#and if you pay attention to their tics and the way they communicate things each flock has its own system | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

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could you do the anxious tics prompt with fo3 and new vegas companions? sorry, i think i’ve asked you to add characters a lot but i just really love your writing ^^”

FO3 and FONV Romanced! Companions react to Lone's/Six's Anxiety Tics

Here you are, my love. Please never feel bad about requesting more people! It's honestly what I live for, and I loooooove making content for the FO3 and NV folks, since I feel like there's a lot less written about them in general 😊

So thank you so much for the ask!

Here is the prompt with FO4 Companions!

FO3

Butch:

The flash of large red-framed letters had caught Butch’s attention as the pair stood waiting to speak to Doc Church outside his clinic in Megaton. “Whatcha got there, babe?” he had asked, before realizing that it was, in fact, exactly what he had thought. Lone blushed as they looked up at him, hiding behind the pages of their comic book. “You really kept that? After all these years?” They had nodded to him, explaining that it was a sort of security blanket for them, that they could always count on reading the same story, seeing the same happy ending each time they looked between the pages, each time they felt uncertainty or stress, they could count on Grognak to see them through it. He grinned whenever he saw them with it, often curling up beside them, or leaning his head on their shoulder to try and read along with them. In these cases, Lone had to read the pages slower than they normally would, reading the same comic book over and over for the last 10 years means you can skim through it pretty quickly, but they don’t really seem to mind. Now they get to watch as this person that they care so much for enjoys the comic book they relied on and adored for so long.

Charon:

The ghoul was curious about Lone’s tendency to nap directly after dealing with stressful situations, but he decided not to voice any inquiries. His companion would explain themself if they wanted him to know more. One day, they did. Lone had thanked him for always looking after them while they rested off their anxiety, and mentioned that it was something they couldn’t help. Charon had nodded at them, acknowledging their gratitude, before his blue eyes had narrowed in his effort to process the rest of what they had said. It seemed strange to him, sleeping off nerves... Wouldn’t that make it more difficult to sleep? He decided that the logic of it didn’t really matter, whatever it was that caused it, he would look after his partner as they took the time to rest. Soon enough, they would beckon for him to join them, leaning against his shoulder or laying their head in his lap as he kept watch over them. A scarred hand would come to run softly through their hair, or graze lightly over their arm as they dreamed away their anxieties alongside their watchful partner.

Clover:

Lone wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed to them that Clover was always so handsy whenever they became anxious. They had to admit, they didn't necessarily mind it, but she always seemed to get frisky at the most inopportune times. Meanwhile, Clover just can't seem to figure out why Lone is always casting hints her way in the middle of stressful situations. She gets it, she totally is picking up what Lone is putting down every time they draw their bottom lip between their teeth and gnaw away so suggestively, but do they really have to do that right now?! Once Clover finds out it's just Lone's way of coping with their anxiety, she feels sort of foolish… but that doesn't stop her from getting a little turned on whenever Lone does it, even though the timing is usually inconvenient for both of them. But after the trouble and stress has passed, Lone will certainly need to blow off some steam, right? If that’s the case, Clover is more than ready for it.

Cross:

Cross often noticed when Lone had trouble focusing, she tends not to miss a thing, especially when it comes to her Lone. When she sees her partner struggling to keep their attention trained on the person speaking to them, she usually will step in and ask if the person can speak to her companion again at a later time. Her direct and clear way of speaking is a relief for Lone when they are experiencing tension, as their listening becomes almost ineffective when they are being spoken to during times of high stress or anxiety. Paladin Cross understands this, and pays particular attention to speak slowly and with great care in these times. Due to her affinity for speaking this way normally, she and Lone tend to never have issues with communication; which evidently, tends to keep Lone from becoming anxious when they’re around their partner.

Fawkes:

Within his first couple weeks of traveling alongside Lone, the mutant noticed their need to constantly snack. When he decided to inquire about it, and they hesitantly explained their habit to stress eat, he wasn’t sure he understood it, but he knew that he had his own ways of dealing with his nerves, which came in the form of wringing his hands whenever he became anxious. So, if this is how Lone deals with it, he will accept it without question. It wasn’t until one fateful day, when Lone had realized they were completely out of snacking material and they were on the brink of a breakdown, that they realized Fawkes had taken their words to heart, as he reached out a large hand, filled to the brim with an assortment of their favorite snacks from one of his pockets. All this time they thought he only kept ammunition in there, turns out, their partner always had a well-stocked stash of their anxiety-repellent hidden away for cases just like these. They smiled coyly as they took a box of snack cakes, and a tin of crisps, settling down beside Fawkes as he lightly ran his hand up and down their back as they leaned into him, their breathing already beginning to return to normal with each passing moment.

Jericho:

The ex-raider always thought it was a little annoying, the way his companion would stutter at him every time something got dicey, or when they had to deal with some sort of verbal confrontation. It was painful to watch, and when he brought it up to them, and they stuttered back an embarrassed response, he realized it was well out of their control. It would still bug him, and he might make an off-handed comment about it every once in a while, but the more he saw that those comments weren’t funny to his partner, the more they glared at him as he laughed at his own rude jokes, he decided he should refrain from such talk. Lone hadn’t developed a thick skin like most wastelanders he was used to, and certainly not like most raiders; and he would have to constantly remind himself of that. After his realization, he wouldn’t say a word about their stutter again, and God help anyone who did. You mention his partner’s stutter, you’ll probably have one too by the time he’s done with you. If you still even have a tongue, that is.

FONV:

Arcade:

The doctor almost flinched at the feeling of Six’s fingers wrapping around his thumb the first time they did it, but he managed to keep his composure and simply utter a sarcastic comment in response to their sudden action. But when their stress passed, and they explained that it was a tic of theirs that they had trouble controlling, he immediately understood. Not only was he a doctor (so you know, he has pretty extensive knowledge regarding things of this nature) but he’s also had his own lovely tangles with anxiety in the past, and can’t really blame Six for their habit (despite the fact that he has absolutely no tics of his own to deal with). However, his understanding of it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make some sort of humorous comment on the action whenever it occurs. At Six’s annoyed expression he says that he is simply trying to lighten the mood a bit, maybe distract them with his humorous musings. Six thinks he must not have a clue that he exercises his own coping mechanism (ahem, sarcasm) whenever their gesture makes him uncomfortable, so they end up trying to keep themself from grasping onto his thumb to the best of their abilities. But, to be honest, they’re relieved when Arcade begins reaching over his hand to them in times of stress, his eyes avoiding theirs, and his comments going unuttered, but his thumb extending outward to allow easy access nonetheless. This gesture usually results in a kiss on the cheek for the doctor when his partner has gotten through their bout of stress.

Boone:

He had noticed it when he first met the courier, the way they couldn't look him in the eye. Boone hadn't been sure if it was just him, considering his constant need to wear sunglasses and his somewhat stoic demeanor, or if it was the way they were with everyone, but either way, he didn’t mind in the slightest. When he found that it was a result of their anxiety, he simply nodded to them in understanding, and the pair went on their way. The sniper honestly wasn’t big on direct eye contact himself, another boon of wearing sunglasses was being able to keep your eyes trained wherever you liked, and so people tended not to notice his own habit of avoiding eye contact with them. He threw the idea out to Six one night, and soon enough the pair wore matching sunglasses nearly all the time. And though, as he said, he didn’t mind Six’s habit one bit, the knowledge that they only looked people in the eye when they felt completely comfortable and at ease with them made it all the more special when they did decide to look into his eyes when the pair was talking, or sharing a tender moment. In those little instances, Boone liked to study the details of his partner’s eyes, committing their warm and vibrant glow to memory, paying distinct attention to their unique shape, and the way their pupils dilated as they gazed back at him. He only wondered if they noticed his eyes doing the same in return as he took in the details of the one he loved.

Cass:

The caravaner always tends to offer some form of alcohol to Six whenever she sees their leg shaking in such a way. Cass is familiar with the side effects of withdrawal when she sees them, and she'll try to help her partner to the nearest drink as soon as she can. When Six finally asks her about why it is that she offers alcohol to them when they’re feeling stressed, mentioning that it maaaaaay not be the most healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, she is a bit confused. They were anxious!? Strange, she only tends to shake like that when she hasn't had a drink in a while. With the knowledge that it’s a nervous tic of theirs, Cass uses it to her advantage to better tell when her partner needs to take a load off, or blow off some steam. At the sight of their leg thrumming away, she’ll give their thigh a pat to get their attention, and then ask if there’s anything she can do to help them. As luck would have it, a stiff drink does tend to give Six the time to calm their nerves, so that trend isn’t completely abandoned once Cass has found out the truth about Six’s habit.

Raul:

"What's the matter, boss? Can’t find the right word? Lo siento, mi corazón, English isn't my best language, but I can try and help if you want." Raul is… confused at first. Whenever Six snaps their fingers, he can't seem to figure out if they're trying to find the right word to say, or if they happen to be looking for something, maybe they're trying to keep time, or make a beat? Maybe they’re counting something, trying to remember a phrase? Once they tell him it’s just a nervous tic they have, Raul looks a little embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t assume this earlier on. The ghoul tries not to pay much attention to his partner’s habit, since he knows it must make them a little self conscious when people point it out, but sometimes he can't help but snap along, trying to make a little song to go along with their own improvised rhythm. When Six does finally notice his contribution, Raul just likes to wink at them in response, flashing a playful little smile as they blush in embarrassment at the fact that he caught them doing their nervous tic.

Veronica:

When Veronica noticed that her partner had pierced ears, she was ecstatic. Ecstatic, and jealous. She always wanted to pierce her ears, to find or make her own pretty little earrings to decorate herself with, but alas, ear piercings were certainly not within the limits of Brotherhood dress and decorum. Given her interest in them, it’s no surprise that she noticed the way Six twisted the backs between their fingers, twiddling the bits of jewelry absent-mindedly whenever they became stressed or nervous. Often times, Veronica would reach a hand out to gently pry their fingers from their earring, pulling their hand to her lips so she could give it a small kiss before bringing it to settle somewhere else, to keep them from damaging the little bits of jewelry in their ears that she envied so much.

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gh0st-patr0l · 3 years

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ADHD in DSMP

So about a week back, I made a post about Karl Jacobs (a bit of a passive aggressive one, I’ll admit, but I think it was justified), complaining that a lot of the ‘criticism’ I see about Karl is actually rather insensitive towards his ADHD. I got a lot of responses to that post, and the most common sources of confusion I saw were:

People not understanding what I was saying they should avoid being judgmental of, or-

People who didn’t know that Karl had ADHD or didn’t understand which behaviors were caused by it.

First of all, Karl has confirmed that he has ADHD.

(NOTE: Yes, I know he said ADD. ADD and ADHD used to be categorized as separate disorders, but in the most recent edition of the DSM, it was decided that they are both simply subtypes of the same disorder- ADHD is the correct technical term. ADD is still sometimes used as shorthand by some practitioners to diagnose primarily-inattentive ADHD, but it's a bit outdated.)

Secondly, that original post made me realize that a lot of people who may be well-meaning may genuinely not fully understand ADHD and its symptoms as well as they want to or think they might. If you aren’t aware, Karl isn’t the only one in the DSMP with ADHD- to my understanding, both Technoblade and Dream have confirmed that they have it as well. So, I thought it would be helpful to put together a comprehensive crash-course on ADHD symptoms and how they effect people’s behavior!

Now, before we go further, I want to address something- as I said earlier, I saw some people unsure of whether certain behaviors are ADHD or “just his personality”. I feel the need to point this out above the read more so people will see it. To answer this question, as someone with ADHD;

A lot of times, it’s both. ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, meaning that it’s caused by the way your brain developed from birth. A lot of the symptoms and effects of ADHD are extremely influential towards the way we think, act, and behave, to the point where “symptoms” and “normal behavior” really don’t have a clean differentiation. This is why it’s technically classified as a ‘disorder’, instead of an illness. While certain aspects of it can require treatment, the condition itself as a whole is not something to be mitigated or eliminated- it’s a part of who we are as a person. This is also why sometimes, even if you don’t have ADHD, you’ll look at certain specific behaviors or experiences and go “Oh, but I do that too!”. A lot of ADHD ‘symptoms’ are just a bunch of normal traits or behaviors, but in combination with each other and some actually problematic aspects, form the appearance of the disorder.

So, what are you allowed to nitpick about it? Well, there’s no real ‘authority’ on this, and even if there was it certainly wouldn’t be me. But if you want my opinion? Nothing.

See, here’s the thing- what I was trying to say when I made that post was not that you can’t be critical of Karl. If you want to say something about his Actions, his Ideals, or the content he creates- sure, go for it, that’s fair. I will agree that there are some very valid and constructive points to be made. But when you post ‘criticism’ about the way he speaks, his interests or preoccupations, his personal behaviors? That’s not criticism. That’s just judging someone.

And you’re allowed to think that stuff! Nobody can control what annoys or bothers them. It doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person. But you don’t need to be vocal about it. You can keep your mean thoughts to yourself. And if you do make posts or communities or whatever about judging someone for things they can’t change about themselves, don’t call it “criticism” or try to morally justify it. It’s not productive or righteous, it’s just rude. Nothing else.

Anyway. Back to Education!

The following will be a descriptive list of visible ADHD behaviors, using Karl’s behavior as examples.

I feel the need to add a disclaimer here- I am not a mental health professional. However! I have ADHD myself, I have taken some psychology courses and done a Lot of research into this stuff, and I’m the daughter of a therapist with access to a DSM. While I’m not an expert, I’d like to think I’m fairly well versed and knowledgeable on at least ADHD. (That being said, if by chance anyone who Is a professional sees this post and notices mistakes, by all means let me know and I’ll fix it!!)

WHAT IS ADHD?

You’re here for the behaviors more than the science, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. ADHD is Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (Known in the past as Attention Deficit Disorder). Despite its name, the root problem of ADHD is not in the person’s ability to pay attention, but their brain’s capability to manage itself. In simple terms, people with ADHD have a lot less control over what their brain does and wants. This results in some behavioral differences along with some personal challenges, namely a difficulty with attentiveness and self-discipline.

Now, onto the symptoms!

ATTENTION

This is perhaps the most visible and pervasive of the ADHD symptoms, hence why it’s the namesake. Inattention is a lack of focus and an inability to stay present and occupied with certain tasks or thoughts.

Because ADHD impairs self-management of the brain, people with it have an extremely hard time directing themselves anywhere but where their brain instinctively wants to go. This results in inattentiveness and the easiness of distraction that is often mocked or stereotyped for people with ADHD.

Here are some examples of how Karl can sometimes display his inattentiveness;

When he has an idea that he seems passionate about, only to drop it or switch to something totally different without warning soon after (either forgetting or getting bored of his original idea).

When he sets out to do something like a build, works on it for a short amount of time, and then immediately gives up or gets someone else to do it.

When someone else is talking and he totally zones out. (NOTE: While I wont make a whole section for it because it’s not easily observable, maladaptive (constant and intrusive) daydreaming is a common ADHD symptom as well!)

It’s important to remember that the whole problem with ADHD is that we can’t control when or what we focus on. When someone with ADHD zones out during a conversation or activity, it doesn’t mean they’re doing it on purpose, and they likely don’t mean any offense! We often are trying our best to listen or participate, but our brain just wont cooperate.

However, inattention is not the only way ADHD effects our focus. There’s also what’s called hyperfocus or hyperfixation, which is when we are so absorbed into a single subject, task, or idea that it is extremely difficult to get us to think about or do anything else. This is usually because our brains have found something that is getting those satisfaction chemicals flowing, and it’s clinging to that with everything it’s got.

People with ADHD will often experience brief periods of hyperfocus. Think of how Karl talks about spending hours straight working on a build or project without eating or drinking, or how he’ll sit down to play a game with someone and end up going six hours without even noticing.

There are also hyperfixations, where someone with ADHD becomes extremely preoccupied with a certain subject, topic, etc. for a period of time. These can be short term- personally, my hyperfixation can sometimes change as quickly as a couple weeks at a time. However, it can also be long term. Karl has been obsessed with Survivor since the second grade- not to mention his memorabilia, rambling, and constant references to Kingdom Hearts.

HYPERACTIVITY/STIMMING

This is a BIG one for Karl. I should clarify; ‘stimming’ is not a technical term, and in professional situations these behaviors are just referred to as Hyperactivity. However, I personally like the term stimming much more and find it far more accurate to what the behaviors actually are, so I’ll be using that instead for this post.

If you’re not already familiar, ‘stimming’ (derived from ‘stimulation’) is an unofficial term used to describe consistent and abnormal patterns of physical and vocal behavior typically expressed by people with ADHD and ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder). This includes things that people usually call fidgets or tics.

(NOTE: There are differences in how people with those two disorders stim. This post will explain stimming specifically from an ADHD perspective! ASD stimming is caused by very different factors and presents itself in much different ways. Do your own research if you’re curious!)

There are two major observable forms of stimming- physical and vocal. Karl expresses both VERY often! I’ll use examples for each type;

Physical Stims: Flapping his hands/arms, jumping up and down when he’s excited, twisting around into odd positions in his chair, throwing, hitting, or tapping things, standing up and pacing around when he’s hyped up or laughing, twisting his rings, etc.

Vocal Stims: When he gets excited and repeats a certain phrase incessantly (Think any variation of “I’m popping off”), making certain repetitive noises while he’s focused on something or bored (”la la la”, the meow-noises, the weird heart-beat noise, etc.), singing or humming, tongue clicking.

It should be noted here that it’s pretty common for people with ADHD to get “stuck” on certain phrases or noises, and be unable to stop repeating them (reminiscent of echolalia, a symptom of ASD, but not the same thing). Think of how Karl might sometimes keep making a weird noise for an extended period of time even though it’s not that funny, or that one time he was physically struggling to keep himself from singing the Bakugan theme. These repetitions are completely impulsive and trust me, we usually know how annoying it is while we’re doing it, but we physically cannot stop.

ADHD stims are caused by the fact that the barrier between our brain and body is much weaker than a normal person’s. Because of this, most ADHD stims are actually very positive expressions of joy, excitement, or enthusiasm! Y’know how when you get excited, you feel like you wanna jump or dance? The ‘hyperactivity’ of ADHD is basically just that, but we don’t have the self-control to Not do it.

Stims can be caused by negative feelings like overstimulation, but in ADHD this is not nearly as common. Usually, the most negative reason we’ll stim is when we’re bored- in that case, our brain isn’t getting the Constant Stimulation that it naturally wants, so stimming is a way to make our own.

Whatever the cause, stimming is natural and impulsive. While different people experience it to varying degrees, those who regularly stim typically have little to no control over it. Suppressing stims is very hard and very frustrating to do.

Besides that, like I said- ADHD stims are often an expression of joy, excitement, or enthusiasm. They’re a beautiful thing that shouldn’t be seen as shameful or annoying!

BEHAVIORAL DIFFICULTIES

ADHD is a disorder which causes a lack of self-control. Naturally, this means that people with ADHD are inherently reckless, impulsive, and struggle with a lack of self-discipline that they cannot fix.

Of course, people with ADHD do still have some level of self-control, and they are still responsible for conscious, long-term behavioral patterns and decisions. However, in regards to most things, they are much, much less capable of controlling themselves than an average neurotypical person is.

These are some examples of how this will often present itself in Karl;

Excessive rambling, dragging on a joke or conversation when it could and should probably have been dropped, etc.

Speaking over or interrupting other people (NOTE: As someone with ADHD- THIS IS ALMOST ALWAYS UNINTENTIONAL. I know it can seem rude or annoying but I promise, 90% of the time if someone with ADHD talks over you, they either didn’t realize or physically couldn’t help it. Please try to be patient!)

Lack of awareness towards social cues (NOTE: Unlike ASD, in which the person is incapable of/has problems fully understanding social cues, ADHD results in a lack of awareness. For whatever reason, we’re often just not paying close enough attention to pick up on things like body language, tone of speech, and facial expression as well as we would normally.)

Indecisiveness and overthinking

Bluntness, lack of subtlety

Unintentional dismissiveness, accidentally ignoring things/people (NOTE: Again, this behavior is purely accidental. In this case, it’s usually just the person genuinely not hearing or processing things.)

Making noises, speaking, joking, etc. at inappropriate times

There’s probably more, but I think you get the idea by now. A lot of the time, behavior which results from ADHD can be seen as rude, lazy, dismissive, or otherwise intentionally harmful. In reality, we just aren’t wired to navigate common social interaction with grace.

In Karl’s case, he’s clearly an incredibly sweet, empathetic, and kind-hearted person, if the various close friends who have talked about him are to be believed. Just because he talks over people or makes a poorly timed joke, that doesn’t mean he meant any harm.

I think that’s about it for how much I wanted to point out! You can do more research if you’re curious, but I feel like this post should be enough to tell you what to keep in mind and be understanding about when talking about/making judgements on Karl, and other people with ADHD.

#sorry if this is longwinded but I had a lot to say so [shrug]#karl jacobs #dsmp #dream smp #dreamwastaken #ghost.txt

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tlaquetzqui · 2 years

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Watching videos about the Amazon Wheel of Time, by fans of the books. Now their total disregard for Tolkien is a lot less surprising. Tip for YouTubers reviewing this type of shit: don’t pussyfoot around what you want to say, when you give spoiler warnings. Say it: “Not that you can ‘spoil’ carrion.” You’ll feel better.

The worst one is some girl, her accent is probably a Romance language but I can’t tell if it’s Italian or Spanish or some smaller thing. She sees the trailer and she’s super enthusiastic, innocently happy to see a work she loves adapted. And then she gets more and more disappointed and hurt by each episode, till at the end she’s just a ball of pain. It hurt to watch.

Apparently they didn’t only make the tiny isolated villages nobody ever leaves be super ethnically diverse, without having them be rabid segregationists—which is the only way small isolated communities don’t quickly all round out to one phenotype. That is but a trifle, an hors d’oeuvre before a feast of shit.

They:

Aged up all the characters by about half a decade.

Made the goofball twerp into a philanderer who steals from women he sleeps with. In, again, a relatively small community where word would get around fast. There wouldn’t even be many women who’d sleep with him at all, let alone women who wouldn’t have heard about stuff going missing. How many unattached women willing to knock boots with some rando do these writers think there would be, in a small village society?

Gave a character a wife he didn’t have in the books, because, again, teenagers. Then they kill her off in gruesome fashion to try to be edgy. (Apparently someone at Screen Rant claimed to be a fan of the books but then said “That might fly in the 1990s but not now, because Women in Refrigerators™”—homes if you’d read the books you’d know she only even existed now, step off.)

Had a character who has a family, instead be a Moses-style foundling, and deprived her of a very notable tic.

Decided that the prophesied dealy that’s always a man can be male or female. Just in general they fucked with the gendered aspect of the setting’s magic system, something even I know about. And I can only name one book in the series (The Eye of the World), and only because they name dropped it a lot in the videos.

Delayed the entrance, then utterly drab-ify, the clown dude. And not let him teach the two guys to play instruments, and earn their lodgings.

Removed the dumb inquisitor guys’ insignia and had them send people to someone they actually hate for medical care.

Turned a treasure room into a pile of trash.

Had the protagonists build a bunch of fucking bonfires while being chased by what amount to greenskins crossed with beastmen. Which is suicidal foolishness.

Had the noncanonical wife show up in her not-widower’s nightmares as a zombie getting her guts eaten by wolves.

Utterly drab-ified the nomadic people who are apparently described as wearing like “so many bright colors it hurts”.

Cast a woman described as “tall and beautiful” with a startlingly homely actor, of average height or less. She’s also gotta be pushing fifty, and her order actually basically never age due to their magic. (Canonically you can catch them in disguise because they have young faces with old eyes.)

Also they killed off one of the members of that order, her or one of the others I wasn’t paying attention, when she’s supposed to live for at least a few more fucking books.

Had characters in scenes they would never be allowed to be present for.

Deleted a male clan elder from the nomad people so they can make them a matriarchy. He’s also supposed to be a guy that controls wolves that were apparently still included in an episode even though they now make no sense.

Added a bunch of child murder, cannibalism, and evisceration, just to be edgy. Also a bunch of combat.

Put whole towns and inns that don’t exist and remove ones that do.

Removed entire romance plotlines.

Added hamfisted supervillainy to characters that were clearly already pretty one-note. Also added some weird exploitative stuff (if you think a work can’t use something to titillate while also portraying it as bad, you are unacquainted with the “women in prison” genre).

Shoehorned in a lesbian romance not only out of nowhere but between two women who fucking hated each other, whose respective branches of their order had hated each other for 2000 years.

Turned a no-nonsense tactician who rules as a mother figure into a power-tripping petty tyrant and a vindictive sadist. Though it’s been suggested the showrunner (taking bets now for how long before he’s accused of sexual harassment or worse) thinks this egotistical bullshit is a strong woman, rather than a monstrously weak and pathetic one trying to hide it.

Decided that platform shoes were sufficient to portraying a giant, and gave him honestly some of the most amateur-hour, “BBC pre-Doctor Who reboot” makeup I’ve ever seen.

Rushed through important plotlines from the book, to give more screen time to a different lesbian scene involving one of the characters from the previous one. Who is straight in the book. With a bondage-y subtext because the other woman in the second one is that power-tripping asshole from before.

Changed how the fast-transport magic statues work, fucking over the giant guy’s people to no purpose.

After the actor playing "former goofball turned larcenous philanderer” left, apparently because he didn’t want to get the COVID shot, they put in multiple monologues about what a bad person his character was. Which he was but nobody noticed till the actor left, which is to say the writers don’t know they wrote him as a reprobate, they’re just lashing out at the actor for displeasing them.

Gave a character the ability to defeat a demon creature that haunts the transport-statue network, because Girl Power™ (possibly just “we wanted to shoehorn in a fight no matter how little sense it makes”—likely both), where in the books the only way to survive is to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Changed a wooden city built into a cliffside, with roofs designed for dealing with snow, to a stone city in what looks like a subtropical desert with nary a cliff or mountain to be seen. Also made it a star fort with no artillery. Which is like a tank without a gun.

Changed the reason the protagonists go to the eponymous Eye of the World, from investigation to directly confronting the villain. Also kept a character from going there even though it’s his homeland. And he, a tracker and woodsman who’s been guarding one of those mage ladies for a decade, has to be told how to track his own liege by a goddamn farmgirl.

Changed a character’s power from seeing auras around people that seem to mean something like “something important is gonna happen to you” to having actual specific visions. Probably just for plot convenience, because her real power allows less exposition per scene.

Apparently rushed the development of the main guy’s power and the introduction of an artifact by like four books. There are fifteen of these fucking things, guys, if you’re worried about getting to them all maybe do a better job on the first one.

Randomly had the main guy go through another character’s backstory. Only for him it was the present. Because…who the hell knows.

Apparently forgot the only people with magic, with one exception, are members of that order. So it makes exactly zero sense to have a member of the order ask other people that can use magic to help them: they’re all already members, dumbass. (Oh wait, apparently they made the queen one herself. Which she is not.)

Failed to understand how a chokepoint works. In a battle that doesn’t exist in the book but is clearly intended to rip off Helm’s Deep.

Made characters repeatedly do stupid shit nobody would, just to make other characters look better when they do the not-stupid things. Which on the rare occasions they’re actually using the book, is usually something the turned-stupid character actually did.

Spent a significant portion of an episode getting a box out of a place it’s not supposed to be. Because moving containers (which are clearly empty) is good television.

Had a like group-spellcasting thing that apparently doesn’t exist, at least not like that. I would have to see the effect play out in realtime (for which I would have to watch the show, so…) to be sure, but at least one person says the spell they cast like this was clearly copying visual beats from Thor in Wakanda in…whichever of the last two Avengers movies. Which I can easily buy between “let’s force this PG-rated story to be The Next Game of Thrones™” and that Helm’s Deep shit. (Also I did see the spellcasting itself and it really does look like the Ark of the Covenant melting Nazis.)

Had an avatar of the setting’s ultimate evil, who is apparently not even encountered yet, get easily outwitted by a moderately skilled ordinary mage.

Had the main guy fake his death and infodump things he would not know.

Had the one mage, the one randomly inserted in multiple lesbian scenes, lose her power somehow.

Had someone who died come back to life, which is absolutely forbidden by the setting’s rules.

Basically, Rafe Judkins decided to deliberately fuck up his adaptation, motivated by vaguely ideologically-rationalized malice. Which is not surprising, given that a former Survivor contestant who wrote a few episodes of second-rate shows would not be put in charge of something like this on merit. He was put in place because he greased the right palms and kissed the right asses, and mouthed the right platitudes. He may be the most evil of these vandals yet, which is saying something; the sheer glee with which he deliberately ruins something people love is amazing to behold.

On the other hand I’m going to see if I can get my hands on the books, since apparently there’s a lot more there than I thought.

#they had to add the quasielemental plane of salt back to the inner planes just for me #subculture carpetbagging #hobby gentrification #rafe judkins is a monster and he deserves to be executed by scaphism #i'm sorry if my feelings on the man were ambiguous

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ambistep · 4 years

Text

We Can Make It Work

~4.2k words, stupid long, gratuitous gang plans, a real somft ending, i promise

Tags: retribution spoilers. cw - killing, guns, Argentstep, the gang!! not sure

Mina has session with Dr. Finch - it goes well this time. In fact, many things are going well lately! Also I wanted to write about the gang, and i always want to have argent stuff

---------

“You seem well - more confident. Happier?” Finch is smiling. Mina is smiling. This is good. “I wish I could take some credit but it’s been awhile since our last session. I thought you might not be coming back.”

Mina sinks back into the comfortable chair, “Sorry, I just have been really busy lately.”

“...I started a new project at work.”

A small sodium work lamp illuminates the workbench and the corkboard on the wall before it. Neat files of illicit records and stacks of purloined documents, a laptop aglow with… research, photos, stock news, articles. Mina’s nimble fingers spear a set of blueprints to the board.

It was a trickle at first - but with time, the board had grown very crowded indeed, a tangled rat’s nest of ties, connections and data points. The squeaking chorus nearby liked it when she thought of it as such.

Vanderpoel had talked to Ochoa about the congressional aide who handled the senator’s dirty laundry - Mina had been monitoring Mia. The aide was careful, but simply didn’t have the security of his boss. His mind had been an oily, porous sick sort of place, riddled with compromise and low cunning - it yielded readily before Clarity. A swift crack, and all kinds of goodies spilled out, enough that sifting through it had become difficult. Now, though, now she had the names necessary to get started.

“I’ve been trying to be better about working as part of the team.”

The warehouse was dusty, filled with forgotten pieces of abandoned start-ups or rarely used equipment, the space leased by a firm with little memory of it - Mina had made certain it was forgotten. A flash young gun in a slick suit is chattering about gear specs with a slightly older Modded muscle who is dutifully ignoring him while trying to unpack and assemble gear with their clawed prosthetic. Another modded fellow lounges on the sofa, pouring over a flight manual.

Across the way, an odd pair, a rough, heavily-modded soldier and a grinning young girl who seems like she might have walked off campus at UCLD are listening intently, studying floor plans. All authority in the room flows from the scarred, severe woman laying out her plan point by point.

“...ZaZa sits tight on overwatch, Boris stays put at the helipad. Rest of us sweep the executive level, and split into pairs. Pelayo, you’re with Nehal, while Ward and -” She pauses, hearing the question form in Pelayo’s mind, “while Ward and I secure the target.”

“The kid can back you with the target, no? How much back-up you need in that suit, boss?” Pelayo brushes his knuckles over his stubble, a nervous tic.

Smoothly, softly, Mina shuts down Pelayo’s concern, “You need to cover Nehal while she makes sure we only set off the alarms we want to go off, and then you need to be there to place our parting gift. Ward will be fine with me, I’ve got their back. Are we clear?”

Pelayo hesitates, measuring his unwillingness to separate from Ward versus testing the boss. It was a good job - Clarity pays well and on time, gives them plenty of prep time. And most importantly in this city, she seems mostly sane. Looked a little young, but she didn’t get those scars playing tennis, and the plans were solid, smart. So if she said Ward went up and he went down... “Ay, we clear.”

Clarity looks him dead on. That ‘this isn’t going to be a problem?’ look. He knows it.

Pelayo nods, “Don’t worry about it.”

Nehal, surreptitiously studying the utility plans, in utter enchantment, “I think, on some level, I always wanted to be an arsonist.”

“...I’ve been going out a bit more.”

Ward didn’t quite understand how Clarity’s trick worked, but watching the grey cloud slowly eat through the vaulted security door to the executive suite was a treat. Nehal had made sure to cut off communications from the CEO’s office - and the target had predictably locked down his suite.

What they hadn’t expected was a Modded security officer waiting for them.

Clarity steps through the hole that was a steel-reinforced door, imperious dark armor and gleaming face mask emerging wreathed in the nanovores’ smoky cloud. The vocal distorters don’t conceal her amusement, “Could it be? The Grey Guardsman? No longer cutting taxes, I see.” Shielded. So that’s why she hadn’t sussed out his presence in advance.

The corporate hero draws his signature carbon-steel longsword, squaring off - making a good show of confidence, pointing his blade, “And I recognize you, villain - I may no longer serve TaxTech, but we still do a swift trade in justice here at Promethean.”

Clarity coolly wraps an armored gauntlet around the blade. The Rat-King gleefully guides them as they chew apart the weapon, and Mina sighs behind her mask. She always really liked that sword. “Stand aside, Guardsman. This scum isn’t worth fighting for.”

Sure, he’s a company stooge, but Charge had introduced him to Sidestep, and it hurts to admit, but… maybe some part of Mina would regret crushing him too badly. A reminder of a more innocent time.

Enough to distract her from the fact that he’s still coming - his ambitious, ridiculous plan of punching her thwarted by Ward’s iron grip around his wrist. Clarity’s lapse in conviction is rectified - a solid blow to the head from her armored gauntlet and Ward drops him to the floor.

She sighs, and nods her head in gratitude to Ward. That should leave only the target in the office proper. A heavy book is enough kick through the ordinary door. A portly older fellow sits still in his chair, trying to appear unafraid, trying to hold his composure. “Wh-what is it that you want? I am prepared to c-cooperate.”

A VIP, a defense contractor, someone with his security clearance would have some training to resist telepathic interrogation - enough to maybe stop Sidestep. Not so for Clarity, but still maybe enough to slow down the process, complicate things. “Ward, sedative.” The man yelps as she reaches across the desk to grab him.

“Got it, Boss.” Ward’s surprisingly deft with the needle. The suit makes pinning him to the desk a trivial thing, and the injection goes in just as easily.

“Now, then. I’m not to be disturbed.” Ward takes the order and leaves Clarity to her prey. The quivering executive yields easily, meager protections cracking like safety glass under the first real pressure.

Clarity is rewarded - almost immediately. He knew why they were here. He knew immediately exactly which part of Promethean’s many contracts had brought Clarity here. A dry Nevada desert. Security clearances and classified paperwork. Contracts with no questions asked. A service for his country. It made him feel good to be a patriot - that is what she discovers. It makes her feel… something else entirely. Seething, black, bloody --

“Oh, shit, is he dead, boss?” Ward sneaks a look into the office. Mina recoils immediately from the man - blood runs from his nose and… not dead yet, a stroke, maybe. She can feel the trickle of his mind, faint, pooling out. Fine - better than what he deserved. She’d planned to wipe his memory and cover her intrusion but a stroke worked just as well.

“We’re leaving.” Clarity stalks out of the office, opening a channel for the rest of the team, “I have what we came for. Exit team?”

The office fills with sirens and red lights, Nehal’s voice in her helmet, “Oh, we’re good.”

“Then we’re done.”

A whining voice cuts over the radio, “I didn’t even get to shoot anything.”

“Next time.”

“I feel like the job really gives me a chance to express myself.”

“And you’re getting along with your co-workers? I know you were worried about your social anxiety.”

“I think we understand each other.”

“Shh, guys!” Nehal fumbles for the remote to turning up the volume on the television. Pelayo and Ward are still stripping down and checking the gear. Boris, ZaZa, they share beers, but Clarity - unarmored - settles down to sit on the floor next to the girl.

“...Veronica Sandoval, live from downtown, where responders are still battling a two alarm fire at an office building. Now, authorities aren’t saying what caused the fire but I can tell you two that two patients were taken to city hospitals with non-life threatening injuries. The building is the headquarters of Promethean, which is described on it’s website as a medical device and biotech company, and a defense contractor. A spokesman with the fire depart…”

“Show it, show it, yes!” Nehal laughs triumphantly as the camera cuts to footage from a news helicopter, showing the fully-engulfed front face of the building lighting up the nightline of downtown Los Diablos. “Fucking fascists. Clar, look.” She grabs the boss’s shoulder then suddenly recoils.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I jus-” The boss didn’t like to be touched.

Clarity keeps her face tight, and just nods, “It’s good, don’t worry about it.” She leans back, trying not to brush off the spot where Nehal’s hand had landed, “Glad you had fun - next job is going to be harder - but a bigger score.”

That gets everyone’s attention. Pelayo and Ward, consummate professionals, gather up. “You got the next job lined up already?”

“Almost. Preparation will take some time - I’ll be in touch. Payment will find you like usual.”

That’s good enough for Ward and Pelayo, they’re veterans, professionals, used to this stuff. ZaZa always liked the money but hated authority almost as much, and relished any chance to shoot his guns off. Nehal liked Clarity’s politics and… had some sort of admiration for the boss. Mina makes a note to curtail that - nobody should be looking up to her, for God’s sake. Boris just liked the steady pay - everyone seemed much nicer than the Wolfpack, anyway.

“We talked about wearing masks last time. How they can be useful for letting us function in social or workplace environments, but they can also be used to keep people away, to isolate. How are you doing with masks, Mina?”

“Still using masks, I’ll admit. But I did take your advice about getting out of the city for a little bit.”

“Shit, it’s hot. Fucking Mojave.” He wipes his brow, wicking away the sweat.

“Focus, ZaZa.” The boss’s voice reassures him in his earpiece. For some reason, her voice always seemed to calm his nerves. Lady was creepy like that.

ZaZa tapped at the relay device, shielding the small monitor from the sun’s glare and flicking between cameras, “Visual on target. Right on schedule.”

A massive, heavily armored tractor trailer, unlabeled, barrels down Interstate 40. On either side, two black SUVs bearing out-of-state license plates. Clarity tried to zoom in the image on her helmet’s HUD. At the bottom of the plate, curly black text reminds her ‘HOME MEANS NEVADA.’ The thought makes her queasy. And violent. Maybe that’s good. Maybe she needs that push.

“Remember. Stick to the plan, watch out for each other. They’ll be contractors, ex-military but the kind who take it seriously. Maybe with mods. They will kill on sight. And we have to be fast.” If she is right, and she knows she must be at this point, then there would be a response - even out here in the Mojave. “Masks up. Time starts at contact.”

In the back of the van with the boss, Pelayo and Ward slip down the sleek silvery facemasks Mortum had prepared for the team - not as robust or tricked out as Clarity’s, but more on par with… well, with Sidestep’s. Up front, Nehal’s already had hers on - she’d hardly taken it off.

The masks are important - Mina knows. It puts distance between the person and the world in front of them, lets you detach from violence, from danger, emboldens you. It lets you invent someone who can do the things you need to do, to become someone who can survive. She’d put on a mask to become Clarity. A mask to become Sidestep. ...a mask to become Mina.

Boris’s voice crackles over the comms, “Boss… Boss. I got visual. ZaZa, don’t god damn miss.”

He sounds nervous - this is a bit more than he signed up for. Clarity eases back into her seat, reaching out, fingers in five minds, familiar minds. Nothing aggressive, no pushing - you touch too much and they might stiffen up or stop trusting their instincts. Only the lightest, caressing touches, gentle nudges.

She has to admit, she loves this part, feels born to it. She’d learned that with the Wolfpack - nothing felt so pleasant as coaxing her crew along towards victory, allaying their fears and… coordinating. Boris’s anxiety is sweltering, Nehal has uncomfortably little anxiety - the girl is… special. Ward, too, isn’t so certain. Clarity turns to look at Ward, looking past the facemask, and then speaks to Boris, “Easy, we trained for this. Your truck is reinforced. Take cover below the dash when you make contact. We’re professionals.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Relax, man, I don’t miss.” He’s almost as good as he thinks he is.

Nehal guns it, pedal to the floor, gaining on the convoy in front of her, empty desert tracking past.

Boris’s tractor trailer heads down the highway westbound, staring down the convoy. He accelerates and… swerves into the oncoming lane. The lead driver reacts but not fast enough.

The eighteen-wheeler plows into the black SUV with a tortured symphony of wailing metal, crunching glass and scraping on pavement.

It would almost be hard for anyone to even notice the thunderous boom of the anti-material rifle punching into the engine block of the convoy’s transport. Even as it plows into the back of the SUV in front of it, the shots keep coming, again, and again, and again.

The back of the escort pulls up alongside the convoy and brakes, scrambling, deploying, trying to find cover. And Nehal comes in ready, swinging the van sideways. Pelayo, Ward, they toss the smoke grenades and take positions behind the van. Nehal ducks down for cover in the driver’s seat, clutching her machine pistol.

And then it is the boss’s show. The van raises up as the bulk of Clarity’s armor sets foot on the highway. There is a burst and clatter of small arms fire - striking the van, some even striking her - but she simply walks into it, embracing the attention. Their thoughts are frantic, aggressive - more of them are holed up in the transport with the cargo. Someone is calling for backup, notifying command - she stops in place and squeezes this mind, even through the ratatatat plinking. Stop. Now. Squeezing. Breaking this mind.

No need for too much delicacy - this is the enemy.

The one she had been waiting to strike at for so long. Not these men and women, but… everything they serve. That should be enough - it’s still harder than she’d thought, using her powers this way. Not entirely true - it is easy, really. Frighteningly easy. But it feels hard for Mina.

That’s why she has on Clarity’s mask.

The gunfire stops - someone… Oh someone has a plan. One of the soldiers is retrieving heavy ordinance, she can feel the thoughts, the plans. “Pelayo.” Some mental guidance, and he turns out of cover and brings down the would-be hero with deft fire from his rifle.

The Rat-Kings continue to help Clarity guide all focus towards her, all aim toward her, soaking up all this attention, though they care none too much for the noise, chittering in a right good panic.

“Advance.” Ward comes out from cover, then Pelayo, picking off aggressors. Now and again, another boom from ZaZa in the distance when he finds a shot - sometimes even when he doesn’t.

“Breach.” There’s still two holed up in the transport, their thoughts easy to sniff - patient, trained. Weirdly confident, that’s unnerv-

“Boss! Ward’s hit!” Clarity turns her head. How had she not noticed? Ah, Ward had barely noticed themselves.

“I’m good, we’re good.” Ward is always good - undersells everything. Pelayo’s still worried, but a quick check and Clarity is sure Ward is telling the truth.

“No heroics - cover our backs. Focus.” A quick nudge to keep everyone on mission. On mission - that notion… again makes Mina queasy. Her handler’s voice, she talked about… staying on mission. Clarity helps her push past the discomfort. “Breaching.”

As Clarity prepares to ready the nanovores to crack open the transport, the tailgate volunteers itself, swinging wide. There’s no time to react to the small explosive that impacts - only strong enough to cause her to stumble, thank you once again, Mortum.

Two gleaming, power-suited soldiers climb out of the truck, and Clarity almost has to laugh. Two hundred miles from Los Diablos, and she still finds two tin discount imitations of Marshal Steel.

“ZaZa.”

Another blast of thunder and one suit drops. The other starts to react, but the distraction is more than enough to open a wide hole in their thoughts - Clarity psychically punctures what light mental preparation he had and buries a shiv in his mind.

And like that, the highway is quiet.

Pelayo checks the first escort, giving a clear. Boris chimes in with the next. Nobody else is getting up. Ward and Nehal follow Clarity to the truck and begin to unload the cargo.

Another mental nudge for the team - keep everything quick, everything snappy. Clarity runs through the plan - they don’t need the reminders, but she has to say something, keep the adrenaline up so she doesn’t think about… consequences. “Pack it up, ZaZa. Boris will pick you up. The rest of you, we’re taking it all, strip it down and clean it enroute.”

Every moment they aren’t talking, all she can hear is her heart. This is them, these are… This really is them. It is terrifying, crushingly horrifying, every part of her wants to scream, run. They will be coming, this was a mistake, how could she have been so ridiculous? Hitting them like some jewel heist, with a gang of robbers? All her thoughts are that they will find her and kill her. That there’s a team from the Special Directive in the air right now, ready to deploy.

It could even be true.

“Clar? Clarity?”

Nehal waves a hand in front of her mask, her own silver mask tilted in concern, “Boss, time to go.”

And so it is.

It isn’t until they’re on the road, off the interstate, and all the cargo is clean that panic finishes bleeding through her system, that Clarity clicks and removes her helmet. Had they really done it? Had she… Could she have really drawn blood from the people who made her and lived?

“Can’t believe it, right? Imperialists, highway robbery with government spooks.” Nehal glances over to the passenger seat and holds out a candy bar, a smirk glued on her face - at least she’s taken off her mask.

Clarity peers at the young girl, graciously accepting the candy. She takes a small bite, “You’re a really weird kid, Nehal.” Looking over her shoulder to the back of the van, “How’s Ward?”

Pelayo still looks a little nervous - she’s always surprised by how worried that man can look, “They’re good.”

Ward gives a nod, “One got through on the leg, just grazed. Be healed by morning.” Clarity frowns, but seems satisfied with this.

Two hours, and well on their way to the detour in Old Fresno - when ZaZa and Boris sent their all clear… That’s when Mina can finally, fully feel satisfied that there’s no team of branded monsters - monsters like herself - stalking them, no ghostly assassins. Maybe this really was a victory - maybe they really pulled it off. Had she overestimated them? No, she had cautiously estimated them, she chides herself. She didn’t make it this far without being careful.

“How did that go, travelling?”

“Better than I expected - I was still really nervous, the whole time.”

“When we last met, you were telling me you had been seeing someone?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did. Getting sloppy?”

“...Must have slipped out.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“...Well. It’s been going well. I got her a gift the other day. While I was out of town. The perfect thing.”

“Did she like it?”

“I haven’t shown her yet. But I know she will.”

“Why’d I have to come all the way out here? Is this where you keep your smelly little lair?” Ximena wrinkles her nose, standing out in the open lot, kicking at dirt idly.

“Oh please. Like I’d take my girlfriend to my secret lair.” Mina smirks - being with her always brings out the best. Crouching down, she brushes away some dirt and pops a key into a padlock and yanks open a rusty metal cellar door.

She scoffs, “Padlock, huh.” Mina grins smugly, leading the silvery heroine further down below.

“For the record, my lair smells like flowers.”

“Ooo. Is that a clue?” She pokes Mina in her smug little nose

“Maybe. Come on, this way.” She grabs Ximena’s hand, tugging her along, getting far too excited.

The whole place looks like nobody’s been there in years, but that’s part of the charm - Mina’d been here just this morning. A false wood panel in a support beam yields a keypad. Playfully shielding the pad from Ximena’s eyes, Mina punches in the code, allowing a false wall to slide open.

“Just for the record, I knew that was there.” Ah, right. All those neat little extra senses she had.

“Well, thank you for humoring me. I wanted to put on a little show.” Mina leans, taking both of her hands, and squeezes them, leading her slowly into the small storage vault.

“What is this?” Ximena’s voice lowers a little, eyeing the gunmetal grey case resting on a table in the middle of the room. The name ‘PROMETHEAN’ stamped on front. There’d been more boxes, with different bits of technology or equipment, rare, valuable. Some she’d given to the good doctor Mortum to play with. The rest she’d sold to Hollow Ground at a considerable discount - a show of good faith. Clarity had been all too happy to let Mr. Manalo take it all off her hands - and the payment was still more than enough to keep the crew happy.

Now there was just this one case.

“The lock was a little tricky…” Mina is radiant, glowing with pride as she places her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. A soft ding and a green light unlocks the case. “...really, anyone can open it now that I broke the lock... My fingers don’t actually have any prints anyway.” She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers for emphasis.

Ximena smirks, locking her left hand with Mina’s. “I like them.” She leans in and kisses a digit lightly, “Just.” A kiss. “The way.” A kiss. “They are.” And a kiss. Mina’s smile fixes in place, cheeks flushed red, her thoughts going all kinds of places then crashing, brain shutting down - until Ximena’s snorting laugh helps her recover. “So, what’s in the box?”

“A present.”

Popping the case open slowly, there is a hiss of frosty, chilled air spilling out into the heat of the dry basement. The interior of the lid is labeled with serial numbers and barcodes - uncomfortably familiar barcodes, if Mina allowed herself to think about it. She most notably does not allow herself to think about it. Not now. She watches Ximena’s gleaming face, waiting for that moment of recognition.

Chilled and lit by a sinister - to Mina’s reckoning - orange light, clasped in the middle of the case, three processing chips, a solid state storage device, a handful of cellulose wetware chips and the jewel, the real prize.

“How did you..?”

“Don’t ask. I told you I’d find one.”

An innocent enough looking device. Inscrutable to almost anyone else - but not to Mina. Not to Ximena. A particular, specific protein printer, and all the pieces needed to make it work. The kind of thing that would look nestled right at home in the heart of a certain regenerator prototype.

“I promised I would,” Mina’s voice shakes, unsteady. A lump welling in her throat as she sees the recognition, the relief on Ximena’s face. All that this means. For either of them. For both of them. All that it could mean. Infinite things. Anything. Everything.

She pulls Mina in too hard, arms around tight, squeezing, “You think we can make it work?” It’s her turn, even her voice gets weak.

Mina sniffs, feeling her control slipping, her mask pulled down, and a tear runs down her cheek as she buries her head into Ximena’s shoulder, leaning into the hug. She tries to speak but it is hard to put any strength in her voice, “...yeah, we can make it work.”

They hold tight, hungry for two whole lives of affection, and touch, and tenderness. Starving for intimacy that had been out of reach, once for all time. Now… Now within reach. Ximena asks it again, “We can make it work?”

Mina had told her. Told her weeks ago. About the machine. About their relationship. About their whole lives.

The answer was the same.

“We can make it work.”

This time, she even believes it herself.

#fhr #fallen hero: rebirth #sidestep #lady argent #mina oh #scribbly #and the gang!#i love the gang!!#way too long

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tomasistrill · 4 years

Text

“Don’t look; but I Think The Elephant In The Room is Wearing An MF Doom Mask..”

By @tomasistrill

December 12, 2019

The Manifesto

“I am the elephant in the room;

bringing doom,

really soon.”

-TOMMY TRILLY

-Form & Shape

The image is sized to be square to eligantly frame my thesis of the symmetry that outlines all things asymmetrical.

Using dimensions of 1080x1080pixels gives the piece functionality & purpose as cover artwork for an important project being manifested as we think, speak & breath.

The color scheme is purposely & purely monochromatic. Starting from left to right; the viewer will immediately see that black is the dominating color of the composition.

However, dominant, is nothing less than an understatement. When working with black on this piece; I found myself compulsive, aggressive & even manic at times.

I strayed far from my initial concept of having the black fade to an almost white tone; never truly giving my viewer the graceful embrace of a pure white.

Instead; my fanatical usage of black lead me ever deeper into the enigmatic labyrinth of my subconscious & a graceful awareness of the courage to create.

-Ethos, Pathos & Logos

The toxic love affair between my creative mania & the color black conceived a scene no longer so two dimensional; contrasted with a character that will never be anything more than it’s two dimensions.

The character is depicted in the center of the room. However, because he cannot escape his two dimensional existence, the center of the room is a place he can only observe from afar. He doesn’t understand why none of the people in the room pay attention to him.

His body language communicates a lonely disposition; arms hanging at his sides, hands [possibly] in his pockets & eyes staring far into the abyss; painfully conscious of his glaze matched by the depths of true existence.

On the left & right of our self-ruminating character; reads “S†≡≡Z.”

A word meaning to have style with ease; made popular by hip-hop on the East Coast. In my meditations on the word, came to me, the most clear understanding of grace & what it means to have it.

Bruce Lee describes it as the effortless flow of water; taking the shape of whatever contains you; the body containing the mind & the mind then containing the soul.

This journey inward in search of the holy S†≡≡Z requires you to courageously be yourself purely in the face of adversity. Everytime you choose fear over courage; you’re taking steps outward & away from the S†≡≡Z!

-Spiritual Subliminals

Diving ever deeper into the art & the messages it has for us; we’ll turn our focus to how the word “S†≡≡Z” is communicated to the viewer. Using things such as; color, form, shape, symbology, typography, etc. I was able to effectively communicate ideas to the beholder, in a very visual, yet subtle way.

“S - - -Z”

The “S” at the beginning represents a wavelength that’s smooth from crest to trough.

While the “Z” at the end presents an opposite, but equal wave; this one being more aggressive in it’s frequency.

This is the inevitability one faces in making the decision to be themselves.

Sometimes the wave is S & sometimes the wave is Z, but if you know how to surf; the ride is always steezy.

“- † - - -“

The letter “T” here serves at a ✞ symbol standing for the divine power of love & forgiveness within Man.

“- - ≡ ≡ -”

The arrangement of three horizontal lines is an angelic numerical sequence “111” that tells the intuition to take action.

Encouraging you to keep following your spirit; if you see this listen to your gut/heart.

This rendering of “S † ≡ ≡ Z” is then contrasted across the longitude of the entire ensemble; painting a polarizing picture of the age old existential struggle of the inner against the outer.

The only usage of a true white tone is in the first occurrence of S†≡≡Z; in the darkest section of the piece. Then, almost mockingly, right in the middle of the lightest area, we see the return of darkness; in the second & final occurrence of S†≡≡Z.

This beautifully illustrates; when the world is dark, the individual will intuitively become the light he so desperately seeks.

We can then safely assume if the world becomes illuminated in mankind’s brilliance; the individual will only find peace in the shadows of his own world.

Narrative-

MF Doom:

A character/persona written by british-born EMCEE Daniel Dumile.

From his upbringing in Long Island, New York to his controversial rise to infamy; his story is trill hiphop lore. He became a man deep in the minds of millions & they don’t even know his name.

Initially, rapping under the alias Zev Love X, he formed the rap group KMD & signed to Elektra Records. Just before the release of the group’s second Album, boldly titled “Black Bastards,” the doom rapper’s late brother DJ Subroc was struck by a car & killed.

That same week the group was dropped from their label & the album was scrapped. Dumile left the industry & lived essentially homeless from 94’ to 97’.

He then left New York to settle in Atlanta, Georgia. Still recovering from his wounds; the rapper would don the iconic DOOM mask & take revenge "against the industry that so badly deformed him".

Thus the notorious villain of the hiphop underground MF DOOM was born.

He is often praised as not only one of the illest lyricist to ever do it, but also as a genius producer.

However, inspite of his immaculate discography & significant respect from industry legends, he is still widly unaccepted by the community he’s devoted his life to.

The Elephant:

Elephants are known as a keystone species; meaning it has disproportionately large effect on its environment relative to its abundance.

In fact, by simply existing; the elephant has the power to inflict change in the world it lives in. They, as all animals do, move across the earth manifesting their every desire; unconcerned with anything & everything that isn’t necessary to life.

Effortlessly laying the foundation on which nearly every other speices, within it’s domain, inevitably builds it’s existence.

They themselves embrace a matriarchal lifestyle; in which the feminine is the primary power within society.

Family Groups, consisting of mainly females & children, are led by the eldest female matriarch; with many of the males choosing a more solitary existence.

The elephant recognizes itself in a mirror; demonstrating a capacity for self-awareness found only in apes & dolphins. They also morn their dead & show signs of stress when loved ones aren’t well.

It is well known that the elephant’s memory is stone; able to recall locations of watering holes, family members, vast migration routes, etc. all over their 70 year lifespan.

Conflict:

It’s no surprise that elephants have inspired many literary, mythical & religious cultures; traditionally the elephant has been a symbol of strength, power, wisdom, longevity, stamina, leadership, sociability, nurturance and loyalty.

We see these things reflected in political ideologies of the American Republican Party; who’ve used the elephant as a mascot since 1874.

Conveying a message to undecided voters to preserve the values of the past & to have noble principle guiding your actions.

On the surface level this is honorably patriotic, but as I dived ever deeper; I found a story of people divided simply by perspectives based on how reality presented itself to the misdirected & misguided naiveté of the ignorant & innocent.

The parable of the blind men & the elephant originated in the ancient Indian subcontinent. A group of blind men, who never encountered an elephant before, all touch a different part of an elephants body & insist they know exactly what it is in front of them; based on their limited experience, they all go on to describe what they understood the elephant standing in front of them to be. The first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said "This being is like a thick snake". Another man, whose hand reached its ear, said it seemed like a kind of fan. The third man, whose hand was upon its leg, said the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk. A fourth man who placed his hand upon its side said the elephant, "is a wall". Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.

In this parable; I found a moral of the subjective truths we face every day in our common lives.

All of these men share a deep common attribute of blindness & thus will cling to shallow differences in sensual experience & each man will have a different ideology for why he does so.

Man will neglect fellowship with his fellow man if, in his limited experience of reality, he finds it to be a necessary action in his life.

Unfortunately for a more modest man; life is often misunderstood by his neighbors.

Perhaps he dreamns of power, so he creates the illusion he has a higher knowledge of the elephant. Maybe he’s a coward & would rather formulate an opinion than walk away, because he fears rejection from the group.

Man has a habbit of claiming to know the absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience. As they ignore other people's limited, subjective experiences. Which may be equally true; only ever able to justify their claims with fear or courage.

Resolve:

Courage requires immaculate moral responsibility & higher knowledge. To stand in the face of destiny with the heart of a warrior is an endeavor most men can no longer dream of.

It requires too much & so most men spend their lifetime in the same predicament the elephant himself is in; standing in a room being ignored by those whose hearts call out to him! To be the elephant in the room is a tragedy largely ignored.

The expression "the elephant in the room" is a metaphorical idiom in English for an important or enormous topic, problem, or risk that is obvious or that everyone knows about but no one mentions or wants to discuss because it makes at least some of them uncomfortable or is personally, socially, or politically embarrassing, controversial, inflammatory, or dangerous. This same sociological & psychological repression operates on the macro scale of modern society.

Should something as conspicuous as an elephant be overlooked in codified social interactions? Of course not. You are the elephant in the room.

Conclusion:

Not only has he not forgotten; but the elephant himself, in all his divine S†≡≡Z, stands in a room full of people he remembers from the beginning of time. They talk of the old days; almost every word hinting at his presence in the room, but they just go on rambling as if the elephant himself isn’t standing next to them. They’re completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a god damn eight-foot seven-inch Asian elephant with a fucking MF DOOM mask on right there. He’s tired of being ignored; soon he will escape from his interdimensional hell & bring doom.

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buckysdiary · 6 years

Text

Character Sheet - Lasthineth

General Information

Name: Lasthineth (Pronunciation: last-heen-eth) Elrondiel

Name Meaning: Pale leaf, Daughter of Elrond

Name Origin: Sindarin

Other Names: None

Gender: Female

Titles: Daughter of Elrond, Observer of Life

Birth Date: TA 346

Birth Place: Kingdom of Imladris, Rivendel

Dominant Hand: Right

Astrological Sign: Pisces

Autograph: Lasthineth

Handwriting: Neat, fine, elegant

Appearance

Height: 5 ft 7 in

Weight: 119 lbs

Species: Elf

Race: Imladris

Blood Type: O+

Skin Color: I (Fitzpatrick Scale), #f9f8f4

Birthmarks: None

Extra Anatomy: Borderline Albino features

Somatotype: Ectomorph

Hair Color: 10B, Extra Light Beige Blond, Soft White

Hair Length: Lower back

Hair Type: Lightly wavy, 2A

Hair Style: Down, Pinned Bun

Widow's Peak: Small

Ear Shape: Pointed tips

Ear Type: Pointed, Round

Eye Color: Light grey-blue

Eye Type: Upturned, Deep-set, Large

Eyebrows: Star-blond, Mild arch

Nose Color: No change

Nose Shape: Small, Pointed

Teeth: Straight, White

Face Shape: Oval

Facial Hair: None

Health and Image

Diet: Vegan

Exercise: None

Fitness: None

Running Speed: 10 MPH

Posture: Straight, Tall, Chin up

Vulnerabilities: Because she is an Imladris elf, she was brought up to be slow and gentle, does not know how to fight

Handicaps: None

Medication: None

Allergies: None

Diseases: None

Illnesses: None

Disorders: None

Imperfections: None

Broken Bones: None

Reason for Health: Elf

Wardrobe: Light colors, Silks, Gowns, Light fabrics

Accessories: Thin, ivory, double helix crown, Silver rings

Equipment: None

Musical Instruments: Lute, Harp, Voice

Piercings: None

Hygiene: Excellent

Makeup: None

Scent: Gardenia, Waterlily, Lilac, Spring

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Voice

Accent / Dialect: English

Range: High

Volume: Soft

Laughter: Soft, Quiet, Short chuckle

Impediments: None

Psychology

IQ: 140

Languages: Elvish (Sindarin, Quenya, Lhammas, Valarin), Rohirric (Language of Rohan), Khuzdul (Dwarvish), Adunaic (or Numenorean, Old English) Westron (Middle Earth Common Speech), and other Mannish languages (Haladin, Dunlendish, Haradrim, and Easterling)

Vocabulary: Excellent

Memory: Excellent

Learning Style: Visual, Photogenic

Emotional Stability: Excellent

Mental Health: Excellent apart from being distracted visually

Linguistic: Very

Logical-Mathematical: Very

Musical: Very

Artistic: Very

Naturalistic: Very

Superstitious: Somewhat

Half-full or Half-emtpy: Half-Full

Philosophy

Religion: Worship of Iluvatar, Adoration of Valar

Devotion: Silmarils

Superstitions: None

Spirit Animal: Otter

Death wish: To be buried with leaves from Rivendel

Attitude: Positive, Independent, Open

Outlook on Life: Positive

Perception: Always observing everything, Pays attention to every detail of live, Revels in new and interesting feelings

Philosophy / Motto: "If you listen hard, you can hear the many ways in which the Earth speaks to you."

Taboos: Hunting, Love at first sight

Vices: Easily distracted, Avoids certain responsibilities, Avoids opening up to others

Virtues: Observant, Calm, Intelligent, Reliable, Confident, Curious

Character

Primary Objective: Keep natural balance in the world

Secondary Objectives: Protect and help family

Priorities: Family, Nature

Motivation: Discovering new things

Self Confidence: Average

Self Control: High

Self Esteem: Average

Quirks: Loses herself in thoughts, Prefers walking barefoot

Hobbies: Watches nature, Reading, Singing, Plays Lute and Harp, Grows plants

Closet Hobbies: Watches nature, Grows plants

Guilty Pleasures: Will stay up very late to watch fireflies

Habits: Stares into space, Walks barefoot

Desires: Books, Family, Open space

Wishes: To have a garden, To see her mother

Traumas: Watching her mother suffer nightmares from being tortured by Orcs

Worries: She isn't able to protect her loved ones from everything

Nervous Tics: Wrings hands, Mumbles, Paces, Forgets to blink

Soothers: Breathing deeply, Closing eyes, Rubbing hands together, Watching nature

Soft Spots: Her family, especially her father

Accomplishments: Cares for nature

Greatest Achievement: Earned title of Observer of Life

Failures: None

Biggest Failure: None

Favorite Dream: Walking through a forest of Evergreens

Worst Nightmare: None

Earliest Memory: Her mother showing her a firefly

Fondest Memory: Her mother showing her a firefly

Worst Memory: Her mother leaving to the Havens and refusing to let her come

Funniest Moment: Her sister trying to skip rocks

Happiest Moment: Holding a fawn for the first time

Saddest Moment: Her mother leaving to the Havens

Most Prized Possession: Her mother's opal ring

Most Valuable Possession: A vial of water from the Mirror of Galadriel

Collections: Plants, Rocks, Different types of water

Embarrassments: None

Mannerisms: Stares into space, Hums, Slow movements

Humor: Witty

Regrets: Not persuading her mother to stay and promising that she could protect her mother

Secrets: Afraid that her father sees her as her mother, but she won't be as great to him as her mother was

Darkest Secret: Afraid that her father sees her as her mother, but she won't be as great to him as her mother was

Pet Peeves: The smell of meat, The loudness of her footsteps when she wears shoes

Phobias: Thanatophobia, Apeirophobia

Greatest Fear: Losing her family

Confident: Very

Creative: Very

Generous: Very

Honest: Very

Loyal: Very

Insecure: Somewhat

Patient: Very

Predictable: Minimally

Reliable: Very

Respectable: Very

Responsible: Very

Trustworthy: Very

Common...

Compliments: "That's very kind of you."

Insults: "You're as dense as a rotting forest."

Expletives: None

Farewells: "Novaer (Farewell)," "N'i lu tol (Until then)."

Greetings: "Le suilon (I greet/welcome you)," "A (Hello)," "Ai (Hail)," "Gi nathlam hi (You are welcome here)."

Mood: Curious, Welcoming, Positive

Words: "Listen," "Look," "Why?"

Emotional Status: Content

Combat

Element: Water

Martial Arts: Sword fighting

Immunities: None

Resistances: None

Strengths: Speed, Immortality

Weaknesses: Is not built for fighting

Restrictions: None

Origin: Sindarin

Source: Her Father

Specialty: None

Signature Move: None

Special Attack: None

Home, Work, and Education

Abode: Imladris (Rivendell)

Bedroom: Grey stone walls and floor, Fire pit in center of floor, Queen bed facing fire pit and parallel to entry way, Green silk covers and sheets, Birch frame, Open walls with rail and pillars, Balcony that overlooks Imladris, Birch bookshelves, Birch vanity table with jewelry and no cosmetics, Paintings on walls, Entry way to closed perpendicular to bed, Plants throughout the room

Bathroom: Circular room, Closed tan marble walls, Fire pit in center of floor, Depressed area of floor for bathing, Basins and bowls for water, Large pots for heating water, Shelf of dried flowers and salts and oils and sponges, Ivory basin as sink, Murals of historical times on walls, Green curtains draping around bathing tub

Kitchen: (Palace Kitchen)

Living Room: Large rounded room, Grey polished stone, Open space, Stone rail with pillars surrounding it, Pavilion ceiling, Silk chairs and couches, Birch bookshelves, Candles, Fire pit in center of floor, Doorway leading to common area, Paintings of historical times and people, Relics on podiums, Leaves scattering floor, Lanterns posted near pillars

Hometown: Imladris (Rivendell)

Citizenship: Imladris (Rivendell)

Culture: Noldor, Sindar, Numenorean

Traditions: None

Routine: None

Sleep Patterns: Falls asleep four hours past twilight, Wakes up at dawn

Eating Habits: Three meals each day, Vegan, Small portions

Pets: None

Employer: None

Job Title: None

Experience: None

Transportation: Walking, Horse riding

Criminal Record: None

Dream Job: None

Income / Salary: None

Net Worth: None

Debt: None

Savings: None

Splurges: None

Social

Mother: Celebrian

Father: Elrond

Guardians: Elrond, Cuthalion

Siblings: Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen

Children: None

Family Communication: Frequent and close between Elrond and Arwen, Only frequent with Elrohir and Elladan when they are around (usually not near her)

Close Relatives: Elwing (paternal grandmother), Earendil (paternal grandfather), Elros (paternal uncle), Galadriel (maternal grandmother), Celeborn (maternal grandfather)

Distant Relatives: Nimloth (paternal great-grandmother), Dior (paternal-great grandfather), Tuor (paternal great-grandfather), Idril (paternal great-grandmother), Finarfin (maternal great-grandfather), Earwen (maternal great-grandmother), Galadhon (maternal great-grandfather)

Ancestors: Galathil

Best Friend: Arwen

Close Friends: Cuthalion, Celduineth

Confidantes: Arwen, Cuthalion, Celduineth

Friends: Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen, Cuthalion, Celduineth

Role Models: Celebrian, Elrond

Heroes: None

Mentors: None

Romance

First Love: None

Love Interests: Thranduil

Marital Status: Single

Orientation: Straight

Significant Other: None

Love Style: Agape, Storge

Flirtiness: Mild

Virginity: In tact

Story Information

Flaws: Prefers to be independent of anyone, Tends to keep to herself, Is not interested in finding a significant other

Advice: Sometimes, it's better to trust the advice of what surrounds you than your own.

One Word: "Look"

Theme Song: "Sweeter than Bourbon" by Senakah

Soundtrack: "Eyes Wide Open" by Tony Anderson

Date of Creation: June 12, 2018

Reactions

Angry: Does not speak, Does not look anyone in the eye, Exhales sharply, Speaks quickly on occasion

Anxious: Bites lip, Wrings hands, Paces slowly, Mumbles

Conflicted: Leaves situation of conflict, Keeps to herself, Mutters

Criticized: Depends on criticism: Listens, Understands, Keeps calm (Rational Criticism), Responds with equal criticism of speaker, Keeps calm (Irrational Criticism)

Depressed: Keeps to to herself, Moves away from people, Keeps eyes closed, Sleeps, Confides in closest friends, Cries, Curls up

Embarrassed: Looks at floor, Blushes, Wrings hands, Leaves situation of embarrassment

Excited: Bites lip, Widens eyes, Wrings hands

Frightened: Jumps, Widens eyes, Forgets to breathe, Reaches for someone close to her, Does not speak

Guilty: Looks at floor, Mumbles, Purses lips, Does not look anyone in the eye

Happy: Smiles, Sighs, Speaks more than usual

Nervous: Wrings hands, Scans surroundings, Paces, Stares into space, Mumbles

Offended: Does not speak, Turns away from speaker, Leaves situation

Praised: Straightens posture, Smiles, Looks at floor, Thanks speaker

Rejected: Sights, Does not look anyone in the eye, Does not speak much

Sad: Keeps to herself, Does not speak much, Confides in closest friends, Leaves situation of Sadness, Cries, Mumbles, Tries to calm herself

Stressed: Sighs, Rubs temples, Removes herself from situation to a quieter place, Attempts to remove herself from other people, Closes eyes, Paces

Thoughtful: Stares into space, Mumbles, Writes, Does not respond immediately when called

Impressions

First: Cold, Self centered, Distracted, Ditsy, Uninterested, Beautiful, Arrogant

Self: Observant, Independent, Strong, Wondrous

Family: Stubborn, Observant, Introverted, Selective

Lover: Beautiful, Distracted, Observant, Selfless, Careful, Loving

Friends: Selfless, Beautiful, Observant, Helpful, Careful

Enemies: Cold, Selfish, Weak, Distracted, Vain, Uncaring, Rude

Personality

MBTI Personality Type: INTJ-A

Anima: Wolf

Personas: Leader, Observer, Navigator, Creator

#character sheet #thranduil x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #xreader #x reader #thranduilxreader #tolkien #love #romance #fanfiction #ijudgelove #buckysdiary #fanfic #fantasy #imagine

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moonraccoon-exe · 6 years

Note

You know in an university AU, there could have been a chance Ignis & Gladio meet each other in a book club. But properly met each other when they were meeting Noct for lunch.

DUDE, YES!!! ٩(◕ ヮ ◕)۶

Universities AUs are always soooo good because it’s not always the same; the possibilities are so many and so open and there’s so many places to use and roles to put and hnngnfngngfgfgf, and they have this young air that for some reason feels so nice in fanfiction stories and CAN I HAVE THIS AU.

Imagine how pretty it’d be for Iggy and Gladio to meet in a book club! I am SO WEAK for these two bonding over books so what a better situation to meet if it isn’t in a book club!?!?!?! AAAAAAAAAAAAH ♡ ～('▽^人)

Imagine if first time they meet they’re not sure what to think of each other; it’s not negative, but it’s not precisely positive.

Iggy signed up to the club under maybe Prompto’s or Noctis’ or maybe even Regis’ (his parental figure) advise; the poor guy, best of not only his class but entire course (which is a year or two above where he should be, maybe? Is he still a genius child? Could be one year, so he’s in the same course than Gladio?), is expected too much from too many people, and he himself often pushes himself so hard, he’s literally gotten sick out of mere stress,so whoever gave the suggestion recommended it so he could have a fun activity.

Iggy likes reading, but he barely has any time to read something that isn’t things for his career that he decides the book club is the best; that way he’ll find new things in literature, and it’s a quiet club that won’t put him to too much stress; the meetings are in the library and they sit to talk, so it’s nothing that puts his patience, awkward social skills or his peace of mind to test.

Sort of surprise for Ignis when he comes in and he finds this tough and ridiculously big guy (not just tall, also wide, and also so built-up, what is this guy, a little hut?) that’s apparently heavily tattooed, sides of head shaved and a messy choppy long hair, and a “I don’t have the care to groom it but it’s not messy either” kind of beard, sat at the table that’s supposed to hold the meeting of the club.

So Ignis thinks he may be mistaken, but then thinks he shouldn’t judge like this; that the guy looks like the big brute type doesn’t mean he has to be. Before he can ask anything, two more people arrive and sit there, greeting that big guy and sitting with him and starting to talk about books, so Ignis realizes that he is in the correct place. A bit startled because this is not what he thought he would find in the club, he tries to calm down and goes to sit as more people arrive.

And it’s not just that he didn’t expect such a sporty and "badass-looking” guy there, that was just the first impression,that’s not why Ignis is still kind of troubled.

Thing is, this guy is stupidly, disgutingly handsome.

[I got too eager, so I’m adding a Read More]

The guy, at some point during the meeting, glances his way and just stares for a moment, with no particular reaction or flinch. Ignis thinks that maybe this guy is reading his thoughts and he’s embarrassed and panicking because “fuck, I’ve been thinking about his arms for like three minutes and his face for another five, he noticed, dear Six, he noticed, he knows, he knows and can I please die right now”, but the guy just stares away to continue the conversation with the other people.

So a couple weeks and a couple meetings go with these two talking through only glances.

They don’t usually sit side by side or one across the other, they’re scattered in random seats always, but they’re always glancing to each other’s direction, both of them, silently. They say nothing, they don’t make gestures, they just glance and share gazes, and that’s the only sort of communication they ever share across the weeks.

Ignis isn’t very interested in many of the books they talk about because he hasn’t had time to read novels, but he likes to listen. This tattooed guy isn’t the one that talks most, but whenever he opens the mouth he shares very interesting and some intellecual comments. Through the discussions, Ignis likes to listen to his arguments, to his philosophy, and Ignis thinks a lot of all the things that he can learn from this guy and the things he says andthe ones he doesn’t say.

None of them ask each other or tell each other anything, not even taking the book talk as excuse. They only glance in each other’s direction, stare for some seconds, look away and that’s it. Sometimes it’s many times, sometimes just once, never a verbal word or a hand sign or an expression. Just gazes.

One day, Ignis feels very thoughtful and spends the minutes that it takes him to fall asleep rolling in bed thinking about this guy. ‘Gladiolus’, he knows the name. Gladiolus, and the glances they share. The way Gladiolus look at him, on purpose, and unafraid of being noticed, with the intention of looking at Ignis. Gladiolus, and the blank expression, the lack of gestures, that he’s never said anything to him, but the way he always dedicates some moments of his life to look at him and just him.

And his warm and piercing, fierce brown eyes. The way Ignis feels both tiny and giant when they look at him; how they can make him shiver, unsure if it’s fear or excitement. And how...terribly sweet they are. So sweet it almost doesn’t fit with his body complexion.

Ignis feels his heart flutter and a thousand chocobos running wild in his stomach at the thought that they’re bonding, somehow. He believes that the gazes they give each other, they’re on pupose, and they’re saying a thousand, a million things to each other, and sometimes just one or two things; they’re, somehow, finding each other, and holding hands. That’s their way of reaching for one another. Glancing is their way of...saying what the mouth fears to say. Maybe express...the attraction that is more than just attraction...?

And then Ignis sighs and rolls facedown on his bed because he thinks himself ridiculous. He mentally chides himself for having grown a crush on a guy he doesn’t even know and that doesn’t even talk to him, he mentally nags himself for letting somebody’s looks get the best of him, and he mentally reprimands himself for letting this idiotic, foolish and hopeless thoughts invade him. Of course this is just him; this is just him building up a fairy tale because he can’t accept he’s one-sided. That he feels their glances mean something doesn’t mean that Gladiolus feels the same, or that he considers “their glancing” as something special, or at least important at all.

Ignis tells to himself to remember that not everyone thinks like himself; that there where his glancing tries to tell Gladiolus many things, tries telling him “Come closer”, “I want to know you”, “I want to feel you”, “I want to let you in my life”, there where he’s feeling senselessly attracted, to Gladio this may just be “why does this guy never talk?” and that’s it.

So Ignis continues going to the club meetings, and he’s constantly thinking about all that train of thoughts while still staring at Gladiolus. There where he used to listen to the group conversation and glance to Gladio’s direction, now he’s lost in thoughts, and when he glances it’s inevitable that some of those thoughts escape through his gaze.

He’s more than never before wondering why Gladio looks, what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking anything, what he thinks of him, etc. Gladio, like always, sometimes glances his way to stare for some moments, but he doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. Ignis is pining and thinking so much he’s even started to develop a nervous tic by fidgeting with a pencil; it looks so calm and natural it goes unseen to everyone, but it’s unusual in the usually-fully-still Ignis.

Maybe Ignis even quits the club because he doesn’t like the way Gladiolus is making him feel? It’s not Gladiolus himself as he’s not doing anything, it’s rather just Ignis and his overthinking that spins around Gladio. Ignis is messing up with himself, and he’s aware of that, and he remembers that that’s the entire opposite of why he joined the club so he decides to drop it. In his negativity and gloominess, he philsophies that “it’s best he drops all these foolish teenage hopes before they grow bigger” so his one-sideness won’t get worse.

Ignis drops the club, and when Noctis or maybe Prompto if he’s somewhere in the AU asks him why, all that Ignis says is that “he lost interest” or that “it’s not what he expected or wanted”, but never talks a single word about Gladiolus and the...strange and pretty way they glanced at each other in every meeting. Ignis keeps it to himself for days, and days go as weeks.

And then one day, a month or two later, Ignis is waiting for the food he asked for at one of the cafeterias, and Noctis arrives.

“Hey, Specs.”“Noctis. They were out of muffins, but then again maybe I could have grabbed one for you had you been early.”“Not my fault, Specs. Sorry I was late.”“Do grab some forks, will you?”“Hey, Specs?” Noctis says as he reaches for the things Ignis asked him for. “I hope you don’t mind if a friend joins us? There were changes in his schedule and now he has these hours free, like us, so I thought...”Ignis sighs.“Will you tell him to go away if I say no?”“Possibly no.”“No point in arguing. Do I know this guy?”“I don’t think so. But you’ll like him, I swear. Our dads have been friends all our lives, he’s a dickhead but he’s cool.”“So long he doesn’t touch my coffee-”“No, no, he’s got his own food already. Actually, he’s reserving a table for us”

Ignis seems kind of moody about it, but he just contains a sigh in his chest and receives the food he asked for. He gives the tray to Noctis “as price for being late” while he carries with only his coffee. Noctis is talking about some of his classes and a teacher that’s been bugging him too much, and Ignis is pleased enough just listening to him and watching him or sipping from his coffee he pays no attention to the table they’re heading to until they’re there.

“Here, Specs” Noctis calls with a small sigh and, at his voice, the guy sat at the chair that was giving them its back looks back and up, as if ready to talk.

But his expression, like Ignis’, drop into shock.

It’s Gladiolus. The guy from the book club, the guy that he shared glances with, the guy that he...

Both swallowed a little gasp when they realized they were in front of each other, and Gladio’s instinct is to stand up almost mechanically, without thinking, and without taking the eyes off Ignis, all while Noctis is talking something about introducing them. Gladio stands there, sort of petrified, and an Ignis that looks as terrified stands in front of him, both eye widened and with the mouths parted doing nothing but look at each other.

And they’re doing it again; gazing. Looking at each other to the eyes and nowhere else. Conversating, seeing the cosmos explode and expand in each other’s eyes.

“So, long story short; Ignis, this is Gladio” Noctis is saying, entirely oblivious to the way the other two look at each other. Ignoring his introduction is absolutely unnecessary. “Gladio, this is Ignis.”

Ignis doesn’t even notice he moved the hand until he feels it being taken in another one, that’s bigger and warmer. Ignis still doesn’t look at the way they slowly shake hands, he’s just staring at Gladiolus to the eyes, and Gladio’s staring back in every single second. And on the taller man’s face a smile starts appearing.

“...hey” Gladio says and it’s unintentionally a murmur like he lost the voice, but his smile widens noticeably.

“...hey” is all that Ignis can breathe out for a moment.

Noctis raises an eyebrow, stares at one, then the other, and the way the grip of their hands is so slowly and stupidly still moving, but they don’t seem to notice.

“Do you guys know each other?”

The spell isn’t broken, but the other two manage to react and remember they’re in a real and physical world when Noctis asks this. They still stare at each other, and Ignis can’t help but start smiling as well.

“...yes. Sort of” Ignis says but he’s still looking at Gladio. He forces himself to look away and towards Noctis, and finally both young men can think enough to let go of the grip of their hands. “We...were together in the literature club for a while. We only had never...” he glances at Gladio again. And, like always, Gladio’s staring back at him with those wonderful eyes Ignis forces himself to look away again, a little timid. “...we had never spoken before, though.”

“Uh...” Noctis lets out a sound that kind fo says ‘Ah, I see’ lazily, unimpressed.

Before they can say anything else, the sound of a ‘Caelum!’ somewhere calls their attention. Noctis turns and finds one of his teachers standing some yards away, staring at him. The black haired excuses himself and goes to the teacher, leaving the other two alone.

Ignis was not expecting for anything to be said, but Gladio spoke and took him off-guard in more than one way, and completed what Ignis had said.

“Never verbally, at least.”

Ignis looks back up at Gladio, smile gone and the shocked expression back. He looks at Gladio not understanding at first. It takes Ignis a second before he understands what Gladio says, and understanding makes his heart skip not one but five beats, and he feels the necessity to gasp for air but doesn’t, fearing he’ll look like an idiot.

So it was not only his imagination making him think that those glances meant something...

So it was not one-sided.

It was never one-sided.

Ignis feels his face burning so hard he’s sure he could work as human heater in those moments, and he kind of forgets how to breathe for a few moments. All he can do is look at Gladio with a shocked face that clearly screams “Is this real? Did I understand you correctly?”

Gladio, on his part, is smiling It’s warm and a bit timid, but it’s so dearly and strongly sincere that Ignis can’t help but feel his heart speeding up even more right when he thought it was impossible for it to beat any faster.

Gladio’s eyes, the same eyes that had been looking at him all those previous weeks and months, the same piercing and sweet brown eyes that had felt like a special bond to him...they were looking at him again, but in a much greater context, and with much more warmth and strength than ever before.

“What a pretty voice...” Gladio tells him in almost a murmur, sounding so sincere that Ignis feels his knees tremble a bit.

It kind of feels like Gladio wants to say something more, but fears to scare Ignis away. So, Ignis tries to say something but he’s too shocked and nervous to come up with anything. He smiles at him, face still burning, heart still threatening to stop in any second, and as much as he tries he can’t say anything.

But it’s not necessary in that moment; they’re staring at each other to the eyes, like they had done for so long.

And that’s the moment they say hello, without saying hello.

♡ ～('u^人)

How do you do it, Yuu.

How did you trigger me like this with a few words hnfdngmdfg

I WANT THIS AU AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

All the possibilities. They could have also both been looking for Noctis and find each other when they find Noctis, instead of being introduced. Or it could have happened that they both arrived before Noctis, hnnfdngf

tHERE’S SO MANY POSSIBILITIES. I want them all. ALL OF THEM, I want them hnfndgndfg

I LOVE THIS AU AND WANT IT AND THANK YOU TELL ME MORE IF YOU WANT MY SOFT HEART IS WEAK NOW ;A;

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insane-control-room · 7 years

Text

Careless Speech #2

Chapter Two: Blurted Statements Word count: 1500 A/n: for @miilkydayz and @lunarmuseserenity777 hope you enjoy! »»»»»»»»»»»»» The rain tapped softly and rapt on, even on the next day as well, but in all due and respectful honesty, ‘twas a soothing and comforting noise, there in the most benevolent way, as though it sensed their internal struggle. It was a ridiculous idea, but one that could put a jaded smile on Scrooge’s melancholic and fatigued face. Recently everything surrounding his relationship with his nephew was so rickety and stained, overall such a bitter situation. Scrooge looked around the living room, dimly lit by the candles and fireplace. No one was really doing anything. At all. It was a little odd to see a normally lively, bouncy, and energetic family so unusually sedated, forlorn, and lethargic. Even Dewey was relatively still, simply twisting around the little softly pastel colored squares of the Rubik’s Cube that Donald had bought for him shortly after he had been diagnosed with ADD. It was such a simple and small gesture, it was easily overlooked at the time, but now that the blue two shirt wearing duckling realized the extraordinary amount of thought and effort his uncle had put into it. He tried his best to find exactly what would fit Dewey - a puzzle challenge with edges and facets to run his fingers over, soft, gentle pastel colors, calming him and making enjoy playing more. He spent time picking out this specific stimulus, it made Dewey smile a little wider when he clicked in another full side. Donald may be brash, but he really, genuinely, absolutely cared about his family. Even Scrooge. In fact, the longer Scrooge thought about it, Donald could act like a jerk, a heck of a lot of the time, too, but he really cared about others. That may have been part of his motivation to join the naval forces. When they, they meaning Scrooge and Della, asked him why he was joining the army, he merely shrugged and let out a laugh, saying he just felt like it, that he wanted to go out to sea for a bit of work, just because, no, not because he wanted to help people, that’d be ridiculous! Yeah, right. He definitely joined the navy to help people. He was an overall softies, but his it behind a stony, rough, and tempered facade. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen as weak? It’s a possibly plausible explanation to many of Donald’s intriguing and odd personality tics.

“Uh… are you alright Mr. McDuck?” Launchpad questioned, benign and blunt at the same time. “You’ve been staring at Dew-man’s puzzle box for about… sixteen minutes? Yeah… around that amount of time.”

“Oh, I’m sure everything will be fine in the end, my boy,” Scrooge tiredly chuckled with a soft smile. Them he cleared his throat to get all the ducks attention, easily gained. “But in all honestly, what are we sitting around here for? Let’s git a game going, ar something teh clear away this pressuring quietness!”

Don’t be so hard on them for wanting to play a game. It’s always hard to get your mind off of things, especially in the quiet and the dark, for thoughts swirl in the minds of those who wish thought gone {BEGONE, THOUGHT! [I apologize sincerely]}. And in the dark, those thoughts become dark themselves, and twisted. Pain makes you do many things you didn’t know you could do, and painful thoughts tear from the inside, and makes you emotionless to the pain from the outside, numb and cold. So play a game, and know you did nothing wrong, even as your stomach churns and dark thoughts swirl in your mind, and your hopes may be rejuvenated.

After some time of debate on which board game they should play, Monopoly was selected. And as luck would have it, even with everyone joining forces and resources against Scrooge, he still managed to be winning, and by a long shot as well, around a thousand in front of Huey, the runner up.

“Like I said to Dewey in Atlantis,” he grinned over his cash in his hand. “Ye got tea work smarta, lads, not harda. Then ye pull ahead of the lot, easily. And swiftly, too.”

He rolled, getting a double and landing his top hat piece on Go, collecting his $200 and proceeding to purchase hotels on Boardwalk, rolling again to land on chance, earning one fifty. Louie nervously glanced at his piece, the boot, and it’s precarious position dangerously near the now two thousand dollar spot. He gulped as Scrooge passed him the dice with a grin. He concentrated. The “evil” twin frantically searched through his memory for any advice to avoid the roll. What did Donald always say about luck? Oh, right, ‘luck is something that some people have, but some people don’t, but remember, even if luck doesn’t help, it’ll be good in the end.’ With a sigh, Louie let the dice roll from his hand. A collective gasp and a huff of a laugh from Scrooge told him he had landed on the dreaded Boardwalk. Grumbling, moving his pawn to the designated spot, and reaching into his pocket, he handed Scrooge the two thousand. His property on Illinois Avenue caught his eye. There were four houses… rolling his eyes, he bought the final hotel for $150. He probably wasn’t going to get any revenue from it, but it was worth a shot. He handed the dice to Launchpad, who currently was on free parking as a thimble. He stuck his tongue between his teeth as he shook the dice and rolled. Louie had to do a double take at the dice. Three. Launchpad paled, and counted out the money he had. He was six hundred short, having spent all of his other money on properties. Next Webby fell victim, two spaces behind the pilot. She too was broke. Huey managed to escape with some money, and quickly sold his properties to Louie. Dewey also landed on it, but he had only five dollars. It was pretty funny, actually. Next, Scrooge landed on community chest, and had to pay everyone (who was still in) $50. Louie landed in jail. Huey landed on on one of Louie’s places, and lost all his money. Soon, it was just Louie and Scrooge, the two money grubbers. A crack of lightning suddenly illuminated the room, shaking the core of the house. A door slammed, followed by a familiar, speech impedimented voice complaining about being wet rang through the hall. Donald, in all his sopping wet and sour tempered glory, strode into the living room wringing out his cap. He shook off the water droplets on his feathers, the remainder glistening like pearls and diamonds.

“Donald!” Scrooge exclaimed with happiness, jumping out of his chair and running over to his nephew, wrapping his arms around his middle, ignoring the growing wetness on his shirt. But he quickly let go, placing his hands on Donald’s arms, looking at him with a sternly parental gaze. “Where have ye been? The whole lot of us have been worried sick, ye can’t just vanish for a day and a half. You have teh… oh, who am I kidding?” he paused and swallowed, then hugged him tightly again. “I’m so sorry lad, that I said that. I had no right teh, I just wasn’t thinking, and - wait, is that your passport? You’re not leaving, are yeh?”

In fact, Scrooge was right about the passport, just barely sticking out of Donald’s pocket. The triplets and Webby {I may start calling them the quadruplets, this is getting ridiculous} ran over to Donald, gripping his arms with the iron power of FAMILY! And muscle. That too.

“You can’t leave!” Huey cried to him, tugging his sleeve. “Who’d help me with my junior duck scouting and be by my pin ceremonies?”

“And who’s gonna teach me to get out of trouble?” Dewey questioned.

“Who’d show me how to use all the boat equipment?” Louie asked.

“Who’d give me the first hand knowledge of all your adventures?” Webby inquired.

“Wha’?” Donald seemed confused, but realized his passport was poking out of his pocket. He began laughing. “Oh, that! Don’t worry, I already went somewhere, I’m back now. I should probably put this away.”

He had another laugh, and walked into the hallway to his room… boat house thing. They glanced at each other, bewildered as to how this happened. A crash from behind them attracted all five of the duck’s attentions. They all turned to see Launchpad trying to leave stealthily, but failing miserably by knocking over an entire suit of armor.

“Uh, what are you looking at me like that for?” he asked nervously, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I definitely didn’t fly Donald to Mexico in one of Mr. McDuck’s high tech experimental supersonic speed jets in ten minutes and come back after promising not to tell anyone that I flew Donald to Mexico in one of Mr. McDuck’s high tech experimental supersonic speed jets in ten minutes!”

#careless speech #ducktales #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #huey dewey and louie #ducktales2017 #launchpad mcquack #webby vanderquack #angst #hurt/comfort #family #control writes #duckfeels

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toldnews-blog · 5 years

Photo

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/technology/entertainment/vows-the-writer-anne-lamott-gets-to-the-happily-ever-after-part/

Vows: The Writer Anne Lamott Gets to the Happily-Ever-After Part

The writer Anne Lamott recently sat in the living room of her Fairfax, Calif., house, wearing her signature dreadlocks, a loose cotton shirt and baggy jeans (skinny jeans are definitely not her style). At 65, she was about to get married for the first time.

When asked why she stayed single so long, she replied that she was shy and introverted and hated leaving the house, particularly for parties.

“If I go to a party, I become a Roz Chast character with my arms hanging at my sides and I feel like I’m developing a tic,” said Ms. Lamott, who has published 18 memoirs and novels, many about being a recovering alcoholic, single mother, incessant worrier and late-in-life churchgoer.

Yet in recent years, she found herself admitting to friends and fans (otherwise known as “Annieholics”) that a good marriage was the one thing she wanted but had not achieved. So she joined OurTime, a matchmaking site for people over 50, and forced herself to go on dates and make small talk. “Then, I saw this really handsome, soulful guy on OurTime and he was like me,” she said. “He was hard-core left wing, an intellectual, spiritual seeker.”

His name was Neal Allen, and she contacted him in August 2016. He promptly wrote back: “You rejected me already!”

He reminded her that they had exchanged messages on the site a few months earlier, but she had stopped communicating with him after learning he was allergic to cats (she sleeps with hers, which could also explain why she hadn’t found a partner sooner). Mr. Allen, 63, had left his job as a vice president for marketing at the McKesson Corporation in San Francisco to become a writer. He lived alone in a house in the woods in Lagunitas, Calif., and he had a wide range of interests that included Plato, bluegrass music, the New Testament and Vipassana meditation. He sounded much cooler than she remembered. “I said, ‘Take me back! Take me back!’” she said.

On Aug. 30, 2016, they met for coffee at the Two Bird Cafe in San Geronimo, halfway between their homes. “My first impression was that he was so handsome and I loved his nose,” she said.” We were just jamming. Life, God, books, movies. Life, God, books, movies.”

Mr. Allen, who was divorced twice and has four children, loved her “casual prettiness, “trippy dreads,” “kissable lips” and willingness to tell him everything, absolutely everything, about herself. “That kind of openness, it was like being sucked into a spider web,” he said.

The coffee date was followed, she said, by a “period of not only being in love but being sickeningly in love, it being like a mental illness.”

They spent every day together. They had long, heart-to-heart talks on her secondhand couch about things like how to approach death more mindfully or mistakes they’d made in the past as parents and as lovers. They took daily walks, either on the many trails that cover Mount Tamalpais, or up and down the aisles of Good Earth, a health food emporium in Fairfax, where they invariably bought too much chocolate. He said the only downside of falling in love with Ms. Lamott was that he gained 17 pounds in the first six months.

In some ways, they are opposites. She is afraid of almost everything, whereas he’s afraid of almost nothing. “It never occurs to me that anything will go wrong,” he said. Whenever she got overly anxious about a deadline, or climate change, or whether that shaking sensation was an earthquake, Mr. Allen made a cheese omelet for her. “Neal cooks, he cleans and yet he’s still a man’s man,” said Annette Lopez-Lamott, Ms. Lamott’s sister-in-law. “He respects women and that was very important to Annie who’s very power to the people, women’s rights.”

Crucially, Mr. Neal said, they got each other’s jokes “95 to 98 percent” of the time. “I have never, ever spent time with somebody as funny, as brilliantly funny,” he said. “Living with Annie is like being in a comedy sketch.”

Seven months after their first date, they bought a dilapidated house on a narrow, hidden lane in Fairfax. Now renovated, the house is airy and uncluttered inside, like a sentence with all the extra words removed. Ms. Lamott has her first new couch (all the others have been hand-me-downs) where she and Mr. Allen spend their evenings watching the news on television, dissecting the news, eating dinner and bingeing on dark Scandinavian movies, which they both love. “The level of brown bear-like comfort we find in each other is just amazing,” she said.

There’s also a renovated barn behind the house where her son, Sam Lamott, 29, and grandson, Jax Lamott, 9, live part time. When asked if everyone gets along, Ms. Lamott said, “It’s kind of like a wedding where there are all these disparate elements and you just hope there’s enough love and compromise that everything will work out fine, and most of the time it does.”

On Aug. 30, 2018, exactly two years after their first date, Mr. Allen pressed the pause button while they watching the United States Open and proposed.

They were married April 13 at Deer Park Villa, an events space near their house, in a redwood grove with Christmas lights swooping between the trees. The 150 guests were asked to “dress happily” and the Grateful Dead song, “Ripple,” played through speakers as the wedding party, ranging in ages from 9 to 80-plus, entered the grove in no particular order and at no particular pace. There was the sense that anybody could have joined them if they wanted to.

The tall bridegroom towered over everyone, looking somewhat like a basketball player in a black suit, while the bride wore a calf-length white dress she bought on eBay, Mary Jane shoes and a furry white cardigan.

The ceremony reflected the couple’s idiosyncratic patchwork of spiritual and political interests. The officiant, the Rev. William Rankin, an Episcopal minister and a founder of the Global AIDS Interfaith Alliance, read a passage from the benediction at Barack Obama’s 2009 inauguration, pushing for racial equality, global peace and turning tractors into tanks. Jack Kornfield, a Buddhist meditation teacher, presented the couple with his version of a “ring,” a Tibetan singing bowl and a wooden mallet. He suggested they tap the bowl and listen to its ring whenever they had a “How did I get into this feeling?” mood as husband and wife.

The Rev. Tom Weston, a Jesuit priest, also stood with the couple. He didn’t speak much, but he did exude a kind of fatherly benevolence, as he does in some of the bride’s memoirs.

Sam Lamott, the man of honor, read an E.E. Cummings poem; and Marina Allen, a daughter of the groom, sang “Let Me,” a sweet, quirky love song she wrote for the couple.

The bride and bridegroom each took out a piece of paper, and their reading glasses, and recited the vows they had written. Hers were neither writerly nor weighty. She just made a few simple observations like, “Your love has given me permission to be softer, wilder and more real.” His were also spare, mere brush strokes of promises and intentions. “I’d very much like to continue our exploration of love indefinitely,” he said politely, as if he were asking her to dance. The couple have a light touch with everything, especially each other. Out in public, friends said, she’ll just barely hold on to his belt loop, or his sleeve.

They left the grove to the Van Morrison song, “Into the Mystic.” Meg Lundstrom, a longtime friend of the bridegroom, said afterward, “I’ve been telling my friends that the smartest person I know is marrying the kindest person I know but I don’t know which is which.”

Everyone gathered inside the “villa,” a rustic house next to the grove, for dinner at long tables that were decorated with pink paper runners and colorful leis. It looked like a child’s birthday party.

Laura Neely catered the dinner, along with her staff of mostly middle-age women who called themselves “the old gangster catering crew.” Ms. Neely said she particularly admired Ms. Lamott for not leaping into marriage, until now. “Getting married now is the best thing ever because that’s for sure going to be your toe-tag husband,” she said.

Now that Ms. Lamott has found her lifelong partner, does she have any advice for those who might still be looking? “If you’re paying attention and making your own life as beautiful and rich and fun as it can be, you might just attract someone who’s doing the same thing,” she said. “You can give up on tracking someone down with your butterfly net.”

A natural cheerleader, especially for underdogs, she also posted this on her Facebook page: “Never give up, no matter how things look or how long they take. Don’t quit before the miracle.”

#entertainment news 2009 #entertainment news 2017 #entertainment news nyc #entertainment news reporter la times #entertainment news shows #entertainment news trending

0 notes

meanderfall · 7 years

Text

Loss and Gain

Summary: Just because you’ve lost something, it doesn’t mean you’ve lost everything. (aka Blue Team family fluff, and light angst.)

a/n: This is birthday fic for the lovely @aroacedrienne!!!! Happy birthday my love, I hope you enjoy this <3

AO3 version

“Andy, do you want to play tag?” Caboose stared earnestly down at the bomb.

“Tag? I don’t have any legs! You want me to roll around to catch you?”

“Caboose! What the fuck are you doing?” Church demanded as he marched from where he was conversing with Tex and Tucker to Caboose. Honestly, he couldn’t leave Caboose alone for a single second. Not if he didn’t want someone, meaning himself, getting killed.

Caboose turned to Church and bounced on his feet for a moment in excitement. “Church! Do you want to play tag with us?”

“No, Caboose. I don’t. Not ever again.” Church didn’t know if it was possible for robot bodies to shudder in fear, but he was definitely feeling the urge at the moment.

“Oh. Maybe Tex wants to play.”

“No, wait,” Andy interjected, “I got a better way of playing! How ‘bout, instead of rolling around, I blow up, and whoever gets caught in the blast, is ‘it’?”

“Maybe Tucker wants to play.”

Church closed his eyes for a moment, praying for even a sliver of patience. “Andy, if you even think of blowing up my girlfriend, I’m throwing you into the ocean. And that’s only like fifty feet from here.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!”

“Caboose, don’t include Tex in games that could get her killed. Tucker…” Church paused. “I don’t really care honestly. You can blow him up if you want.”

“Hey!” Tucker turned away from Tex for a moment, tuning in to the conversation. “There’s only one kind of way I want to be blown, and it’s not the kind that involves a bomb!”

“Sure you can afford to pay attention to us when Tex is eyeing up your sword?”

“Which sword are we-“

“Tucker! Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence!”

“You started it!”

“Actually, you know what? Do it. I haven’t seen Tex rip someone’s head off in a while,” Church taunted.

Tex stepped into Tucker’s space, cracking her knuckles. “And he means that in both ways.” The smirk was very clear in her voice.

Tucker leaned back, arms raised innocently. “Yeah, I don’t like this conversation anymore.”

Caboose suddenly tugged on Church’s arm, hard enough that Church thought he was going to rip it off. “Church! If we can’t play tag, can we play Tic Tac Toe instead?”

“Do you even know how to play that?” Church asked, skeptical.

“There are squares, and-and circles…” Caboose drawled the last word out, clearly trying to think of what else happened in Tic Tac Toe, “And! you make all kinds of neat patterns.”

“… Sure Caboose, let’s play Tic Tac Toe.” It could be worse, in Church’s opinion. He didn’t know how, but it could be. At least he had the basic idea down. And thank God he didn’t mention anything about x’s, or Andy might’ve tried to include himself in the game.

“Tex can join too right? I guess Tucker can play too, even though he doesn’t smell great and he’s really really dumb, and not as good a friend as I am.”

“Absolutely, Caboose. Hey, Tucker! Draw the game on the ground with your sword!”

Tex and Tucker wandered over, realizing that they probably couldn’t escape, at least not without some serious bitching from Church and not without Caboose giving them sad puppy dog eyes. They had no idea how he managed to convey them when his eyes were hidden by his visor, but he did and they were lethal. “Seriously? For something as lame as that? Dude, the beach, and therefore sand, is like twenty feet away. The world’s blackboard is a walk away. Not even a walk. A meandering.”

“Tucker, do you honestly expect me to walk that kind of distance?”

“I’m not giving you another piggy-back ride,” Tucker flatly stated.

“Really, Church?” Tex asked, amused.

“Those were for science!” He insisted.

Tex tilted her helmet, indicating an eye roll, before getting down on one knee, arms held behind her. “Whatever, just hop on.”

“Yes!” Church quickly climbed on her back, unwilling to wait around for her to change her mind.

“Oh, oh, can I get a turn?” Caboose asked.

“Y’know what…”

“Tex, don’t you-”

“Why don’t you get on Church too? Then we’re both giving you a piggy-back ride,” She said, lowering herself even more so Caboose could have better access.

“Ohhh!!! That is the greatest idea ever! You are so smart, Mrs. McCrabby.”

“Tex, you fucking bitch, I’ve been nothing but nice- Oh God, Caboose, how much do you weigh?”

Tex turned her head to Tucker. “You wanna get on too?”

“Yeah, as much fun as it is to mess with Church, and as impressive as it is to see you lift two, possibly three, grown men at once, and let me tell you I am very scared and turned on right now, I feel like Caboose would probably drop me on purpose. I’ll walk.”

Tex shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And with that, she stood up, not even faltering for a single moment under the weight, and led the way down to the beach, Tucker trailing behind her in order to heckle Church.

Andy, left behind alone, started shouting after them. “Hey! Hold on, are you leaving me behind? Guys? Guys! Come on, this stopped being funny, like, five seconds ago! You are coming back at least, right? Right?! You sure you want to leave me alone? I could blow up? Guys?”

Church’s view of the sky was abruptly replaced by a dark navy helmet. “Church, do you want to play tag?”

Church sighed, annoyed. “Go away, Caboose.”

The dark navy helmet was joined by an aqua helmet. “Dude, you’ve been laying here, staring at the sky, for the past three days. I haven’t seen you move once. Are you sure you don’t want to play tag or whatever?”

Church’s helmet tilted towards him, and Tucker didn’t have to see the glare in order to feel it.

“Yeah, alright, fair enough.”

“What about,” Caboose paused dramatically, “Monopoly?”

“Caboose, if you don’t stop asking me to play that stupid game with you, I’m going to shove the board down your throat.”

“You can do that with holograms?”

“I’ll find a way,” Church declared, voice dark with promise.

Caboose and Tucker tilted their helmets up towards each other, silently communicating. Whatever. As long as they left him alone.

…Which was clearly not to be the case as Caboose then lowered himself to lie down next to him.

“Caboose, what are you doing?” He obviously wanted to be on his own, how hard was that to understand?

“You didn’t want to play my games, so instead I thought I would just play your game with you. Oh! That cloud looks like a muffin,” Caboose said, pointing up at the muffin cloud. And then, softly, “I miss private Biscuit.”

“Caboose, I wasn’t fucking cloud-gazing- Tucker, don’t you dare-!” And then Tucker was also lying on the ground on his other side. Both of them had their arms pressed against his, and he was honestly feeling kind of cramped.

“That one kind of looks like a hot chick,” Tucker said thoughtfully, indicating the one he meant.

“How are you getting that from a cloud?”

“Church, you have to open your mind, Church! That one looks like a dog!”

“That one? Dude, are you blind? That’s clearly a mantis,” Tucker argued.

“Looks like snakes to me. With some kind of horrible disease to make them so deformed,” Church offered before realizing what he was doing. “Hold on, why am I playing this game with you? No! I did not come here to have you two yammering in my ear the entire time. We’re playing the quiet game now.”

“Oh, I’m so very good at the quiet game!”

“I know you are, Caboose, just… shhhh.”

Finally, blessed silence.

This stupid canyon didn’t even have any life in it besides them and the grass that somehow managed to survive in everlasting sunlight and no rain, so all he heard was the occasional shift of position from Caboose and Tucker, and the rustle of the grass when a breeze blew by.

Wasn’t windy enough for the clouds above them to really move though. Made it easy to keep track of where Tex (blew up) disappeared.

Church waited, tense, for them to interrupt the peace; he knew by now to never expect quiet when they were together. Motherfuckers couldn’t keep their mouth shut. It was actually kind of impressive that they managed to give him so much space for so long, before they interrupted it.

But as the quiet continued, Church found himself relaxing, joints unlocking bit by bit. Like this, it wasn’t so bad. Kind of nice, actually. Having them here, on the solid ground with him, watching the same blue sky.

Without really thinking about, Church muttered, “I should’ve thrown him into the ocean when I had the chance.”

“Yeah,” Tucker sighed, just as softly, “You’d probably break your body trying though.”

“Probably.”

“Ha! I win!” Caboose crowed.

“Good job, buddy,” Church said, way more sincere than he intended.

From his periphery, Church saw Tucker’s helmet tilt towards him. “You wanna do something else?”

“Like what?” The wind must’ve gotten more powerful, because the clouds seemed to be drifting now.

“I got the greatest movie of all time in my room. We could watch that.”

Church finally looked away from the clouds to look at Tucker. “It’s Reservoir Dogs, isn’t it?”

“Hell fucking yeah, dude!”

Church sighed, and got to his feet, the others following suit. “Fine, let’s go.”

Wash had spent quite a few weeks in the company of the Blood Gulch crew, so he already had a pretty good idea of just how off the wall they were.

It did not prepare him for actually living with them. They somehow had the knack for getting into the most insane situations, or for escalating a situation until it became insane, and Wash wavered between being annoyed with them and being really impressed. It was honestly amazing. He had no idea how they managed to survive so far, but survive they did, and Wash could admit he was grateful for it. Things might’ve gone so very different without them around.

Still, of all the things he’s seen (which included the time he watched Caboose and Tucker slather themselves with mayonnaise before going outside to tan), this might’ve been the weirdest.

“What are you two doing?”

“Cloud-gazing,” Tucker replied.

“I can see that,” Wash said, “I just don’t understand why.”

Tucker gave a non-committal shrug.

“Oh! That one kind of looks like a snake!” Caboose pointed at the cloud.

“It does, doesn’t it? Nice catch, dude.”

Wash looked up at the sky and squinted. “That one? It looks a bit too deformed to be a snake though?”

“Yup,” Tucker confirmed.

“The two of you are weird.”

“Wash, you’ve been with us for like months now. Are you seriously just getting that?”

It wasn’t so much the activity that was weird, lord knows Wash had seen them laze around often enough; it was their behaviour that was freaking him out.

He’d never seen the two of them be so quiet while sharing the same space. Not to mention the arm contact? Their arms were pressed solidly together, it was like they were comforting each other or trying to remind the other of their presence, and that was beyond bizarre. Wash honestly thought he might’ve been thrown into another dimension. Or maybe he had actually died during the fight with the Meta and everything after that point was part of some fucked up afterlife he had dreamed up for himself.

(Wash pointedly ignored the fact he often worried that his time with the Reds and Blues after the Meta was some kind of hallucination he was going through in prison, having finally lost it after all this time. He was the picture of mental health.)

The point was, Tucker and Caboose hated one another, or at the very least thought the other was beyond annoying; Wash had heard their many, many arguments to confirm it.

But Wash also wasn’t an idiot, and he could already predict how the conversation would go if he tried to bring it up.

“You sure the two of you don’t want to do anything else?”

“What, like patrol? Because that’s so fun,” Tucker snarked.

“I am sorry, agent Washingtub, but I don’t feel like going on walks.”

“We could play a game in the base?” Wash tried.

“Like tag?”

“Caboose, please stop asking to play tag. We solemnly swore to never play that game again after you split Church’s back in two.”

“What?!”

“Oh, Church was in a robot body by that point, so it’s okay. It’s also how we found out how strong Caboose is.”

“Not my fault, Tucker did it.”

“You know no one believes you right?”

“…Tucker still did it,” Caboose insisted, and Tucker tilted his helmet to indicate he was rolling his eyes.

“No, I was thinking a board game? I found a bunch of stuff in one of the closets. I don’t even know how they managed to sneak a board game onto base. Or why you would want to in the first place, there are better things to do than to play Monopoly.”

“Monopoly! Yes!” Caboose shouted, sitting up.

“In this shithole? Not likely. You were in Project Freelancer right? So, you know none of us were ever actually good enough to be soldiers and pretty much had nothing to do until you Freelancers showed up. In fact, you were the one that told us how much we sucked.”

“… So how about a rousing game of Monopoly?”

Caboose lifted his hand eagerly, and waved it around. “Oh, I want in, Agent Washington!”

Tucker sighed and sat up too. “At least tell me the board’s physical so I can flip it in a fit of rage.”

“It is,” Wash confirmed, amused.

“Awesome! Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that with holograms? And the pieces don’t even go flying when you manage to do it! It totally ruins the fun.” Caboose and Tucker both got up and started walking back to the base.

“I’m sure it does.” Wash walked behind them, listening fondly as they argued over who got to use which piece.

Never in a million years would he have guessed that this would be where he would end up after- well, after everything. But it wasn’t a bad place to be. No, not a bad place to be at all.

#rvb fic #my fic #adri #leonard church #lavernius tucker #michael j caboose #agent texas #agent washington #blue team #blue team feels #ableist language #i edited it more in the ao3 version and i forgot what the changes were woops #unprofessional i know

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ber39james · 7 years

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What Is the Best Way to Develop a Writing Style?

Whether or not you realize it, you have a writing style. It’s like fashion: sometimes you don’t notice it at all (jeans and a t-shirt), and other times you can’t take your eyes away (Fashion Week, or Lady Gaga). Whether you’re trying to make it as an author or churning out dozens of business emails a day, your writing style is your signature way of communicating.

Your writing style is uniquely yours, but that doesn’t mean it has to be so unique that it causes confusion. Writers like Virginia Woolf, William Faulkner, and Ernest Hemingway have such personalized writing styles that you could spot their writing in a lineup, but let’s just say Woolf’s run-on sentences aren’t going to be a hit in a business memo. To get your point across but also stay true to your own writing style, it’s important to identify your quirks, polish your technique, and be willing to adapt.

Identify Your Writing Style

Are you quirky? Casual? Formal? Are there certain words you use all the time? Are parentheses all over your writing? Do you go for diverse punctuation, or prefer short, choppy sentences?

The components that make up the way you communicate are what make your writing style yours—whether you consider yourself a Writer with a capital W or just have to create text for your job from time to time.

If you’re interested in improving your communication, start paying attention to your habits. Notice what favorite words keep popping up, whether you find yourself going for semicolons or em-dashes, and other specifics.

How?

Go through old chapters, articles, or emails you’ve written and take notes on recurring traits.

As you’re writing something new, reread each sentence or paragraph to find your tics.

Ask a friend or colleague what they’ve noticed about your writing. Sometimes an extra pair of eyes can pick up details we’re used to glazing over.

After you’ve identified what characterizes your writing style, you can work to improve it, or if you’re satisfied, keep on writing with that heightened awareness.

Hone Your Writing Style

Having a personal writing style is good, but a writing style that’s too out-there can get in the way of comprehension. Whether you do journalism, business writing, or fiction, make sure your writing style fits the norm, but is still your style.

For example, if you keep a thesaurus handy, great. Big words can help you be more precise and descriptive. Just make sure they’re not weighing down your writing or causing confusion.

Or, if you find yourself using phrases like “I think” or “I believe,” cut them. In general, writing sounds more confident and assertive without self-references.

Is the passive voice frequently used in your writing? Scratch that: do you use the passive voice in your writing? Active voice is stronger and more direct, and it’s often the better choice.

Curb Your Writing Style

Honing means making your style concise and clear. Curbing it means getting rid of bad habits. In general, you should check your grammar and spelling. (Shameless plug: we happen to know a handy writing tool that does just that!)

Other than that, unfortunately, writing has a lot of no-no’s, and they vary depending on the type of writing you do. Try these articles to get specific:

Clean up your dirty, wordy writing

Get rid of filler words

Avoid these words at work

Create error-free content marketing

Be clear and assertive over email

Adapt Your Writing Style

Back to the fashion metaphor. Maybe you have a thing for sweater-vests or mismatched socks, or you wear sweatpants whenever you can get away with it. Fashion is about being yourself, but there are times when you dress a certain way because it’s expected of you. A job interview. A wedding. Prom. You can still be yourself, but you adapt to the occasion.

Similarly, you can shift your writing style based on the situation you’re writing for. Here are some examples:

For a memo or report for work, write in short sentences or bullet points, use the vocabulary favored by your industry, and focus on the goal.

For emails, unless it’s a super serious topic, this is usually a place to be more casual. (What about social media? Find out.)

For essays or academic papers, formality goes through the roof. Read some examples of similar writing to get a sense of how to adapt.

For presentations, the writing on your slides or your speech notes should be casual and concise to suit the spoken format.

When it comes to your writing style, just like with fashion, you can be yourself, but also be appropriate for whatever situation you’re in. If you’re aware of your habits and willing to adapt, your writing style will not only serve you in a wide range of writing scenarios but will also continue to improve with time.

The post What Is the Best Way to Develop a Writing Style? appeared first on Grammarly Blog.

from Grammarly Blog https://www.grammarly.com/blog/writing-style/

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ormlacom · 7 years

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AI will turn PR people into superheroes within one year

Something every woman should know - WHY MEN LIE!

GUEST:

PR is critical for startups. The profession is always been one part relationship manager, one part storyteller — a sales and marketing gig rolled into one. But with billions being poured into artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning over the next 30 years, the tech PR industry is next in line for a serious AI upgrade. Every PR person who manages to surf the new AI wave will get instant superpowers, including the ability to predict the future.

Source: Data Source: Tractica and Statista.

For the scoop, I reached out to PR and marketing tools vendors and PR agencies big and small.

Here are the big takeaways:

Pay attention

According to Jeff Hardison, VP at Lytics, a customer data platform and a major player in analytics, “Machine learning is already helping marketers make more efficient use of customer data, and complementing what they’ve had for centuries: intuition and experience.”

The keyword is “complements,” not replaces, he said.

Machine learning today. Tomorrow, AI

“Two years ago or even last year the technology that could calculate and develop the algorithms weren’t as efficient or open as they are today,” said Saif Ajani, CEO of Keyhole, a hashtag analytics company that uses Google Tensor Flow to tap into the capabilities of machine learning.

“Google and Amazon have put up AI clouds dedicated to machine learning just in the past 12 to 24 months,” he said. Keyhole can now plug its huge data set for social into the AI cloud and get results for clients quickly and affordably. Our data is 80 to 90 percent accurate in predicting what is going to happen after 30 days. Within 3 days we can predict how big the trend is going to be after 30 days,” he said.

The next #DeleteUber PR nightmare can be avoided

“What brands or PR agencies fail to understand is how big a crisis is going to be,” continued Ajani. “The #boycottunited crisis started in January, and it’s now September and still happening. The challenge for PR agencies is how do you know what’s going to go massive? Within 24 or 72 hours we can actually tell you how massive a crisis is going to be in the next 30 days.”

Above: Image courtesy of Keyhole

Soon vendors will be able to combine hundreds of different factors and billions of social posts to make predictions with an incredible degree of accuracy. Once your data tells you that a crisis is going to be massive, your agency will be able to confidently put the brakes on pre-scheduled posts and respond more appropriately to the situation, unlike what happened with #deleteuber and #boycottunited.

Some PR agencies are lagging

Surprisingly, several multi-national agencies I spoke with do not currently use machine learning or AI with their clients, and they asked not to be mentioned in this story.

That’s not good news for them.

Shift Communications, however, is ahead of the curve and poised for growth.

Shift uses AI and machine learning in predictive analytics, text mining, and advanced attribution. During a recent client crisis, Shift was able to crunch more than 15,000 content-rich blogs for a medical client in just 1.5 seconds to identify insights, trends, and keywords in hopes to identify the root cause of a situation. Through the process, Shift was able to uncover an entirely different reputation issue that the client is now able to address.

None of that would have been possible without machine learning and large data sets, says Christopher Penn, Shift vice president.

“We use a blend of open source software [and] custom code, with the help of their partner, IBM Watson,” Penn said.

AI will touch everything marketing pros touch

BuzzSumo, the powerful tool that allows any user to find out what content is popular, uses machine learning in a number of ways across its various products.

“Our primary use [of machine learning] is classification of articles into topics and extracting phrases from questions to help classify the question,” said Steve Rayson, director at BuzzSumo. “A simple example is that an article may be classified as being about e-learning, even if it doesn’t mention elearning specifically.”

BuzzSumo estimates that about half of its 3,500 paying companies are PR and social media professionals involved in content production and promotion.

Rayson continued, “Machine learning works well with large data sets and helps us with problems such as classification. It also helps us to identify common elements of content that gains shares and links. … More generally, we are seeing the benefits of machine learning using large data sets such as in translations, image recognition, and spam detection.

“We have a database of over 6 billion content items and add over 100 million new content items each month. We use machine learning to help us classify content and to rank content. For example, we crawl hundreds of thousands of forums to identify questions being asked on any topic and we extract phrases to group these questions into sub-topics,” he said.

Rayson said he’s interested in “content writing algorithms” from Narrative Science and Automated Insights.

“It’s really about focusing on the problem you are trying to solve.”

For AI, size of the data matters

As a leading platform for PR media measurement and attribution analytics, AirPR crawls, processes, and analyzes billions of data points per day and uses natural language processing (NLP) and deep learning techniques to “teach” its systems to understand text and classify articles, as well as determine relevance and influence for any brand.

“We use AI and machine learning to improve filtering of the data our customers have access to, removing the majority of spam and non-relevant URLs that distort business impact reporting,” said AirPR CEO and cofounder Sharam Fouladgar-Mercer.

AirPR’s own content marketing and PR teams leverage the machine learning capabilities of the AirPR Analyst platform to research which topics and story arcs are trending for its target audience. The platform provides deeper insight into the articles, authors, influencers, and messages that drive actual engagement with a customer’s brand.

Another company to pay attention to is Trendkite, an emerging leader in PR measurement and analytics.

“Artificial intelligence and machine learning are engrained throughout the TrendKite product,” a Trendkite spokesperson told me over email. “With machine learning, Trendkite is able to provide insights and recommendations based on reviewing more data points than humans could possibly reason over. This enables us to do things like distinguishing earned media content from other types of content so that we can better attribute business outcomes to PR efforts.”

Above: Image courtesy of Trendkite

Social tools are leading the AI charge

Hootsuite sees itself as innovative in data science, which also requires a large amount of data.

Hootsuite uses machine learning for social marketing, social selling, and social support. A product to watch is Hootsuite Insight, which tracks mentions and brand sentiment.

Above: Screenshot from Hootsuite.com

“We figure out trends around your brand, which allows us to identify spikes,” said Mik Lernout, vice president of product at Hootsuite.

“Hootsuite Insights consumes a lot of data to create meaningful results for our customers. A lot of that initial work is pretty run-of-the -mill data crunching. The data science and machine learning is used when Insights classifies and prioritizes the relevant data for a specific customer. Out of all of the social conversations about my brand: Are those positive or negative? What are the topics and themes that keep coming up? What are the real-time trends you might need to act on? These kinds of questions can only really be answered using data science and machine learning,” Lernout said.

Expect more PR apps with machine learning

Above: Courtesy of Say It Media

Finally, I chatted with Audrey Mann Cronin, the founder of Say It Media, Inc., who invented the mobile app LikeSo. LikeSo is a personal speech coach that helps you eliminate annoying verbal tics. Cronin says she’ll be adding machine learning and artificial intelligence during her next round of funding.

Personally, I could see so many uses for this app by PR and especially executive communications professionals, as well as for anyone who wanted to improve their speaking ability. The app is included in the next syllabus at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill by communications professor Rick Clancy.

So pay attention, PR veterans.

The next wave of PR tech is here, and hunches and experience aren’t going to cut it anymore. Will robots take over PR jobs? According to Willrobotstakemyjob, there’s only an 18 percent likelihood of that ever happening.

Aaron Cohen (@cohencomms) is an award-winning writer, consultant and tech evangelist based out of Portland, Oregon. He is the founder of Glitch PR, a one-person powerhouse helping tech-forward startups think different about all things PR.

Reverse Phone - People Search - Email Search - Public Records - Criminal Records. Best Data, Conversions, And Customer Suppor

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