#in a space that so damn critical of everyone but themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pappydaddy · 1 year

Text

sweet nothing (j.m.)

tv show/movie: outer banks | pairing: jj maybank x fem!kook!reader

requested by a lovely anon as part of my 800 follower celebration

synopsis: jj comforts y/n after another draining day in outer banks

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

When Y/N and JJ first started to go out, many people had opinions on their relationship. A kook and a pogue? Of course people had things to say. All bad coming from the kook side (naturally). Her parents had never let her go more than a day without letting her know how much of a disappointment her choice for a partner was. Claiming that she was just throwing her life away, that she should be dating someone better. Saying that JJ was just holding her back.

Her “friends” (former) always told her that he wasn’t enough. He wasn’t romantic enough because he wasn’t showering her with thousand dollar gifts every day. They would trick her into hanging out with them only to smother her in “eligible bachelors” - their words. People she rarely talked to even had an opinion. Anytime she attended (forcefully) a kook party JJ was surprisingly banned from, she was swarmed by guys who paid her no mind in high school, all trying to swindle her away from JJ.

She never budged. Not an inch. Putting up an ironclad facade, she ignored them. When she told everyone that her and JJ were moving to the mainland, getting an apartment in the city so they could both go to school, the opinions got louder and nastier. Now, criticizing JJ’s appearance, her ambitions, her talent, JJ’s ambitions, and JJ’s motives. Her parents cut her off, kicking her out in hopes she would choose them over her. Tossing her out with the possessions she wished to take, they threw insults at her, aimed right at her heart, she moved in with JJ and John B until they moved.

While her love and devotion never once was shaken by the ridicule, her heart and feelings were. Their fighting words and insults were like a tiny, sharp shard of glass cutting through her confidence and her feelings - piercing her heart. Especially when they came from her family or old friends. Shunned from the life she always had, losing everyone simply because of the person you love. It hurt. They wanted her to stay the same, but to accept them as they change.

Everytime she was out in town, the snide remarks shot at her in passing under people’s breaths crawled under her skin, imprinting themselves into her brain. “It’s gonna end and you’re gonna come crying.” “Idiot, throwing her life away for a no-good pogue.” “She’s kissing her life good-bye.” “Dirty Pogue Slut.” “Trailer trash.” The whispered statements swirled around in her head. She didn’t care that they didn’t approve of them. She could give a damn what they thought of them. But those words being spoken by people you had trusted your whole life stung. Knowing that they are saying worse about JJ and herself behind closed doors irked her.

Opening the door to the Chateau, the voices lowered in her head, the sound of JJ’s humming muting them enough. She looked up, seeing him in the kitchen rummaging through John B’s food. “Hey, Bubs! You got an early start today.” He smiled, eyes lighting up when he saw her. His torso was naked, his boxers hanging low, and his hair messed from the pillow he slept on. He crossed the space between them easily and quickly, his lips falling upon hers sweetly.

“I ran some errands, getting some things for the move.” She told him, her voice weak, surprising her. She didn’t think the insults today hurt her that much, but apparently they did. JJ pulled away from her, a frown on his face and concern filling his eyes.

“They were giving you a hard time again, weren’t they?” He asked. She sniffled, nodding as he gently took the bags she was carrying from her hands. Paper bags filled to the brim with toiletries, cleaning supplies, and things to help them when they first move into their apartment, more bags piled in her car parked outside.

He wrapped his arms around her as he guided her towards the couch. “I try to look unaffected, but JJ,” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m just too soft. I’m not ironclad, the shit they say hurts.” She whimpered, burrowing her face into his chest, tears leaking out.

His arms tightened around her, holding her closer to him as he rocked them gently. “I know, Bubs, I know,” He shushed her, hand rubbing up and down her back. “They are upset because they all wanted something from you that they aren’t getting anymore,” The vibrations of his words rattled in his chest, soothing her. “Just think, in a few days we will be packing up your car and the twinkie, hooking up my bike, and leaving this place behind to where their words can’t reach us.”

“What about when we come back to visit?” She sniffled.

“They will find something else to bitch about by then. And even if they are still up to things, I will protect you from them.” He told her. The tears had slowed as she let his comfort surround her. While everyone else wanted something from her. Wanted her to carry on the family fortune. Wanted to get expensive gifts for their birthdays. Wanted her unconditional support but not offering any in return. JJ didn’t want anything from her. He just wanted her. Sweet, sweet nothing.

120 notes · View notes

tia-amorosa · 3 months

Text

Sunset Died - Wolff/Sword/Crumplebottom

New facts (Longer Part)

After Morgana had finished her conversation with the others, she went back to the tent. Cyclone stood in the center and looked into space. "Oh, there's a man under the hat, hnhn. I was told to check you out." Exhausted and with tired eyes, he shook his head. "Actually, I'm fine…". Morgana looked at him and tilted her head a little. "Let the machine decide, okay?"/ "Machine?". She smiled and gestured for him to follow. "Just come with me to the back…"/ "mhm. Who else survived?"/ "A few more. And some of them only seem to think of themselves…" Cy narrowed his eyes, because he thought he knew which people she was talking about, "let's see how much longer".

Once they had arrived in the small room, she asked him to strip down to his underwear. Then he stood in the middle of the machine. Morgana switched it on and the scanners slowly began to rotate around him. A complete 3D image of his body was taken, both from the outside and the inside. Bones, tissue, even the smallest vessels could be seen. "it really is a miracle that you made it this far and carried her all the way here…"/ "hm, that bad?".

"Well, no… Fortunately, your rib is only cracked and not completely through. So if you take it easy for a while, new bone tissue will form quickly. "/ "And where does the shortness of breath come from?" he asked in a slightly worried undertone. "You're not the only one with this problem at the moment. It's gotten cold and people are coming here with the typical cold symptoms. Do you have to cough a lot?"/ "Every now and then…"/ "It looks like mild pneumonia, Cy. But don't worry, we have a broad-spectrum antibiotic here, which helps quite well in such cases".

Once the examination was complete, he was allowed to get dressed again. Which Morgana eyed a little critically. "You definitely need warmer clothes, Cy, that vest only encourages it to get worse. ". He looked down at himself and nodded in agreement. "I don't just need warmer clothes, we also need a warm house." Morgana thought for a moment until she thought of something. "I think I can help you with that, we've just renovated one together, there's electricity and water there too"/ "Oh?".

"Yes, but we are currently doing everything ourselves, laying the water pipes, power lines and everything. And we're always putting ourselves in danger. Electric shocks are not out of the question". Cy's face took on a grim expression. "That's not okay, and nobody's helping you?". Morgana shook her head. "The Altos are now in cahoots with the Landgraabs. There's so much we lack here and they don't give a damn about us! we don't even have access to the internet anymore"/ "oh, I wouldn't say that, you already have some"/ "huh?" Morgana looked at him in amazement.

Cy took a deep breath, well, as best he could. Then he looked at her seriously. "I think I can trust you, don't you?". She could see in his eyes that he had something serious to talk to her about. "uh… Yes, of course… What's wrong?"/ "O.k….Listen to me carefully, o.k.? Our radio tower here is working, perfectly, in fact. But some signals are being blocked, such as the internet's ability to transmit. Someone has installed a pretty powerful jammer there"/ "w-what are you saying?".

Morgana held her face with one hand. "That sounds like it was done on purpose"/ "Yes, that's what it looks like. I'd taken my laptop with me on the journey. I actually wanted to leave it at home, but now I no longer regret having it with me. I had edited it once so that I had a stable receiver with a longer range. "/ "o.k., but why are we being denied the internet?".

"Control, Morgana. Someone wants to control us here,"/ "but who, the Altos?". Cy shook his head and crossed his arms. "No, I don't think so. When everything was still fine here, they would never have thought of anything like that. everyone here could live their lives as they wanted…."/ "But then who is controlling us?". He raised his eyebrows and took another short breath. "I still have to find out. But first I'll make sure you get internet, but it might take a few more days"/ "I see, all right. Oh Cy, it's wonderful that you're 'home' again.“.

"I'd like to have a look at Blair's eyes, do you think that's possible?"/ "Well, nothing should really stand in the way of that. Everything looked pretty good last time. It's just… that she can't see out of one eye. She always says she can cope with it, but I think her soul is still suffering. Still… I love her…". Morgana smiled and could see in his eyes that his words were true… "All right. I'll get you the key first.".

It's well past three in the morning and Agnes wants to make her way home. "It's so nice to have you back. I was really scared for you"/ "I'm very brave, you would never have guessed that about me, I know, hnhn. Now I really want to see my nephew again… I hope Stiles has been well looked after him?"/ "oh yes, very much, they've been getting on well so far"/ "nice. What about Blair's parents?"…

"Well, her father usually seemed relatively composed to me. But appearances are a little deceptive. And her mother… I think she'll be beside herself with joy. Really, everyone thought Blair was dead, except Susan…". Agnes looked at her wearily and a little dreamily. "She often talked about her parents on our way back. How sorry she is that she drove so easily…"/ "Yes, but…it saved her life in the end".

Agnes looked up into the night sky for a moment. "Yes, the universe probably meant well. You wouldn't believe how happy I am to be back. I would have liked to have had more success…"/ "hey, that was a great success that you found the three of them. I'm very surprised about Cy, he looks like a real man"/ "hnhn, he acts like one too. The two of them are very cute together. But now I'm going, I finally, FINALLY want to go to my bed, hnhn".

And so Agnes made her way to Stiles' house. There he and Mortimer played with a ball under the night sky. And the boy was very happy when he saw his aunt again. And for Stiles too, it was almost a relief to see her safe and sound. The two had already grown closer before Agnes left, but now they could allow their feelings to grow further.

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

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover ☺

#sims3 #screenshots #simsstories #sims3 story #sunset died #post apocalyptic #ts3 simblr #the sims3 gameplay #morgana wolff #cycl0n3 sw0rd #agnes crumplebottom

10 notes · View notes

annabeiie420 · 2 years

Text

Gemini moon and Virgo moon compatibility

i think virgo as a moon placement makes little sense. As well as Gemini. What is your mercury, intellectual, chatty, analytical ass sign doing in the planet of EMOTION AND FEELING? doesn’t make sense. it just doesn’t click. (with a special shout-out to sagittarius moon)

I’ve noticed these placements talk about their emotions A LOT very easily and quickly without realizing. They will tell you exactly what they are feeling but also not truly recognize how they feel. Discussing your emotions is not the same as understanding or processing them, but to mercury moons it is. This is coming from a virgo moon with a gemini moon best friend; i have also known other people with these placements, but obviously these two are the most relevant to my experience. We can spend hours discussing how we feel with each other and be able to explain the emotion down to the last detail, but then do nothing with it. As if by talking about it, we have conquered it. **spoiler alert: we have not.**

HOWEVER I do think these signs work so well together. If you are a virgo moon you need a gemini moon friend and vice versa. Virgo moons and gemini moons will naturally feel comfortable with each other and easily banter. Gemini offers playfulness of air. Virgo offers ground beneath both of their feet.

Virgo moons can reserve their darker thoughts and shameful feelings, but a gemini moon does not have that same filter when they are with someone they love. Gemini moons bring virgo moons out of their shell (which is dire for any virgo placement). Virgo is the hermit sign, so in the moon placement they will isolate their emotions and therefore themselves from even loved ones (capricorn moons have a similar trait). a gemini moon can easily pull virgo moon of this. because they are both ruled by mercury they have similar thought processes, but a gemini will not hide those from someone they feel comfortable with. that vulnerability shown by gemini gives the virgo comfortability and a sense of safety to reciprocate it. realizing how much the two have in common and someone to understand them gives the virgo a sense of belonging. Everyone feels like no one could possibly understand them sometimes. These two signs can understand each other in a way that does not clash like two virgo moons or two gemini moons might. they offer compatibility not just similarity.

Now of course the virgo moon has something to offer the gemini moon as well, other than comfort, and that is stability and counsel. Listen, you virgo haters are not going to like this: Virgo moons have very good advice to offer. Yes, it can be unsolicited which makes it to not be taken seriously and simultaneously diminishes the value of it. There is something to be learned in any advice offered to you, and a virgo moons advice will likely offer organization/structure. Gemini moons need that. They are witty and quick, and their emotions are , frankly, all over the damn place. Their thought process is not super methodical, and a virgo moon can bring that to to the friendship. Virgo is a very analytical sign which means virgo moons are good at analyzing emotions. Geminis don’t have this skill on the same level. Now the worst things about virgo moon is that they analyze their own emotions AND YOURS. so you best believe while that gemini went on a 10 minute rant about how they feel, virgo was taking notes and compiling their response. gemini moons are the most receptive to this “constructive criticism” because they can feel it is in a comfortable space and is the virgo moons idea of love and support.

maybe this won’t resonate, but whether or not you agree with the points made, you must recognize: virgo and gemini work phenomenally together as friends. Not only as moon signs. if you are a gemini sun you need a virgo sun, gemini mercurys need a virgo mercury, so on and so forth. I don’t know how these two signs do together romantically, but platonically, it is golden.

99 notes · View notes

butch-reidentified · 1 year

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/butch-reidentified/719996145360830465/butch-reidentified-vaspider

i'm trans and i have issues with several of these bullet points but honestly that first one is just true and i'm genuinely at a loss about what to do ab it bc for some reason the community has decided that since we're accused falsely by transphobes, any accusation whatsoever is inherently transphobic. like, i never see these people talk about what to do if you ARE assaulted by another transfem- it's SO fucking clear the answer is 'suck it up and be quiet' and i worry that having a demographic in the community that can unilaterally not be held accountable *is* going to start drawing in creeps if it hasn't already. but if i say that, i'll be excommunicated from a community i care about and have been a part of for most of my life. like, why is it safer to say this to a fucking radfem than to my own community?

I'm really genuinely sorry to hear this. The truth is, all else aside, I've found WAY more love, support, and acceptance among radfems (even when I disagree with the majority of them on something! that's actually allowed here!) as a sex-dysphoric, happily medically transitioned person than I EVER found when I was half-heartedly slapping a gender label on myself and participating 24/7 in irl + online trans spaces and online transactivism.

I always felt so uncomfortable in trans spaces with the fact that respecting the pronouns of r-pists and abusers was always the focus of conversation over making sure we actually held such people accountable, called them out, refused to make space for them, and looked out for their victims. Even with the trans woman who was a serial abuser who primarily, like 90%, targeted trans people as her victims, the response was that all 15 or so victims who spoke out were transmisogynistic/transphobic liars - even though about half were MTF themselves, and all but one or two were trans in some manner or other. And there were photographs from injuries some victims had sustained, and many screenshots of damning things the perpetrator had said. It became more and more clear to me that when trans women were accused of sexual assault, abuse, or similar behaviors, the community was more concerned about how this might make trans people look (optics) and about making sure everyone knew that even serial r-pists and partner beaters MUST be treated as their identified gender no matter what. The focus was never on intra-community accountability or caring for victims, whether those victims were trans themselves or not. It always upset me. Idk how I tolerated it for as long as I did.

NO ONE should have to live in fear of being ostracized from their community for speaking up about abuse and/or violence. That was one of the major red flags that started pushing me away despite still considering myself trans in a material, non-ideological sense. There were many others, some of which the following paragraph sort of hints at. But if I'm being 100000% real, I realized more and more how much I was lying to myself (and as a result, to others) after I started separating from trans spaces.

As for your last question, it's safer to say this in radfem spaces because: 1. Radfems are extremely anti-abuse, anti-sexual violence, etc. no matter what. We don't just recite mantras about believing victims - we take doing so in practice very seriously. 2. Radfems encourage dissent, critical thinking, civil discourse even within radical feminism. It's easy to feel safe because you aren't walking on eggshells, constantly watching every tiny word you speak/type, terrified that you'll phrase something slightly wrong just once and lose your entire social group and support system overnight.

I find it very easy to exist within my corner of radblr. I don't have to be afraid to ask questions or not understand something. I feel genuinely supported and given room to breathe and grow in every way, especially intellectually, which I now have the clarity to realize felt so thoroughly stifled in trans spaces. I don't feel restricted or constrained, I don't feel constantly anxious. I no longer have that unsettling deep-down awareness of being disconnected from the "normie" offline world, so to speak - and since leaving Oz and returning to the normal world, my irl relationships have healed and flourished. I've also been able to be a much better friend to my trans loved ones, because they have largely been excommunicated from the "trans community" for their own "thought crimes" as well. I'm not constantly checking myself for thought crimes, and as a result, I trust myself more and am more confident in my views, thought processes, and analyses.

Your community should damn well support you. Your community should take you seriously when you speak out about abuse. I wish I could say you were an exception or an outlier, but there's a reason I have SO many trans friends who want nothing to do with the "community." I really am sorry. I see that struggle and that isolation in many of my friends and neither they nor you deserve to feel that way.

#mine #ask #anon ask #anon

21 notes · View notes

all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus · 3 months

Text

trying not to think about the election so i'm gonna rank doctor who series 14 from best to worst! no i will not be calling it season 1

1 - 73 yards

i'm still not sure i understand it. tbh i don't know if rtd understands it, or if it's all pretentious meaningless bullshit, but if buying it makes me a mark then damn it i'm a mark. a weird, sick nightmare, unlike any other episode, and i love it so much

2- dot and bubble

righteously angry doctor who, how i have missed you. fooled everyone into thinking it was a social media "old man yells at cloud" episode, turned out to rip into rich idiots who can't do anything for themselves, too racist to live, and tied it all to a slick script. also the direction! between this and 73 yards dylan holmes williams is the find of the series

3 - boom

i have to mark this down a peg for a) the dodgy ending (making the ai human enough to save the day sort of undercuts the criticism of ai as inhuman to me) and b) it being too much of a "steven moffat's greatest hits" ep. but y'know, if i like a band i might prefer something new but i do enjoy the greatest hits. still a banger

4 - rogue

generic doctor who, well-done. overrated bc a) the doctor kisses a guy and b) we haven't actually had generic doctor who since, ooh, nikola tesla's night of terror? solid, enjoyable, nothing special

here's where things get a tad tricky

5 - space babies

pulls off what it's trying to do well enough. unfortunately i don't particularly like what it's trying to do

6 - legend of ruby sunday/empire of death

i do actually really like what it's trying to do. unfortunately it totally botches the execution. if i were seperating these, empire would be fifth and legend last

7 - devil's chord

tbh i have no idea what this one was actually trying to do

overall, okay series? i prefer it to s2 at least, three banger episodes out of eight isn't awful. feels kinda like less than the sum of its parts though. still looking forward to the christmas special though

#doctor who #russel t davies

3 notes · View notes

itsnotmyfaultsomepeoplecantread · 6 months

Text

I'm tired of people arguing with me about dumb shit, so I made a list of what people are saying vs what I'm saying.

Things people (especially my "progressive" family) say are my fault:

- Literally everything

Things people in my life say are specifically causing problems for them:

- Being anxious

- Not wanting to debate my own validity

- Sensory overload

- Crying

- Being "weird"

- Preferences that affect literally no one else (food, movies, shows, clothes, etc.)

- Sources of comfort

- Babbling

- Feeling overwhelmed

- Retreating to safe spaces

- Focusing on one thing too long

- Being young

- Miscommunicating

- etc.

Things I do that are actually problematic that I've spent a decade in therapy trying to be better at:

- Emotional reactivity

- Emotional dysregulation

- Panic attacks

- Argumentativeness

- Anxiety/depression

- Rejection sensitivity

- Interrupting people when they talk

- Jumping to worst case scenarios

- Over-explaining and making things worse when I'm misunderstood

- Etc.

Things I was diagnosed for as a kid:

- Anxiety

- Depression

Things that didn't get diagnosed for until adulthood and separation from my family:

- ADHD

- Autism

- PTSD

- Degenerative and disabling medical conditions

- etc.

Symptoms of these conditions:

- See list 2

- Most of list 2 is symptoms of autism

Things I literally can't fucking change:

- Being fucking autistic

Things my own family doesn't want to do:

- Respect peoples' pronouns

- Stop fat shaming

- Stop hyper fixating on peoples' cultures/skin colors

- Stop having debates about my fucking disabilities

- Listen when I talk about things I HAVE DEGREES IN

- Listen to me at all??

- Go to therapy

Things I don't do:

- See above

Things I am willing to do:

- Listen to peoples' perspectives

- Change my opinions

- Adapt my communication style

- Try new things even though they make me uncomfortable

- A lot of things if they help people feel good

- Work on myself and reflect on my actions

Things people want others to change:

- Their identity

- Their pronouns

- Things we literally can't help

- Harmless quirks

Things they're willing to change:

- Absolutely nothing (they say this specifically)

Things people are asking of them:

- Criticizing literally every tiny aspect of someone else's life/saying they're just doing it wrong, without offering any genuine support

- Not complaining about the use (not even using, just the usage in general) of they/them pronouns

- Pretending to listen/empathize/care for five seconds instead of just rolling their eyes

- Have a single fucking ounce of sensitivity

Things I'm not asking them to do:

- Change their entire use of language

- Change their personality

- Become different people

-etc.

Things people say I and others are asking of them:

- "Walk on eggshells"

The only things I wish they'd actually do:

- Treat others like human beings

- Stop criticizing me for things I can't fix/change

- Stop yelling at me and saying I'm the problem

- Do their own damn research instead of asking me questions and then telling me I'm wrong

In conclusion, there's a reason I needed antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds forever, and I'm tired of that. So my new motto is that everyone can go fuck themselves, and if they have a problem with my existence, then they shouldn't be surprised if I walk out.

I am not perfect. But Jesus Fucking Fuck. No wonder I have so much freaking social anxiety.

#audhd #disabled #actually autistic #midwest #family #fuck this #democrats

4 notes · View notes

theluckywizard · 1 year

Note

Hello! Here is a prompt if you would like one: Rose/Hawke, Florence and the Machine prompts, "And for a moment, When I'm dancing, I am free"

This is all for you, Ammy! My fill for @dadrunkwriting

The Assassin's Masque (or Highfalutin Hawke and his Foxy Boss Try Subterfuge at Halamshiral)

Rating: Teen

Genre: Sexy fluff and subterfuge

Word Count: 3736 words

Warnings: N/A

Pairings: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke

Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan must conduct herself carefully at the Winter Palace as they work to collect the necessary intelligence to find and stop the Tevinter assassin. Luckily Inquisition agent Hawke is there to lend a hand.

Please enjoy my OCs Rose x m!Hawke (he hates his first name) as they get up to their usual mischief.

Illustrations by yours truly!

“I’ve heard they let these olives ferment in the gut of an august ram before harvesting for fancy canapes,” says Hawke from behind his mask, sidling up next to me. He whispers the next bit behind his hand. “They go digging for them in their shit, you know.” I know he’s not trying to blow our cover, but he damn well can’t resist can he.

“Delightful. Orlesian gastronomy is so inventive,” I answer, not taking the obvious bait. “And you are…?”

“Hawke,” he replies, beaming underneath shadowy peacock eyes.

“The illustrious Champion?” I ask. He inclines his head once in a tidy nod.

“And you– I feel as though I’ve seen you somewhere. Contessa Ophelia perhaps?” he says. Maker, I’d love to swat him. He’d love it too. I can feel the insipid weight of nosy eyes upon us. Everyone's a critic here and everyone’s a show, our interaction being dissected fifty ways already. The Champion of Kirkwall is hard to miss, easily one of the tallest men in attendance, his attire somehow perfectly Free Marches and yet perfectly flamboyant as well and he’s been working the crowd for hours already. Eyes follow him wherever he goes and I can hardly blame them. His vibrant plum colored justaucorps falls nearly to his knees, fitted over a waistcoat embroidered elaborately in gold and his starched white cravat and ruffled cuffs are equally garish. His hair is tied back with an elegant plum ribbon in a darling little queue. Hawke certainly knows how to make a statement.

“Lady Rose Trevelyan,” I reply with a measured smile.

“The Inquisitor? The Herald of Andraste? Maker’s breath, I figured if you somehow finagled your way into this affair you’d show up in some manner of pompous uniform, not this gorgeous getup,” he says, surveying me up and down as frankly as ever, pleased as punch to pop off a compliment. “Is that your infamous hand!?” He gestures to my right hand. I consider whether it would be all right to laugh at the intensity of his antics. I’ve seen him entertain multiple guests, each of them effortlessly charmed by his exuberance left giggling and fanning themselves. I shake my head with a smile and hold up my left hand to him. He makes a show of beholding it like the holy weapon many consider it to be and then bows elegantly before me with his foot extended forward, raising my gloved hand to his lips.

“Your worship,” he says, and his smolder is hidden behind that ridiculous peacock mask but I can feel it bearing down on me, probing for that weak spot he knows I have for him. “Let me see your dance card. ” Forceful as ever, too. If I’m to present myself with the proper clout, I’ll have to match him somehow, spar with him.

“I’m not sure there’s space for a personality as colossal as yours,” I tease him. He shakes his head with a grin.

“Oh I’ll make it fit, I promise you, Inquisitor,” he says, scrawling his name gleefully onto the next spot. “I see the Duchess has claimed a dance! She’s a delight. I’ve danced with her once already. If you dip her, she’ll be putty in your hands. Do with that bit of info what you will. If your fancy leans that way.”

“My fancy is leaning toward these petit fours.”

“Watch you only have one. The variety of deep mushroom in it can have a moving effect,” he says, suppressing his giggle. I contain my smile and retract my hand from them which he immediately claims and boldly tucks into his elbow as the music breaks before the next dance begins. I know he’s a competent dancer having taught me to lead, but I’m anxious with all these eyes upon us that our familiarity with one another will be difficult to conceal. Perhaps I should just look as starry-eyed as every other guest he interacts with. It wouldn’t be a terrible stretch, though resisting all the terrible jokes I wish to make with him will be a challenge.

Hawke bows low before me on the ballroom floor, and I catch a glint of playful pale blue from behind the peacock. The music pipes up, a lively uptempo waltz that prompts an immediate smile in me. There’s no feeling as liberating as a breathless waltz, flying about the floor on light feet. He tugs me taut against him, his dashing smile properly contagious.

“And how did you secure an invitation to such an illustrious affair?” I ask him.

“Now, now, Your Worship. I have an air of mystery to maintain,” he replies. I feel slightly admonished, remembering Josephine and Leliana’s careful instruction in the Game. Being forthright shows naivete, reveals too much. One must choose words carefully, couching them in riddles, relegating the truth to the barest subtext. My eyes drift up to the wall where Cullen’s installed himself, and I consider how difficult speaking that way must be for him. In fact, I feel certain that Josie and Leliana have instructed him to stay by that very wall, keep his mouth shut and look pretty. An easy sell for a man who’s interest in the Game amounts to less than nothing. “I don’t understand why people don’t just say what they mean,” he’d said and the women had looked at each other with anxious eye rolls and patiently explained its uses while he scowled and huffed in protest.

“So, in a race between a Bull, a Halla, and an Orlesian Courser, who’s going to win?” Hawke asks, his wit sharpened to a fine point in this setting, abandoning some of the goofiness I normally adore about him.

“Depends on whether one of them gets shanked in the starting gate,” I mutter, glancing around as he sweeps me weightlessly across the floor.

“Interesting! That would be poor sportsmanship, but certainly within the official rules,” he remarks. He pulls me closer and speaks in a low voice as if only to me. “You dance like a dream, Inquisitor.” The involuntary flutter in my stomach was already poised for action by the spiritedness of our dance, but the compliment unleashes it. We have an entire audience, party guests pressing against the rail above the ballroom to watch as the Inquisitor is swept away by the Champion of Kirkwall. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. He may be leading, but I’m now aware of the effect I have on him. Hawke pushes me out for a heady spin and then reels me back in exuberantly, and I feel the heaviness of the stress of the affair easing, like he’s charging me with confidence and courage for the covert tasks to come.

“Perhaps you and I might disappear after this,” he says in my ear and it’s not quite quiet enough. I see at least one guest cover their mouth in shock and delight and turn to the person next to them to point at us. Even as we dance I mentally freeze, trying to understand his angle, what he could possibly mean beyond actually wandering off for a quick fuck. “Find a quiet corner out of sight. The guest garden looked rather inviting.” If he was sincere he’d be grinning, but there isn’t a smile on his face. He’s sharing the next move and creating cover. And a torrent of rumors, but cover.

“Are all Fereldans as presumptuous as you?”

“I can think of at least one who is not nearly presumptuous enough,” he replies, with a cheeky glance at Cullen’s side of the mezzanine. “But no. I’m incorrigible. And I find you… most bewitching.” I manage to control my blush, remembering that the Game is an act, no matter how much truth there is lurking underneath it all.

“I’ve far too many people to meet still. Perhaps. If you can track me down.”

“I’m famous for my investigative abilities, you know,” he says, beaming again.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t bother trying to hide?” I reply, gathering up the social credit earned by this playful, titillating exchange.

“Tell you what. I’ll take care of the introductions and then we can claim a corner of the guest garden.”

“The guest garden. I’ve been told it’s gorgeous.”

“Yes, it’s divine. We can cozy up. Plop some caprice coins in the fountain. I’ve got a pocketful to share,” he says.

“Sounds rather lovely, actually,” I say, allowing myself to smile.

“I’ve heard the library is next to none. It’s just upstairs from the garden,” he continues, spinning me again and then catches my eyes again with meaning. “Containing rare untold works you might enjoy.”

“The library?” I confirm.

“Yes, the library! Great big room. Stuffed with books. You know.” I lean back to scold him as the music reaches its rousing conclusion. He dips me low, his face close enough that I feel his breath soft against me, his eyes locked to mine. (cont below)

“Want to get out of here?” he asks. The mere thought of it causes waves of heat to wash slowly over me from down low as I recall our last tumble before leaving Crestwood. Aware of the attention fixed upon us, I allow my smile to tease at one corner of my mouth, attempting something of a sultry look under my mask and I nod very slightly, allowing him to lead me from the dance floor by the elbow.

As we make our way back out of the ballroom into the Vestibule, we are stopped several times for introductions by suddenly solicitous guests. Anyone on the arm of the Champion must be worthwhile, I surmise, as I’m now showered with attention I did not previously merit. An hour ago I was a spurious connection at best; a minor noble from a quaint and distant land with some very odd markings who may or may not have walked out of the Fade. Even the fact that I’d successfully closed the Breach seemed like a distant achievement; what makes me an icon in Fereldan is more dubious here in Orlais, far removed from the eyes of most guests. We haven’t pressed into Orlesian territory to resolve rifts yet. But on the arm of the Champion of Kirkwall, I’m instantly more compelling, elevated by his own legendary status. Surely a beauty, perhaps a wit.

We continue through the Antechamber, past the guest wing toward the grand staircase in the rear. Hawke leans down as if to graze my ear with his lips, sliding his hand around my waist provocatively.

“We should try this way first,” he says softly. “Otherwise we have a date with a trellis.” He takes me obviously by the hand and whisks me around the corner of the staircase, sweeping me up the stairs and into his arms. “If you giggle a little bit it will sell it.” He backs me against the wall between two doors and fumbles in the pocket of his elaborate jacket. “The number of things one can hide in this jack is truly astounding. I can’t be happier.”

“What are we doing?” I hiss. He leans down so it looks like he’s kissing my neck, but he looks over my shoulder and begins to pick the lock.

“Visiting the library of course,” he whispers. My heart knocks against the inside of my chest with both the thrill of the moment– breaking into a restricted area of the Winter Palace and my occasional lover looming over me so provocatively. A pick clatters on the floor after a particularly forceful crank of his arm. “Shit.”

The noisy footsteps of guard boots sound at the bottom of the stairs and begin to ascend. I step on the errant pick and grasp Hawke by the neck, hooking a leg over his hip and pull him down for the most theatrically passionate kiss I can dredge from within me, our ridiculous masks knocking into each other until they’re crooked. And of course he responds as if it was his idea all along, grasping my thigh with convincing fervor, shoving me gently against the marble column behind me.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” demands a guard, emerging from below in a pair. We break apart like teenagers caught, adjusting our masks, smoothing our clothes.

“Desolé, desolé,” says Hawke, which, by his strained accent, is probably one fifth of all the Orlesian he knows. One guard elbows the other, gesturing to us with his head.

“Euhhh, c’est le Champion, n’est-ce pas? Avec une amoureuse, en plus.”

“Le Champion? Ah, bon. Si, bon.” The guards wave us onward with their blessing and I’m once again reminded of the permissiveness of Orlesian sex culture. It was spoken of in somewhat horrified hushed whispers in Ostwick and laughably I’m now I’m the direct beneficiary.

“Le Champion de Kirkwall. More like le *Champignon* de Kirkwall,” I snort to myself, when he turns to trap me again.

“Think you’re funny, eh?” he says, bracing himself against the wall on an elbow over my head and bending to brush his lips over mine lightly.

“Mm hmm,” I tell him, rooting around in both of his pockets for his picks. I’m met with two cavernous bags full of Maker knows what. “There’s a lot going on in here. I need your picks.”

“Oh it’s fine. I’ll let you rummage around for a bit,” he says with a grin, breathing in the floral and cinnamon scent on my hair deeply. “You smell like pie. Or those ginger biscuits from Starkhaven that come in little tins. Shockingly edible.Was that on purpose?”

“Hawke,” I tell him, grasping his chin and meeting his eyes. “Focus.” He shoves his hand into his right pocket while my hand is still in there, running his fingers lightly down my palm like a proper rogue before feeling around for the picks in question. He folds them into my hand inside the pocket and I know he’s gazing at me from under his brow the way he usually does when he wants something from me. I turn around to attempt the lock. He presses his lips to my neck, his breath whispering across my skin. Maker, Hawke.

“We don’t have an audience, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, nudging my ear with his nose. “We have to be prepared. One could arrive at any moment.” I’ll allow it. He could be right. They could be just around the corner.

The lock should be within my skill at this point, but I talk it out in case he wants to weigh in.

“Five pins,” I remark quietly. “Did you drop your tensioner?” It stands to reason that the library wouldn’t have a particularly complex lock on it. It’s a library after all.

“Let me grab it.” I lift my foot so he can reach down for it, his hands skimming over my waist and hips on the way. He holds it out to me from under my arm. I slide the tensioner in and feel delicately for the first binding pin, which clicks satisfyingly into place. I clutch a couple tools between my lips so I can see what I have available and pick out a bent snake for the next couple pins.

“This is unbelievably provocative,” says Hawke in my ear. “Mouthful of tools and all.”

“It would be a lot more so if I actually crack it,” I answer, glancing at him over my shoulder. He kisses my cheek, breaking the sultry act for a hot minute. My look lingers on him, a quietly affectionate smile crossing my lips before I go back to the lock. I drop to my knees for better leverage.

“Raising the stakes on our emergency theatrics, don’t you think?” he says above me, earning a swift smack on the boot. The pins click into place one after another and the cylinder rotates smoothly, the door unlatching and drifting open slightly.

“Et voilà,” I mutter with a grin. We both glance askance and then slip through the entry. Even in the darkness a guard perks up across the length of the grandiose library, calling out in Orlesian as if we were common party guests who’d just bumbled our way in, his sword at the ready just in case. Hawke strides confidently toward him and in a swift motion shockingly reminiscent of our earlier dancing, slips behind the guard, eases him into a reclined position with his neck inside the belt of his arm and rapidly renders him unconscious. He steps this way and that, looking for other inconvenient eyes and then pushes his mask up, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Right. That should give us ten or fifteen minutes or so,” he says, dragging the guard into a nook between a towering bookshelf and a table and binding his feet and wrists with lengths of cord he had tucked in his carpet bag sized pockets.

“Leliana mentioned Celene’s occult advisor, is that what we’re looking for here?” I ask, pushing my mask up. He nods, suddenly all business.

“Apparently she keeps an office up here. I had it from a pair of elven servants I bribed.”

“They spoke Common?” I ask, perplexed. Hawke answers me competently in Orlesian.

“‘Blundering foreigner’ is a useful look in the right situations,” he says with a grin. He slides back into Common. “Don’t look so surprised, you monster. Back here.” We hurry quietly across the cavernous library, watching carefully for other guards and enter a room lined with urn-topped pedestals, fringed with moonlight that filters in through the impossibly tall windows. “Supposedly her lair is in this area somewhere. But this doesn’t look right for a witchy type, does it?”

“If she’s everything Leliana says she is, I’m sure her space is hidden away,” I say, heading toward the book shelf in the back and knocking on the wooden bits to hear for changes in reverberation. The shelf to the left gives the unmistakable hollow sound I’m looking for and I glance over at Hawke, who comes over to help look for the mechanism.

“Eye level or lower. Wouldn’t make sense to put it in a difficult to reach spot. Discreet would be chest to hip height,” he says with the confidence of someone who’s done this sort of thing before.

“Nor would the mechanism likely be in the door itself. I’ll check the right side.” We comb over the books, checking for undue resistance or volumes that look out of place. My finger catches on one that feels sturdier than any of the others. I give it a stiff tug. The bookcase to my left swings inward. Hawke grins at me.

“I could get used to this you know,” he says as we peer our way into a darkened room.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Lurking about places with you all sneaky like.”

“We’ve done plenty of that already. You’re feeling nostalgic for Crestwood,” I say, poking him in the side.

The entire space is cast in a dancing aquamarine light from an enchanted brazier on the right. Instruments of arcane significance are carefully arranged on both the advisor’s desk and a side table looking a little creepy if I’m being honest. Dried floral specimens hang tidily above the workbench which has rows of bottles of powders labeled in some manner of coded shorthand. The space smells of dawn lotus and sandalwood and recently extinguished candles. Rather lovely, really.

“Smells like a Lowtown brothel,” grunts Hawke in response to my thoughts. I smirk at him with a raised brow.

“Familiar, is it?”

"What? My investigations have taken me to all manner of seedy establishments," he says, browsing through unlocked desk drawers.

"Mm hmm."

“I couldn’t be arsed to pay for sex if that’s what you’re implying,” he answers, tapping my rear playfully. “Look at this.” He hunches over a massive book on her desk, bound in the skin of an animal with its hair intact almost like the smooth, spotted coat of one of father’s hunting hounds. The corners of the grimoire are secured with ornately filigreed metal fittings. Maker knows how old it is or what secrets are contained therein. I reach for it to open it but Hawke catches me by the wrist.

“I should have said– don’t touch anything. It could be rigged with spells for all we know,” he says softly. He withdraws a dagger out from under his jacket, gives it a tentative poke looking for a magical trap and then uses it to unfold a letter that sits partially curled on the desk. I swing around the desk to read it upside down.

“It’s from Celene,” I say. “She begs Morrigan to be by her side all night. Concerns about assassins.” I glance up at him. “So she knows already.” Hawke cranes his neck around me, his expression plainly perplexed by whatever he’s caught sight of.

“What?” I ask. He walks out of the office. “Hawke.”

“There’s a cat,” he says, over his shoulder. “A Maker forsaken cat. It’s a little weird, right? Don’t normally think of cats in these great palaces, do you? In the library no less.” A sense of uneasiness washes over me as he approaches a small gray tiger that walks curiously in our direction.

“Hawke,” I say again, my heart stopping. Hawke turns to me fully, gesturing behind him.

“You don’t like cats?” In a whisper of motion, the cat silently grows into an elaborately, darkly adorned woman behind Hawke. Celene’s arcane advisor. Hawke turns back before I can warn him and he stumbles backward with a startled curse. I jog to Hawke’s side instinctively, feeling sure that I’m better off next to him in the presence of such a creature, whose office alone smacks of blood magic and competence.

“Well, well, well,” slinks a sultry, smoky voice across the silver-lit library, the figure gliding like an enigma embodied. “What do we have here? The Inquisitor, fabled Herald of the faith, delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the blessed Andraste herself and some… manner of lace-festooned brute? ‘Tis hardly the place for guests.”

Hawke tilts his head with dawning familiarity and taps his finger against his lips.

“Mordred? Morgoth? Morgan is it? No, no. Give me a minute. I’ll get it.” All vestiges of mystery evaporate as Hawke disassembles her with his usual antics. She slumps her shoulders and rolls her eyes. “Morrigan."

"I should have guessed it was you.”

#hawquisitor #hawke x trevelyan #hawke x inquisitor #garrett hawke #purple hawke #hawke at winter palace #wicked eyes wicked hearts #dragon age fan fiction #dragon age fan art #In the Shattering of Things #Now part of my longfic forever #da drunk writing circle #dadwc #theluckywizard

14 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 1 year

Note

damn, people are so sad at times. bullying, throwing hate for no reason to people who have been nothing but nice to everyone, and putting them under a fire while bring anonymous themselves 99% of the time.

tumblr used to be such a comfort but that comfort is being replaced by anxiety, slowly. and i am sorry you had to go through part of that.

i’ve definitely gotten some p gross anonymous hobgoblins in my inbox, but i’m more concerned about the deteriorating vibes on this site from a general standpoint (primarily as an observer.) i do appreciate the concern, though! 💕

i shall engage in discourse under the cut because no one has solicited my take here. then, i will step off my soapbox and resume my usual thottin’ and boppin’ because being here with my silly little moots, feeding my silly little delusions is supposed 👏🏻 to 👏🏻 be 👏🏻 healing 👏🏻

cw: general reference to anonymous allegation of anti-asian/anti-korean racism in a fanfic (truly not discussed in any detail whatsoever because that’s not actually even the point here); discussion of anon hate & “cancel culture.”

protect your peace, y’all!

disclaimer: the bulk of the anon messages i’ve seen this week focus on allegations of anti-asian racism, specifically a scene in a fanfic where a bts member experiences racism & xenophobia in america. this anon crusade was the straw that broke the camel’s back (it’s me, i’m the camel) but it is absolutely not the only example of the problem here. as a reminder, things i am: a korean immigrant who lives in america. things i am not: a mouthpiece for 1) POC as a collective, non-white whole; 2) asians; 3) koreans; 4) korean immigrants; 5) korean immigrants in america; 6) immigrants, anywhere. literally *any* thought you see on this blog is me speaking my individual mind on my own, individual behalf.

i’ll start off by saying that i don’t have an issue with people going to creators and saying, “you did this thing, and i think it was harmful for xyz reason.” i don’t have an issue with people doing that anonymously, either. this kind of interaction isn’t inherently toxic.

for example, in january (i think?) i discovered jackson wang, thought he was a babe, and dug his music. i wrote a drabble that featured him. shortly thereafter, i got an anon message that (essentially) asked why i would post a drabble about him because he was problematic.

the short version of that answer is that i didn’t know anything about what the anon was referring to. however, because this person brought the issue to my attention, discourse ensued and i did learn about it. ultimately, i came to agree with the original anon that he was not a person i wanted featured on my blog/in my content. the lesson was learned; the drabble was deleted; and things were resolved (in that i got no additional anon messages about this, etc.)

unfortunately, that situation appears to be a statistical anomaly. now, there are hate blogs focused on bts content creators (which is exactly as stupid as it sounds.) i won’t say the name of the blog because i think it’s like a “bloody mary” situation and i do not wish to summon that buffoonery and goonery into my space, now or ever.

i would just….. really, really like a mission statement to explain what the hell the purpose of these blogs and anonymous crusades is supposed to be.

it’s clearly not to meaningfully address conflict and promote changed behavior because the anonymous bombardment continues even after targeted users begin taking accountability & remedial measures. and if that’s supposed to be the goal, i can’t wrap my brain around why no one on those blogs is permitting that process to occur.

so, if no space/time is given for anything constructive to happen, the only purpose i can identify for these blogs is to ceaselessly criticize people whether or not it’s constructive — regardless of the target’s response — until the person they’ve set their sights on feels so beaten down that they ultimately leave the platform.

i’m serious — what does that solve? who does that help?

definitely not the marginalized groups these anons are purporting to advocate for because, from where i’m sitting, this kind of anon swarming just muddies the message and exacerbates the problem.

no one is going to want to try harder or know better if this is what they’re met with, even when they try to respond in good faith. no one in the relevant, marginalized group benefits, either, because someone that could evolve as an ally just got fucking clobbered.

*if you’re in that marginalized group and you disagree with the anons, you’re an “apologist,” “ass-eater,” etc. so, it seems that not all of our voices matter? what was that about speaking over POC (specifically, in this instance, asians)? 🤔

like, do these anons actually want people to learn/change, or do they want a public execution? those things are mutually exclusive.

since the latter is what their ham-fisted tactics result in, i think that was always the goal. and i hate that. i don’t think that makes anything better — for anyone.

#tw anon hate #tw bullying #tw racism #tw anti-asian racism #tw xenophobia #jade speaks #anon #jade engages in discourse #goddamn it #not again

14 notes · View notes

countlessrealities · 1 year

Note

🔥 { thoughts on anything shipping related ! }

Unpopular opinions || No longer Accepting !

I'm gonna use this ask to delve into a specific aspect of what I mentioned in the previous ask, because I think that this is something you need to know when interacting with me. Bullies or bullying supporters are NOT welcome in my space.

CRITICALLY exploring & enjoying "problematic" SHIPS doesn't make you a bad person / psycho / pervert / whatev they wanna call it.

Almost anyone who's had a fandom experience, no matter how brief, has run into this topic. The whole big war "antis vs pro-shippers"...even if personally I'd call it the endless "in this episode of how antis start another witch hunt against people who just want to stay in their corner and do their thing..." series.

Btw, to be precise, "pro-shipper" doesn't mean only what everyone seems to think. At the very start, the term was used for people who apply the very healthy, very mature philosophy of the "Ship and let ship", variation of that "live and let live" so many people (even antis, and damn, hello, hypocrisy) loves to throw out to justify their not so popular behaviour.

So, "pro-shipper" isn't a bad word. Actually, it means that you're acting like the adult you're supposed to be. And this means that if you follow what I wrote up there, then technically, you are a pro-shipper.

Gonna leave that there, for pondering purposes. For the rest of the ask, I'm gonna use the term with the most common meaning that's used online nowadays. Back on track.

Are these ships "problematic"? According to our social standards, yes. That's undeniable and no one denies it, not even the shippers (mind, I'm talking about people who critically consume this kind of content, the actual pervs are NOT considered here). They know and have the common sense to explore their ship never losing sight of the fact that 1. it's fiction and 2. this doesn't equal supporting those things IRL. Because yeah, I'll say it (unpopular opinion inside the unpopular opinion):

Fiction does NOT equal reality.

Being intellectually curious about something doesn't equal doing it or even just wanting to do it. Most people fantasise about killing one or more people during their life (and this is a scientifical fact, there are studies on this shit), and this fantasies are pretty enjoyable too for most of them. Would you call them murders? Just because they have explored a scenario without having intention of reproducing it in reality?

I don't think so.

And the same goes for anyone who is interested in the theory and the psychology of "problematic" ships (and content in general). Toxic relationships, abusive relationships, underage, big age differences, incest, power imbalance...and there's more than I can't recall right now, but you got the gist. All this stuff is bad IRL, no one can argue with that (and if they do, then they need to get professional help or go to jail). But on a fantastical level, with fictional characters? It's not different from enjoying a horror movie or being fascinated by a fictional serial killer. Which doesn't mean wanting to become the next John Kramer (Saw) or Michael Myers (Halloween) or being an actual groupie.

So let's put things into the right context before starting to throw around real heavy words, shall we?

Then, on the other hand, as I've already said, we have the ones who bully real people, who accuse real people of being really disgusting thing, who tell real people to kill themselves. People who write on their fucking blog descriptions, for everyone to see, stuff like "pro-shippers killed on sight / if you ship X go hang yourself / if you like Y I hope you OD", etc. I'm not making these up, btw, I've actually seen this shit.

I won't add anything else about this last point because I have already stated what I think and, especially, it should be really fucking obvious. And if it's not to you...whelp, maybe you need to go out and touch some grass. Just saying.

You're allowed not to like this stuff. You're allowed to be uncomfortable about. You have all the rights not to want to see it. You're allowed to avoid / block the people who engage in it. This is all valid.

You're not allowed to be a fucking cowardly bully who uses the anonymity of the internet offers to be an asshole and a criminal. Because that's what you are when you tell someone to take his life, even more when it's about fiction and stuff that doesn't affect anyone's fucking existence. You're a bad person.

So, once again. If you're one of aforementioned people who think that acting this way is all right and cool and just, well...Kindly get the fuck off my blog. I don't want actual toxic people in my life. I hope karma gets to you -fingerguns-

#[ ooc :: mun scotty on comm ]#[ ooc :: scotty's big cup of salt ]#advnterccs #discourse tw #[[ I know that this is a very controversial subject but ]]#[[ between defending real people and fictional characters I'm picking real people ]]#[[ also this is the last ask so ]]#[[ I guess I wanted to go out with a BANG! ]]

14 notes · View notes

if-confessions · 1 year

Note

Why is constructive criticism on a story discouraged or dismissed entirely overall in the if community, if its tone is harsh and supposedly hurts the writers feelings? Why is the focus so much on the tone instead of the feedback? Isn't feedback/review there to help the writer?

Just a note to start with: feedback and constructive reviews are not dismissed entirely in the whole of the IF Community. There are plenty of spaces where feedback and comments are a given, and even spaces where people won't check their tone before posting... :)

While reviews can be helpful to writers, as it give a different perspective on their creation than they have or to receive some sort of feedback (bugs and such), they usually are more meant for other (potential) players, to give them an idea of what they can find before playing or show them things they might have missed while playing. Feedback, on the other hand, is meant for the creator first and foremost.

As for why criticism and feedback is discouraged when the tone is harsh... well... isn't it a bit obvious?

It already stings to receive negative comments about a piece of work you spent many hours on (often hundreds to thousands...), more so when those focus on difficult parts of the work (hard to write/code/etc...). Even if needed, no one really likes to get those comments to begin with... You can't expect everyone to detach themselves from their work the moment it's put online. Damn those pesky feelings...

Doesn't it make sense that most people people would dismiss harsh/cruel comments?

Further than that, trying to remove tone from the discussion is simply not possible. Tone is what makes conversations go one way or another. Tone is what makes someone acknowledge points or not. Tone is an essential part of delivering feedback. It is what can make a hard-to-swallow comment deliver its message... or not.

Harsh comments won't ever be received the same way as a respectful negative one, and we can't pretend they ever will. Being told "this really sucks because XYZ" will not be processed the same as "this part didn't work because XYZ", even if the latter part has the same points. I can't think of a better example right now...

Feedback is important, and helpful for writers. But (unnecessarily) harsh feedback... doesn't feel like feedback. You don't need to write like an ass to deliver good feedback or important points to address. Even neutral tone can go a long way...

Your message made me wonder a bit... Do you process harsh criticism the exact same way as the respectful kind? Do you internalise difficult feedback as well as kind ones, even if the first hurt your feelings? Do you accept those points instantly? Do you not feel hurt, disappointed, or anger, seeing someone bringing hundred of hours down to a few lines of unpleasant comments? If you answered yes on all these, then kuddos. Most of us can't. Pesky feelings get in the way.

#confession time #reviews and ratings

11 notes · View notes

ramblings-from-the-ether · 9 months

Note

(Re-do of last ask w/o... second paragraph. Sorry about sending that.) I do wonder how the Sweet Jazz Police Force would react to Prohibition going up. Given just how stupid it is (making alcohol illegal makes it near-impossible to regulate, throwing health, safety & legal drinking age (among other things) out the window), they'd probably be reluctant in enforcing it at best. (Watch Oversimplified's Prohibition video at 23: 06 for a short explanation on this.)

Well, they're...certainly not getting paid to not do their jobs, although that doesn't really say much. Laws on alcohol, especially towards the beginning of Prohibition, were full of weird holes and were nigh-impossible to enforce competently, so more than a few officers might see it rather pointless to take them that seriously. Plus, I doubt some of them would bat an eye at engaging in booze themselves, or taking a bribe or two from a certain apple farmer to keep their mouths shut about it.

The most interesting perspectives on Prohibition are probably from Percy, Meryl and Eros (again, haven't watched Anime Campaign aside from session 1, this is pretty much wholly fancanon).

Meryl would most likely support any curbing of the alcohol consumption in America (given the ridiculous mortality rate tied with it at the time), but she also seems the most likely to be straight-up outraged by the implementation of the prohibition, especially given her background in medicine. The upsurge in organised crime would've been enough for her stress and anxiety, nevermind the potential skyrocket in alcohol withdrawal cases, clinics becoming glorified bars overloaded with "patients", and the swift emergence of moonshining (which is highly dangerous). Expect her to still do her job to the best of her ability, but also expect a moderate-to-large amount of salt.

Percy is less critical of the law's implementation. Regardless of how it was handled, choosing to engage in criminal behaviour is still just that in her eyes: a choice. She's sympathetic of those struggling with alcoholism, but sees it her duty nonetheless to uphold the law to the best of her ability and to prioritise the safety of the people. As such, much of her ire would inevitably turn towards the organised crime taking advantage of such people and encouraging the reckless manufacture and consumption of alcohol. More info will probably be on her character post for the AU (whenever we get started on that)

Eros…probably goes to speakeasies lmao

Half-joking. Out of everyone in the precinct that actually obeys Prohibition (which is like. a dozen people at best) he's probably the most lax on alcohol. He's not quite as sympathetic as Percy, but he is definitely more affable towards the more minor offenders. Besides, the station really doesn't have space for every damn drinker and speakeasy-goer in the city, so he can try to turn a blind eye as long as things don't get too violent or high-profile.

#epithet erased #epithet erased au #answered ask #percival king #meryl lockhart #sergeant eros #epithet erased prohibition au

5 notes · View notes

aeon2407 · 2 years

Text

WIP Snippet #1: Thrawn: Of Metal Beasts and Void Fury (Star Wars X Warframe)

Just a little something I've been working on in my spare time. Nowhere close to finished. A surprisingly rare crossover given the similarities between these two fandoms and the sheer potential of it all.

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

Proxima Centauri B, Alpha Centauri System

Two Months After Lothal Massacre

Yissa Hammerly had accepted that she might die in space the day then-Commodore Thrawn made her his second officer, fast tracking her promotion to Lieutenant Commander in the process. She’d swore to herself that it would be this particular ISD after that night phase with Yana in the observation deck. She just hadn’t expected her death to be this slow. Or stressful.

By some miracle, the Chimaera was mostly intact, and the few remaining staff that arrived with them from other ships, all critically breached and therefore a death sentence for most of the crewmembers, had moved in. On the flip side, the sections on the Chimaera that were damaged meant that there was nothing they could do to survive sustainably.

The water recycler was placed near the engine room and therefore had a giant hole boring through it, so water was being rationed. The engines themselves were completely destroyed, collateral in the purrgils’ scramble for Clouzon-36. Half of the aft was permanently sealed off, so were the ensign dorms and cargo bay. If the shields had failed to reactivate all of them would’ve had radiation poisoning after the first hour of being in this kriffing system, irradiated as it was. At least the excessive radiation helped power what meager equipment was still functional and kept them from freezing.

And then there was the crew, or at least what’s left of them. A Class-II ISD, as the Chimaera was upgraded into some years ago, was designed with a crew of at least 40,000 in mind, not 9217 injured or recuperating personnel. But their Grand Admiral was a survivalist as much as he was a strategist, and his crew strove to be nothing less, so he’d organized everyone into something resembling a functional operation. All four remaining TIE/Ds went in shifts to scout the planet they were orbiting. Bless, they’d found water, enough to double their stock from one year to two.

Food was an issue, though. The Seventh was an expeditionary fleet as much as a warfare unit, so there were some grains and livestock on board in case they stumbled across an inhabitable planet and wanted to test the composition. The problem was all of those things were obviously considered cargo, and the cargo bay was sealed for a reason, so all they really had were some MREs from the enlisted and noncom mess and some pre-made meats and greens from the officers.

She had scheduled for the meat to be eaten first, being ranking officer while Thrawn was still recovering in a bacta pod and Artur was busy keeping the political ones in line at the end of a blaster, but they’d burn through those about the same time he woke up a week later, right before they put that devil child on ice. The MREs they had, even rationed to three people per pack and one meal every other day, would only last them three months, so three weeks from now they’ll have to start considering… alternatives. There hasn’t been time to send off their dead yet.

Her mood has been in shambles for weeks, and only her little dovi and her loyalty to Thrawn kept Hammerly from making her way to the airlock. Xoxtin didn’t have that same support network, and Pyro, Yissa’s poor, traumatized princess, had found her floating past a viewport, clutching her family crest with tear streaks frozen on her face. A pragmatic, cynical corner of Yissa’s mind tried to look at that particular event as having one less mouth to feed, but she was too damn sympathetic for her own good and couldn’t keep up that line of thinking, not even when it was Xoxtin.

It was six days before Skerris followed her.

She pressed an ear to the wall of her bunk, Pyro snuffling her neck as her princess gently snored, and listened to the faint vibration of the ship as the comm tower broadcasted a customized message on all frequencies. It was a long shot, Thrawn’s far-fetched theory being put to the test. Regardless, the one thing that wasn’t running out was power, thanks to the double-edged miracle that was cosmic radiation, so it was left on. Hammerly already accepted her death as a real and very likely possibility, but for the young lieutenants like Lomar, Fentaugh, Agral, and Pyro, a slimmer of hope, no matter how small, keeps them going.

For their sakes, she hoped Thrawn was right.

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

Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy has never been to this system before, but Senior Captain Mitth‘raw’nuruodo of the CEDF has, a long time ago. Thrawn remembered the event vividly as one of the rare times when his intelligence and deductive reasoning utterly failed him.

Beasts of morphed flesh and hardened steel, numbering in the thousands and coordinated by a woman of unmatched power, there is indeed a powerful faction in a nearby system, on this side of the Chaos. And now, with retrospect and the knowledge of Lesser Space mythology, he firmly believes that the system his ship had been dragged to for questioning was what the humans called the Origin.

Their technology was advanced, their powers frightening, and Thrawn was taking a gamble and hoping that they still monitor this system. Having met the Lotus, she most likely still has at least a scout ship nearby. He had taken gambles before, but this is one he cannot afford to lose. Not his crew.

Not his family.

#grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #hammerly #hammerly x pyrondi #pyrondi #isd chimaera #ezra bridger #thrawn trilogy #sw rebels #thrawn books #warframe #sw fanfic #warframe fanfic #star wars #what ezra did was really fucked up and i will die on that hill

8 notes · View notes