to an ingenious climbing system, beautiful art direction, and intriguing world-building, inching toward the top is worth the effort. 

The intuitive climbing mechanics are the star of the show. Pressing the left and right shoulder buttons lets you grip handholds with the corresponding hands of the climber while you aim with the left stick. The back-and-forth rhythm of hitting both buttons to pull yourself up precarious terrain feels natural and realistic without being cumbersome. Gripping drains a stamina meter, and though managing this isn’t often difficult, it does add a nice element of thoughtfulness and tension to the ascent. Climbing excels, but simply walking can be troublesome as the character has a habit of getting stuck on even the most negligible geometry, such as small pieces of rubble, resulting in awkward jumping and spinning to break loose. 

Your only tool is a retractable climbing rope that automatically anchors you to a wall, meaning you can never fall to your death (or die in general). While this contributes to the game’s relaxed, meditative atmosphere, that doesn’t mean failure isn’t a factor. Slipping sends you dangling back to where you began, which can result in having to reclimb lengthy stretches. You can prevent demoralizing setbacks by staking up to three pitons as you climb, extending your reach while creating makeshift checkpoints. I love the strategy of managing the placement of my pitons, as it gave me creative agency in how I navigated tricky sections – namely walls lacking handholds – while ensuring any lost progress was entirely my fault due to bad or infrequent piton staking. The rope also allows for performing fun maneuvers like swinging across gaps or wall-running to reach distant goals. 

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Ballast, the climber’s cute, water-like pet, offers another helping hand. Hitting a button makes it emit a pulse that transforms organic elements, such as making giant flower bulbs sprout climbable buds or causing vines to grow rapidly and letting you hitch a free ride on them. There’s only a small handful of these tricks, but they complement traditional climbing while adding an entertaining layer of whimsy.  

These mechanics result in climbing that feels challenging in the right ways. Scaling the mountain requires enough physical effort and coordination combined with mindful planning to make hitting each elevation milestone feel like a well-earned accomplishment. Looking down over a cliff to see the entire section I just completed before looking up at the obstacles to come is satisfying and daunting. Climbing in games is often shades of being either mind-numbingly simplistic or painfully tedious. Jusant strikes a great sweet spot. The great controls made me confident and eager to tackle the well-crafted, puzzle-like climbing routes and obstacles. 

Developer Don’t Nod does a great job of mixing up Jusant’s premise by introducing new environmental or platforming challenges in each of the game’s six chapters. One section has you riding powerful wind gusts to reach far-off platforms. Rock-like bugs serve as moving handholds that can carry the player along, provided you watch the path they’re on and adjust if they lead you astray. One of my favorite areas lets you scale and swing across massive stalactites in a giant, bioilluminated cave. Jusant has a relatively short run time (about six hours), but it remains fresh and engaging throughout. 

Jusant’s picturesque scenery looks fantastic. Set in a world that has mysteriously lost nearly all traces of water, the mountain is situated in a dry, vast seabed. Dehydrated coral, fossilized seashells, and shipwrecked vessels provide the only evidence of the former ocean, as do numerous abandoned settlements where a lost society once called the mountain home. It may technically be a world in ruin, but the warm colors, great lighting, and sharp art design make it fun to look at. 

    How this calamity happened, and the plight of the people who experienced it is told through a series of sometimes lengthy but fascinating diaries. Whether it was the story of a young woman eagerly abandoning her home life to embark on an expedition to the summit or the day-to-day musings of folks who can’t fathom living on a horizontal plane, these logs are enjoyable and worthwhile reads that provide vital context to the world and your quest.

Numerous paths inside and outside the mountain hide various collectibles and interactive artifacts, such as wall paintings telling a grand legend and seashells that provide audio-only flashbacks of this lost civilization. I went out of my way to find as many of these as possible, and thankfully, the game tracks all of them. That makes revisiting chapters to locate missed items an easy and inviting proposition. Even if you can’t collect it, I was happy to find new rooms, stores, and other infrastructure to get a better idea of these people’s way of life. 

Jusant is my favorite Don’t Nod title since the original Life is Strange and is one of the year’s best gems. The climbing mechanics are so smart and well-executed that I hope other games take notes. Add an inviting presentation, a pleasant soundtrack, and an alluring air of mystery and isolation reminiscent of Team Ico’s best works, and Jusant is a rewarding expedition.