#does this make any sense? no and I'm cool with that

[bonefall]

do you have any tips for writing a low empathy character who isn't evil? Or how to make an interesting apathetic character who's a thoughtless sort of evil? These are two different chatacters btw-

I tried looking up examples and stuff but uh. It's been a bit fruitless.

Honestly it's not too hard! Having low empathy just means we're bad at automatically "connecting" to the feelings of other people. You can come to understand it's not even a character flaw once you uncouple the idea that Empathy = Kindness. And apathy, well, that one's a bit more complicated imo.

Low Empathy

In English, it's just unfortunately super common to conflate Empathy and Compassion. To have compassion is to be aware of the suffering of another person, and ergo, want to help stop it. To be empathetic is to identify with and understand the feelings of another person. These are different things.

For an example in action; imagine a medic with a patient whose shoulder is dislocated, and xey'll need to pop that arm back in place in order for the patient to feel better.

A medic feeling EMPATHY for that patient is having an emotional response to what xey're seeing. Xey might have a tingly "ghost pain" thinking about the injury, and xey might feel guilty xey're going to put them in more agony, but also joy because this patient is going to feel much better in just a moment.

A medic feeling COMPASSION for that patient is thinking about how the shoulder must be causing a lot of pain, and knows xey have the skill to fix it. Xey know from xeir own experience that pain sucks and so it is a bad thing that needs to go away. It will hurt a little more for a moment, but then there will be immediate relief.

This is imo, why a lot of low empathy people are "bad at" comforting people without going to Autism College where they give you the scripts of Shit Neurotypicals Say. We're not trying to be selfish when we end up making "comfort sessions" about ourselves-- that's what we think empathy is, because we don't have a lot of it to really know what you want.

Like, doesn't it make sense to you? "I don't know what you're feeling. Here's a similar situation I've been though. I must know what you're feeling-- does that make you feel better? That you aren't alone? I think that's what empathy is, am I right?"

A LOT of low empathy people go into medical fields, the funeral industry, and disaster relief. We often really do want to help people so seek these fields out, or when we get there, just end up not getting burnt out like our high-empathy peers!

Apathy

As for the apathetic character, honestly, I'd suggest thinking about your story's themes. Villains are very special to me and I always try to handle them with care. What are you trying to say is bad to not care about in your work? How does their apathy play into the story you're trying to tell?

A Captain Planet villain is completely selfish, and exists only to benefit itself by exploiting nature in some way. Then the Planeteers show up and punch it in the face. Boiled down to its barest, most simple essentials; "We have conflicting goals and so I will stop you."

Personally I find total apathy to be something not especially compelling in villains, for that reason. Like, if you really don't care about anything, why bother with the trouble of going against the protag? Motivation is meant to be MOTIVATING.

(also ngl I'm on the Shadow As A Hero sort of bandwagon where I find it much funnier for the simple apathetic cool edgy guy to be the funniest person on your tennis team)

Dungeon Meshi has TWO characters who struggle with apathy, and are both antagonists at some points in the story, but never villains. Shuro and Mithrun. The theme of Dungeon Meshi is the beauty and complexity of life, the value of living, and how our connections to others changes the people we are. Food is a metaphor for bonding, self-care, and understanding.

For Shuro, he begins the story as someone who's both been encouraged to bottle up his emotions for the sake of other people, as well as to not actually consider the emotions of those lower-born than him. He's from a very different place than the other members of his party, and this causes friction as class, culture, and sophisticated, refined, weapons-grade autism clashes.

When the woman he loves is eaten by a dragon, he doesn't stop to tell her brother and """childhood friend""" what he's planning, as if they both wouldn't run in and get hurt. He owns demi-humans. He doesn't consider his own needs or the needs of his rescue team of loyal vassals. As a result, he's too weak to continue, losing a fistfight with one of the main characters, Laios.

After this, he connects with him for the very first time, and reaches out to him by giving him an important magic item. There's even a MASSIVE moment where he outright tells Laios that his ability to be so open (read: not have to mask his autism) is something he envies, breaking through that veil of apathy he wears.

The story Dungeon Meshi is telling here is that it is important to value the needs of yourself and of others. Shuro's apathy towards his own needs in a bid to prove his love weakened him. In acting like he was above his old teammates, he never spoke to them like people to smooth out his issues. He's never even noticed how much his vassals love and care for him.

(and the incredible irony is not lost on me, that Shuro's name is because Laios mispronounced it and was never corrected... while Shuro never noticed that Izutsumi had the unwanted name "Asebi" forced onto her when she was "taken in" and made his slave.)

See how that comes back to the theme? Shuro doesn't exist to just "be some asshole" or act like a villain. He has a full character arc that contributes to the narrative.

For Mithrun? I won't even spoil it. Go read Dungeon Meshi. Watch elf depression. We love a king with strabismus.

Anyway,

If you ever need good personal resources on any stigmatized mental condition, I've found it's usually productive to go into the #Actually (Thing) tag here on Tumblr. You can find people posting about basically anything. I found a lot of really good resources on NPD that way.

[librarycards]

pls ignore this is its too weird or too much labor, but i was wondering if you maybe had any tips or resources for ppl who have creative desires like writing but brain fog and fatigue tends to get in the way?

i do! it may not work for you bc people have very random/unexpected ways of dealing with this, but it's *very* common and there is hope :) [i think a lot of this is applicable across form, but i'm using "writing" here because it's what i'm familiar with]

one way is to be strategic about timing: this includes thinking about when you're least foggy/have the most energy, and/or the most "downtime" where there isn't anything in particular you need to do. many people wake up early so that they have alone time before their responsibilities. some people stay up late to write. i tend to do my daily writing (which I elucidate on below) in the evenings, around 7-10pm. whatever works, works!

relatedly: scheduling/routine is, for me, critical. i think it is for a lot of creative ppl. I write every day, in multiple ways: i keep a journal - i've done this since i was like 12, so it's as ingrained as brushing my teeth and i don't really think about it - and also work on some aspect of my current longest project [so, for the last 4 years, it's been the aforementioned second novel; for the 4ish years before that, it was Failure to Comply. i write other stuff during the daytime, of course, because writing is also my job(s). but if you're looking to establish a consistent creative practice, you don't need to be aiming for a certain hour or word count.

Instead: Aim for consistency and progress. Not perfection, not a "muse," not magic. There is no shame in making something that doesn't seem good, or that you end up deleting. in this particular instance, "perfect is the enemy of good" is 10000% true, and i think especially applicable to people who already experience external + internalized ableist ideologies on a daily basis. your art, regardless of what it is, should be a space where you get to make mistakes, change your mind, and learn new things. it should be something you can come to when you're tired, unsure, confused, scared, etc, even if it means just keysmashing and then closing your notes app for the day.

for me, having a daily practice, regardless of anything, means embracing the days where i write only one word and then despair, as well as the days i write pages. when i feel most depressed, in a very clinicized sense, i try to move from "everything i make now is going to be shitty :(" to "everything i make now is going to be shitty :)", not because i'm happy about it, but because....that's simply part of creating. everything is a bodily function. if you're not feeling good, maybe your poop will look weird. so too with writing. but you still do it. it can be mechanical. but it'll happen, and by doing it consistently, you give yourself the *opportunity* to locate insight hitherto buried, to have an idea creep up on your tiredself.

i guess in sum I'd say that the healthiest thing i ever did for my writing is something tantamount to body neutrality, which has also been an immensely positive addition to my set of frameworks for physical embodimindment. creative neutrality, i guess. this doesn't mean i don't tie my ego and personhood to work/productivity/quality. i mean, i totally do, and it sucks, but there we are. but it also means that i place that in a corner that does not touch my desire to chip away at something big, regularly. i make time every day to summon the urgency of whatever i'm working on, not because i'm proud of it at that moment, but because i want to give it another opportunity to give me something cool.

tl:dr: give yourself the gift of consistency and time, and don't be scared of making stuff that isn't good, or gets deleted, or doesn't make sense. write from wherever you want, physically, mentally, spiritually. give it the opportunity & even the expectation to happen and then work from there.

[hannahssimblr]

Jen is fully awake, bright eyed and stomping around looking at the art when we arrive at the gallery. I suspect she's hopped up on sugar after I bought her a plate of overpriced pancakes in a cafe in the middle of town. 

“Woman, yearning,” after reading aloud from a gallery placard next to an abstract work she stands back to ponder it for several seconds. “Where’s the woman? I just see blobs. Ugly blobs too.”

“Is that a serious question or are you just giving out?”

“I’m offering my critiques,” she says haughtily, narrowing her eyes at it. “The point is that I wouldn’t hang that in my house.”

“Hang it where? It’s like, fifteen feet tall.”

“Well, all I’ll say is that I’m now a woman, yearning for my ten seconds back.”

Evie titters. 

“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, “It’s better to ignore it. She did this when I took her to the zoo once too.”

“You don’t like the zoo?” Jen doesn’t hear her because she’s already rushing to the next room, and as I suspect, to the merciful end as quickly as possible. I answer for her, “No, she hated it.”

“Was it the sad animals?”

“No, her feet just hurt. There was too much walking.”

The room we follow Jen into is stark and completely bare, save for an enormous, rusted iron sculpture dangling by a chain from the ceiling. I know what she is going to say about it before she does. 

“I just don’t understand how this is art. It’s just ugly, and it makes no sense to me. I’m sorry if that makes me sound ignorant, but I just don’t see the skill in this.”

“It’s not really about the skill though. It’s all in the process,” I'm explaining this for probably the fourth time this hour, but I can see in Jen’s face that she's frustrated, genuinely so, and I really do feel bad for her. While it was nice of her to come, I feel I should have just let her stay at home and hang out on the beach with one of her magazines for the day.

Evie bends to read the placard, “It’s supposed to evoke a reaction, and I guess you being confused by it counts as a reaction, so you could say that it’s done its job,” She turns and flashes a sympathetic smile at Jen. This is a very nice thing she’s done, attempting to help her to relate to the art, but I suspect from the aura of complete resignation emanating from her that we are past the point where such a thing is possible. 

As a last ditch effort I try to gently explain the purpose of modern art in a way that sounds accessible, and not like I’m just regurgitating my art history textbook, but her eyes have glazed over. She doesn’t care about the sculpture, she doesn’t care about what it means or how it’s intended to make her feel, she’s simply had enough. 

“I don’t know, guys, I think I'm going to go browse in the gift shop. I’m not picking up what this exhibition is putting down,” she trudges off towards the stairs and leaves us on our own, her footsteps echoing, distant, then gone.

I’m aware of the quiet once she isn’t there anymore, poking fun at the exhibit, and Evie, who was quiet already, becomes even more so. As she examines the sculpture for longer, I wonder what meaning she’s found in it. Really, to me it is just kind of a big rusted lump, but I’m nervous about admitting that to a person who seems to understand what she's looking at. I stand and pretend to enjoy it for an amount of time that feels more acceptable.

When she wanders into the next room I follow. This one has an old TV in the corner, and sunlight streaming in through the big sash windows catching specks of dust drifting through the air. We watch this uncomfortable performance art video of a man stripping down to his underwear and climbing into a bed. It feels sexual in nature, while also feeling kind of weird and not that way at all. I don’t know the intention, or which emotion it’s supposed to awaken in me. I say “cool” so that she thinks I understand the point of it, though I’ve never much liked performance art. I find it embarrassing to watch.

I don’t think she’s going to try and make any kind of conversation, but maybe she doesn’t want to make too much noise in an art gallery. Maybe she’s shy. My nose runs so I sniff, and even that sounds offensively loud. 

“So what’s your deal?” I ask her as we move onto another exhibit. 

She pauses, surprised, “To be honest, there’s not much to say about me.”

“Of course there is.”

“No, well,” she laughs self consciously, “I’m not that interesting, is all. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Seriously, I want to know.”

Her eyes dart around the room as though she might find something to distract the conversation away from herself, then failing, says, “Like, Tullamore is dull, I go to an all girls’ school and really, nothing very interesting happens day to day.”

I exhale a laugh. These are her bullet points. I bet this is what she says to everyone to make them stop asking. Unfortunately for her I'm only comfortable when someone is speaking. “So you wish you could leave.”

She makes a small sound of agreement, and then says nothing for a few seconds. From the centre of the room I watch her drift about glancing at the works. “Yeah,” she says eventually, “all the time. I kind of feel like… I don’t know, like I don’t belong there or something. It’s a small town and I think I’m just a bit different from a lot of people.”

“I understand that.”

She nods, “I’d love to be somewhere with likeminded people. That’s why I really envy you going to Berlin, I just imagine what it’d be like to be able to be fully myself and everyone would be just… fine with it.”

She envies me? Already?  She won’t for long. “Oh well, it was an easy choice for me. I feel the same as you sometimes too, like, I just want to know what else is out there. I don’t want to go back to the US, but I don’t really want to stay in Ireland either. I don’t know about needing to be a different person though. Don’t you think that if you were yourself here then people would be fine with it?” 

She runs slender fingers along the plush velvet of a barrier, and I’m struck by how easy she makes it to have this conversation, even with the back of her head. I don’t usually talk with strangers like this, but maybe it’s precisely because we are strangers that we can.

Michelle complained sometimes that strange men would corner her on the bus from time to time and start spilling their secrets entirely unsolicited, things like affairs they’d had, money they’d gambled away, unforgivable lies they had told. They unloaded it all on some random girl in her school uniform who couldn’t ruin them, who they’d never see again. I wonder is this like one of those demented conversations. There isn't much about Evie that strikes me as especially demented though. Her openness is refreshing.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve such a history of being… odd, and doing weird things, and I don’t know if I can come back from that,” she admits, “I’d rather just start again and be a new, better version of myself somewhere else.”

I suppose she is a bit odd. Not in a bad way, but there’s a certain manner in which she moves, floating about the room, this dreamy cadence to her speech, these brief moments of intensity that cross her face and interrupt that other worldly, spacey look she has. She’s her own person. I'm not surprised stuff is hard for her, since teenagers resent people they cannot understand.

I picture her at my school, how the girls might have spoken about someone like her, what the rugby boys would have thought. Yeah, obviously she’s real fine, imaginary Fitzy says in my head. He’s picking dirt out of his studs with a twig, bit kooky, though, isn't she? Weird. Like she’s an alien from Mars or something like that. 

She meanders over to a bench and sits. “What about your friends though?” I join her, “and your boyfriend? Don’t they like this current version of you?”

She squawks out a raucous laugh that ricochets through the room, and several people look at us. Her eyes widen and she clamps her hands over her mouth, like what I just heard was the expulsion of a demon and not just a natural laugh, “Sorry, I don’t know what that was!”  

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Sorry, your reaction was just-”

“No no, just you said that Liam is my boyfriend and-”

“Oh, shit, he’s not? My bad, I just assumed,” I assumed because he told me as much. Was he lying or does he just not know? 

“No, he’s not. I don’t know what he is, we just hang out and stuff. He’s a really nice person.”

“He is,” I debate whether to say more. “Hm. I always feel so bad about Liam.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we used to be so mean to him when we were younger.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was just this happy little kid, he always wanted to be involved with us, but it was like, he was always way too eager, you know what I mean? We thought he was this hokey little country boy, we used to think it was really funny to mess with him.”

“What kinds of things did you do?”

“Nothing terrible. Just… it was more like…” I shouldn’t have started this conversation, “He thought that we were really grown up or something, I guess, and he wanted to come and hang out the whole time, which was fine. The guys just had this thing about not sharing our drink with him, you know, because it’d be a waste because he’d just end up getting sick and having to get his mother to come and pick him up from the party. So we started pouring him drinks out of a vodka bottle filled with water, and he never noticed.”

“That’s not bad” Evie says charitably, “That’s actually responsible in my opinion, and I honestly wish that Kelly would fall for that kind of trick, but she can sniff out alcohol like a bloodhound.”

“Nah, like the bad part is how much he really didn’t notice it. It was like a crazy placebo effect or something, and he’d still stumble around like he was drunk. We thought it was hilarious. And then one time when we were fifteen Joe got weed from this guy in town and everyone wanted some, but like, Liam was there and we knew it’d be a bad idea to give him some.”

“So what did you do?”

“The classic - I got some herbs from the kitchen cabinet and rolled them up for him, and then guess what?”

“He didn’t notice?”

“Right! He didn’t even notice. He smoked our little fake joint and then-” God, why am I laughing? Shouldn't this story have stopped being funny? “-and then after an hour he was rolling around on the rug saying that he could taste colours and that like, the fibres of the rug felt so soft. We had to get his mother to collect him again.” It’s my turn to let out an obnoxious, echoing cackle, and once again, everyone in the room looks at us.

“You’re a mean boy,” Evie chides, but she doesn’t look like she means it. She looks like she likes it.

“I know. I’m a bastard.” 

I get to my feet. “We should go and see the rest of the exhibits. I don’t want to leave Jen down in the gift shop all day, she’ll be bored.”

Evie’s smile wavers, but she nods, “Okay. Sorry... I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You didn’t, I just thought you’d be rearing to see the rest of the art.”

“Yeah,” she says, then hesitating, “it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

I chuckle, “To be honest I’m not sure I like it.”

“Oh, thank God you said that. I hate it too, I didn’t think I was allowed to say it.”

We giggle and I swerve straight for the exit. “C'mon then, let's do something else.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[thelampisaflashlight]

Cryptid Biology Season 2: Litha

[Previous entry: Here. Edit: I legitimately forgot to write the easiest part of this entire thing, the description. Rain helps Bea set up for the abbey's summer solstice bonfire party and reaps the rewards of a hard day's work. I don't know how Rain wound up the way he is, but he's not changing anytime soon.] Below the cut.

It's hot as Satan's balls out -a misnomer, considering the Morningstar's junk is stuck in a frozen lake for all of eternity, or at least until the end of days- and Rain wishes more than anything that he was in the lake instead of lugging tables and chairs across the sandy shore, but at the very least he can use his magic to keep himself cool.

Bea, on the other hand, is positively drenched in sweat despite having stripped down to what is absolutely necessary... which Rain has to say is a LOT more clothing than he expected to see the groundskeeper in on a day like this.

She's dressed in a bright, electric yellow work shirt with "MINISTRY STAFF" emblazoned on the back.

It's supposed to protect her skin from UV rays, as is the floppy bucket hat she has on, but Rain can't help but find the whole get-up a little silly.

The shorts she's wearing doesn't make it much better either, to be honest; A pair of white swim trucks with multi-colored flowers splattered across them without any real rhyme or reason to the pattern.

It makes him feel a little nauseous trying to make sense of it.

Does blue come after orange and blue? Is red and yellow before purple and brown?

Why are some of the flowers brown?

Are there brown flowers?

...He files that question away for later, when he has his phone with him... or Mountain.

He'll ask Mountain later.

Then again...

"Are there brown flowers?" he asks, eliciting a grunt from the groundskeeper, who is preoccupied trying to make sure that the tables are level.

"Are there brown flowers?" he asks again, setting down another one of the folding tables, "Or is that just not a thing?"

Bea pauses, thinking.

"Ya know, I'm not sure." she says after a moment, reaching into the pocket of her shorts before clicking her tongue and looking across the lake at her cabin, "A question for later... or Mountain. Just ask Mountain. He knows more about flowers than I do."

Rain snorts.

"Glad to know the gardens are in your capable hands." he jokes, and Bea flips him the bird, crouching back down to lock the legs of the table in place, "So..."

"Mn?"

"Are you going to come to the party with anyone special tonight? You know, since it's the solstice and all."

Bea looks over her shoulder at him.

"Huh? Why would I do that?" she questions, turning back to the stubborn latch, "No, I'm staying in my cabin with the curtains drawn, and pretending y'all aren't out here throwing a rager..."

Rain blinks.

"...You're not going to come to the bonfire at all? Even though you're setting everything up?"

The groundskeeper shakes her head.

"I plan on being in my bed by the time things kick off tonight," she says, "sorry to disappoint."

"Mountain doesn't mind?" he wonders aloud, causing Bea to make a choking sound and look at him like he's sprouted another head, "What? I just figured, since you guys have something going on-"

"I dunno who said what about what, but Mountain and I aren't..." she throws her hands in the air, "...We don't have 'something going on', unless you count having a couple, uh, adult sleepovers, but it's not like that... We're just friends who fuck occasionally."

"Oh." Rain lets this information sink in, "And... And, again, Mountain doesn't mind? Just being friends? 'Cause he... You know how he is."

Bea turns to face him head on, arms crossed.

"You're asking a lot of bold questions here, water boy, you wanna cease the inquisition for a minute?" she huffs, "Look... Mount and me, we're both adults, and we've talked about 'us' before, enough to know that's not how either of us feel about what we've got going on. If he and I did have something going on, I wouldn't have fucked you that time."

Rain's ears twitch, and his face heats up.

"I... I mean, here... we're all pretty open and..." he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, "I just assumed..."

"You know that they say about assuming things, Rainy, it makes an ass out of you and me." Bea chastises, then sighs, "I'm... just not looking for that sort of thing right now, and, like I told Mountain, I don't want to tie anyone down if I don't know if that's actually what I... what I want."

"It's... It's complicated, and I..." she frowns, crossing her arms, "I don't want to jump into a relationship on a whim, or because we had sex one time... I like Mountain, don't get me wrong, he's a good guy and he makes a lot of people happy, he's a loving and devoted partner from what I've seen, and a very attentive lover... but I'm not ready for that kind of thing."

"...Romance?" Rain asks.

"Love in general." she says, sticking her hands in her pockets, "Look, I really don't know how to... words. I'm not good at articulating this shit, I just know I don't like Mount like that. He's got a fuckin' good heart and a ten out of ten dick, but he's not for me."

Rain snorts.

"What?"

"Ten out of ten dick."

Bea rolls her eyes.

"You've seen it, you know what I mean."

"I do, I do..." the ghoul places a hand on his chest and stares out over the water wistfully, before turning back to the woman in front of him, "Still though, you should come to the party. You could just post up by the fire and play around with it. That's what all the fire elementals will be doing, might as well have someone around to supervise them and make sure they don't go ham..."

"Nah, I don't need more work..." Bea waves her hand dismissively, then looks at the ground, toeing a rock with her shoe, "...But, ya know, I might need a little help falling asleep, wat with all the noise and shit..."

Rain stands up a little straighter, taken off guard, "O-Oh?"

"The party starts in two hours, and the siblings are going to be swinging by any minute now to take care of the decorations, so..."

"Miss. Milne, are you propositioning this humble servant of the lord?" Rain raises his eyebrows, putting on a posh accent, laughing when Bea swats at him, "Okay, okay, I won't tease... We should hurry though, because if I have to endure another second seeing you in that outfit, I'm going to throw myself in the lake."

"Asshole."

"I guess we could try that hole this time."

Bea takes her hat off and hits him with it.

"Ow! Ow! I'll behave, I promise!"

"I have no idea why everyone thinks you're such a sweet, shy man, you're honestly the worst." Bea pouts, putting her hat back on.

"Who says that?" Rain asks, following Bea along the trail leading around the lake towards her cabin, "...Don't tell me you've been looking things up about us online, haven't you?"

"Not really, no." she says, "I mean, I looked up Sister Imperator once."

"You did??"

She nods.

"Obviously, I didn't find more than what anyone else already knows, but, I mean... Look at me." she gestures at herself, "Look at where I am. Do I look like I deserve to be here? Clearly, that woman has other plans for me, and, fuck, if I get to keep living like this in the meantime, I think I'll be okay if she... ya know..."

Rain bites his cheek.

"No, I don't know." he furrows his brow, "Bea, are you... Is anyone... How should I say this...? Is someone keeping you here against your will? Are you in danger?"

Without hesitation, Bea parts her lips and says a single, "No."

And for a moment, Rain wants to believe that's true.

But even as they ascend the porch, leaving their shoes outside the door as they slip inside the cabin, hands peeling away more clothing, Rain can't help but feel like he's trailing after a ghost.

Bea seems... weirdly resigned to her fate.

Detached.

He tries not to dwell on it, not right now, not when she's pulling him towards her bed, tugging at his belt like a leash.

She bumps the mattress and tumbles backwards, giving a soft gasp as Rain takes advantage of the undignified pose to slide her shorts off, revealing pink lace.

Her shirt comes off with a bit more of a challenge, the long sleeves catch as he tries to free her from it, and he growls his frustrations into her lips the moment its gone.

"You don't make this easy, do you?" he pouts, purring when she crooks her fingers under his chin, scratching at his beard for a moment before running her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp a bit, "...I'll forgive you just this once."

Sitting upright, Rain straddles Bea's hips before kneeling down to kiss between her breasts; They're small, less than a handful, but they're soft and have little freckles dusted across them that are fun to trace with his eyes...

He's peeked at them more than he should probably admit to, even before he got to see them up close and personal, but given the harried nature of their encounter in the lake, Rain hadn't had much time to admire them.

He gives them a tender squeeze, bunching up the baby pink bralette in his hands, and watches as Bea bites her lip to contain a squeak.

"I like this." he says, thumbing over her nipples through the fabric, "Your fashion sense might be questionable at best, but you do know how to pick out some lovely lingerie..."

"I didn't..." Bea arches into his touch, "...I didn't pick it out."

"Oh~? A gift then? From who?" he gives a slightly harsher press, "Who should I be thanking for this?"

Bea writhes beneath him.

"...Don't wanna say..."

"A secret admirer then?" he lowers his head back down, licking one of the rosy buds, "Not Mountain then..."

Bea shakes her head, whining when Rain nips at her chest.

"N-Not Mountain..."

"He is more of a natural sort..." Rain hums, blowing a puff of air out of his mouth, making her shiver as his unnaturally cold breath wicks the saliva he's left behind, "He likes a bit of hair..."

Bea shifts her legs and Rain raises himself up so she can slide them out from beneath him, moving so that she can sit up in his lap.

"So do I..." she admits, gliding her hand over the trail of coarse hair that runs down his stomach, pawing at the soft pudge there, "...Well?"

"Well?" Rain repeats.

"Are you going to fuck me or what?"

Rain grins devilishly.

"Oh, Honey Bea, I'm going to ruin you."

.

.

.

"Anyone know where Rain got to?" Dew asks, looking around at the gathered partygoers, "He sent me a text, like, ten minutes ago saying he needed five more minutes, and then another one that looks like a keysma-...Well, well, well, look who it is."

Rain lowers his head apologetically, still in the process of redressing himself as he strolls up to the other ghouls, shoes untied and his fly undone, "Sorry, sorry... Got carried away with... stuff."

Dew hands him a cup of cider, "Does 'stuff' have a name, or are you going to keep us in suspense?"

"My lips are sealed." he draws a line across his mouth.

"Yeah, but your pants aren't."

"Aw, fishsticks..."

"More like, fishdick, bro, I can see your pubes!" Swiss chortles from nearby, "You going commando, or did you leave your panties with 'stuff'??"

Rain does a little hop as he buttons his fly.

"You guys can tease me all you want, I got what I wanted out of the evening, here's to you maybe, MAYBE, getting the same, my friends." he raises his cup in a toast and downs his drink in one go, "Guh, fuck..."

"Gentleman," he salutes, "I bid you adieu."

Dew and Swiss watch Rain saunter away, scoffing as he plops himself down in one of the chairs on the beach overlooking the lake.

"He's always so weird post nut, I swear to fucking Satan..." Dew mutters, "...He seems like he had a good time with whoever stuff was though."

"Yeup." Swiss sips his beer, "...Where do you suppose Mountain is?"

"Huh, now that you mention it, he's missing, too... I guess he's hooking up with someone, too... Man, it seems like everyone's getting laid but us."

"...I might have a solution to that." Swiss says, side eyeing Dew before sliding his hand down his back.

"What are you-Oh. Oh-ho-ho~"

[tedshell]

Hi!! I really enjoy your artwork and your ihnmaims oc he is so cool!!! I was wondering if I could as a question about him?

You said that Adam worships AM- is there any specific ways he does it? Like does he just pray?

thank you so much! that means a lot to me ),: jumps in joy, i'm so glad you have a question about adam!!

adam's usual form of worship *is* through prayer, but due to AM's abuse and corruption, adam can have unusual ways of doing so.

when adam is experiencing his psychosis, he believes AM is god. his catholic god is no longer in question, any belief of that is thrown out the window in a matter of seconds.

while adam usually worships through prayer, it's not odd for adam to sacrifice his body to AM as a means of worship. by that, he's giving AM the ability to do whatever it wants to adam, which typically means intense amounts of physical abuse.

adam has done other things, such as "spread the word" of AM to the group. it will manifest itself in adams head in the forms of the burning bush, angels, jesus, or other biblical themes in order to further trick adam. AM will often treat adam as a prophet of sorts and will rely information onto him so he can go and tell the group.

essentially— imagine AM is a cult leader, and the cult it's controlling is adam.

adam is not always in a state of his psychosis, but he's in that state far more than he should be. when adam is not in said state of psychosis, he's able to realize that AM is *not* god, and that he has his own catholic god of which he follows.

it's incredibly hard to explain because i, myself, am not religious by any means and i was raised as an atheist by an atheist father and a questioning mother. but i hope it makes sense regardless!

[front-facing-pokemon]

[airbenderedacted]

So who’s your favorite character in Wander Over Yonder? And what’s your fav ship(s)?

Oh, I love playing this guessing game!! ♡ ～('▽^人) ✨

Favorite character? Well...

[🎨📺]

As for ships, I wouldn't exactlyy say I ship anything in this show tbch, but I'd say I'm especially fond of Sylava, in a strictly fanon kinda way.

[todayisafridaynight]

This might not be anything, but while writing about your fics, the way you have the characters' mannerisms down PERFECTLY got me thinking about mirroring...

There's a lot of it in 7 (Horii is a directorial genius etc etc), most of it more intentional than these probably are, but there's something so interesting about mirroring that takes the tone of a (relatively) fond memory, a familiar gesture, and inverts it in the way shown here.

OH I'M GLAD YOU'VE NOTICED THESE TOO I think I mentioned it months back (or I drafted a post 'bout it but didn't think it was anything noteworthy) but I always really did like how the Arakawa Family mimicked each other's mannerisms (also circling back to how Jo and Masato calling Ichiban 'Ichi' presumably after picking it up from Arakawa)!

Aoki actually does the same sitting gesture too! I went back to double check and skim through the rest of the game's cutscenes, and as far as I could tell unless I skipped a scene, it really is only these three that do this specific pose:

It's such a small detail but I love it immensely and it really does highlight their connections with each other and it drives me insane

[girlshadowthehedgehog]

i remember doing a sonic characterisation tier list, and i couldn't put into words why movie sonic doesn't feel like sonic to me. don't get me wrong, he's fine, i don't actively hate or love him, but he's just not a sonic to me. and i get that the movie adaptation is gonna have a different interpretation of sonic, but sonic from the ova and sonic from x do feel like sonic to me.

in a conversation i had with some friends yesterday, it finally hit me why. a fundamental part of sonic's character is that he must have swag and he must be anti-authority, both traits that, i would argue, movie sonic doesn't really have. the anti-authority part is easily explained by the whole tom is a cop stuff, but the swag is just something i feel deep in my bones. where is the swag... i miss it.

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Pftt wait

Cassie looks up to Roxy, says she wants to be just like her when she's older, loves her to death and none of this changes after Ruin and the Ruin Aftermath AU. Roxy of course, adores her. She's her favourite Plex-goer.

Then the Meteor changes Roxy and none of that changes... But it also does at the same time. Roxy is still looked up to but it's in a completely different way to before. Cassie is now also on the recieving end of being looked up to cause really who else is Roxy going to start modelling her behaviour on? She doesn't know anyone else outside of the Plex this well, so she's trying to be the best role model ever for Cassie but is also looking to Cassie to be her role model. They're a fucking loop

Cassie still looks up to and adores Roxy... But also excuse her but she asked for no fucking pickles.

[fazcinatingblog]

a whole video about Cody

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

striding purposely into love even if it means the ground shakes. if you even care.

[hikeyzz]

.

[trans-leek-cookie]

can someone teleport me to the poolrooms and shoot me so my blood is staining the pristine tiles and water. Nothing should be alive there

[synonymroll648]

ok so i made the mistake of thinking about quil’s keefitz fic and. yeah i’m being emo over keefitz and bodies of water again- 

i just. i want keefe to think of fitz every time he sees a lakeshore. 

every time he sees the sun over the calm water. i want keefe to be unable to escape all the days the two of them would spend splashing around and laughing in everglen’s lake as kids. i want him to remember days spent finding cool rocks, and seeing who could dive deeper than the other, and that one time fitz threw biana in the lake because siblings will be siblings, and all the splashing matches, and the times where keefe would pretend to be a fish - in water and out of water - just to see fitz laugh, and the evenings where they’d just float on their backs and listen to the birds chirp and chat idly. i want keefe to be able to shove the aching absence of all of that aside until he sees a still lake surrounded by trees, and then i want it to bubble up until he has to turn away, run away. because keefe can’t forget about how the lake was always still until they’d jump in, and fitz isn’t there to jump in with him anymore, so there’s no use in jumping at all.

i want fitz to think of keefe every time he sees a seashore. 

every time he watches a wave collide with the sand, whether it be gentle or pounding. i want him to think about all the times that keefe asked about surfing after fitz slipped up and mentioned that humans have ocean sports like surfing, all the pleading puppy eyes keefe shot him, because he wanted to try it someday. i want fitz to think about how keefe would talk about diving to see the ocean fish and the ocean rocks, and how close he used to hold the idea to his heart, even though he never admitted it to keefe. i want fitz to remember how he was the one who taught keefe how to swim, and how keefe was so proud of becoming a stronger swimmer in the long run, and wondering if it helps keefe out in the waves. i want him to remember all the times that keefe drew him out of academia hell and into the lake to wind down, all the times that he looked at keefe in the lake and knew he was special enough that he’d remember little moments like those far into the future. and then i want fitz to remember that he’s staring at an ocean, and the ocean’s just for keefe, because it’s always crashing into the shore and only keefe is brave enough to embrace that. 

i want them to have irrevocable impacts on each other, even if they’ve left each other in the dust. even when the familiar water soaking their skin is gone. even when the familiarity between the two of them is gone.

[ashtcnirwin]

🌻