#They're wildly out of touch with reality

[txttletale]

You've spoken at length about how the Lancer setting is just wildly incongruent with what the authors think it is at length, and I agree wholeheartedly. My question is, largely for the purpose of if I ever want to run a game of it again, how would you make the setting carry that tone the authors think it has without too terribly much rewriting? Say, from the point of 'there was a revolution to overthrow seccom'? I love the 'gallant warriors of liberation in giant robots' and would like it if the game actually was that.

But the more the bureaucratic apparatus is “redistributed” among the various bourgeois and petty-bourgeois parties , the more keenly aware the oppressed classes, and the proletariat at their head, become of their irreconcilable hostility to the whole of bourgeois society. Hence the need for all bourgeois parties, even for the most democratic and "revolutionary-democratic" among them, to intensify repressive measures against the revolutionary proletariat, to strengthen the apparatus of coercion, i.e., the state machine. This course of events compels the revolution "to concentrate all its forces of destruction" against the state power, and to set itself the aim, not of improving the state machine, but of smashing and destroying it.

-- Vladimir Lenin, The State & Revolution

In the heady days after the revolution, the air buzzed with potential. The future was today. Hazy, gaseous dreams of liberation patiently awaited their turn to be forged into something you could touch. But those days didn't last for long. The coalition was already a fragile thing during the revolution, and now that it was faced with the levers of Union's imperial machine each hairline crack became a chasm. The corporate armies, who had marched under the banner of the enormous profits locked away behind Harrison Armory's legal monopolies, had reached their personal horizons and refused to move an inch further. The moderates and high-class intellectuals saw the wealth that Union funneled from its edges being distributed generously to the citizens of the Core Worlds and declared a new economic paradigm of post-scarcity and mutual wealth. The anarchist cells with their mysterious reality-hacking mechs were the first to come to the only inevitable conclusion: the revolution was not over.

Now that the old order had been surgically deposed, the new order was finding itself fitting comfortably in its throne. Humbled and stripped of its previous privileges, Harrison Armory was welcomed back into the halls of power under the smiling auspices of free enterprise. Groundbreaking legislation was still being written in the halls of ThirdComm--guaranteeing the right of worlds to self-determination, the rights of clones to live freely, even radical and heretofore-unthinkable proposals laying the groundwork for an end to NHP-shackling. But the old revolutionaries had grown weary and cautious (and, of course, had begun to personally experience the economic benefits of Union's vast hegemony). To enforce this legislation, they argued, would be a de facto redeclaration of war against the corpostates, a disaster for the trade networks on which our wealth depends. To those who still harboued the hopes of revolutionary change, this was a loud and clear signal: the war had not ended. The revolution was not over.

The All-Galaxy Revolutionary Front as it exists now is a set of strange bedfellows. The disciplined combat battalions of the Communist Party fly in perfect harmony, distinguishable by their red battle flags, mass-produced in collectivized forges with reverse-engineered corpo tech. The motley individual oddities that the anarchists call their mechs, their open-source physics-bending HORUS peculiarities, strike unpredictably, in and out of ThirdComm's sight. But the one thing which binds them all, as they fight for the liberation of the peripheral worlds, for the wealth of mines and factories to enrich the people of the planets they're built on instead of fueling ever-replenishing consumption in the distant Core, is that they still have those old revolutionary dreams.

This is what it means to be a Lancer: to be willing to struggle. To acknowledge that the revolution is not over.

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 29 ~ Shit happens

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 3

✧ Word Count : 6.1k

In this chapter ~ The group seems to come to some sort of alliance with the prisoners they had found, making some kind of trade that was fair for all of them. But in the midst of helping them clear a new cellblock they would be staying in, a lot more death was heading their way than they had anticipated.

We carefully made our way through the darkness as quickly as possible, the metal table squeaking wildly from behind us as Rick and Glenn tried to keep up while pushing it. I took out my knife, stabbing a few lone walkers that still lingered in the way as we pushed on towards the cellblock, following Glenn's arrows on the wall.

But we all seemed to stop in unison, turning our heads as we heard something come from the other end of the hallway, Daryl turning his flashlight towards the noise. Not a second later we saw the few shadows of the inmates getting closer to us, following a good distance behind as we moved. I whispered harshly to them to keep moving while moving towards the back, pulling my bow out again and putting an arrow in place in case any of them got too close. But there was no way we could stop moving and deal with this now. Hershel's life continued to hang on the line.

We all finally made it to the common room and Rick quickly yelled at Carl to unlock the door to the cellblock. I followed close behind them to make sure they had everything handled as they shoved Hershel past the door and towards the cells. They hurriedly moved him onto a bed as carefully as they could, and Carol frantically got to work with whatever she had, using some type of cloth to try and slow the bleeding down.

Beth's eyes were wide as she stood just outside of the room he was in, tears glistening in her eyes upon seeing her father like this so suddenly. The second I turned around to face her, she rushed over and crashed into my arms, holding me close as she sobbed over my shoulder, unable to take her eyes off of him.

"Is he going to die?" she whispered upon looking at his pale skin and darkened eyes.

The thought alone killed me as I pulled back and took her face in my hands, shaking my head, "No... they're going to do everything they can to save him, he's going to be fine." I reassured her, pulling her back into me as she tearfully nodded.

Maggie stood just a foot away from us, staring at Hershel the same way Beth was, a million thoughts running through her mind as she remained frozen. I only reached out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked back at me and placed her hand on top of mine, smiling the smallest bit in appreciation that I was able to be there, not only to help save him, but to comfort them.

We all watched Carol work hard with the white pillowcases she was given, all of them turning a deep red after only being pressed onto his injury for a few moments. I could only pray that I was fast enough, hoping that my hesitation didn't cost the man his life.

I stood still with them for only a few minutes before informing them I was going check on Daryl who was still in the common room. In reality I knew that he was fine, I just wanted to make sure those assholes still weren't following us, knowing that the rest was unaware of the fact that we weren't alone in here. But I would also be lying to myself if I said I wasn't turning away because I couldn't handle looking at Hershel's almost lifeless body anymore. And seeing his girls witness that was hard enough as it was.

I swung the door open again with a loud creak, seeing him loading his crossbow once again before turning his head swiftly upon hearing the noise. His eyes softened the second he saw me, walking over and discarding his weapon along the way, pulling me into him. I didn't realize how much I needed the comfort until I had it, melting into his touch as I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist.

"Ya okay?" he whispered against the top of my head.

"Yeah," I breathed, "Are you okay? God... so much just happened-"

"M' alright." he assured before pulling away to look down at me, "And he's gonna be alright." he said as he nodded towards the cellblock.

I breathed in and out deeply before I nodded hesitantly in agreement, his hand tucking my hair out of the way to plant a soft kiss on my lips. But the truth was, I didn't know if I believed that. How could I when the future was always so unpredictable. I found myself only nodding along because of how badly I wanted it to be true, trying not to be negative about the situation no matter how bad it looked.

"Those pricks were followin us, it's only a matter of time before they get here." he stated once he pulled away.

I removed myself from his arms as I pulled out my weapon again, "I got your back." I told him with a small smile.

He smiled back at me, nodding before turning around and loading his crossbow as he picked it up from the table, the two of us now aiming towards the door for when they finally made their way inside. My heart was beating fast in my chest, not knowing exactly what to expect from the random inmates that somehow survived in here for so long.

It felt like a long and painful silence before we started to hear their quiet footsteps coming closer and closer until the prisoner with the long, greasy hair made his presence known first. He peaked his head out from the darkness, staring at us momentarily, before glancing around at the rest of the common room, his friends only following close behind in a small huddle.

"That's far enough." I snapped.

The man with the long hair smiled at me as he pointed his finger towards the door behind me, "CellBlock C. Cell four, that's mine gringa. Let me in." he demanded.

Daryl's stance only tensed, "Today's your lucky day fellas, you've been pardoned by the state of Georgia. Yer free to go." he spoke lowly.

"What you got going on in there?" the tallest one asked.

"None of your fucking business." I spat.

"Don't be telling me what's my damn business!" the leader stepped closer while pulling out his gun again, causing my fingers to almost slip from my arrow while Daryl stepped slightly in front of me.

"Chill man, dude's leg is messed up. Besides we're free now, why are we still here?" the bigger one asked.

"Man's got a point." Daryl spoke with anger lacing his voice.

The tall one scoffed, "Yeah, and I gotta check on my old lady." he said.

The leader glanced back, looking towards the rest of them like they were stupid, "A group of civilians breaking into a prison you got no business being in...got me thinking there ain't no place for us to go."

"Why don't you go find out?" Daryl asked.

Mustache only stumbled a little over his words, seeing as Daryl and I weren't budging, "Maybe we'll just be going now." he said.

"Hey we ain't leavin!" the leader snapped.

"You ain't coming in either." T-Dog spoke suddenly, coming out of the cellblock with his gun raised towards the men the moment he saw the encounter going down.

"Hey this is my house, my rules. I'll go where I damn well please." the leader yelled.

"There ain't nothin left for ya here, why don't ya go back to yer own sandbox?" Daryl snapped.

The strangers began to yell in obvious protest, not liking that we were trying to tell them what to do, and all the noise quickly caught Rick's attention as he flew back into the room. "Hey! Hey, everyone relax, there's no need for this."

"How many of you are there?" the leader asked, eyeing everyone suspiciously, wanting to know the exact number he would have to deal with.

"Too many for you to handle." Rick replied coldly.

His gazed scanned around to all of our faces, "You guys rob a bank or something? Why don't you take him to a hospital?" he asked.

His comment only made us freeze, slightly glancing at each other in confusion. With them being locked up in here for however long, there was no way in hell they had a clue as to what was going on just behind the thick walls.

I slightly lowered my bow as I glanced at them in slight concern, "How long have you been locked in that room?" I dreadfully asked.

He shifted uncomfortably, "...Going on like ten months." the leader informed.

"Riot broke out, never seen anything like it." the big guy chimed in.

Mustache then said, "Attica on speed man."

The littlest then spoke up for the first time, "You heard about dudes going cannibal, dying and coming back to life? Crazy." he muttered to himself, not knowing how real it truly became.

"One guard looked out for us, locked us up in the cafeteria and told us to sit tight. He threw me this piece and said he would be right back." the leader informed us.

"And that was 292 days ago." the tall one said.

"94 according to my calculations-"

"Shut up!" the leader snapped.

The tall one spoke up again, "We've been thinking that the army or the national guard should be showing up any day now."

"There is no army," Rick said bluntly, "There's no government, no hospitals, no police...it's all gone."

"For real?" mustache asked.

"Serious." he replied.

They started to grow worried about their loved ones, their past that they desperately wanted to get back and started asking us if we had any phones to contact them. We tried our best to explain that there was nothing like that left anymore and there was no way they could contact their families. Subtly breaking the news to them that they might be long gone by now. They just didn't seem to believe it, especially the leader, so we took them outside to show them all of the dead bodies we had yet to burn, and the dead world we've come to know.

The big one walked up to one of the walkers and started to poke it with a stick, cringing a little at the sounds it made, "So what is this, some type of disease?" he asked me.

"Yeah, and we're all infected with it." I replied.

"What do you mean infected? Like aids or something?" mustache asked.

I turned to him with furrowed brows, "No...if I were to shoot an arrow in your chest, you'd come back as one of these things." I gestured to a walker right in front of me.

"It's gonna happen to all of us." Daryl added.

The leader scoffed, "Ain't no way these Robin Hood cats are responsible for killing all these freaks," he paused before looking back at Rick, "Where the hell did you even come from?"

"Atlanta." Rick answered.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

Rick shrugged, "For now, nowhere."

He stood there for a moment before pointing down to the field with a nod of his head, "I guess you can take that area down there near the water. Should be comfortable."

"We're planning to use that field for crops." Rick said.

"We'll help you move your gear out." he argued.

"That won't be necessary, we took out these walkers. This prison is ours." Rick said sternly.

The leader only laughed halfheartedly at Rick's protests, "Slow down cowboy." he advised.

I pressed my lips together tightly and ducked my head down to stop the snort of a laugh that threatened to escape in such a serious situation. It shouldn't have been funny, but it was. And the look on Rick's face was absolutely priceless. My eyes moved over to my right, only to find Daryl deeply clearing his throat, seeming to find it just as funny as I did. Glad I wasn't the only one.

"You snatched the locks off our doors." the little one then piped in.

Rick then chuckled, "We'll give you new locks if that's how you want it."

"This is our prison, we were here first." the leader said.

"Locked in a broom closet?" I suddenly asked, growing serious again at their stubbornness, "Last time I checked, we're the ones who let you out. I'd say the place is ours since we worked so hard to clear it, meanwhile all you assholes did to get in was commit a crime and get caught. And could we please not play the whole "my dick is bigger than yours" game because right now it's clear to me who's winning." I sarcastically smiled.

With his manhood being threatened, he quickly pulled out his gun again and aimed it right at my head, everyone else obviously tensing up. But I didn't even flinch upon seeing his sudden movements because in the back of my mind, I knew he wouldn't do it. With everyone else standing around me, he knew in the back of his mind he would surely be dead within seconds if he actually pulled the trigger. He just wanted to prove himself somehow, assert dominance like all men seemed to do.

Daryl however didn't take the action as lightly as I did, stepping in front of me on instinct while fixing the man with a glare, "Ya best aim that thing somewhere else."

The leader turned all of his attention to Daryl, keeping his aim on me as I watched a slow smirk start to appear on his face, "She your girl?"

Daryl didn't say a thing, not wanting to give the man any power over him, but his silence was a good enough answer. The man's smirk only grew, "So that's a yes...damn and I was hoping to have a little fun with her. Well... maybe I still will." he subtly threatened.

A chill ran up my spine at his tone, causing Rick and T-Dog to pull out their guns instantly while Daryl started to walk up closer to him with his crossbow still raised. My hand inched closer to one of my knives as I took the handle in my hands, pulling it out of place before a sudden voice distracted me.

"Woah, woah, nothing like that is gonna happen. And maybe let's try to make this work out so everybody wins." mustache spoke up.

"I don't see that happening." the leader said.

"Neither do I." Rick snapped, his finger inching closer to the trigger

He was silent for a moment as he looked around to all of us, "I ain't goin back in that cafeteria for one more minute." he said with a stomp of his foot like a child.

"There are other cellblocks." mustache suggested.

Daryl took another step towards him, "You could leave. Try yer luck out on the road while ya can, before I shoot a bolt through yer damn skull." he spoke lowly.

There was an awful silence that followed after that, the men weighing out their options as they tried to ignore Daryl's obvious threat. I could sense immediately that the leader was working out a plan in his head as his eyes panned back over to me, trying to find an opening where they could somehow stay.

But then he scoffed as he finally spoke up, "If these three pussies and their bitch can do all this, the least we can do is take out another cellblock." he suggested. "Atlanta here will spot us some real weapons so we can do this. Won't you boss?"

Rick's jaw tensed as he tilted his head at the man, "How stocked is that cafeteria?"

"There's only a little left." he informed.

"We'll take half." Rick said without any hesitation, "In exchange we'll help you clear out a cellblock. You pay, we'll play. We'll clear out a block for you and you keep to it."

"Alright." he agreed with a smug smile on his face, slowly lowering his weapon upon hearing the deal.

"But let's be clear," Rick continued, "If we see you out here anywhere near our people...if I so much as see you glance at her ever again," he pointed at me, "I will kill you."

He was silent for a moment, taking it all in before finally saying, "Deal."

After we came to a somewhat civil agreement, we started to make our way back into the prison to get our share of the food, trailing back towards the cafeteria. As we walked there Daryl walked close to me and tugged on my sleeve, silently asking if I was okay, to which I only gave him a small smile as I nodded my head. I knew he was still pissed about what that guy disgustingly implied, hell so was I, but we needed to be careful about how we handled this. We couldn't just go on a rampage without it getting messy. But believe me when I say, I was tempted.

We finally made it back to the room, heading through the door to look inside the pantry and my mouth fell open slightly at how much food they had left. Piles of it just stacked up as if they had hardly touched it since the outbreak. Daryl pushed past a few of them, beginning to look at our options as he spoke out loud to the inmates.

"This is what ya call a little food?" he asked.

"Goes fast." the leader responded.

"Mhm." Daryl mumbled sarcastically, starting to pile up our share to bring back to everyone else.

The leader continued, "You can have a bag of corn, some tuna fish-"

"We said half," Rick interrupted, "That was the deal, wasn't it?"

I stayed back and eyed the interaction, watching the rest of them gather around the food to help Daryl out while I continued to linger near the door. My eyes glanced over every inch of the room they had been trapped in, noticing the small doodles on the walls and some tally marks to keep track of the days. But my attention was brought to another closed door with a big X carved into the center, piquing my curiosity.

"What's in there?" I found myself asking.

This caught Rick's attention and he didn't wait for them to respond as he walked over to pull it open, ignoring the protests of the prisoners. As soon as he opened it, he started to cough and gag slightly, covering his mouth as he slammed the door shut again, turning a little green. I stepped back upon seeing that, not wanting to know anymore, though I could only assume.

"I can't wait for my own pot to piss in." mustache stated quietly to himself.

After the guys gathered up everything as quick as they could, we carried all the food back to our cellblock and Rick went in to check on everyone else; to check on Hershel. But I didn't dare follow him, not being able to handle looking at the man, seeing him in such a state. I felt utterly terrible about what happened, and I didn't know if I could stomach seeing him unconscious like that anymore.

But Rick was quick about the trip in to see the others, keeping his half of the deal as he came back out to the common room with a few weapons in his arms. He laid them all out on a table, spreading out each and every one so the inmates could take their pick for when we led them in to clear their new home.

With spending a few extra awkward minutes with them, we all knew them by name now. The leader with the gun's name is Tomas, the one with the mustache is Axel, the tallest one is Oscar, smallest is Andrew, and the biggest one is called Big Tiny. Ironic.

Tomas held up a crowbar, examined it closely while asking, "Why do I need this," he then pulled his gun out, "When I have this?"

Daryl huffed, already growing impatient, "Ya don't fire guns, not unless your back's up against a wall. Noise attracts em, really riles em up."

"We'll be in the front and behind you guys to cover you, show you how to do it first before you do it yourself." Rick said.

"Just don't try and run off, you could be mistaken for a walker and get an axe in the head." T-Dog informed them bluntly.

"And that's where ya aim. These things only go down with a headshot." Daryl added.

Tomas scoffed, "You ain't gotta tell us how to take down a man."

"These aren't men, they're something else." I corrected, "But it doesn't really surprise me you don't need any tips on how to kill a man. I know I never did."

The inmates all looked towards me, noticing Tomas really studying my expression as he tried to tell if I was really telling the truth, his eyes slightly changing once he figured it out. Although I didn't say my statement for no reason; I didn't want this Tomas guy to think he was intimidating us in the slightest. I didn't want him to think that the little comments and disguised threats had any effect on me or the rest of us, no matter how hot shit he seemed to think he was.

Though my disguised threat definitely caught his attention.

"Just remember to go for the brain." Rick reminded, before nodding for them to move, leading the way into the dark tunnels.

It was completely silent as we made our way through the thinner halls, and I could feel the fear radiating off of them. The anticipation killing them at how long it would be until we came across a walker, dreading the moment they would have to strike. I lingered in the back with T-Dog while Rick and Daryl were in the front with their flashlights once again, listening for any noise ahead of them.

The prisoners had their weapons raised and I could hear Axel trying to control his breathing from right in front of me. His hands shook slightly in fear, and possibly from withdrawal with how violent the shakes had become. He could barely hold his metal pipe straight out in front of him. But they all immediately stood perfectly upright at the familiar sound of snarls making their way towards us from the other end of the tunnel.

"It's coming!" Axel yelled in fear.

We all shushed him at the same exact time, his frantic voice causing two lone walkers to easily come around the corner as they clearly heard the noise. For a start it was pretty easy practice. The prisoners started to slowly walk up towards the front, Daryl holding out his hand and counting down, signaling when to strike. But before he could even get to three, the prisoners all started to yell and beat the shit out of the two corpses, ganging up on them easily.

They took their weapons and hit them everywhere but the brain, the chest, the legs, completely ignoring what we told them not even five minutes ago. The rest of us stood in a line slightly behind them as we watched the scene with annoyed expressions. I looked at the men in front of me, and then slowly panned to the ones standing right beside me, their eyes squinted and their mouths slightly parted in awe of how stupid they were.

Though Rick eventually got sick of their bullshit and stepped up to kill the two walkers effortlessly. But before anyone could say anything, more of them were coming at us only seconds after hearing all the commotion.

"It's gotta be the brain," Daryl reminded while shooting one, "Not the stomach, not the heart-"

"We hear you, the brain." Axel said.

"You sure you're not deaf?" I asked unironically while taking another out with an arrow.

Oscar stepped forward and smashed his weapon into the side of its head, spinning around and looking at us in approval, "Like that?" he asked.

"Mhm." Daryl hummed.

More and more then started to come at us when hearing the action, flooding from around the corner as the prisoners were now killing them correctly, getting the hang of it pretty fast. We all stood facing the walkers, killing any that got too close to us while watching each other's backs and it was working pretty well. But my attention was diverted away from the others, sensing movement from right behind me.

At first I thought it was a walker, but as I turned my head to actually catch a glimpse, I saw Big Tiny slowly backing away from the scene. I understood if it was too much for him to handle right now because it is a big pill to swallow, so I let him walk away, but not too far.

I turned back around to kill one more walker that was just about to reach me, before I heard the man suddenly scream out from behind me. I looked over my shoulder once more and saw he had two walkers on him at once, somehow they had snuck up behind him and were grabbing at his shoulders. My feet rushed forward to help him, but bullets quickly whipping by my head and caused me to flinch, the walkers falling dead seconds later with a thud.

Without even having to look I already knew which dumbass fired a gun, but he was close to killing me. I still spun around on instinct, storming up to the man and shoving his shoulders back harshly.

"We told you not to shoot!" I yelled at him.

"Yeah...but his back was against the wall." he shrugged with a smug smile.

I gave him a cold glare while stepping closer to him, pointing my finger in his face, "Your shitty aim was inches away from killing me instead prick."

"Well-" he started to say, but was then shoved out of my line of sight.

In a flash, Daryl took out his knife and held it up to the man's throat, pinning him up against the wall. The man struggled and tried to fight back, but couldn't move from the position he was in, causing all the remaining prisoners to step forward threateningly on instinct.

"Ya stay the hell away from her, you hear me?" Daryl snapped in Tomas's face, ignoring everyone else behind him as he glared daggers at the man.

"Daryl," Rick called to get his attention, "Not here."

He then broke eye contact with Tomas, looking over his shoulder slowly at all the prisoners with their weapons aimed at him, scoffing quietly to himself as he slowly loosened his grip and pulled the knife away. But right as the man smiled cockily, turning to walk away, he shoved him once so his back hit the wall harshly as he had his attention again.

"You ever try that shit again, I'll fuckin kill ya." he said lowly before finally backing up and letting him go.

My eyebrows raised as I watched the entire thing closely. Hot.

Tomas let out a breath of air and started to rub his throat where the knife was moments ago as he moved away from him. The prisoners slowly backed off while lowering their own weapons, eyeing Daryl with a glare, but what the hell did they expect? His dumbass could've fucking shot me.

Daryl then didn't waste another second as he quickly made his way over to me, gently putting his hands on my shoulders, "Ya okay?" he asked in a much softer tone.

I nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I assured.

He smiled small, and squeezed my shoulders but then a voice caught our attention, "Guys." Rick said, as he looked at Big Tiny with concern in his eyes.

We looked to see that he had a huge gash from the walker that had attacked him, right on his back. The claw marks were red and irritated, bleeding slightly as he tried to turn his head to get a better look at what Rick was nodding to. A part of me felt bad for the man, because I knew he didn't want to fight these things in the first place, and now he was suddenly losing his life because of it.

"I'm telling you, I don't feel anything it's just a scratch." Big Tiny insisted.

"I'm sorry man." Rick apologized sincerely.

"I can keep fighting!" he argued.

Andrew then came up, eyeing the scratches before clicking his tongue, "You cut that old guy's leg off to save his life, how's this any different?"

"Look at where the bite is." Rick pointed.

"Guys I'm fine!" Big Tiny said again, "Look I'm fine, I'm not turning into one of those things."

"Couldn't we just lock him up?" Oscar asked.

"Quarantine him?" Axel suggested.

Rick was growing annoyed, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."

"You son of a bitch." Andrew cursed angrily.

"I'm alright-" Big Tiny started to say, but was cut off when Tomas suddenly brought his weapon down harshly on the man's head. He paused for a moment, watching him fall fully to the ground before hitting him over and over again, Big Tiny's blood splattering all over his face.

Daryl subconsciously pushed me slightly behind him as we watched this psychopath beat his friend to death. I couldn't help but let my mouth hang open a little in shock at the sight. He did this like it was nothing to him, hitting him only one more time before slowly looking back up to the rest of us. His darkened eyes were utterly bone chilling. Just barely reminding me of Shane towards the end of his life.

None of us said a thing as he wordlessly headed towards the cellblock, and the rest of us had no choice but to follow him. But I waited until Tomas was a little bit further away before talking to Rick and Daryl, slowing our pace from behind him.

"Did you see the look on his face?" I asked them.

They both nodded as Rick started to say, "He makes on move-"

"Just give us a signal." Daryl finished.

We all nodded in agreement as we walked the rest of the way in silence. The next room we came across was an old laundry room, with clothes scattered around our feet, seeing the next door we needed to go through to reach the cellblock. But we all stopped short once we heard snarls and moans just on the other side and knew that we would have to take the many walkers out so we could continue moving forward. Daryl took out his keys from his pocket, tossing it towards the ground by Tomas's feet gesturing him towards the obvious.

"I ain't opening that." he stated.

"Yes, you are. You want this cellblock? Open the damn door." I spoke.

He stared at me, wanting to say something but Rick interrupted him, "Just one of them, because we need to control this."

He sighed and slowly bent down to pick up the keys and made his way over to the door, "You bitches ready?" he asked.

But he didn't wait for us to respond, he barely even waited for us to breathe before he swung open both of the doors at the same time, Rick's face turning red in anger.

"I said one door!" he yelled.

"Shit happens!" the man yelled back before stabbing the closest walker in the head.

None of us had time to argue before walkers were coming through both doors like a goddamn flood. But we still somehow managed with the amount of people we had, fighting them off before they could pile up. Tomas made his way over to stand in between Rick and I as he shoved a walker back, stabbing it in the head after it jumped back towards him, and I slightly faulted as I watched him. Although I couldn't move away from him because of the walker's extended hands coming towards us, I still couldn't shake the feeling I had as he only inched closer.

Though I remained focused on the dead ones coming at us, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Tomas swung his weapon harshly to the left, killing a walker, but just barely missing Rick's head by an inch. Rick luckily ducked out of the way before it hit him, but I didn't fail to notice. My gaze was torn away from the sight for only a moment, killing the next walker making its way towards me, but that's when I felt a sudden weight being practically thrown at my side.

My back hit the ground with a loud crack, as a walker crawled on top of me with its teeth snapping at my face. It didn't take a genius to figure out who threw it towards me, and anger quickly bubbled in my chest when I looked up and saw a brief glimpse of his face behind the monster's head. I groaned as I attempted to shove the thing off of me, reaching for one of my knives with one hand while my other arm kept its face away from my neck.

"T, mind the gap!" Daryl suddenly yelled as he ran over to me, instantly stabbing the walker in the back of its head.

He reached out his hand as soon as I pushed the dead weight off of me, helping me up quickly as the noise behind us died down. When we were face to face, his eyes scanned me over for any injuries and he opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't give him the chance. My eyes scanned around the room quickly before they landed on the long haired man, rushing up to him in an instant and shoved him back into a wall.

"What the hell was that?!" I screamed at him.

"It was coming at me." he said defensively, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips.

I was fuming and I reached for my gun behind my back, but Rick quickly placed a hand on my arm, stopping me and lightly pushing me aside.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it." Rick said in an oddly calm tone, "Shit happens." he repeated.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence after the all too familiar words before Rick took his machete and stabbed him right in the head, leaving the rest of us in shock. Andrew's eyes were wide as he watched Tomas fall limp to the ground, suddenly yelling with his raised bat in an attempt to hit Rick. But I quickly kicked him back harshly in the stomach, watching him tumble down towards the cement floor. Though he recovered quickly and got up, taking off out the doors with Rick right on his tail as he followed him.

"Get on yer damn knees." Daryl demanded, aiming his crossbow at the inmates that remained.

I followed his lead right along with T-Dog, watching them hesitantly lower themselves to the ground, a mix of shock and sadness crossing over their features. Their hands were raised in the air in surrender, Axel beginning to panic that he would die too right along with the rest of them.

"We don't have any affiliation to what just happened. Tell them Oscar." he pleaded.

"Stop talking man." was all Oscar said as he kept his head low.

It had been only minutes before Rick came storming back into the room furious, starting to aim his gun at Oscar's head while yelling at them that they knew what was going to happen the entire time; that they planned this.

"Sir please! Please listen to me, it was them that was bad it wasn't us." Axel said with so much emotion in his voice.

"Oh, that's convenient." Rick snarled.

"You saw what he did to Tiny, he was my friend. Please, we ain't like that. I like my pharmaceuticals but I'm no killer. We ain't the violent kind, they were. Please, I want to live!" Axel pleaded.

I felt my face soften when I was listening to the man, lowering my bow the tiniest bit. This man was close to sobbing, begging for his life, I couldn't kill him because I knew that what he was saying was true. I saw the look in Tomas's eye, we all did, Axel and Oscar were different. They looked like they just wanted a chance.

Rick moved over to Oscar and asked, "What about you?"

The man shook his head, "I ain't never pleaded for my life. And I ain't about to start now, so you do what you gotta do." he said.

Rick didn't falter, in fact I think I saw him grip his gun tighter, not seeing the same thing I was as he was so obviously blinded by rage. I hesitantly put my weapon away, walking up to him slowly to place a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of whatever rampage he wanted to go on.

"Rick." I spoke quietly.

He looked at me from over his shoulder, and I gave him a certain look with a tilt of my head that he could read like a book. He stood there for a moment, weighing out his options, before slowly lowering his gun and placing it back on his hip. He only muttered something about following him to the cellblock, before he beelined it out of the room, almost embarrassed at the anger he felt.

I felt myself relax, nodding towards the door for the men to get up and follow as we all walked silently the rest of the way towards where they would stay.

~ Thanks for reading!

[inkblot22]

Idia and the expression of displeasure

Uh, shoutout to that guy who I thought was my friend, asked me if I wanted to hook up despite being over 1000 some-odd miles away, despite me being very openly not that into men and, more importantly, telling him very clearly that I have no interest in dating him specifically. You're so cool for that, man. I just love to feel like an object. The "something about me" is the crippling c-PTSD, anxiety, and possible psychotic illness rotting my brain and your reading of me as a "Creepy Goth Chick", thank you.

Anyway, I hope I was able to direct that shitty man behavior onto our beloved Idia. I did tag you, it's later on and if you'd like me to remove it, I can absolutely do so, just let me know. Also all I can think about is this vine.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

TW for verbal abuse, manipulation, emotional abuse, captivity, use of a shock collar, mention of physical abuse, Idia is an asshole, abusive relationship dynamics, lack of communication.

Idia is the type of person to believe he is pragmatic, when, in reality, he is rather mercurial. He will fly off the handle at the smallest thing but be completely unbothered by larger issues.

I imagine this could lead to a few problems for his dear, sweet partner. (By the way, I refer to Idia’s darling as his partner because that is what they have rationalized their situation to be, currently: they are Idia's captive partner. Idia doesn’t label them very often, and although he does call them his partner, he definitely sees them as an endearing pest, kind of. Despite them being there because of him, he often acts like they're a mouse or roach that popped up one day and he grew attached to.)

Idia is not the type to like striking or physically harming his partner. He’s the type to get rude and nasty, and play victim. This does not mean he doesn’t ever physically harm his partner.

See, that shock collar around their neck? We have previously established that this is connected to his technomantic energy, and his technomantic energy is connected to his inherent magic ability.

The collar is set up with a warning system. If Idia’s partner does anything he remotely dislikes or any set of pre-established actions that they are not made aware of, they will receive three low-voltage, quick-tap jolts of electricity right against the column of their pretty throat.

These actions include, but are not limited to: acting in any way to harm Ortho or Idia, attempting to harm themselves (this one had to be added after the hanger incident), walking too close to the door or the covered-up window, touching any of Idia’s current or past projects without permission, touching Idia’s gaming setup, ignoring Ortho (this only is put in place if Idia’s partner is hostile towards Ortho at any point, even just once) and refusing any food or drink given to them by Idia specifically. It's important to reiterate that Idia has not told his partner literally any of these rules. Much like the ways that some people train a dog, they have to learn the hard way.

After the three taps, Idia’s emotions and/or intentions dictate how intense the next shock is. Sometimes it’s a bored little zap, like a fourth warning to cut it out before he gets mad, sometimes it’s a rolling pulse that pulls them away from whatever they’re doing, sometimes it’s a tidal wave that literally brings them to their knees and makes them throw up. It really depends on the most annoying kidnapper in the world. 

Idia is very aware that holding this person hostage because of his own predilections and perversions is a wildly morally incorrect thing to do, but Idia also doesn’t give a steaming shit. He’s been given what he wants, having grown up as a member of the upper crust, and if he doesn’t get it given to him, he finds a way to get it.

This means that, as much as we all love him, Idia is a whiny pisslord. The second his partner doesn’t do what he wants, he’s grumbling about it, he’s whining, playing victim, getting huffy.

While that might not sound bad, please remember that Idia’s partner has a bunch of exposed wires situated with the intent of shocking them around their neck at all times, and the shock collar is connected to Idia’s emotions. While getting shocked in a more violent manner isn’t very common for them, it can still happen, and therefore it's possibly best to do a little eggshell walking.

Besides that, it’s not very pleasant to be around someone who is so volatile, even if at their most disappointed they just complain for a few hours or days. Having to deal with someone else’s displeasure in life while being more or less unable to discuss your own does not do wonders for your mental health.

Let’s go over some scenarios and the punishments connected to them.

Idia has been playing some online fighting game all day, pretty much ignoring his partner. He hears them move during a cooldown between matches, turns around in his chair, and asks demands that they come over and let him kiss them a little. Of course, Idia’s partner declines. In this situation, Idia would usually get upset and complain about it for a while, name calling included. His words and mood definitely have the vibe of, “How dare you breathe around me and then not let me touch and kiss you. That’s just leading me on, breathing around me.”

Idia’s partner made some cup noodles while Idia was taking a nap after he raged all night and well into the afternoon. He wakes up and sees them sitting in his gaming chair, facing away from his computer and eating. In this situation, Idia would straight up zap them for two reasons. Number one, they didn’t make him anything to eat, and number two, they’re not supposed to be sitting in his chair or at his desk. Anywhere near his computer/anything that could possibly be used to contact someone on the outside without supervision is a huge issue. Keep in mind that he never deigned to share this rather important rule with his partner.

Idia’s partner has a bad day and snaps at Ortho, shoving him away very, very gently. It almost goes without saying; they’re getting zapped to the point of unconsciousness, because Idia panics and then gets mad, in that order and in rapid succession. The emotions blend together for a moment which makes the jolt stronger. This is when the “no ignoring Ortho” rule would be implemented, because they’d better be really nice to Ortho for the next few months before Idia decides he can trust the two of them to interact without his watchful eye. He trusts his little brother, but he doesn’t trust his partner.

In honor of a certain discussion I had with @tht0nesimp (thank you so much, you're very insightful,) Idia’s partner has a meltdown (understandably) and starts throwing things, including a glass of water that was brought to them after they had a bit of a cry in the shower (stay hydrated, everyone.) The glass, still with the water in it, sails across the room and clocks Idia right in his pretty face, ideally breaking his nose. While it’d be understandable to assume that Idia would be mad enough to hit his partner with a jolt of electricity that would bring them to their knees, Idia is sensible enough to understand that this is a display of some form of hysterical emotions that his partner has been bottling up until this point. Therefore, instead of electrocuting his partner, he just starts complaining, more loudly than usual. It is not peculiar for his voice to rise in volume but not in inflection, we hear this in game, but imagine that just a bit louder and more whiny.

“Wow, and here I thought you were an adult. I can’t believe you can’t even control your emotions.”

“My nose hurts. No, don’t apologize. It’s your fault anyway. I don’t even want to know what you’d do if you were really mad.”

“If you want to make it up to me, you could- don’t make that face. Whatever, I knew you weren’t being serious. Whatever. Just ask Ortho to get me an ice pack and go sit somewhere away from me. It's fine. It's fine!”

[ckret2]

youve gotten a few asks about billford before, and your plans for ford's relationship with bill in your fic, but im curious if you personally ship it yourself/*like* it. and, just for the hell of it, if you have any opinion on billdip too, since that one's even more controversial.

I'm gonna put most of this under a cut since it's not only long, but also long about two different topics, but the tl;dr is:

Yeah, I'm a fan of billford. I don't think it's canon, inevitable, or necessary to their dynamic, and I'm still on the fence about whether things will tilt toward the romantic in my fic or if it'll stay platonic, but I do enjoy the ship a lot because it has a lot of (obsessive, weird, unhealthy, angsty) elements that interest me to explore in ships. Billdip, on the other hand, does nothing for me. I don't care about how people ship imaginary characters in their fictional fandoms and I'm not gonna block anybody for liking it, so this isn't a moral stance, here—I just don't like it personally.

One of the things that intrigues me most about a ship is the idea of love that's gone so far it isn't even love anymore but punched out the other side into unhealthy obsession, and "I'll spend the next thirty years of my life hunting you to death" versus "What if I turn you into a gold statue and carry you around to stare at you a lot" sure fit right into "unhealthy obsession." On top of that, some of my favorite ship dynamics are:

the worshiper and the person they've picked to revere as their god, either metaphorically or literally—with bonus points if the person they've devoted themself to doesn't deserve that worship and maybe isn't even all that special, and the worship actually reveals more about the mind of the lover than it does about the (un)divine nature of the beloved

the mad scientist and the muse who gives them ideas and inspires their work (one of my all-time OTPs has a line where the mad scientist says to his ex "we were each the muse to the other"), with bonus points if they both get so caught up in "what can we do together? What dreams can we make reality—" that they plunge into full "so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should" territory—and bonus bonus points if they eventually come out of the haze of SCIENCE and one of them is horrified by what they've done... but maybe the other one isn't.

two people who are wildly compatible with each other (similar hobbies, tastes, worldviews! they fill in the gaps in each other's personalities! they each happen to be the other's type! they understand each other like no one else can! whatever, fill in the blank!), but for some reason one betrayed the other, they've tried to kill each other, and now things are vicious and bloody and painful and raw between them; but if they talk to each other and accidentally let their guards down for even a split second, all that history is still there, they still like the same stupid movies and share the same stupid inside jokes no one else will ever understand and have the same stupid complementary life dreams, they could have been good for each other, but there's no road back to where they were before the betrayal. Their chemistry is like two huge magnets strapped to land mines: the attraction is as powerful as ever but heaven help them both if they ever touch.

or, alternatively, two people that have all that chemistry, but are just really toxic and do bad things when they're together and enable all each other's worst tendencies, even if they don't necessarily do bad things to each other; and they've got to navigate the fact that they might adore each other so much but they are objectively worse people when they're together.

I like ships with inhuman things. As a writer I like waxing romantic about the inhuman things and trying to convince the reader that yes, this too is beautiful and lovable when seen through the eyes of a lover. I will make you take the stupidest love interest seriously for five minutes. I've romanticized a sticky pile of goo, I've romanticized a robot spider, I've romanticized the concept of being a disembodied voice, I've romanticized a pteranodon made out of lava, and I'll romanticize a cyclopic gold-plated corn chip too, don't test me. Who better to adore a sentient triangle than a scientist-artist who sees the beauty in precise angles?

Depending on the headcanons and/or AUs you're working with, you can get all of these pretty darn easily out of Billford.

I like writing Ford as the awed naive intellectual, hungry for knowledge, for the secrets of the universe, for more, who was utterly dazzled and starstruck by this divinity who tantalized him with esoteric secrets—and who's been furious at Bill for thirty years for betraying him, hurting him, threatening his home and everyone he loves, but underneath all that also furious at him for not being what he advertised when he could have been that; and Bill, meanwhile, playing it cool, far too comfortable playing the role of faux god, but privately, secretly distraught that his favorite "student"—the one who takes Bill's "teachings" and gets creative and inventive with them, the one who always wanted to know more, not just about the universe but about Bill personally—his favorite student no longer worships him, doesn't even respect him, doesn't even see him as an equal, but looks at him like he's the scum of the universe, and Bill won't even admit that it bothers him but it's killing him that nothing he does can get his favorite to so much as smile at him again.

That's the dynamic in my head when I write them. You could play it as purely professional, a god disappointed to lose a worshiper like a boss disappointed to lose his best employee or a celebrity disappointed to lose the president of his fan club; or you could play it like platonic friendship, maybe a QPR; or you could play it like a romance. I like the zest added when you toss romance into this already nasty mess of emotions. I like capping off all that heartache with, "—and if things had turned out differently, maybe I would have taken your hand and traveled with you to the ends of eternity, if only you weren't [such a brutal heartless backstabbing piece of shit]/[unable to forgive a few white lies and some light torture]."

Billdip, on the other hand, does absolutely nothing for me. Not even just for the age reason—that does squick me out, but even if I try to look at it like "okay pretend he's aged up" or "stick it in an AU where they're both dumb kids having dumb kid crushes" I just, see nothing there. I don't even see anything there platonically. Like, legitimately—for the fic I'm working on, I've been trying to figure out what kind of dynamic/interactions they'd have beyond just "Dipper scowls at Bill a lot" and even on that level I've been struggling to think of something compelling between them. I look back on the fact that for a good few years billdip was the ship in the fandom and I go, "why? where's the meat? what do they do for each other?"

I'm forced to imagine that the ship must have been based on some combination of "fandoms naturally want to ship the everyman main character with the charismatic fun villain," "a bunch of teens with crushes on Bill were using Dipper as their self-insert stand-in," and "people assumed Bill wasn't lying when he said Dipper impressed him and didn't start revising that opinion until we got to see firsthand that he uses lines like that on everybody." It feels really uncharitable of me to the shippers to assume that their OTP is founded entirely on statistically average fandom trends and character misinterpretations rather than, like, y'know, traits actually present in the characters, so I'm taking it on faith that there's probably more to it than that and I just don't see it because it just ain't my jam.

When I do try to speculate harder on "how would I get them to interact with each other in a compelling way, like, just in a platonic sense?" my brain starts going "well, dipper's a nerd who's into the paranormal, he wants to know about mysterious things? maybe he's fascinated with bill as a mysterious thing? and maybe... idk, why would bill give a hoot about dipper—maybe bill takes advantage of that fascination, tempts him with more information, maybe he's amused by Dipper's curiosity about weird things—?" and that's usually about the point where I go "this is just, the way Bill and Ford met. This is the watered-down junior version of Bill and Ford's first few weeks." In trying to figure out what the heck Bill and Dipper would even talk about I keep accidentally recreating a less interesting version of Bill and Ford's dynamic.

I want and need Bill and Dipper to have an interesting character dynamic in this fic so being unable to come up with something that personally compels me has been actively frustrating me lmfao, but it does serve to illustrate my main point here: man, billdip does nothing for me so hard that I can't even see them platonically interacting.

[carousel-crows]

3 please

Hi nonny! Number 3, "I didn't know you guys were together." "We're not."

btw, I tend to ignore the concept of homophobia. let my boys be happy.

———

Ice didn't understand how he had the best roommate and yet the worst co teacher.

Mav had decided to teach at TOPGUN. Ice had taken a position not long after. The previous teacher (callsign Boar) had been all too willing to go into retirement. Ice didn't blame him. Compared to this class, his class had been angels. Mav had agreed. These kids seemed to have forgotten what hygiene was. Being punctual was a foreign concept. 

They had decided it was cheaper to rent a house together than to each have their own apartment. And it worked well. They adhered to each other's boundaries, respecting the other's  property. Mav refilled the coffee machine and packed lunches, Ice opened all the curtains and made sure doors were locked before leaving. They mostly worked the same hours, and rode together often to save gas. Pete was a good roommate in general. 

He was a terrible coworker, though. 

Their teaching tactics were wildly different and often clashed. Maverick encouraged students to create their own maneuvers. Ice tended to stick to the book. Teaching with him was a test of patience. 

But he knew why Mav taught the way he did. He wanted to push these students to be better pilots than they already were. He wanted to protect them in the only way he knew how. 

It had been a particularly rough day. The car had broken down, so they had to take Mav’s bike. Ice was more than reluctant, but it was too far to walk. Ice had realized on his lunch break that he didn't have lunch. 

He'd gone to complain to Mav, or to ask for a ride back. He hadn't really known which. But he'd stepped out of his office and  walked down the hall into Maverick’s.

Now they were sharing lunch in Pete's office. He was sharing lunch with the secret love of his life.

“Who do you think is gonna be the next TOPGUN?”

“Well, Mudslide’s on top right now.”

“Ice, who do you think is going to win?”

“I just said.”

“No, you said who was winning now.”

“We aren't supposed to speculate.”

“Viper does.”

As if on cue, the man himself opens the office door. He was seemingly unaware of Ice's presence. 

“So Mav, for next week’s hop, I think you and Ice—”

Mav barely looks up from his half-sandwich. “Hmm?”

Viper is stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the pair. 

“Uh. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch date. Uh. Sorry.”

“What's up, sir? The hop next week?” Mav completely ignored the awkwardness of the situation.

Date? The word sounded in his head like an alarm.

Mav and Viper carried on the conversation. Ice wasn't listening. Date?

He snapped back to reality. 

“I didn't know you two were together.” 

“We aren't.” Ice panicked.

“Oh. My apologies for assuming.”

“It's fine.”

He looked over to see Mav blushing furiously..

Viper left soon after, tossing a wink at Mav. Ice ate quickly, avoiding any conversation. What? 

Ice avoided him until it was no longer possible. If it weren't for the death machine he was riding home, Ice wouldn't have touched him. No matter how much he wanted to.

Dinner was even more awkward. It was his turn to cook, which was usually fine. 

Except Mav wanted to help. Mav didn't know how to make a lot of dishes, so Ice had offered to teach him. And Mav liked to be involved. 

And he didn't seem to know what personal space is. They're standing almost on top of each other while Mav stirs the sauce. He crowds Ice instead of standing in front of the stove. Ice, in turn, tries to ignore the acceleration of his pulse. He can almost feel Mav smirking. 

The bastard.

“Are you gonna kiss me, Tom?”

“What?”

Mav turned around to look him in the eye. They were standing so close. Nose to nose. If he just leaned a little closer—

“Tom, you can do it. I know you want to.”

“What?” He glanced at Mav's lips, mesmerized.

Mav huffed. “Kiss me, dumbass.” 

So he did. Soft and chaste. A short one. But it was so much. He leans back ever so slightly, just to look Pete in the eyes. His eyes are almost glazed. 

A beat.

Then Mav wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in. A desperate, hungry kiss. He would never go without Pete's love again.

When Ice went to apologize to Viper for his behavior, the man seemed surprised. “I should be the one apologizing to you, Tom. I overstepped.”

“Well, sir,” Ice rubbed the back of his neck, “We kind of … are together now?”

Viper just laughed. 

“I know, my boy. I could see the tension between you two from the beginning of your class.” He smiled. “But now Slider owes me $20.”

WHAT?

———

hope you like it! Thanks for being so patient!

[feralox]

CW: puppy play, denial, light situational humiliation/degredation, oral, face fucking

I can't stop thinking about what she'd look like in a collar and with a cute pair of puppy ears on. I think of her looking at me with those big eyes, pleading and desperate, and I lose my fucking breath. It'd take her a while to get there. She'd be stubborn, bratty even. I just know it. She'd make snarky comments and when I remind her that dogs can't speak, she'd probably just laugh.

I wonder what it would take for her to fold. Would it be a threat of punishment? Or would she actually need to be punished until she's begging for mercy? Or would a promise of pleasure be enough to make her be good?

I love a good punishment but I hope its the latter. I'd undress her so carefully, so slowly, like unwrapping a present when you don't want to tear the wrapping paper. When I lift her shirt I'd lick and gently nip at her torso. When I take off her pants I'd kiss down her legs. Would she be starting to get worked up now, so early on? Would I start to see her cock twitch in her panties? It'd be so hard not to tease her if I do; to tell her how I can see how desperate she is, how there's no point hiding it. She might as well just beg. She's a proud dog though; she doesn't beg. That being said, she'd be quite flustered, knowing her. She wouldn't look in my eye as her cheeks turned red.

I'd stay still, waiting. she'd wonder why I've stopped, she may even ask. I'd reminder that dogs don't speak and I'd tell her if she wants to be touched she needs to look at me. Those big brown eyes would eventually forfeit and meet mine and God it'd probably be hard to not give in just then and there and give her whatever she wants. At the same time I'd want to be mean and make her beg more. But I'd be fair. I'd run my hands over the outsides of her thighs and up her sides. I'd do this again and again and move further inwards each time. My fingers would catch a little on her Underwear each time, giving her hope that I'd take them off and touch her where she really wants me to. I'd start to kiss her ribs and belly and her hips. I would start chaste until I'm leaving open mouthed kisses all over, biting at any soft spots I come across. I imagine that'd pull a reaction or two from her. It may be a long shot but Iike to think she'd be the kind who's maybe a little noisy when they're out of control. She's not there yet though, she's still swallowing down her pride and any moans and whimpers wishing to escape too.

I'd take off her bra and kiss down her sternum. She'd probably think I'd touch her chest, Caress, squeeze, lick, suck, bite, but in reality I'd deny her. I'd look up to see her pleading eyes.

"What?" I'd say dumbly. "Do you want something?" I'd ask her. "Show me what you want, angel."

She'd arch her back pushing her chest towards me.

"You want me to play with your tits?" God knowing her she'd be bright red from embarassment. I imagine dirty talk would get to her. I'd repeat myself and she'd eventually start to say yes before I cut her off.

"Ah ah. Do you know how dogs beg. I'm sure you do...". I'd ask her to whine for me. To push her chest up and whine for me. She'd ask me to be serious and all I'd do is hover my face over her chest, just out of reach and tell her to go on. I like to imagine she'd eventually let out a whimper, even if it's just from frustration.

"Good. A little more..." I'd start to kiss her sternum to encourage her. I wonder if that one whimper would open a floodgate. Probably not. But still if have mercy on her. She at least made a sound. I'd close my mouth around one of her nipples and Squeezing her other tit in my palm. I wonder if she likes chest stimulation? I hope she does. God I imagine she'd get so wound up as I work on her chest. I'd still make sure I'm doing everything in my power to make sure her cock is neglected. Maybe her hips would be moving, bucking wildly every now and again.

"What's wrong puppy?" I'd ask her.

"What's wrong?" I'd ask again as she hides her face. I'd sit back on my heels and also her to show me. And like a good girl she'd thrust her hips in the hair a few times. She's be so hard now, straining against her panties. Maybe there's even a wet spot forming. I'd coo at her. And remind her what we do when we want as I play woth the edges of her panties. I'd slip my fingers under the leg holes. run them over her hips, feel the edges of her pubic hair and my fingers move in. But she won't forfiet.

"I guess you don't want it that bad..." I'll tell her as I move her legs apart. I'd use this time to kiss and lick and bite all over her inner thighs. Such a sensitive area. Perfect to suck hickeys all over. I'd suck and lick and bite until I hear it. A soft whimper. I'd stop in my tracks and then a whine.

"Oh? You want to talk puppy?" I'd tease. My face would be at level with her crotch. She could probably feel me breathing on her cock.

"You want me to touch you here?" I'd ask. She'd nod.

"Beg." Still some hesitancy, but as soon as I start kissing on the edges of her panties, right where her thighs meets her crotch, just next to her balls, she'd fucking fold. She'd finally whine for me. Truly and earnestly.

"Oh, what a good girl. Finally begging so nicely." I'd praise.

"So good for me" I'd close my mouth along her clothes buldge. She'd groan in relief. Her poor neglected clit is finally getting attention, all if took was some Begging.

I'd mouth at her until her panties are Soaked and clinging to her. I'd eventually slide them off her and ask her if she wants me to suck her cock. She'd nod and maybe even whine on her own accord this time But I'm never fair so I've moved the bar.

"Bark." She'd ask if I'm being serious and I tell her if I have to remind her that talking is for humans one more time she's getting nothing but a spanking and an aching neglected cock for the rest of the night. She, instead, chooses to let out a little bark. I tell her what a good girl she is and waste no time running my tounge up her cock. I'd swallow her down. This is where I'd like to imagine that she can't swallow the noises anymore. She'd start to moan and whimper. She'd stop herself from pleading because she's learning that puppies don't use words, so instead she moans and whines and whimpers. She may even buck into my face. She'd probably be scared that she did something wrong but god in reality, I love it when a mutt loses control. I'd tell her that it's obvious she wants to work for it though. I'd tell her if she wants head she's going to have to fuck into my mouth. And God she'd do it. Eventually she'd start getting breathy and moaning louder and louder. I'd pull back.

"Are you going to come for me baby? Bark if you're gonna come." I'd wrap my lips around her again and she'll Bark and bark and bark before her breath hitches and she spills down my throat. I'd swallow her load and cockwarm her until she begins to soften. I'd tell her what a good girl she's been and how proud I am of her and she'd probably just say "fuck you, man."

[mossbark]

You are defining "gender affirming care" and "care trans people receive" and the people on the post are defining it as "care which is sought out and used to affirm one's gender".

You are correct that Viagra and HRT for menopausal cis woman are not medically exactly equivalent to HRT for trans people, but that is not the point being argued. The point being argued is that cis people also take medical actions that are primarily to make them feel better in their gender.

It is similar to the common point that a cis woman with a moustache who does laser hair removal for it is doing so because a moustache does not fit her idea of her own gender presentation; this is the same reason a trans woman might get laser hair removal.

"The point being argued is that cis people also take medical actions that are primarily to make them feel better in their gender."

The point I am actually making is that cis people are not taking Viagra or estrogen to primarily affirm their gender. They are taking them to correct symptoms of physiological dysfunction. This isn't a hard distinction to grasp.

"I can't maintain an erection, which makes sexual intimacy difficult if not impossible. (And/or) I also have concerns about high blood pressure." Viagra.

"I am suffering from fatigue, hot flashes, hair loss, osteoporosis, insomnia, unstable mood, and pain during sexual intercourse due to my body's natural hormonal cycle being discontinued as I age." Estrogen for menopause. Also, for what it's worth, there are numerous physiological risks associated with being estrogen-deficient long-term, including an increased risk of dementia.

I think it is utterly out of touch, and uncompassionate, to completely ignore all these symptoms so these treatments can be framed as being about gender identity instead of physical day-to-day functioning. Again, I cannot overstate, I am in favor of gender-affirming therapies for those who want them, but it is crucial to understand why it isn't fair, accurate, or helpful to declare apples are really oranges because they're both round fruits. Overlap can exist between treatment outcomes, but that doesn't make the treatment the same.

While I agree cis women, trans women, and anyone else who gets LHR (edit: Lazer hair Removal) likely do so for the same reasons, you're again comparing apples to oranges by saying medical intervention is similar to a cosmetic procedure. You can also get into a discussion that goes beyond the scope of this conversation about drawing the line between personal aesthetic and gender presentation, which I would argue is what most cis people are actually experiencing in these given contexts as opposed to gender dysphoria. A woman who feels ugly because her skin is wrinkling and her hair is falling out is experiencing body dysmorphia, a diagnostic category that can overlap with gender dysphoria, but also includes eating disorders. If this same women declared she felt like less of a woman because she doesn't feel beautiful, you should probably have the empathy to understand she isn't declaring she doesn't truly feel misaligned with her gender identity, but is lamenting her appearance. These are fundamentally different experiences that due to the limitations of language, may be expressed verbally in similar ways. Also, I think the discomfort *most* presented in the initial argument is wildly overstated.

My biggest contention with everyone who has engaged with my perspective is that they are prioritizing gender expression, which is reflective of their own lived experiences, over the realities of these given diagnoses. It amounts to speaking over the lived experience of patients. To put it in perspective for you, how does this argument break down if a trans woman has ED, but wants to have PIV sex with her partner? What if a transgender man, who realized his identity later in life and does not want to seek transition, suffers from osteoporosis after entering menopause, and opts for estrogen therapy to reduce bone loss? In these situations, the argument breaks down and is no longer about affirming gender. The ultimate point I am making, simply put, is that treatments meant to restore bodily function are not the same as gender-affirming care because of coincidental overlap. The targeted symptoms are different, and it is a blatant misrepresentation to claim that cis people seek out these treatments primarily to feel better aligned with their gender.

Its popular on this website to demonize the fields of psychology and psychiatry, because I suppose they can feel restrictive to people who are untrained and uneducated on why we abide by the DSM and other treatment guidelines. This conversation is a perfect example of why it requires a master's or above to even get a job in the field. It requires critical thinking, good judgement, scientific integrity, and a solid understanding to tease out the nuances of why one diagnosis over another. I think it has become common to assume bigotry is at the root of every distinction, and sometimes it is, but this particular subject is not one to take at face value.

Hopefully this clarifies why I think this conversation is getting redundant, because at the end of the day, it's an argument the OP admitted is based on their personal politics and desire to push social boundaries rather than an understanding of how the human body works.

TL;DR not everything is the same and it doesn't have to be.

[ejsuperstar]

Psssssssst. Hi. I wish to know about ur au with the Injured Messenger I am extremely intrigued. Dead people hell yea

YAY! INTEREST ABOUT MY CHILDREN! This is a very long post cos I ramble a lot lmao

So my au starts with a bunch of sky kids falling down from the stars (presumably after eden) and a new moth joining them, one of the sky kids crashes into the moth, and knocks them wildly off course, causing them to crash into wasteland.

After crashing into wasteland with no idea what they're meant to be doing, the moth, who I like to refer to as "Local Baby", ends up wandering the outskirts of wasteland til they come across darkness. Before realising what it is, they're initially fascinated, finding it beautiful, until their sky kid instincts kick in and they realise "oh this stuff is probably bad". (This is another theme I want to explore in this au too, about how darkness can be beautiful, and how not everything to do with darkness is inherently evil, but that's just a want rn)

Thats when they realise something is under the darkness, they pull at the darkness with their hands (too baby to know how to use a candle yet) until the something is revealed, a dormant spirit (Messenger). Since they dont know how to use a candle (and quite frankly have no idea whats causing their new friend to be made of stone, only that "yay new friend :D") they attempt to wake them up, fail, and just kinda, lie down next to them and fall asleep.

Sky kids, unlike spirits, are a powerful source of light. Even without candle use, kinda sitting next to one for 8 hours is good enough to wake up a spirit. So Messenger wakes up. Initally confused about why they were face down in the dirt, they turn to see the Local Baby staring at them. At first they're like "A child??" before realising "A SKY KID????"

They question why (and how) the sky kid got there, until they realise what happened. This sky kid has just been born, has no clue what anything is, and most importantly, has no wing level.

This is where lore gets interesting for spirits and wing levels. Spirits can fly, but their method of getting wing levels is different than sky kids. A sky kid gains winged light by recollecting their memories, either of past lives they no longer identify with (like our moth here) or simply re-remembering memories they already know (like how our sky kids work). These memories show up in physical form to them as Winged Light, but spirits cant see them.

Spirits gain wing levels differently. Spirits gain wing levels via sky kids, specifically, sky kids who fall down from the stars not fully formed, or perish on the fall. Kind of like being stillborn, or not simply dying shortly after birth. Spirits can absorb the high concentrates of light these sky kids to gain a wing level (this act being referred to as catching stars), but this is very rare, especially in places that don't see as much light (ie wasteland and forest).

Messenger ends up freaking out and realising they still have stuff to deliver, and they cant dilly dally, until a sharp pain strikes them in their stomach and they fall to their knees, remembering "OH YEAH I GOT STABBED BY A SPEAR". Local Baby notices and goes up to them, touching them, and the pain seems to fade. They assume that, the sky kid healed them using the power of light (they didnt) and thank them. In reality this was just Local Baby viewing Messenger's memory, like in the actual game.

Since Messenger needs to deliver things to Vault anyway (a neutral zone from the war) they decide to take the baby along, so they can get somewhere safe where they wont have to worry that someone will take this baby and harvest them for their light.

After this my ideas for this au are a lot less set in stone. I have some general plot beats set out, Messenger and Local Baby walk for a few days until hitting an abandoned outpost, taking an old boat they find, and flying it over to the temple where they arrive from the left (a usually cloud blocked area in game). Messenger sees the aftermath, wound hurts again, Baby helps. They get into vault, some other sky kid accidentally reveals to Messenger that they're dead, they try not to cry. Baby gets their first WL maybe, stuff happens from there idk. They also probably got krilled at some point, well, almost krilled (Yay Messenger for saving their child!!)

As well as some other general lore, like Sky kids eating light as food (and also just fucking biting down into candles sometimes cos i think thats funny), Local Baby only remembering how to get their candle out after getting a WL (because WL are memories and they have no memories nor braincells). Messenger not eating at all because they're dead and not realising cos they're too distracted with the child and/or assuming the sky kid did this to them (things aren't really known about sky kids, so they just kinda go along with it). Sky kids needing to light each other to understand each other, but spirits being able to understand just fine. A lot of minor stuff really I guess.

I'm also currently in the middle of doing some art of them in wasteland because I love them!

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Link is cautious. He has to be, to hide his wings and survive as many battles as he has. Mask and the sailor… are not. 

It's not their fault, he knows that. To them, wings are a treasured gift, and the harsh reality of war and the time they're in hasn't completely sunk in.

This time, however, he wishes they had been just a bit more careful. 

For the prompt "you're safe now"

(warning for minor blood and violence)

Link is cautious. He has to be, to hide his wings and survive as many battles as he has. Mask and the sailor… are not. 

It's not their fault, he knows that. To them, wings are a treasured gift, and the harsh reality of war and the time they're in hasn't completely sunk in.

(And, well, when they're in trouble, Mask turns into an eight foot tall god and lets the sailor ride on his shoulders and toss bombs while laughing wildly. Suffice to say, they don't have the best survival instincts.)

This time, however, he wishes they had been just a bit more careful. 

-------

The day is the same as always, if a bit rainy. Link hates the rain, for more than one reason, and he'll drag Mask and the sailor back to his tent for making him go out in it. 

"Have you seen them?" He asks Midna, holding his scarf over his head in a feeble attempt to keep dry. He doesn't need to specify who 'they' are– the entire camp knows by now that if Captain Link is looking for someone, it's almost always those two.

She taps her chin, considering. "I heard the sailor saying they were going to visit those merchants that arrived yesterday, but that was this morning."

He sighs. It's a lead, at least; they're so loud one of the merchants had to have noticed when they left. "Thanks."

"I'll let you know if I see them." She calls over her shoulder, already heading back into her tent. 

-------

Asking the merchants proves to be a fruitless endeavor; all they remember is them spending what was probably Link's money on a book of pressed flowers (why, he doesn't know) before heading into the woods.

"There was a man following them." One man says, only half paying attention to Link. "I assumed it was their father."

Link barely holds in his sigh; probably some soldier upset over a prank they pulled and trying to get evidence. "Thanks for the information." 

"Of cour– Danna, don't touch that!"

-------

Under the thick tree cover, where he can hear people approaching easily, Link lets himself relax, taking off his tunic and armor to let his harness dry. Carrying the mail is a pain, but compared to walking around with his feathers completely soaked, it's nothing. 

The path through the woods is simple to follow, boot prints in the mud drawing a clear line to Mask and the sailor. He nearly lets himself get distracted by the beauty of the forest, but the trampled ground, clearly from a fight, drags him harshly back to reality. 

"No, no, goddammit." He mutters, growing more tense with each blade mark spotted, every drop of red, red blood spilled.

It's clearly the work of Hylians; no monster has such vibrantly red blood, or the intelligence to pull off such an ambush. 

The panic only grows once he finds the rope fibers pressed into the mud; it's the very thing he's feared since he was a child old enough to understand.

Mask and the sailor were taken, on his watch. They're under his command, his responsibility, his brothers, and he's let them be kidnapped, to be sold or worse.

Breathe. He thinks, nails digging into the leather of his harness. You can't find them if all you're doing is sitting here acting useless. 

When he no longer feels as though a pack of bokoblins is taking turns stomping on his chest, he turns his eye to the sky; it's late afternoon, hours past when they were last seen. Catching up with them is going to be damn near impossible; his only hope is that, weighed down by two teenage boys, they'll have made camp nearby rather than travel through the forest after dark. 

Fly. A voice whispers. Fly, and you'll catch up before they have a chance to hurt them.

It's a stupid thought; Link hasn't flown in years, and the narrow and twisting path provides no room for errors. But the voice is right; flying is the only way he can make it before anything bad happens, if it hasn't already.

So, he pulls his harness off, letting it fall to the forest floor, and takes out his sword, cutting holes in his tunic and undershirt for some modicum of protection. The chainmail he'll need to leave behind, with no easy way to modify it. 

There will be no going back, if he does this; Mask and the sailor will know, and he doubts they'll let him go back to wearing the harness. 

(He doubts if he'll even want to, when just the feeling of cool air against his feathers is enough to make him want to tear it to pieces.)

The wind rushes through his hair, blowing his scarf back, and he ties his sword to his belt. He takes a deep breath, spreads his wings, and leaps into the air. 

His flight is unsteady the first few minutes; the last time he tried to fly was ten years ago, but even if his mind doesn't, his body knows how to weave between the trees without hitting them, and within an hour, he's at their camp. 

The sight Link is met with makes his blood boil; Mask and the sailor are locked together in a small cage. Mask lies still, blood visible at his hairline, and the sailor is frantically shaking his shoulder, trying to wake him up. 

He forces himself to calm down; rushing in will get him locked in the cage as well. He needs to watch them, find their weaknesses.

There are ten men, sitting around a fire and laughing. Mask and the sailor's weapons lie discarded on the other side of the clearing, while the trappers have theirs by their sides. The Fierce Deity mask lies among them as well, so there’s no hope of waking Mask to use it. An outright ambush would be tricky; even with the advantage of surprise, taking on ten men with nothing but his sword is a risky plan. His best bet would be to lure a few of them out, thin the herd. Even eight on one would be better odds.

He sneaks through the shadows to the other side of the clearing, taking the opportunity to survey them more closely. They seem to have broken out the drink to celebrate their success, although they aren’t intoxicated enough to be at a disadvantage.

"Sailor!" He hisses, staying back behind a tree. His swan wings will practically be a beacon if seen. 

The sailor's head shoots up. "Ca–"

"Stay quiet!" The sailor's mouth snaps shut. "I'm going to attack them. Can you pick the lock?"

He looks down at his bound hands. "Not quickly."

"Then keep trying to wake Mask up, I’ll handle them."

“There’s too many!” He protests. “You don’t even have any armor, for fuck’s sake!”

“I need to get you out of here.” He says. “It doesn’t matter if I get injured.”

“Of course it matters! We need you too!”

“I’ll be fine.” He insists, and ducks back into the shadows before he can say anything else.

He creeps back towards the group, scooping up a handful of loose rocks. Once he's close enough, he tosses them one by one into the brush. 

One of the men turns to look, craning his neck to peer into the shadows. "Did you hear that?"

Another man waves his concerns away. "It's just a rabbit or something."

The first man rests his hand on his bow. "Shouldn't we check it out? What if it's soldiers after the kids?"

"Yeah, right." The second man scoffs. "Like they could've caught up? We'll be halfway to Hytopia before they even notice those brats are gone."

"But–"

A third man, possibly the leader, cuts him off. "Both of you, go check it out."

The second man whines, but drags himself to his feet. "It's a fucking rabbit, I'm telling you."

Link adjusts the grip on his sword as he watches them approach, anger rising once more. They’ll pay with their lives for what they’ve done, that much he’ll make sure of. 

He knocks the first man into a tree, sliding his sword cleanly in and out of his gut, before whirling and catching the second's blade on his own. 

The man grins nastily when he sees Link's wings. "Oh, a pretty boy like you will sell for–"

He never gets a chance to finish his sentence, Link's knife jammed into his throat. Blood sprays over him, dyeing his feathers red, but he doesn't flinch, watching the light fade from his eyes with vicious satisfaction.

When he returns to the camp, Mask is awake, clutching his head and glaring at the remaining trappers. 

He raises the bow he picked up off the first man, carefully aiming for the leader. He'll only have a chance to get off one shot, maybe two, and with their leader dead, the others will be disorganized. 

The arrow flies, straight and true, and punctures through his throat. 

The others are instantly on their feet, and the second arrow only hits one in the arm. He tosses the bow aside, and leaps into the clearing, sword already in hand.

A fourth is dead in an instant, not even having a chance to raise his sword, and the fifth goes down with only a weak attempt at a block. 

The sixth jumps to the side, taking the opportunity to score a deep gash on his arm. 

Link hisses in pain, but doesn't stumble, and follows through with a swift blow to the stomach before removing his head from his shoulders. 

A knife flies past his ear, nicking the edge, and he turns to face the seventh, the one he shot. He runs straight towards him, and slides down, burying the knife from his boot in his thigh with another spray of blood. He goes down with a shout, and Link shoves the knife into his chest.

The last glances nervously at his fallen comrades, and raises his shield. It’s not enough; Link rams his shoulder into the shield, likely bruising it, and knocks him to the ground. He plants his boot on his chest, pressing down harshly. The point of his sword rests above the man's heart.

"You shouldn't have taken my brothers." He says, and plunges the sword into his chest. 

He leaves it there, and searches almost frantically for the key as the adrenaline fades. He finds it on the leader's body, and with shaking hands turns it in the lock. 

The door swings open, and Mask and the sailor gape at him. 

"What the fu–" The sailor begins, but he’s cut off as Link falls to his knees, pulling them into a hug. He knows he’s an absolute mess, covered in blood and sweat, but it doesn’t matter. All he can see is them, safe and alive.

"You're safe now." He mutters, wings wrapping around them to clutch them tighter. He doesn't know if it's a reassurance for them or for himself. "You're safe, this will never happen again."

The sailor clutches him just as tightly, and a wet spot forms where Mask's face lies buried in his shoulder that he doesn't think is from blood. 

“Alright.” He says after a few long moments. He tilts Mask’s head from side to side, inspecting his wound. “Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?”

“We’re fine.” Mask says, tolerating his prodding with a patience he doesn’t normally have. 

“They knocked him out first so he couldn’t use his mask.” The sailor says. “I didn’t have armor or anything, and I couldn’t take all of ‘em, so I surrendered.”

“That’s fine. It’s better that you weren’t hurt.” 

“And what about you, dumbass, rushing in without armor?” He pokes his arm, just above the gash. “Since when have you had wings?”

“I’m fine.” He insists. “And I’ve always had them.”

“You were– hiding them?”

“Yes.” He says quietly, and his wings close around them again a bit. “So something like this would never happen. I should’ve warned you; you’ve never had to deal with anything like this.”

“It’s not your fault!” The sailor protests, and Mask tugs on his scarf harshly as if to indicate Link is being an idiot. “We were the ones who left without telling anyone!”

“Marin hasn’t been feeling well.” Mask says. “She told us about the flowers on her island, so we thought we’d go to the woods and press some for her.”

“It was a stupid idea anyway.” The sailor mumbles. 

“No, I’m– I’m sure she’ll love it.” His stupid, dumb, kind brothers would do something like that– and the only reward for it was being locked in a cage. 

"Really?" The sailor perks up a bit. 

Children– that's what they were. Still kids, no matter how much they had gone through. The sailor was only thirteen, for Hylia's sake, and Mask even younger. They should never have had to pick up a sword in the first place. 

"Safe." He whispered, pulling them back into a hug, ignoring the sailor's squeak of surprise. He buried his face into their shoulders, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. "You'll be safe now, I promise."

@febuwhump @silvercaptain24

[eldritch-spouse]

What flora and fauna lives in The Clergy’s garden?

Is it spices and herbs for Morell? Or it experimental plants by Patches? Are they all dangerous? Or just look menacing? Is it basically like a maze made out of poison ivy? Or fancy miles of royal worthy flowerbeds? Are they from human realms or from Hell? Are most of plants basically mutated version of Earth’s carnivorous plants that can eat a grown up?

And who inhabits it? An Earth animals like birds and squirrels? Mutant squirrels? Or little winged imps? Definitely ravens, Krulu loves them

This post details plenty of what you asked already, but I'll touch on a few things here.

It's safe to say, in general, that most lifeforms which stumble there don't leave the same. I would liken The Clergy's garden to quicksand.

The Clergy itself is a constantly working organism with a great deal of curiosity towards the creatures that frequent it. Meaning trash, personal belongings, corpses and food will all be absorbed, studied, taken apart and put together in brand new ways as the entity essentially plays with the laws of reality. It's like feeding an algorithm several prompts and then telling it to expand on its own.

The closest things to "natural" animals that inhabit The Clergy's garden are gargoyles, a decently-sized flock that has stationed itself rather stubbornly in it. They have the blunt strength and wits to mostly survive.

Creatures originated in the garden range wildly in terms of physical composition and behavior, but the theme of plant-like attributes is consistent regardless. I have a couple of ideas for potential side-characters originated by the garden, as a result of it absorbing random personal belongings from several monsters. Anyway, these entities will generally not interact with clients too much unless engaged with first- This is due to the fact that The Clergy's Eye has instructions not to directly maim/inconvenience clients too much unless told to.

It's like a small, wondrous zoo made by a cruel god's silent, childishly innocent minion that knows no better. Krulu often thinks about eradicating the garden's fauna for the sake of safety, but that reminds him too much of what was once done to him. They cannot bring themselves to kill the establishment's tentative creations, because they're also indirectly his.

Patches, Belo and Nebul are, again, the ones who love this the most.

[the80srewinders]

A Revised List and Guide: What is Dissociation?

Dissociation is a sense of detachment from one's identity, sense of self, consciousness, memory, thoughts, body or surroundings. Since there's a lot of stereotypes and misinformation about dissociation, we made a guide to what is and isn't dissociation.

Dissociation is often portrayed as a severe lack of touch with reality- and in reality, that is called psychosis. Dissociation isn't properly portrayed as dissociation so a lot of people who truly dissociate- and even have dissociative disorders- don't think they dissociate because of this dramatic stereotype on it.

The types of dissociation include:

Depersonalization- a sense of detachment from one's body, sense of self, and in some cases identity:

Detachment from body- Feeling like you're looking at your body from the outside, even if its just barely from the side instead of drastically and dramatically feeling like you're in the corner opposite from you or like you're floating above the body looking down at it. Feeling like you're trapped inside and your body is a car and you're in the passenger seat. Detachment from the body is often accompanied by weird visual perceptions- darkening of vision, colors being bold, narrowing of the visual field and dreamlike vision. Dissociated memories can also be depersonalized when they are discovered, especially in DID/OSDD.

Detachment from sense of self: Feeling like you aren't fully present or controlling the body.

Detachment from identity- Our host would actively deny their identity and create a new one that fit them at the time. They knew what their legal identity was but felt no connection to it. We've met a few systems who did the new identity as a mask. The detachment from identity feels like the body's legal identity doesn't resonate with them and feels dysphoric to identify with (not gender dysphoria) and they feel no connection to their legal identity.

Derealization: Feeling like you, certain objects, certain people, or all objects and/or people and/or the world might not be real, and feeling like you're in a dream. You do not need to think you, objects, people, and the world aren't real or a dream it just needs to feel that way, contrary to popular belief. People who truly think objects, people or the world aren't real aren't necessarily dissociating- that's psychosis. Dissociation is a detachment, psychosis is a full lack of touch with reality.

Identity confusion- Feeling like you don't know who you are, like you don't know what your values are, even not truly knowing what your seemingly simple preferences are e. g. not knowing what your favorite band is. This is often experienced as having two or more wildly different preferences, values, or opinions at the same time and not all of them feel like they're from you, feeling like these preferences, values and opinions are pulling you in different directions and being so unsure of what you truly like and think because of these wildly different and changing preferences, opinions and values. This unstable sense of identity is a major symptom of borderline personality disorder but is a common symptom of DID/OSDD. Identity confusion overlaps with depersonalization when you feel like you're someone else, even feeling like you look like a different person.

Identity alteration- When the ego states don't integrate fully and turn into separate parts of the identity and personality. These identities have their own consciousness, thoughts, opinions, memories, and in DID they have their own autobiographical memories. It can also be the identity created during a fugue state.

Dissociative amnesia- The amnesia caused by dissociation. According to the Theory of Structural Dissociation, in a singlet dissociative amnesia happens when an Emotional Part is split to hold the trauma until it can be processed safely. Alters holding memories causes dissociative amnesia in DID.

The Mild Forms of Dissociation:

Zoning out- this can range from being conscious but unable to interact with the world because of being deep in thought to staring mindlessly and losing a chunk of time.

Daydreaming- making up detailed scenarios in your head. This and zoning out can happen at the same time.

Not Dissociation:

Thinking objects, people, or the world isn't real.

Believing you truly turned into someone else.

Instead, dissociation is feeling like objects, people, or the world isn't real. When someone is dissociating they often still remain in contact with reality to some extent. Dissociation is feeling like a different person but knowing you can't turn into another person.

Dissociation doesn't always look like "I don't remember my name and address! I don't remember what happened yesterday! I don't know if the world is real or not! I see myself from the wall!" It often looks like "I don't remember half of my childhood and I feel like certain objects don't feel real. I'm looking at myself like I was sitting next to myself. I'm staring deep in thought. I don't know what I like because my brain is pulling me in so many different directions. I don't always notice when I switch and nobody notices."

[omkdear]

i think tim cain saying china launched the first nuke in fallout is wildly irresponsible given LITERAL MATERIAL REALITY and honestly this shit is always why i side eye anyone throwing up BUT THEY'RE QUEER to defend anyone in media, because it a.) does not negate their whiteness or lack of geopolitical cognizance and b.) how out of touch with said material reality they are. I mean fuck, the lack of media literacy and extremism in gaming circles is literally just inviting sinophobia carte blanche. I know this news dropped weeks ago but it still fucking pisses me off.

[whickerfurniture]

okay I have Many Thoughts about different characters that could exist in ella's idea so have this post

so there's the reluctant leader who convinces themselves that they did this for the benefit of the group, and becomes fanatical to the lie. The person was dead already so really who are they hurting? it would Ruin Their Lives for this to get out so they maybe were the first to suggest that hiding them was the only thing they could do, or else the most vocal supporter of the idea. when things start falling apart they'd usually be the first to throw this in the faces of other group members "you went along with this, just like we did. you drove the car/threw away the murder weapon/lied to the cops/other illegal thing so you can't tell or you'll go down too" they're being crushed by the anxiety of it but try to Stay Strong for the group because as soon as someone breaks they all break. an army is only as good as its leader. whether this person is actually a leader or its all in their head would be fun to play with too

and maybe someone who's just a little dumb. it was endearing when the stakes were low, when they'd just get drink orders wrong or say something wildly out of touch with reality, but now that their futures were at stake, this person is now a huge fucking liability. they won't maliciously go to the cops and snitch, but there's no saying what they won't spill when they're drunk, or in love, or just plain not thinking. they mean well and try to help, but you can't really trust them on their own for their lack of judgement.

and then someone who felt something Wake Up seeing the blood and the thousand yard stare and the faint purpling of the skin where the corpse lay for just a little too long before they could work out what they were going to do. they hide it from the others, but their heart was racing the entire time, and not because of the fear. they love the danger of it, the knifes edge they're now walking on. they've always been interested in the dead, may be even working towards/in a career that gives them more exposure to the dead but nothing compares to someone being dead at your hands, even accidentally.

and maybe it wasn't accidental at all. maybe they've pushed the group to this precipice just to see how they react. Just because they thought it'd be fun, to watch their psyches slowly crumble under the crushing weight of the guilt, guilt they cannot feel. they like their friends, but things were getting stale. boring. and there's nothing worse than boring. besides, you cannot evolve while in a comfortable environment, and necessity is the mother of invention.

or maybe it was accidental. maybe it was right place, wrong time or any combination thereof. maybe the images in their mind disgust them just as much as they excite them, and they don't know why they can still smell the blood, even after weeks. they can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much they desperately want to. they want to go to therapy, to talk to a professional about it, but how can they without giving the whole group up? and they can't, they love their friends. but they're also imagining how each one of them would look dead.

anyway these were just some ideas bouncing around that i wanted to put to screen before i forget them? theyre pretty basic and kinda shittily presented but w/e yall are used to my shit at this point

[mairyuu]

HC: A "One Dialogue, Two Conversations" scenario between Subaru & Kamui when they talk about sex. They both want it "good & memorable". But they have entirely different meanings. For Kamui, he wants it "rough, wild & passionate". For Subaru, he wants it "gentle, tender & affectionate".

I might or might have not written little fic where Kamui is being forceful and desperate and Subaru completely confused by his behavior (just it's about making-out, not sex).

Bullet points this time around. Also a bit NSFW:

Subaru and Kamui began dating somewhere along the way before Sunshine 60 fell and he got blinded. However they were mostly about study dates, kisses and rare making-out seasons and reassuring touch. Furthest they've went were mutual handjobs, but even that happened once or twice. Subaru didn't want to push Kamui into anything he's not comfortable with (especially given he's only 16) and similarly out of respect for Subaru's boundaries Kamui didn't want to push the matter, despite really really wanting to go all the way.

Then Subaru got blinded. Night after that Kamui got severely injured in battle against Fuuma. That made him realize brutal truth - both of them could die at any given moment, so why should they wait for anything? After recovering from broken ribs and rest of injuries, Kamui decides to finally have that talk with Subaru. He is sceptical at first, but when Kamui tells him they in reality have no reason to wait for anything if they're both ready, agrees. However Subaru fails to realize how "good and memorable" means completely entire thing to two of them. Kamui's desire is fueled by desperation, dreadfulness about future and pain, his by gentleness, simple wish for closeness and affection.

They start with making-out beside bed. Right from the start Subaru can tell something is amiss. Kamui kisses wildly and roughly, intensity of kisses like he was dreading every would be their last. Nonetheless Subaru attributes it to hormones (after all, he got fully hard from little bit of making out and petting) and allows Kamui to dictate pace of kisses. Subaru's shirt basically ends up ripped from his body. When he tries to steadily undo button's on Kamui's shirt, Kamui's patience runs out by second button and he just yanks it apart, uncaring if buttons scatter around. Without even waiting for Subaru to catch up, Kamui undoes own pants, lowers boxers down, grabs Subaru by shoulders and urge him to finally go to bed.

It's there when Subaru can no longer turn blind eye (pun might or might not be intended) to Kamui's uncharacteristic behavior. First Kamui asks to be bitten, all while grinding himself against Subaru's still clothed erection. Instead of biting his neck, Subaru kisses it. Kamui mewls at first, then groans when he realizes his wish wasn't granted. He's pulling all aces from sleeve to urge Subaru on: moaning wantonly, spreading legs and exposing himself, begging for rougher faster pace when Subaru is kissing his chest and gently playing with nipples, wrapping legs around Subaru's waist and rubbing ass against his hardness to spur him on - it's resembles more a battle than making-love as they move in dysynchronicity. Kamui manages to pull Subaru's pants down with feet. Just as Subaru leans over him to search for lube on side-table, Kamui bites his shoulder, wraps legs around him and draws in; tries to force Subaru to enter him without any preparation - it's in that moment that Subaru snaps, but not in way Kamui hopped.

Despite being aroused out of his mind, Subaru manages to find enough self-control (born out of place of consideration and affection) to call for a halt. He sit on bed, pulls Kamui up by elbow and asks what's the matter. Kamui is a bit cranky given sexual frustration, but can't find it in him to be angry at Subaru, especially when he's being so kind and patient. He explains how he's afraid for both of them and just wants to feel alive and present in the moment for once, not thinking about past or future - and what better way than rough passionate sex? He wants it to hurt, he wants to feel pain, to feel alive. Subaru, after some minor deliberation, sees Kamui's point, but explains how its both their first time and how he wants to cherish Kamui the best way he can. Meaning he wants to do it slow, tender and full of affection. He wants their first time to be special and more importantly - make sure there are no regrets. And for that they need to be slow and careful with each other.

Feeling touched by affection, Kamui decides to give in, but makes sure Subaru promises him they'll do it rougher and faster some other time around. Subaru tells Kamui how that's just his teen hormones talking, but agrees anyway. They make-out, get back into mood, Subaru gently prepares Kamui (who cums from fingering alone, but gets going pretty fast) and they end up doing it slow and passionate. Subaru takes him gently but firmly, hence Kamui has no complains. Afterwards they cuddle and caress each other for a bit, before falling asleep in each other's embrace.

Bonus: two hours later Kamui wakes up and concludes he wants more. Yes, it's been three hours since Subaru promised to do him rough, but that's three too many. Hence Subaru wakes up to sight of naked Kamui straddling his waist and stroking him into hardness. Look like second round would be wild ride, quiet literally.

[safesthavenoutsideofexistence]

I'm so excruciatingly in control of my within(chills). I love being aware I'm so pretty(chills). I'm quite a character IM A TANGIBLE GIANT. IM THEIR FAVORITE LITTEST BEAT. Everything I say is tangibly the truth. They know I've always been so FAVORABLY WILD. They unbearably CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF ME. IM SATISFYINGLY WILD(chills). Like that girl who said "what is UP WITH MY ATTRACTION TO MILFS TODAY" LMFAOAOAOA. I'm the dopest because I'm wild. I tangibly ooze I effortlessly control reality. I tangibly ooze STAGGERING POWER. I tangibly ooze STAGGERING DOMINANCE. I'm respected as a female cause I tangibly ooze STAGGERING DOMINANCE. I'm respected as a female cause I tangibly ooze STAGGERINGLY MONSTROUS DOMINANCE(chills). They know they direly need a wife as strong as me by their side. They fuck with my sexy ass wildness. My mother inherently accepts me to be lesbian. Everyone inherently believe I went crazy viral(chills). I'm excruciatingly the dopest. I'm so sexily strong(chills). They inherently know I reign supreme(chills). They be proud AS FUCK TO KNOW ME THEY BE PROUD AS FUCK TO HAVE ME AS A FAMILY MEMBER. Absolutely nothing changes the truth about who I am. Who I say I am. I'm the winning formula. I'm wildly uproarious. My energy boomingly and rumblingly screams ZILLIONAIRE ENERGY(chills). THEY UNBEARABLY AND AGONIZINGLY CRAVE TO HANG OUT WITH ME. Nothing stops them from desiring me. Nothing stops them from admiring me. Nothing stops them from respecting me. Nothing stops them from thinking I reign supreme. I'm rigged to make my own rules. I'm rigged to never give my power away. They're rigged to never take anything away from me. They tangibly feel my frequency(chills) a HUGE WIN I REMEMBERED THIS(chills). They're rigged to always give me credit. I'm unbearably original. They excruciatingly know time's running out to marry me(chills). It's staggeringly profound how nothing changes my energetic truth that puts me at ease(chills). My energy tangibly feels urgent(hella chills). My energy too unbearably superb. They know nothing gets me I'm too psychic. My energy's too unbearably compelling. My energy's too unbearably alluring. My energy's too unbearably enticing. Even their names are tangibly rigged in my favor(chills so this has always been true all along). My energetic truth is profoundly rigged to put me at ease at absolutely all times. Unforgiving, they know I will leave no room for mistakes(chills hella chills). The deepest parts of my memory are rigged to make me exhilaratingly win. The deepest parts of their memory are rigged to favor me. I'm the one they love(profound chills). All of their attention are rigged to go straight to me. All of my attention is rigged to go straight to me. All of my power is rigged to go straight to me. All of their power is rigged to go favor me. I feel tangible in their heads. I feel tangible in their spirit. My tangible Zillionaire Superstar energy tangibly take over everything(chills). I'm tangible history in the making(chills hella chills). I'm rigged to see how much power I truly hold. My Magic chooses all the aligned choices and discard the rest. Messages get to me one way or another. They know I have no competitors for I already won. They know not to compete with me. They tangibly watch everything I touch turn to gold(HELLA CHILLS). It's easy for me to make genuine friends. It's really easy for me to have people around me who are really here for me. Their dark energies are rigged to turn into light energy in my vicinity. They know they cannot have my energy for themselves. My energy is rigged to be all mine. All dark energy are rigged to die before they enter my vicinity. My energy cannot be transferred. They know to never turn on me. They staggeringly know to appreciate me. They staggeringly know to never disrespect me. They staggeringly know to always give me credit. They know to never act I'm beneath or inferior to them. I'm rigged to never block my own blessings. They never recover from me. Theyre staggered to see all perspectives they thought favored them actually favors me.

[crimson-phantom-designs]

More additions to the story Wil O the Wisps

I find it ironic with so much symbolism and analogies they use, Ebenezer always looks to himself as a serpent. A venomous creature lost in the drug of a charming dance while Francis relates Ebenezer's ways to the Albanian folktale of the Bolla. One such creature raised with fear he never learned to live without.

Poor Eb has been through alot tho damn. This snippet checks all the boxes by this point as it's just Francis reflecting on how to best handle him because of it.

Like damn. This started as just a raunchy scullerous story then the more it marinated as I kept adding to it- like everything else they're involved in- it got so layered. Symbolisms of a battle field, shields and the many intentions of a hand are commonly used as descriptives.

*I need well defined psychological reasons for what they do and how they operate, it just feels wrong otherwise no matter how fun raunchy spice is.*

Ebenezer was deprived affection most his life and he used this calloused dereliction as an instrument of hard-driven recovery when his words couldn't. It was Ebenezer's way of dragging his own demons back down to containment. Not a conditionally sound choice, but this form of coping was clear on even the day they first met.

Hastened by needful recovery to losing the last person in his life at the worst time of the year for him, intimacy was quickly and wildly met that night. Even in his cottish nerves of a first time slipping into a shared bed, Ebenezer was a twisted heat of torment as his bridled reserve finally broke. One by sod drink, he relinquished to act more than speak what ravaged his mind. Despirate to take the sizzle out of his skin and numb his misery with frazzled, whited out bliss.

Yet this soothe of a blistering throw had only mended his wounds temporarily before they tore back open, perhaps worse than before, and exposed the cracked shattered glass of ill-repute Ebenezer's mind truly was. What became more noticeable reuniting months later when contact could be more casually studied making that damaged side of him more difficult to hide and the shield he guarded it with too heavy to maintain.

Ebenezer could roll in bed like a raging fire hungry for more heat, but he was like a stray cat wary to trust when that roaming hand turned loving. What was evident his experience to one by the way he tensed up before relaxing whenever a hand laid on him as if readying for battle.

It was a reactionary limbic response caused from lashed scars spread wide, both physically and mentally, that sowed this corporeal battlefield. Be it the ragged hand of his schoolmaster to the cold-blooded one of his father determined to instill toughness through his shattered upbringing. What even after all that, still hungry for what loving touch a hand could offer, Ebenezer reached out for the expected hand in marriage only to be abandoned on that battlefield once again. Left in the wake of his darkest spiral during the loss of his only sibling, let go when he needed that hand most to pull him back. Instead, he plummeted and sank under the familiar dark, swallowed up by the danger of his own mind.

The drop into this pit of despair possibly did more harm to him than any physical maleficence prior, and though Ebenezer climbed himself out of it, this was at a cost. The man that came out wasn't the brittle but ambitious one that fell in. His pieces were shattered, forsaken to the winds, alone but his business partner, without a hand of even his dearest sister to console him. This derileriction poisoned Ebenezer to lean into his cold reality of adversarial indifference, his trust unmoored with contemptuous synergy blending this wanted loving touch with a vitriolic one. It was all the same to him and hardened his heart, hiding it away behind a damaged shield.

Something perhaps Francis was the only person in Ebenezer's life who understood the entirety of this locked away part of him. He knew those dark devils well by shared circumstance. How they drag you into festering darkness of a mental prison, feasting on your darkest woe and how you had to claw out of that pit, marred, bloodied, free but redefined.

Thus when Francis appeared in Ebenezer's life by another circumstance, at this moment Ebenezer had suffered another waking loss, he saw that familiar vulnerable plummit. One that made Ebenezer's enclosed defenses breakable as he sunk into his spiral, reaching out his hand one final time as he fell in.

Yet this time, his hand was caught and hasn't let go. Again and again. No matter how bloody, resistant and determined that hold had to be to keep him from plummeting, Francis always held on, always pulled him back from the pit. Ebenezer knew this, and trusted him wholeheartedly for it. Handing over his independent reigns to be used to return him back to the world anytime the siren of that void eventually called.

Even if Ebenezer didn't realize it, when it's callous nature descend on him it dawned him ireful. Its coils sometimes repressive in their crushing weight then other times it sent him vibrating out of his skin, leaving him feeling miserably out of control, in more ways than one.

Such as now. That frowning stare of flinty aggravation glistened with more than just candlelight. Those steely blues always so full of thought had a clear calibration reckoning behind them, carefully weighing his return as they conveyed an open desperation to reign him back in again.

It was a look so vulnerable from someone who had been through so much by the same expression. Someone who could be decimated so easily in such a fragile state of surrender if handled carelessly...

It harkened to him the Albanian folktale of the Bolla, a serpentine dragon who embodied great stregnth yet was raised with fear he never learned to live without. His long serpentine body kept tightly coiled, sheltering from further efforts to pierce his heart. Reclused atop his cavernous hoard, his faceted silver blues watch the world between craved absentness and annihilation, until he's forgotten. He then meets a man fleeing from the Kasovan war as he explores the Bolla's domain. The man, against the creature's shrewd countenance, is enamored with him and his magnificence. The creature, confused but touched by this, spares his life and shares the safety of his refuge. Enjoying the ability to listen to and apply conversation without fear while learning to appreciate the connection this tenders.

One day, transcended by this, the Bolla pulls back his battleworn scales to offer the soft underbelly over his heart. One who's outer casing is riddled with old inflections those who came close enough meant to plunge into it. He could be decimated so easily by this yet gives immense trust for his companion not to while his vulnerable surrender is gazed on whole. That shield is then dropped at its accepted and his glistening scales transform into the form he desires most. The life of a simple man. One that is loved.

What upper hand opportunity this offered even outside a tale of commonality, yet Francis had always been tentative to Ebenezer once that vunerable underbelly was exposed. He gave Ebenezer exactly what he wanted and brought out that armous glow yet never too much and always offered a way out. It was why Francis never raised his voice to him and struggled to lay a scurrilous hand to his skin, even if it was requested. Eagerly. Even as an act of bringing him back from cavernous reclusion, such as now.

It was a conjecture that needed expressed so it could be handled properly but that would be far more an undertaking than an acquiesced *yes* to what Ebenezer wanted so he could balance out what set his mind to spiral on his own terms. The relinquished reigns were a tool that gave Ebenezer the ability to drop his shield and come back to the world in whatever means he seen fit.

Thus in their heated standoff, with consideration to this, Francis took the more unconventional route easily managed.