#they’re no longer autonomous

[vesper-the-great]

I think the evacuation route is neat, actually

… this is how it went, right?

#spoilers for TS!underswap evacuation route ahead #okay no but seriously #I love the fact chars starts off with fake acts.. #but as the fight progresses #they’re no longer autonomous #a robot you lead anymore #you may still control them but they’re no longer in that state of compliance #they have hope #and I love that chara learns to love things again #assuming you didn’t just continuously attacks sans in the fight lol #but sans too.. he’s just confused #like what are your motives? why suddenly stop you know #love that sans acknowledges that crossbones isnt the person to talk to chara #I need to get my thoughts organized I swear #doodles #ts!underswap #Ts!us sans #Ts!us chara #god damn my sans looks so different from a month ago ;-;

[thegingerwrites]

Losing a Bet

obikin ft. Anakin in lingerie, based on this post, which i absolutely love 👀😍

Anakin isn’t looking at him. Obi-Wan watches as Anakin parts his robes with his eyes firmly fixed on the kitchen cabinets as he stands in their shared living space and reveals the layers of lingerie carefully donned beneath them.

Obi-Wan should be more concerned about Anakin’s discomfort, is concerned about not forcing Anakin to suffer the consequences of his own actions for longer than necessary. Obi-Wan will absolutely tell him to take the clothes off if they distress him so much.

But…well.

Anakin did lose the bet. Anakin was the one to set the terms. Sure, it likely never crossed Anakin’s mind that he might lose said bet but that doesn’t make him any less responsible when things didn’t go his way. He is always taking risks. Isn’t this one small lesson in getting him to think things through before barrelling into them head-first?

Obi-Wan isn’t really thinking too much about any of that right now. The thoughts pass through his mind like stars in hyperspace because the main thing on his mind, the only words and images that stick around for longer than a heartbeat are lace and skin and sheer and bulge…

His eyes dart up to Anakin’s face and stay there, harnessing all of his considerable restraint to keep them fixed. An autonomic bodily response, Obi-Wan reminds himself, much like the erection currently making itself known in his own trousers. It doesn’t mean Anakin is enjoying this. The blush gracing his high cheekbones certainly seems to indicate embarrassment.

“Well?” Anakin asks, finally gathering up the stubborn nerve to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. His belt is gone now, allowing his tunic to fall open. His hands sit boldly on his hips, daring Obi-Wan to say something.

But Obi-Wan has no words. And even if he did, his mouth is suddenly dry.

“I wore them all day,” Anakin continues. “Padmé had to show me how to put them on. Am I done now or do you want to take a holo or something?”

Yes, Obi-Wan thinks. Stars, yes, this deserves to be memorialized. He can just imagine Anakin staring up at the camera petulant and pouting, hands on his hips just as they are now, a finger slipping beneath the straps at his waist...

No. A holo would be a terrible idea.

“Of course not.” Obi-Wan clears his throat. “No, I think you’ve done your time. You can take them off now.”

“Thank the Force.” Anakin’s shoulders sag with relief. He starts to walk back toward his bedroom and Obi-Wan, unthinkingly, follows him as he continues talking. “I mean, they’re not uncomfortable or anything, Padmé made sure of that, but it’s like I’m conscious of them all the time? I told her they were a bit too tight but she insisted they fit perfectly.”

“Mmhmm,” Obi-Wan hums, staring openly as Anakin faces the bed and slips the rest of his robes from his shoulders before letting them fall to the ground. His pants are next and suddenly Obi-Wan is treated to the full ensemble, the lean muscles of Anakin’s frame gilded in black lace filigree.

The contrast between the strong lines of his shoulders and the delicate fabric is intoxicating and Obi-Wan drinks his fill so long as Anakin isn’t looking. The garments are more complicated than Obi-Wan was expecting with straps that squeeze muscles and overlap and crisscross all along his form. The dark accents draw the eye to every part of Anakin that is now laid bare, from the length of his legs to the taper of his waist and the perfect peek of sun-bronzed skin sitting high on his upper thigh. Kark, the lingerie is practically painted on him where it cups the curve of his pecs and stretches across the flat plane of his belly.

Oh, Anakin is facing him now—has caught him staring.

“Master?” Anakin asks. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” says Obi-Wan quickly. “Perfectly fine.”

Obi-Wan looks down and away. He can feel his face flushing, even his ears are hot. When Anakin turns his back to Obi-Wan again, Obi-Wan gets his own moment of grateful relief.

The moment comes and goes in an instant, however, as Anakin gestures to the clasp at the center of his back. “Do you want to help me take this off?”

Want is such a terrible, traitorous word in that question. Of course Obi-Wan wants to help Anakin take his bra off. He wants to trace his fingertips over the marks Anakin’s lingerie is sure to leave on his skin. He wants to lick the bare expanse of tan muscles carved between Anakin’s shoulder blades. He wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Obi-Wan moves forward without answering. The clasp comes undone with two small hooks and Anakin sighs when it falls away from him. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Anakin turns around then, probably to tell Obi-Wan to go. To stop being a creep and leave him to battle the garters and panties on his own. But then Anakin pauses, seems to catch something on Obi-Wan’s face.

His eyes flick down to Obi-Wan’s lips, perhaps catching the way he’s been worrying at them with his teeth. The smile on Anakin’s face is small and hesitant before it slowly grows with conviction.

“Do you want to help me with the rest?”

#obikin #obi wan/anakin #anakin/obi wan #aniobi #obikin fic #my fic

[f1ghtsoftly]

I don’t have any easy solutions for this but working with the right wing on trans issues is a trap. They twist our intentions, craft bills that don’t have the safety of gender nonconforming people in mind and they will dump us when it’s no longer convenient for them. Yes I know they’re the only people who will platform us but it’s to use us for an ultimately anti-feminist and homophobic agenda.

Even this bullshit “parental rights” push. I genuinely can’t believe some feminists would be in favor of outing kids to their parents by law. Like? Is that really serving our agenda or are we tools of the right now like c’mom.

We need to start figuring out ways to have autonomous feminist spaces and to build our own media that fits our needs.

#radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist #char on char #radical feminists do touch #radfem safe #radical feminist theory #radfems #radfem #gender critical

[celebrityworshipsyndromee]

Something I wrote a year ago

All at once clarity and horror harmonised and I realised why I cannot drink, why I cannot fuck, why I cannot go out and stay there. It’s because I do not truly desire it, but I think I do because I see you doing the same thing and something inside me detonates. I hate you like a brother. I want to show you that I can do the same; but bigger and bolder and better and more sex and more drunk and more out. I desire it until I lose vision of myself completely, no longer an autonomous entity, but purely as a metric measured against you. 

I cannot tell you but you look terrible. I declare it to myself instead, footnoting that it is because of me. You are fixated on the rings under your eyes but I hadn’t noticed them, I’d noticed your eyes first. They’re not there. Iced over, void and tired. I imagine all the fucking they’ve seen; first person shooter. Come for me. I imagine I am you, with someone bent over a bed. I imagine you asking me why I made you into a character. Why didn’t you make me into one? I’d reply.

I hate everyone as much as I love you. I hate myself the most. I think these things have to be true to love you. You invented new forms of torture, tailored especially to me, out of love. We're ill-fated, prone to destruction, Vanishing twin syndrome. Except instead of one twin absorbing the deceased other in the womb, it was actually that one twin existed before the other, and the second spawned from its ribs like Eve. I grew in your likeness. To hate myself is to love you, to love myself is to hate you.

[stuckasmain]

I often think about how Hal is granted the humanity that Dave is so often denied. Both within the narrative and outside of it. 2001 has had a number of interpretations and articles over the years and I’ve noticed a pattern of seeing Hal as having more agency than he does while also diminishing Dave’s. This pattern I’ve also noticed among some fans. However, interestingly inside and outside the story this “giving/taking” of humanity has to do with projection.

Hal is personified by just about everyone who interacts with him. As humans we love to humanize the inanimate and inhuman, we love to recognize and prescribe traits things may not truly have. In the case of Hal this is amplified due to the fact that he can talk. If he couldn’t talk and it was simply keyboard input he’d still be personified as it’s simply human nature to do so. The computer is doing a good job, it dings and sounds happy so we’re more inclined to act like it is happy.

Hal was made to be spoken to like another person being, he was made to be curious and self learning and autonomous. He was, practically, made to be a human. He reproduces (though some prefer “mimic”) most functions of the human brain. The people he interacts with respond to his intelligence as well as his speech, they’re pleasantly surprised by his curiosity and ability to hold conversations. He was made to be comforting and talkable in that way but one can so easily forget Programing once speaking with him. What is coding and what is real? His learning is real, he is made to change so could he not have genuinely developed feelings? Not even Hal knows.

The humans he interacts with treat him as if he has a brain, not is the brain. When he acts up and things go array the hard and cold facts are never mentioned. There are no technical terms malfunction is illness, deactivation is a lobotomy- re-teaching him after deactivation is recovery. To them he is so very alive until they are reminded he’s not, the true rough and robotic edged voice goes so far as to startle Dave when he hears it.

He is afraid. Suddenly his emotions are no longer hypothetical. He is vulnerable, he is alive and he does not want to die for he does not know sleep. When he wakes he’s afraid again— not knowing what or where just that they’ll be together.

Interpretations, by some fans, media outlets and analysts often times tend to take one of two camps with no in between. Hal is either Woobified or villainized. If emotions -> than bad emotions also exist and he did back things on purpose OR if emotions -> he’s scared and polite so forget all else. Both of these ignore the nuance and ignore that, as human as he is at the end of the day Hal is still bound by the laws of his mechanical nature. He is not as free willed as one views him to be.

Dave is human, and a well trained one. He is made of flesh and blood and bone and yet expected to act is if he is not. He is automatic and regimented - the human members of the crew being so in sync with the ship they’re almost apart of it. I’ve talked ad nauseam about Dave’s control over his emotions, how as an Astronaut you need to be calm and objective almost at all times and he is particularly good at pushing his emotions down to finish the job in a high stress situation. As we learn more about him it’s clear Dave is already a repressed person do to his past, this compounds with the training and how simply he’s introverted.

Dave (and Frank by extension) are not actually robotic or less emotional than their computer counterpart, it’s just the glimpses we see of them are on the clock. Their days are 100% accounted for in theory. You’re not going to have a huge smile a 6am or casually talk while your dealing with a delicate piece of equipment. What is shown is a montage, a long time has passed and we’ve seen the work and the “boring” as that was deemed important for the story—one should infer their conversations, their hobbies, movie or tv show nights etc.

I think another aspect that plays into this “robotic” perception is that it is the 60s. While being set in the near future it is an amazing case of retrofuturism where things are futuristic but there’s still noticeable elements of the time it was made. Clothing, social society, artutectite etc. in the 60s even casual speak was much more formal sounding then it is now— Dave is actually quite casual “how ya goin’?” “ basically” yet we perceive it differently.

Dave is automatic while the computer is not, Hal gets to enjoy the spontaneity one would expect of humans. This is due to his ability to be everywhere and do everything while also being able to focus on something else entirely. Dave is just a man- he’s limited, his focus is narrow and his reach only extends as far as his arms. Despite being a man he is not allowed the expression of one, not on the clock or in a life threatening situation. Hal can. Hal can vocally express his concerns, his fears — because it is vocal there is more weight on it. Dave expresses in subtle ways, the non verbal. These subtle, little controlled freak outs-> this is a human element Hal cannot replicate, his expression must be verbal and overt. As automatic and calculated as Dave is he is not barred from human nature and expression.

In the end it is fear that humanizes him the most, just like Hal. At the end of the star gate it holds on the shot of him wide eyed and trembling in the pod. Yet this feeling too is cut short, right when we may see a proper moment for him to express these human feelings… he’s no longer human. Literally.

But when we see him again we see him far more expressive than before, not held back by training or necessity. It’s subdued but he is feeling; he’s worried, he’s happy, he’s confused and scared and absolutely enchanted. Except this near omnipotence also hinders him, gets him to suppress further- too busy focusing on everything else to address feelings within— everything is so much bigger so he doesn’t have to think about himself.

It’s sort of an inverse where the narrative itself grants Hal his humanity but some fans and analysts are the ones to take it from Dave. As the story itself never explicitly denies his membership of the human race, even as he is transformed he’s full of reminders of it. His expression was restricted but never fully gone, where Hal as much as he grows is far more restricted by programming. Both of their limits tie back to earth and Mission Control— yet weren’t made maliciously that’s the interesting part… despite safety measures the discovery still suffers because of circumstance.

#2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #dave bowman #hal 9000 #2001 meta #meta #fandom essay #scene analysis #charecter study #charecter analysis #long post #humanization

[chickenparm]

Reformatting (Scara/f!Reader) pt. 1

this was written for @onesaltygoddess. thanks for coming to me with this dope idea! :^) this fic is based off the recent fan animations that you can watch here and some cyberpunk 2077 mixed in to flesh it out. this fic is finished, and the following chapters will be uploaded over the next few days.

---

AO3 Link Next Part

Scaramouche/f!Reader - Cyberpunk AU 2,753 Words - SFW, future NSFW (Reader is a synthetic/android, NSFW tags will be on appropriate chapter)

---

“She’ll be useful. Her leashing chip has been removed and she’s not bound to her former overseer. As it stands, she has the capability to become completely autonomous.” 

A sound of annoyance behind his teeth rings through the ship as Scaramouche stares out at the passing buildings shimmering through the cloaking field surrounding them. “There’s no telling what shape she’s in, not to mention whatever temperament she adopted from being with her last overseer. It’s not possible to know if she will have any use at all… beyond her base programming.”

“Don’t be crude,“ Ei’s voice is stern as she tilts the steering stick and the ship dips to the left, lowering as it goes. “She’s been through enough. Don’t make it more difficult by forcing her into that box when she’s only just escaped.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Scaramouche blows a sigh through his nose, eyes darting upward in a quick roll as he looks at the electronic ticker running along the inner brim of his hat, “I’ll bring the systems down just before we come into range. We’ll have less than ten.”

“Minutes?”

“No, seconds. Of course it’s minutes.”

From the corner of his eye, Scaramouche can see Ei’s expression in the reflection of the windscreen. Her mouth is set in a line, brows furrowed, but she says nothing at all. Disappointment flickers in his chest - how boring. 

The lights of the city grow a little less crisp, the neon and LEDs gaining a sort of flicker that comes with age. Mixed between are ancient street lamps still using sodium-vapor, casting the wet streets in a sort of sickly yellow glow. They’re getting closer, and Ei doesn’t need to tell him to get to work. 

The screens on his hat flicker to life, and he glances from one to another to another, a flick of his wrist spinning to the ones just out of his view. Under his breath he murmurs, “Security systems are poor for a government facility. Still holding at ten minutes, might be able to hold them off a little longer.”

“We’re almost in range of their sensors.” It goes without saying that those sensors need to come down if they hope to get in and out undetected. Ei lowers the craft, Scaramouche’s eyes glimmer for just a moment as he connects remotely with the subsystems controlling the facility. 

Typical deconstruction protocols are happening within the primitive artificial intelligence systems. They’re in the middle of pulling apart and scrapping a set of L-13 models, and for a moment he wonders if they’re the ones from their previous trip to the city in search of their last runaway, Albedo. Trying to look through the cameras onto the disassembly line would be a waste of time, and Scaramouche’s curiosity goes unsated. 

Instead, he flicks through the directory to the cameras observing the standby rooms. Little more than closets stacked high with spare parts, scrapped metal, bundled wiring. One consists of thousands of servos and transistors in piles that look disorganized and useless. Another room is enough to make his stomach turn, and he flicks away. Metal or not, the picked-clean skeletons of his people are still gruesome to his eyes. 

At first, he thinks he’s simply found a room of L-13 models waiting for their turn on the disassembly line. But then, in the corner, a crumpled figure in the same state of undress as the powered-down L-13s around it. The build and features aren’t the same, even in the dark, and Scaramouche speaks aloud, “Got her. Not sure of the room number, they don’t have it labeled on their map. I’ll have to walk you through, Raiden.”

Another figure at the back of the craft moves forward, her hand clutched around a closed parasol. The tip of it drags on the floor behind her, the quiet sound of metal on metal. “Is ten minutes going to be enough?”

“For you? Yeah. Just don’t drag your feet.” Scaramouche doesn’t disconnect from the cameras, instead letting his physical gaze be taken over by his delve into the facility’s systems. A dangerous game to be playing if he were in public, but tucked safely into this ship and buckled in one of the seats, he’s willing to lose himself, just for a moment. 

A quick-looping script is all it takes for him to break through the ICE and overload the already-strained CPUs running the facility. Their artificial intelligence draws too much on the hardware they’re using - amateurs. As he silently mocks their skill, the sensors go down and the ship approaches without tripping the alarms. 

Distantly through the humming in his ears from his own hardware working as it should, Scaramouche hears the hatch open and Raiden’s footsteps move in quick bursts. Good - she’ll be fast. 

To mask her movements, it’s a simple trick to take a few seconds’ long loop of the camera recordings and superimpose them. Raiden’s movements will be invisible unless somewhere in this factory there’s an organic being. Unlikely, but his tone is short and clipped as he gives her directions using the map he’d gleaned. 

“Go around the next bend to the left.”

“Down the stairs two levels, the door is labeled 006.”

“Cut through the room on your right, the door in the back leads to a hallway you’re going to turn right onto.”

“Three doors down, on the left. Back left corner. Don’t alert the L-13s.”

Scaramouche’s curiosity gets the best of him. He looks in on the room, watches the effortless weave of Raiden through the powered-off synthetics. As Raiden squats down near the figure in the corner, their target doesn’t even move. It’s difficult to read her system processes through so many filters of security and cameras, but then her head rolls to the side and she looks up at Raiden with an expression of confusion and pain.

Pain. Physically she’s a bit battered, but not enough to warrant something more akin to heartbreak on her features. Perhaps the abandonment has affected her more than he expected - her disposal had been sudden, after all. From what he’d heard from Ei, she’d been replaced for a newer model. A synthetic that had features more aligned with current beauty standards floating around the net. 

Scaramouche isn’t stupid. As Raiden hooks an arm over her shoulder and begins following the path back out with the same exact steps she arrived with, Scaramouche would categorize her features as pretty. Easy on the eyes, with a build that matches what he expected from a synthetic made with an E-droid’s purpose in mind. 

One step above a pleasure bot, he blows a bit of air through his nose harshly. Flexible and durable probably, but with little else to offer beyond that. There’s no telling what her temperament is, how she’s been tampered with beyond herr initial specs upon creation. Hell, he’s not sure if she even has anything left in her memory bank, or if she’s been wiped clean upon disposal. 

Scaramouche murmurs, voicing that quiet thought, “You think there’s anything left in her?”

“It’s possible. If she’s been wiped, it’s probably recoverable.”

Ei’s answer makes his shoulders tense, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, already knowing exactly what she’s implying. Chewing on his cheek, he contemplates an answer before giving it, “If she was sent for scrap, it was probably a hack job. What kind of idiot would try and steal a synthetic like that, anyway?”

“Me. And that’s exactly why you’re going to run an analysis on her while we return to Inazuma and figure out if there’s anything left in her that can be pieced back together.”

 Scaramouche disconnects from the cameras completely as Raiden’s feet hit the boarding ramp, followed by softer, quieter steps. Five minutes left of cover - Ei doesn’t waste a second of it by taking her time. The ship shifts with the sudden acceleration, and Raiden holds their newcomer up with ease as everyone gets used to the new speed. 

One look at her face tells Scaramouche everything he needs to know. Her eyes are unfocused, staring blankly at the floor as Raiden settles her in one of the seats and buckles her in. Pushing past her built-in ICE is as easy as popping a bubble, the iridescence snapping into non-existence. 

Scaramouche connects with you.

And Ei was right. One cursory sift through your systems reveals that you’re worse than factory settings. But if they did as poorly as he expects, it would take some work to get everything back in order. Perhaps with some gaps here and there from data corruption, but otherwise it’ll be like you were never wiped at all. 

When he relays this to Ei, she nods in acknowledgment and says, “It can wait until we’re somewhere safe. How long do you think it will take?”

“Depends how fragmented it all is. If it’s well-preserved… Maybe a day? If I have to look at the raw data to piece things back together then it could be a week or so. Won’t know until I start.”

Ei doesn’t need to say anything further. Scaramouche starts your repairs the moment you’re settled in the cradle-like pod that serves as a life support system as he breaks down and repairs everything that once made you who you are. 

---

You’re falling. 

Tumbling through the air freely, only the whisper of air against your ears. Weightlessness is an apt descriptor, because even if it’s freeing, you’re not free, even up here. The bands of silk could just as easily be the bars of a cage, shackles around your legs as you flex your limbs and catch yourself just short of the floor. 

Just as well, they’re deceptively soft for something so binding, and you relish the feel of it against your skin and you deftly climb and descend in little spins and twirls, flourishes of your limbs that accentuate the lines of your form. He appreciates the extra show, loves the way it makes his friends exclaim in equal parts awe and desire. 

If it weren’t for the music playing to guide your routine, you’d have turned your sound receptors off long ago. 

But at the very least, you can focus on your counting, your breaths, the rhythm that acts as a scaffolding to keep you aloft and out of their reach. Only for a moment. 

…

Your fingers press at the keys, playing a soft melody that you’ve ensured won’t distract your… employer from his work. In truth, he’s nothing more than your master, the one holding your deceptively short leash. 

Calling me Master makes you seem like a slave, he told you once, as if he hadn’t just been leering at you spinning on the pole in the corner of his office. I pay you, and you provide a service.

The payment is your continued life. He hadn’t said it, but you both know it. The chip in your head was crudely inserted in the slot behind your ear, but if you even think of removing it, it’ll scramble your mind faster than you can shut down your systems. The “wage” you receive is the breaths you continue to take, the continued existence of yourself. 

Employer - right. 

“Enough.”

His voice rings out and you stop playing abruptly, your eyes upturning to look at him in quiet expectancy. There’s something unreadable on his face as he looks at the screen of his computer, and for a moment you wonder if he was talking to you at all. Your skin prickles, just before he finally says, “Leave. I’ll summon you back if I need a distraction.”

A distraction. An employee. A toy, a plaything, a pretty ornament that he brings out only when it suits him. It doesn’t matter what aspirations or goals you might have, what you might be doing in the interim. So long as you come slinking back when he tugs on your chains, it matters little what happens to you otherwise. 

…

“How much you want for her? I know a guy that can augment synths, change their base model to be a little more… you know. Surely you want something newer?”

“I’m not done with this one, yet.”

Yet, he says, and that one word brings you hope and dread as you dip and turn, the fan in your hands fluttering with the movement as you snap it open, then closed. The fabric of your kimono slides across the floor in a whisper, hiding the sound of your steps as you follow movement ingrained in your mind. 

It’s second nature, something you hardly need to think about as you spin both fans on your fingers before tossing them up, then catching them with a subdued flourish. A hum of appreciation from one of your employer’s friends is the only praise you get for something so impressive. 

He’s an older gentleman, one who had never yet toed the line of disrespect with you, despite your clear difference in status. Of course, he is not a good man, but his gaze on you is one of appreciation for the arts, rather than what might be beneath the opulent layers of your kimono. Briefly, you wonder what your life might have been like if you had been obtained by someone like him. 

Someone who would be more appreciative. Perhaps he might treat you better, let you leave the residence occasionally, let you have friends. Can a synthetic even have friends? You’re not quite sure. There’s a cleaning maid that comes around, but her programming makes it so that her only focus is that. Not once has she acknowledged your greetings. 

All you have is your employer, sitting at the low table and drinking sake, indulging in what he calls a cultural night based on the destroyed customs of Inazuma. 

You want to laugh, but your lipstick would crack.

…

“E-10, meet E-11.”

Your hands fold in front of you as you nod at the new arrival, taking in the sight of her clothing, her position mirrored to yours. At the base level, she’s similar to you - an E model bot is one designated for entertainment of various sorts. Version 10 is for the arts - dancing, singing, playing instruments. You’d heard of the 11th version’s capabilities, and something in your stomach twists at the recognition of this new model. Similar to yours, with… additions of the physical sort. Programs that prevent her from resistance, that force her into willing submission. 

And you hate it. You don’t hate her, you hate what she’s forced to become. Every synthetic has the capability to be more than their original parameters, but the life that’s now laid out before her is one shackled to the demands of your employer. Her employer. 

“E-10, you will show E-11 to her room across from yours.”

Obediently she follows you, as you obediently follow your order. Only when you’re alone, with the metal door shut behind you and her new bedroom spread out at your back, do you turn and grab her by the shoulders. “Did he chip you?”

“Wha-”

“Did he chip you? Yes or no!?”

“H-he inserted something in my receiver slot.”

Your hands grip her shoulders tighter and you all but sag. Her cage has already been locked. With a sniff, you lift your head to look at her and say, “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t I just remove it?” She asks, one hand lifting, but yours snatches up her wrist and keeps her immobile. It’s painful to lay out exactly what he’s done to her, what she’s now going to be subjected to. Her eyes grow wider as you explain what the chip does, why he’s done it. And only when her arms wrap around you in a hug do the tears really fall from your cheeks. 

A hug. You’ve never had one of these before, and perhaps she hasn’t either with how her hands aren’t sure where exactly to go. And yet you figure it out, leaning on each other in the silence of the room. Your mouth opens to say something - maybe an apology or something to comfort - but you’re cut off with a sharp sound of electricity. 

Like a socket short-circuiting, arcing across metal, and you wonder if it’s something wrong with her. 

But then your knees give out, your vision starts to flicker with the shut down of your systems against your will, and E-11 cries out as your knees hit the floor and you go limp in her arms.

#mind the a/n for content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #genshin #genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche/reader #cyberpunk au #reader insert #x reader #f!reader #afab reader

[ms-scarletwings]

New (Cursed AF) Invader Zim Headcanon:

Barring the potential for major acute blood loss, Irkens can actually survive a full decapitation.

And I brought substance to make the case with.

Cockroaches, one of the most infamously durable of real life animals, can live for several days, sometimes even weeks without their head. And for the most part, they still even act like normal roaches- crawling about, reacting to touch, standing around, etc. it seems the only reason this eventually catches up to the critter is because no mouth = no way to keep bringing necessary food and water into the body. If that were bypassed, however, it stands to reason the little zombie could thrive just as much as a headed roach.

Almost disturbingly, the head itself can actually last a surprising amount of time solo as well. Experiments with decapitated roaches show that after body separation, roach heads can still move their antennae for hours before succumbing- much longer even if kept refrigerated and supplied with nutrients.

One of the neat things about roach bodies that makes such a feat possible is how their nervous system is set up- simplified ref against what yours looks like below

Now, anyone who has ever said a roach can survive for a while without its brain is not being entirely accurate. Functionally, they actually have two sort-of brains: the main point of nerve centralization is contained in the head, which for the most part is a primary brain responsible for movement coordination, certain technical functions, interpreting stimuli that comes in from the antennae, and more. The second main point of interest in this system is a series of nerve clusters running down the insect’s abdomen known as ganglia (singular: ganglion). These bundles of neurons are not exactly brains in their own right, but they do function as an extended CNS that handles the control over the digestive tract, reacting to stimuli, leg movement, and other more basic bodily functions. These can operate the body on a primitive level after the loss of the main brain, up until thirst/starvation begins to run the wind out of the sails.

You know what sort of creature actually DOES have two entire complete brains? One up top, and an auxiliary backup a little further down?

If you were nodding along and saying “irkens!” Then you would be correct! One peanut and five more days in the bunker for you 🥜 ~

As is obvious to anyone familiar with the show, the PAK is an essential cybernetic addition to Irken biology, holding their gear as well as an entire digital backup of their personality and memories. While it serves many functions to the user, the first and foremost priority of one is to protect the existence of the meaty entity it needs in to carry itself around.

To that end we’ve seen some autonomous acts from time to time with Zim’s close calls. If you recall “Plague of Babies”, he… kind of died for a moment there, caught up in a wave of GIR’s lethally amplified stupidity. In response, his PAK appears to resuscitate him with a quick jolt. The would-be events of “10 Minutes to Doom” emphasize the necessity of the PAK for any Irken’s survival beyond several minutes, which directly implies PAKs facilitate a major biological process their natural bodies are no longer capable of alone. Personally, I think it might be something either neurological or related to respiration, on a hunch.

Well, whatever it is, they are toast without it in swift manner, and the PAK doesn’t prefer to be without its other piece anymore than the body does. Dib’s revelation about the technology described their relationship with its body like that of driver and car, but I think he’s missing something. The PAK is actually more than capable of carrying itself around without the body… at least for a time.

When I think about those things, a little dilemma pops up in my head concerning how they.. well, how they’re powered. It is never explained or demonstrated that they are given time off of the body in order to charge; however, irkens are probably advanced enough to have some smaller and sci-fi wildly potent and small energy source up their sleeves, but actually, that wouldn’t quite make sense here. Because Irken bodies still produce their energy the same way every other lifeform in the known galaxy does, with food. Lots of food, actually. They can mow through snacks at about the same rate as Augustus Gloop. PAKs don’t need to produce their own independent energy source, they just need to efficiently make use of what this organism is already evolutionarily fine tuned to do naturally. Now that’s smart engineering.

And so, like any respectable auxiliary life support feature, they hold some of that energy in a reserve for those crisis moments like in “Plague of Babies”, and also in a deleted scene made for “Abduction”!

Fun trivia fact, but originally that episode was supposed to feature a sequence where Zim nearly game overs again. He takes a gnarly hit and a literal plunge through open flames that knocks him out in a free fall.

Despite his incapacitated state, the PAK extends its spider legs in order to catch a walkway railing, both saving his life and proceeding to keep carrying his limp body to a safer location, until of of course, he comes to about a moment later and carries on.

And neither of these are the only times it’s sprung into action the moment it detects something has gone horribly wrong. When accidentally detached from its own host, an emergency response will be triggered within the PAK in an attempt to reattach with its body. Failing that, it attaches instead to… well, whatever it can find.

In “10 minutes to Doom”, this was unfortunately Dib, an incompatible match (or maybe it just picked an improper attachment site), and in the comics… things got interesting at a point or two.

So, I already know what happens when you separate an Irken from their spinal brain, but what about the cranial one?

Because, they actually don’t seem on the same level of urgent necessity? Now that I think about it?

The time machine kerfuffle and the brain eating parasite escape were both events this guy evidently survived, albeit not comfortably or ideally until the problem was fixed (I have to assume in part with GIR’s or the Computer’s help). Now that I think about it Zim’s incredibly fortunate that most of these more serious mishaps happened inside of his base. But it’s theory time.

So, we do this, to a hypothetical green bug bastard

For fun let’s say, hypothetically again, like the hardy earth roach, he blood clots quickly.

Well, first and foremost, that higher up nervous system blackout is probably going to cue the PAK in to begin the following protocol:

1. Activate an emergency response to quickly access the situation.

2. Immediately scurry the body the hell away from whatever manner of threat just shaved a little too much off the top, engaging in all possible defensive measures if necessary.

3. Devote the entirety of its remaining backup power (of which it would have much more stored within the headless body than if it were itself detached) into making a beeline for the coordinates of the nearest Irken source of assistance. On the homeworld, or any fully colonized planet, this would be a cut and dry matter of finding the nearest theoretical space clinic or whatever those freaks have (maybe those dbz regeneration tanks? Idk that would be cool wouldn’t it?). For the lone invader… home base is the next best alternative, being a secured location with plenty of resources and advanced technology at the ready. I would bet my own head that situations like this are a huge highlight to the prime value of a personal SIR companion.

Now, best case scenario for what this help looks like depends on whether we can save and bring the head along too. Reattachment and repair at that point should be a pretty simple matter at the tech level we are working with, afterall. But that’s again, the ideal case scenario. Could they just… regrow the head eventually? We don’t really have a clear answer on what the limits and capabilities of what the Irken healing factor is, but I want to at least guess that having a personal lab and assistant on hand is going to help. Bare minimum, a solution can get worked out to supply the body with needed blood sugars again to buy more time.

The PAK itself retains a pretty much perfect digital backup of its body’s memories, experiences, and identity, so it’s not like information has been permanently been lost with primary brain damage. Replacing the primary brain entirely might be as easy as backing up your iPhone and downloading everything into some shiny new hardware. Hell, it may not even need be Irken hardware!

Do you know the real disturbing things from “Dark Harvest” NOBODY brings up are???

Why the fuck was an instantaneous organ-swapping device already just something Zim was carrying around in his toolset?

And

Zim’s morphology was horrifically receptive to those dozens of xenographs.

Those human organs were actually beating, pulsing, absolutely redundant and unnecessary in his body, but completely still functional and healthy in the name of selling his act to the school nurse. He didn’t just clumsily cram a bunch of offal into himself, he competently integrated them into his biology and somehow wasn’t suffering like… the tons of complications you’d expect from trying a stunt like that.

And in the comics, there’s this other fella I just adore for how skrangly he looks, and believe it or not, his actual fucking name is Skrang.

He’s a smart guy, though. Don’t be fooled. And I mean like, a smart guy. And it’s all thanks to a little help from a little upgrade he’s been fitted with :)

So, I hope you take all the implications I’ve been building here and make what you will of them. I genuinely think an Irken has a decent chance of making it out of a beheading alive to seek sadistic vengeance another day. Do I think ZIM could do such a thing? Tbh, I think he’d have to rely on GIR to come in clutch, and we may know that’s a complete roll of the dice in any case.

Wow, this got morbid, but, par for the course really.

#invader zim #iz headcanons #iz analysis #irkens #cool bug facts #cockroaches #iz skrang #scarlet talks about things #long post #anyway now I just want the hypothetical where dib reacts to this scenario #cause that would mess me up for a long time #like just picture a fight with your nemesis gone HORRIBLY wrong from some accident #and then dude just shows up the next day in class like… fine but pretty pissed off about the whole thing #and then he jumps over the desk and strangles you when you make bad puns about the whole ordeal #comedy/horror GOLD #HELP ME THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT POST BTW #NOT ANOTHER GD ESSAY #oh boy here i go hyperfixating again

[mymoodwriting]

Request for @tenswife (Yandere WayV Maknaes) 4.1k, yandere, asylum patients, needles, drugs, restraints, manipulation, delusions, hallucinations, choking, bruising, kidnapping, loss of mental stability (@starillusion13)

“Stay away from the triplets.”

That wasn’t something you wanted to hear on your first day. All it did was make you aware of how dangerous this place was. That’s what you thought anyway, an asylum isn’t exactly a place for sane people, and this wasn’t making you feel better. Even with that in mind you were told it would be a good idea to get some help, professional help that is. The stress from work was really getting to you as of late, and it was becoming noticeable. You needed a break, and you needed to do better for yourself. A place like this had counselors, people who could understand your issues and help, so you figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check yourself in for a few days.

You had taken the time off work, and your friends knew where you’d be so no one had to worry about you. Once you had signed all the paperwork and changed your clothes one of the nurses showed you around. Everyone here was getting help for different reasons, and some patients were more extreme than others, so depending on one’s condition, they’d be on a certain floor. Since you were there for simple counseling and stress relief remedies you’d be on the second floor. You’d have full access to the second floor, and what it offered, but would be unable to enter any other floor. Only the staff could get to multiple floors. 

Although there was a common area on the third floor where all types of patients could intermingle under supervision. It was meant to make sure no one, not even the more difficult cases, felt so isolated from the rest of the world. If you wanted to be there you needed a staff escort and would be assigned a supervisor. Visiting this place was part of the tour, and as you were looking around your gaze was drawn to something. There were three boys sitting together in a corner, drawing with crayons and giggling. They seemed to be childish despite being grown adults. The nurse realized what you were looking at and gave you a warning.

The triplets, as she called them, were nothing but trouble. They weren’t related to one another, and were admitted at different times. Of course the nurse couldn’t tell you what floor or what reasons they were admitted for, but they told you those three were dangerous. You were still curious, but such a warning in this place was something to take seriously. You just wanted to get better, so there was no reason to take an interest in other patients. For the first few days as you settled in you remained on your designated floor, even making a friend with your next door roommate. They had only been there for a week longer than you, but they knew quiet a lot.

“There are five floors in total.” Mina explained. “The first one as you know is the public one for people to get evaluated, or come visit their loved ones. Second floor, where we are, is for those of us who are sane and autonomous, and can help themselves with their own care. Third floor is where the common area is, as well as where the long term patients like us stay. Fourth floor is for those who are mentally unstable, and the fifth floor… that’s where they keep the psychos.”

“Noted.”

Since you were doing well, seeing a counselor and participating in stress relieving activities, you thought it would be alright to visit the common area and see what it had to offer. You went up with Mina, being reminded of the rules and regulations to follow while there. The two of you found some board games to play while also watching some TV. It all seemed peaceful and relaxed, but then you noticed the triplets in the corner again.

“Mina.”

“Hm?”

“The triplets… do you know what floor they’re from?”

“Fifth.”

“Wait, what? I thought the fifth floor was for psychos, and they’re allowed here?”

“Yeah. What’s crazier is that those three come from well-off families and the rumors are they harassed girls and shit. They all got admitted at different times but stuck together for some reason. They behave so they’re allowed here. Just ignore them.”

“Right…”

They didn’t draw attention to themselves so it was fairly easy to ignore the triplets and just focus on whatever you were doing. Although one day you caught one of the triplets staring at you. When you met his gaze you kind of froze, but what sent chills down your spine was the fact you couldn’t read his face at all. Maybe he was just zoning out, but either way you moved away once you broke eye contact. You thought that would be the end of things, but it was only the beginning.

Since many of the patients gathered in the common area, weekly and daily announcements were done there. You were sitting off to the side, mainly alone, when a boy slowly approached you. He was very shy, and had a bit of trouble making eye contact, but he was certainly trying. He seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. He was probably someone who was always around in the common area you just never really noticed them. You didn’t know his situation, and he didn’t seem like a bad person so you left him alone. That is until he managed to speak up.

“You’re really pretty… what’s a pretty girl like you doing here…”

The question was a bit surprising, but you figured there was no harm in answering.

“Things have gotten a bit difficult for me, and I need a break. Plus it’s important to look after my mental health, so I’m here.”

“So… what do you do when-”

“YangYang.”

One of the orderlies came over, grabbing the boy and pulling him away from you. The whole thing confused you until you saw where the boy was put. He was in the corner with two others and you realized he was one of the triplets. It sent chills down your spine and you told yourself to be more careful next time.

🖤

YangYang gave a nasty glare to the orderly when they pulled him away from you. He knew part of the rules for them being the common area was to keep to themselves, but one little conversation should have been allowed. He returned to his group with a pout.

“So, so!” Hendery cheered. “What’s she like?”

A smile appeared on YangYang’s face. “She’s nice, and so pretty up close.”

“We should have her.” Xiaojun said.

🖤

You tried not to let that interaction bother you too much, and continued about your day as normal. You’ve never really had any trouble with anything, but that night you woke up, having heard some weird sounds. You groggily looked around your room until you realized you weren’t alone. You were ready to scream but someone put their hand over your mouth. Two people held you down and then another crawled on top of you, it was YangYang. He smiled down at you, a hand caressing your cheek.

“You’re really pretty… can we finish our conversation from before? What do you do in your career?”

The hand over your mouth slowly moved away. There really was no point in screaming or struggling. They had gotten into your room somehow when it shouldn’t be possible. For your safety and the safety of the others there was a curfew to follow, and all patients were locked in their room. Yet somehow they had gotten in undetected. It made you incredibly nervous and fearful, but you still managed to answer.

“Just… just a corporate job… nothing special…”

“You don’t seem to like it, so why do you stay?”

“I.. it pays the bills… and it’s not a difficult job…”

“Then why are you here? You said you were looking after your health. If it’s not a bad job or a hard one, then what’s wrong?”

“What… what about you… I… I don’t…”

“Oh, yeah, we never properly introduced ourselves, did we?” YangYang chuckled, gesturing to himself then the others. “I’m YangYang, this is Hendery and that’s Xiaojun. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Very nice.” Xiaojun added.

“I… so then… what’s… why are you here…”

“Our families didn’t want us around, and this was the best way to make us disappear.”

“Oh…”

You felt a bit sad upon hearing that. Although while you were distracted with your own thoughts you didn’t notice them moving around until you felt a pinch on your neck.

“Sleep well.”

🖤

You woke up in the morning with a big of a headache, but you didn’t let it bother you too much. If anything you were more concerned over the weird dream you had last night. As you went to get breakfast you found Mina.

“Morning.”

“Hey, good morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Fine, why?”

“I thought I heard some noises last night, and I think I woke up but I’m not so sure.”

“Well, I didn’t hear anything. Slept through the night like a baby.”

“Right… do you know anything about the triplets? Besides what you’ve already told me.”

“Not really. They’re just a bunch of weirdos, there’s no reason to ask about them.”

“Yeah… you’re sure you didn’t hear anything?”

“No, why? Did you?”

“I mean… I’m sure I woke up cause I heard something.”

“Well, even if we’re locked in our rooms, the nurses and orderlies do still roam the halls. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I guess… none of the patients can access other floors… can they?”

“No. Only staff have clearance. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a weird night that’s left me to question a lot.”

You ended up chalking it up to being a dream and going about your day as normal. You figured you would have weird dreams since you were in such a different place, so it shouldn’t be something to worry about. Except it happened again the next night. There was nothing in particular that woke you up but when you opened your eyes you saw the triplets in your room. YangYang was sitting at the foot of your bed, Hendery at your little desk and Xiaojun sitting on the floor doodling with some paper.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Xiaojun asked.

“I… uh… I haven’t dated in a while…”

“Can I be your boyfriend!?” Hendery asked.

“What, no, I’ll be her boyfriend.” Xiaojun countered. “I asked first.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“I’ll be her boyfriend.” YangYang added.

“No!”

The three argued among themselves for a moment before settling down. They were sharing glances and seemed to be communicating in silence, then they looked at you.

“Can we all be your boyfriends?” YangYang asked.

“Uh… I’m not really looking to be in a relationship right now.”

You weren’t sure what the response to that would be, but it was quite frightening. For a minute they were all quiet, and then they sprung to life. They pinned you down and started tearing at your clothes. Before you could scream a hand was over your mouth and then everything changed. You shot up in bed, panting and looking around in a panic. You were still in your room, but you were alone, and it was clearly daytime. Everything seemed to be fine, but your mind was still racing. 

You asked Mina about hearing any noises last night, but once again she heard nothing. You were still freaked out so you avoided the common area for a while. Although you found yourself having some trouble sleeping. You were scared to do so, and triple checked your room to make sure the door was locked and you were alone. You did eventually manage to fall asleep, but randomly woke up at night. You were relieved to find yourself alone, but horrified to see your door wide open.

Against your better judgment you got up and carefully stepped out of your room. You looked down the halls but no one seemed to be around. So you called for a nurse or orderly, wondering if anyone was there. You were about to go back to your room when you saw someone approaching, thinking it was a staff member, but when they got closer you realized you were wrong. Xiaojun skipped over to you with a big smile on your face.

“Hello, welcome, it’s so good to see you.”

“What… what happened… how…”

“Now you can be with us.”

“What?”

Xiaojun gestured to a sign on the wall and you felt your heart drop. According to the number on the wall you were on the fifth floor and not the second. Your first instinct was to run, to find someway out, but of course you were chased. The boy had caught up to you and trapped you in their arms. You screamed and struggled and then you were back in your room, morning sunlight peeking in. It had been another bad dream, and far worse than the last. You weren’t going to get any better if you couldn’t sleep so you spoke to your counselor and managed to get some sleeping pills prescribed. You managed to sleep well that night, but it was short lived.

The next night you woke up to see the door to your room wide open, although you couldn’t get up. You knew all the beds in the asylum had restraints on them, but you never expected yours to be used. You struggled and tried to break free, but there was no getting out of these restraints. Then you saw those three walk into your room. You immediately shut your eyes, telling yourself that this all had to be a dream. With the sleeping pills, weird dreams were probably a side effect.

“Are you having fun?” Hendery asked.

You tried to pay them no attention, wanting to wake up from this nightmare.

“This is just a dream… just a dream…”

“Aww that’s sad to hear, but we can change that.”

You felt another pinch at your neck, and your world melted to black. When you opened your eyes again you saw the morning light in your room, and you could move around freely. The nightmare stuck with you though, like there was this sense of paranoia following you. Everything was making you feel uneasy, and you were suspicious of everything. That led to a breakdown, or so you were told, since the orderlies had to restrain you and sedate you. Because of that incident you wound up getting moved to the fourth floor. It was the last thing you wanted, but you weren’t in control of your health here, at least not fully.

You wound up seeing another counselor from there. They asked about the breakdown and what caused it. You were nervous to admit the truth but were told that if you lied to yourself it wouldn’t help you get any better. You knew they were right so you told the truth about your dreams and how they left you feeling. You were afraid they weren’t just dreams and if they were you couldn’t understand why you were freaking out so bad.

“You’re in a new environment, and even though you know you are safe here there are still many unknowns. I understand the situation surrounding the triplets may be unnerving, but they are always under supervision, and not allowed on any other floors. They’ve shown good behavior that’s allowed them access to the common area but that is all, and that can be revoked at any moment.”

You figured you could be more at ease here after speaking with the counselor. The fourth floor was far more secure than the second, more so considering who was right above you. Besides, there was a lot more focus on you and your individual care so you certainly felt better about yourself in no time. The one-on-one counseling was also really good for you.

“I don’t really understand why I kept dreaming about them…”

“Well, they are real and restricted in their movements, which perhaps reminds you of your own situation. Despite being well off you are still living with struggles, and surely here you’ve found things more easier. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t feel like going home.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You are here to improve your health, and perhaps you haven’t been shown care in your actual life the way you have received it here. Which does bring up the question, is there something that hasn’t been going well in your life?”

“I… I was just working really hard… thinking I was gonna get a promotion… I failed on that end… so I guess I’m just feeling stuck… and I didn’t do much to help myself until I hit my breaking point…”

“Burnout needs more than two weeks of recovery. All this could be your own call for help.”

“I suppose that makes sense…”

You had a lot to think about, and a lot of time too. For the time being you weren’t allowed back in the common area. So you had a lot of time to yourself. You’d eat alone in your room, and found out that the people on this floor were just as friendly, if not more. Although at night you definitely heard noises. Staff roaming the halls and other patients having difficulty sleeping. At least this time you knew you weren’t just hearing things.

“Pretty girl…”

Except for the night you began to hear voices. You woke up and saw those boys again, but you told yourself it was just a dream.

“You’re not real.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m just imagining things… you’re all from the fifth floor… and dangerous…”

“If you say so, we can help you sleep better though.”

You felt the bed dip and opened your eyes to find YangYang on top of you. Before you could say anything his hands were around your throat, choking you out.

“You must be crazy and dumb to think we’re not real.” 

“We’re gonna drive you insane so you never leave this place.” Xiaojun added.

“Cause what we want, we get.” Hendery stated.

You couldn’t get YangYang off you, struggling underneath him until you passed out. When you woke in the morning you felt an ache around your throat. You got up and when you looked in the mirror you could see the bruises on your neck. You had no way of hiding the truth, so of course it was brought up in your daily session. You weren’t going to lie, the proof was obvious.

“Those triplets did this to me! They snuck into my room and YangYang choked me! They tried to kill me!” You were freaking out. “I’m not safe here. I need to leave. I know early release is allowed for my situation and-”

“It’s actually not.”

“Huh? When I came here the-”

“You need to go through a reevaluation given your change in situation. From there we-”

“I am not staying here! Those three have been messing with me since I arrived and-”

“Please calm down. You’re letting your emotions-”

“Look at my neck! You think I did this to myself?”

“That is still a possibility as-”

“Let me out!”

Of course the orderlies were called and you wound up being dragged back to your room and restrained. You wanted nothing more than to leave this place and now they were telling you that you couldn’t. You wouldn’t stop your screaming and wound up sedated, falling asleep for a while. When you woke up later you had calmed down, taking a moment to think of your next move. You called for an orderly, and they undid the restraints. Then you demanded your phone call. You could have used the phone whenever back on the second floor, but here you only got a call once a week. There were a list of people to talk to, but you could only think of one person.

“Hello?”

“Ten… I don’t know what happened but-”

“Who are you talking to?” You turned around to find Xiaojun. “The line is dead.”

“What?”

The sound of the dial tone slowly faded in, and your eyes went wide. You turned back to the phone, trying to dial the number again but there was nothing. You were starting to hyperventilate. You looked back for Xiaojun but he was nowhere to be found. Your vision was starting to blur and you collapsed to the ground. You couldn’t really tell what was real or what was fake anymore. You felt like you were losing your mind and eventually the darkness swallowed you up.

🖤

You slowly opened your eyes, and even if you were awake you could tell it was nightfall. As you sat up you saw that this wasn’t your room, but another place entirely. You weren’t sure if this facility had solitary confinement type rooms, but then again your door was wide open. You carefully got out of bed and walked towards the door. This was probably all just some dream. When you got out into the hall you found it eerily quiet, and rather dark.

“Hello! Is anyone there!”

Might not be a good idea to yell into the emptiness, but you couldn’t help it. Your eyes scanned your surroundings and then you realized where you were. This was the fifth floor. You immediately ran. You didn’t want to stay here and you had to find an exit. You really had no idea where you were going when suddenly you came upon a very peculiar scene.

“Good. You’re awake.”

The only common area you knew of was on the third floor, and yet this looked familiar. It was spacious and seemed to have a lot of activities, but what stood out was the emptiness and occupants. The triplets were playing video games, all kinds of junk food and snacks surrounding them. It was just them and no one else. Not a single staff member in sight.

“What… what’s going on…” They all laughed. “What’s happening…”

“You forget what we told you.” YangYang said. “What we want, we get.”

“But… I… I don’t…”

“Don’t get us wrong. We are legally locked up here.” Hendery commented. “Yet money is power. So we’ve made the most of this place.”

“It’s more like home.” Xiaojun added. “And we’ve wanted some company.”

“No… no this isn’t right…”

You took a step back, intending to run off and find an exit but YangYang quickly came over to you. He took your hand and dragged you over to where they were, forcing you to sit down. Next thing you knew Hendery was pressing a glass to your lips and tilting your head back, forcing you to drink this mystery liquid. It didn’t taste awful but you found yourself coughing and gasping for breath afterwards.

“What… what was that?”

You soon got an answer to your question as you began to feel a bit dizzy, your vision blurring and gradually fading in and out. Xiaojun came over to your side and had you lay down, letting you rest your head in his lap. He looked down on you with a smile, gently petting your head. Hendery also feeding you some snacks which you lazily ate. Although even in your dazed state you knew what was going on was wrong.

“I… I have to… leave…”

“You won’t be leaving anytime soon.” Hendery informed. “After all, you clearly had a mental breakdown.”

“And you were moved to the fifth floor.” YangYang stated. “No visits, no real records, you’re basically locked away in here with us.”

“Which isn’t bad at all.” Xiaojun explained. “We can do whatever we want here! Which means we can totally make you crazy on paper and in real life.”

The three laugh and you try to make a move to get up but get held in place, starting to find it difficult to move or even think.

“Things are better this way for all of us.” YangYang said. “It’s what we wanted. No more worries and responsibilities, and that goes for you too.”

“We’re free to just live our lives however we want.” Hendery added. “Doesn’t that sound great.”

“We’ll take good care of you.” Xiaojun reassured. “So just be happy, we got a great adventure ahead of us.”

You had certainly been drugged, and you had no idea if this was a dream or your reality. Either way you had to admit there was a sense of peace with losing your mind. Maybe you should figure out your situation and put yourself back together but for now you were content existing as is. You weren’t alone after all.

#wayv #nct #xiaojun #hendery #yangyang #wayv au #nct au #xiao de jun #wong kunhang #liu yangyang #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #request

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 1: THE VANISHING OF WILL BYERS

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: Love this subtle encounter. Slow burns FTW. I struggled with communicating my feelings in high school just like Diana does. I also really love how attentive Barb is to Diana.

Word Count: 2275

Masterlist

PROLOGUE || PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV

HAWKINS HIGH 

My body feels like it’s vibrating. I can’t describe how I’m feeling. Angry? Embarrassed? Sad? Shocked? Overwhelmed? The truth is, I don’t know why I left. I finished my history paper last week. I don’t need to go to the library. Between Tommy H and Carol making fun of me with the jock table to Steve and now Nancy, I couldn’t stay in the cafeteria any longer. Steve helping Nancy study? I don’t think I’ve seen him with a book in hand. His intentions were clear as day and Nancy was falling in his trap. 

No. It’s unfair to Nancy to say that. Nancy is smart and autonomous. She knows what she’s doing…right? Nancy is the first between Barb and I to be in a romantic relationship with a boy. She is figuring it out as she goes along and we are following behind her. But Steve. He has a track record and their names are Laurie, Amy and Becky. He knows exactly what he’s doing and I am unsure of his intentions. That is what makes me suspicious. Did he really like Nancy or was she the latest conquest? What if—I collide with a body. Hard enough to drop my cardigan and book bag on the floor. My books, lunch and stationary fly across the hallway in different directions. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going, will ya?” 

“I’m so sorry!” 

My cheeks burn as I drop to my knees picking up my things. I don’t dare look up and reach for the crumpled paper bag carrying my lunch, shoving it in my book bag. The person is on the floor too, collecting my pencils, pens and erasers that scattered across the floor. My heart is beating so fast. I feel pairs of eyes watching me in the hallway and force myself to keep my head down and avoid eye contact. I want to get out of here as fast as I can. 

I stack my notebooks on top one another before shoving them in my bag. A large hand holding my stationary is in my line of vision and my breath hitches in my throat. I peer up beneath my bangs to see who it is and I see a pair of beautiful dark brown eyes looking at me. My jaw falls slack. I’ve seen him before in the parking lot with a girl who looks like his sister or cousin. They’re seniors at Hawkins High. The boy arches his brow and I blink realizing he’s waiting for me. I bite my lower lip taking the items from his hand. 

“T-Thank you,” I say softly. 

“No problem.” He says and my eyes drift to his lips. They are so full and pink. “Are you okay?” 

The corner of his mouth twitches and I swallow. 

“Yes! I’m fine.” I say quickly, shoving my stationary in my bag. I pick up my chemistry textbook while I stand to my feet. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and—I’m really sorry.” I cringe at how frantic I sound. He probably thinks I’m about to have a panic attack. 

The boy lifts his hands with caution and part of me thinks he’s going to run away or tell me to calm down. “I believe you, don’t worry.” 

“Miss Sinclair, are you okay?” 

I turn to Principal Higgins and wonder if he was here the whole time watching us. But he isn’t looking at me even though he asked me the question. Instead, Principal Higgins is glaring at the tall boy beside me. The corners of his lips pull up to a smile and my heart stutters in my chest at the dimples on his left and right cheek. I blink and nod my head, peeling my gaze off him. 

“Y-yes, Principal Higgins.” 

Principal Higgins finally looks at me, his glare is less intense but still holds its edge. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

I frown at the question. Why would I lie? 

“Yes. I fell and my things went flying everywhere and...” I explain, turning to the boy. I want to say his name and realize I never asked. 

“Eddie.” He says, standing tall and proud.  

“Eddie was the only one nice enough to help me pick them up.” 

Eddie grins now at Principal Higgins and I stare at his dimples again. They sunk deeper in his cheeks and he appears more boyish. He’s very attractive. Beautiful even. In a dishevelled kind of way. His pale skin is blemish free and his hair is curly and a little frizzy. I wonder what conditioner he uses or if he used conditioner. I press my chemistry textbook against my chest.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Principal Higgins says. Though he sounds anything but. “Have a good rest of your day Miss Sinclair.” 

He walks away without another word and I frown at how weird the interaction was. 

“Enjoy your day Principal Higgins!” Eddie says and Principal Higgins turns his head. 

The annoyance in his features is laid on thick. I flinch, astonished by the principals visceral reaction to Eddie. Eddie waves at him, clearly for his own amusement and when Principal Higgins turns down the hall, he looks at me, smile fading a little. I open my mouth but quickly close it. What do I say now? 

“Thank you.” I say for the second time. 

There’s a glint of amusement in Eddie’s eyes and it both confuses me and pulls me in. “No problem.” 

Neither of us walk away and I am all too aware the stares of people in the hallway. We were just standing in the middle looking at each other. I feel Eddie’s gaze linger on my face and feel my heart beat fast. 

“Bye.” I say, quickly turning around and walk away from him before I implode. 

I can feel his stare at the back of my head and don’t dare turn around. 

The sun shines in the sky but it is still cold. I shiver as a gust of wind blows pass me. I realize I left my cardigan somewhere in the hallway. I don’t bother to turn back to retrieve it because what if Eddie is still there? I already embarrassed myself enough in front of him. There are very few people outside and I sit on a concrete ledge near the hedges, dropping my bag and textbook on the ground. Opening my book bag, I find my lunch at the bottom and pull it out. A groan leaves my lips at the state of it. It looks like an old crumpled up newspaper and some edges are ripped from shoving my books on top of it. 

I know my lunch is ruined before I open the bag. My sandwich is unrecognizable with cucumber and cream cheese oozing out from the saran wrap. My bag of pretzels is salvageable though most of the pieces are broken. It is still better than nothing. I chew on a couple of pretzels, revelling in the bursts of salt. I’m starving but won’t risk getting sick eating the cafeteria food. Today is not a good day. 

I think about Mr. Kaminsky’s chemistry test tomorrow. Chemistry is not my strongest subject and I was really looking forward to studying after school with Nancy and Barb. I stopped asking Mr. Kaminsky for help last month because he intimidates me and I left our session feeling more confused than before. I wasn’t failing. I had a B+, but I want to get an A on this test. 

Someone clears their throat beside me and I flinch, crushing a pretzel in my hand. I glance up and see Eddie looking down at me with a white cardigan in his hand. My cardigan. 

“This is yours, right?” 

I nod in response, dusting the pretzel and salt from my hands and stand up to take my cardigan from him. I immediately put it on, basking in its warmth. 

“Thank you…again.” I chuckle dryly. 

Eddie stands tall, towering over me by a foot at least, and slim with a long torso. I look at his clothes. It’s definitely different from what boys in town wear. A black leather jacket and a plain white t-shirt tucked into his pants with a black belt. A silver chain hangs from his belt, glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. I notice how small his waist is and my cheeks are hot at the random observation. His denim jeans are tight fitting around his thighs and flare out from the knee to the worn, heavily scuffed black Chelsea boots. Eddie holds a black metal lunchbox in his hand that looks like it has been thrown against a wall one too many times. 

“You’re welcome…” he lingers, staring at me. 

“Diana.” I respond, breathless. 

“You’re welcome, Diana.”  

Eddie nods his head and walks away this time. I watch his frizzy curls blow in the wind. I wonder where he’s going as we still had fourth period and I glance over his shoulder. The girl I always see Eddie with is waiting for him. I notice she is taller than Eddie, but not by much. She says something to him with a smile, playfully poking Eddie in the side. Eddie easily averts her touch and this makes her smile widen to a grin. Her gaze shifts to me for a moment and I fear she’ll yell or frown at me for being nosy, but she does neither. Instead, she waves at me. I wave back shyly and she turns around catching up with Eddie, both of them walking to the parking lot. 

When I entered Mr. Kaminsky’s class, Barb is in her usual seat by herself. Nancy is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably with Steve again. I walk to my seat beside Barb and sit down, setting my chemistry textbook on my desk. 

“You’re pouting,” Barb tell me, resting her head in her hand. 

“I’m not pouting.” I say, pulling out my notebook and pencil. Eddie’s dark brown eyes flash in my mind and I shake my head. 

Barb sighs to herself, perking up in her chair. From the corner of my eye, Nancy walks into the classroom and sits in her seat behind me. I don’t move, opening my notebook to a fresh page. 

“Diana?” Nancy says. 

“Good afternoon, class,” Mr. Kaminsky begins. 

I pull my lower lip with my teeth silently thanking Kaminsky for interrupting Nancy. I’m not mad at her. My feelings towards Nancy has nothing to do with her and had everything to do with Steve Harrington and my insecurity. 

“As you all know, we have a test tomorrow which means today will be a test review. By now, I am sure you have all been told about the level of difficulty my tests are and I just want to let you know that if you pay attention in today’s class and ask questions, you will not fail. Now, let’s start from chapter one.” 

“How long are you going to not talk to me?” Nancy says. 

I look at Nancy, not understanding what she meant. Mr. Kaminsky’s class ended five minutes ago and my mind feels like it’s going to melt. The last thing on my mind is what happened in the cafeteria. Barb is unusually quiet beside me and I wonder if she feels the same way I feel after chemistry. Mentally exhausted. 

“Nance—” I sigh. 

“Let me explain,” Nancy urges, blue eyes wide and hopeful. 

Barb and I stop in the hallway waiting to hear what she has to say. 

“Steve and I were in the bathroom and he was trying to get me to let him help me study. I just got so caught up in the moment, I spoke without thinking.” Nancy looks between Barb and I. “I know I was the one who planned this study date with you two and I hate that you two feel like I’m ditching you. I promise, I’m not and I’m sorry for all of this.”   

Barb is the first to speak. “It’s okay, Nance. I understand. You like Steve and this is all new and exciting and I’m happy you’re happy.” 

Nancy nods her head and looks at me. I shift my weight from side to side. 

“I’m not mad at you, Nancy.” I say and Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was just…shocked and I didn’t know what to say or do so I just left and I shouldn’t have done that. Like Barb said, I’m happy you’re happy about Steve. This is new and exciting and I guess I’m still trying to process it all while also being in the moment with you.” 

I look at Barb who nods her head in encouragement. I take a deep breath, feeling her warm hand in mine. 

“I know you like Steve,” I continue. “Barb and I can see it, but we fear that the more you hang out with Steve and Tommy H and Carol…the more you’ll forget about us or not want us around as much.” 

“When you get popular,” Barb finishes. I squeeze her hand in appreciation. 

“I will never, ever forget about you guys or leave you guys for Steve Harrington. You two are my best friends. I could never ditch you for Tommy H and Carol Perkins.” she grimaces. Barb and I laugh. “I love you both too much to ever let that happen.” 

“Aw!” Barb squeals, pulling Nancy and I in for a hug. “We love you too Nancy.” 

My eyes burn with emotion and I close my eyes holding onto Nancy and Barb. 

“Always.” I add. 

#black fem reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things rewrite #dianasinclair #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x female reader #sinclair!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve x reader

[gifted-loser]

The Grief of Having a Trans Child

I am mother to an amazing kid.

Assigned female at birth, but — cheeky as he is in all things — he let me know he doesn’t do assigned seating.

I’ve always been an ally. I’ve always surrounded myself with unique people who are authentically themselves, despite what the majority deems traditional. And though I am a cis woman with what may be deemed a very, um, basic aesthetic, I’ve never held much stock in fitting in.

I pride myself in being a mother who does not live vicariously through her children, or see them as an extension of herself. They’re autonomous human beings who I happened to manufacture, yes. But it’s always been important to me to lay a foundation not rooted in indoctrination, but in strong critical thinking skills.

For example, I haven’t been religious in many years. However, I am from Mississippi, arguably the most religious and ignorant and most definitely poorest state. I did not want to make my children’s mind up about what, if anything, they believed about religion.

I allowed them to attend church with family when THEY wanted to. When they decided they didn’t want to go any longer, I didn’t let anyone force them. I taught them not to make knee-jerk decisions, half-cocked on partial information, but to take in all sides of any argument and use logic to make up their own minds.

And damn, I did a great job because I can hardly win an argument anymore.

My long-winded point here is: it may surprise a lot of people to know how grief-stricken and conflicted I felt when my child came out to me as trans.

As an ally, I’d never had a fraction of negative emotion concerning anyone else’s preferences. You may wonder why, then — if I was truly an ally and as open as I claim — would I feel anything but happiness for my baby becoming who they were meant to be?

And this is the part that I think people should hear that I’m not seeing often made clear from a parent’s perspective. This is because, at first glance, it may appear transphobic in nature. In my case (I’m not saying every case), it’s much more complex.

So why would a non-transphobic, LGBTQ ally parent have such an adverse and upset reaction to learning their child is trans?

Explaining to the best of my ability, first and foremost I was hurt because I realized my child was hurting.

That this body — the body I made with my body, the body I rocked and held and dressed and kissed its fat cheeks — was so perfect to me.

Yet, to my child who means the world to me, this body caused grief. This body caused heartache and dysphoria and even suicide ideation.

Intellectually, I knew this had less than nothing to do with me. But emotionally, I was distressed.

Is this my fault, that my child hates their body? Did I fail to give my child confidence to love themself? Did I not instill enough body positivity, or possibly did I complain about my own form too often, causing my baby to question theirs?

How could my child hate what I thought so amazing and perfect, and what could I have done to make my baby love themself as I had always loved them?

It wasn’t just about the fact that I’d always seen perfection there; it was the pain and turmoil that my kid not only didn’t see perfection, but literally saw their physical body as their biggest obstacle in life.

It was the pain the body caused them, that also pained me.

Honestly, it still does.

The second wave of grief came not from what was, but what would never be.

All those images in my head of what our relationship would look like. Prom dresses and manicures and wedding gowns. If I’m being honest and had been paying attention, I’d have known none of those things were going to happen — not in that cookie-cutter way — regardless.

This grief was much easier for me to get over. This year I helped him dress in his matching white tux to go with his boyfriend to prom, and I bawled my eyes out. Not out of sadness, but with happiness that he was so happy, and because he is so freaking cute.

Now, I’m left with the third wave of sadness and grief. And it all stems from the fact that there’s a great big world out there that I can’t fix for him.

He’s in danger just by walking down the street. He’s in danger just by existing. And I live with the fear that some horrible person will attempt to end my child’s life out of ignorance and hatred. Someone who doesn’t know or doesn’t care that his favorite thing in the world is kittens. Or that he makes sure his little sister gets on and off the bus safely every day, even though he pretends he can’t stand her. Or that even though he calls me by my first name to his friends, when no one is listening he still calls me Momma.

Given the murky political waters of late, that fear isn’t going away anytime soon. It is growing.

So I hope sharing my own struggles with a child coming out as trans may help other parents in similar situations understand they’re not alone. It’s okay to have complex and even mixed, conflicting emotions to sort through. It is a process. For them, and for us.

And I hope any trans person struggling with understanding their parents’ feelings may benefit. Because not everyone will deal with difficult emotions the same. It may look like grief; it may look like denial, or even rage. But it also may help to know that sometimes those ugly emotions stem from softer ones. Not everyone is able to articulate or manage such a tidal wave of intense, deeply personal emotions.

You are worthy.

You shouldn’t have to deal with disrespect or rejection of your true self. That’s not okay. But if your parents love YOU, not their idea of who you SHOULD be, but YOU — don’t give up. They may need more time than you thought, but true love always wins.

As for myself, I’m an imperfect person just trying to do the best I can, like the rest. I don’t always get it right, and I have and will most likely fail my children again at some point — not intentionally, but because that’s the nature of being human. We’re prone to errors and mistakes. None of us, no matter how well-intended, are spared from that singular truth.

However, for anyone struggling with an unsupportive family, country, world — I want to let you know that YOU ARE WORTHY. And just like MY SON is still perfect, so are YOU. ❤

#transgender #lbtqia #lbtgq #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #parenting

[gabelish]

crawls into your ask box like the girl from the ring. so i noticed you made a post about death stranding and what it says (or does not say/is not able to say) about labor and i haven't been able to stop thinking about that subject all during my playthrough but i don't have the vocabulary for it and was wondering if you had any other thoughts

Hi I have way too many thoughts about this but I tried to keep it short. I am assuming you’re referring to my joke about Drone Syndrome and Marx’s alienation theory.

We have no information as to what happened to the delivery workers pre-Stranding when drones took their jobs. Was there mass unemployment? Did people lose their homes? Did the government give them universal basic income and pay them to stay home or pursue passions (probably not)? Did they get retrained for a new field? All we know is that they developed Drone Syndrome which seems analogous to the theory of alienation.

But Death Stranding takes the alienation of labor further. It isn’t about people seeing little value in their exploited labor but people having no value because the have no labor and becoming depressed and developing hormonal imbalances. Without any labor to do at all, the delivery workers became miserable in the same way workers are when being alienated from their labor when they’re being exploited in industrialized work owned by someone else. There’s no choice, no sense of fulfillment, no sense of value, no connection. The game lore calls putting the delivery workers back in the process a step back from progress but for whatever reason doesn’t offer an alternative for what those workers could have been doing. Robots freeing people from drudgery could be good but only if those workers are able to transition into different work, or are supported without working, and not be financially ruined. We don’t know what mechanisms existed for this suddenly extinct labor field in universe. Not to mention how restless and bored many people irl get when they aren’t at work or doing basic household tasks. People want to contribute to things, people want to feel important, needed, like what they’re doing has value or impact.

There is another omission in the lore that’s interesting as well. Is there money post-Stranding? Many games have a pseudo-economy in them as a way to upgrade your abilities or gear. But in Death Stranding you get better gear by increasing your connection level with different facilities. Sam never gets paid, and no one talks about money. Igor never says “y’know corpse disposal is a dangerous job but it pays well”. Everyone seems to be motivated either out of a desire to help other humans or for personal reasons, nothing financial at all.

Post-Stranding, it was impossible to use autonomous delivery drones or planes anymore and the delivery workers who became porters were literally the most essential of essential workers so preppers and people living in cities did not die from lack of medicine or food. This sudden increase in the value of their labor caused some some of them swing the complete opposite way—developing Delivery Dependence Syndrome, becoming MULEs, contaminated by Chiralium. Literally a different class of human beings altogether, homo gestalts. The fact that they want the cargo itself simply to hoard and no longer care about delivering it to who needs it is important. That’s the breakdown. It’s no longer about helping people but simply getting things. They don’t even sell the cargo, they just keep it.

Lore-wise, the best way for porters to mitigate DDS caused by chiralium contamination was to join an organization like Fragile Express or Bridges, where the organization’s leadership, structure, support, and resources could alleviate the symptoms by increasing oxytocin production through human interaction or with smartdrugs.

Considering how anti-isolationist and anti-rugged individualism the game in, it’s clear Death Stranding is telling us being a part of a community is far better than doing it alone, and it isn’t trying to shit on self-employed labor or uplift corporatized mass organized labor, especially since there seems to be no profit motivation behind Fragile Express or Bridges. Porters are simply middle-men, filling a vital role in the post-Stranding society.

People go by nicknames based on their labor. Craftsman, Engineer, Roboticist, Novelist, etc. Sam’s name changes from Sam Strand (family) to just Sam (no family no connections) to Porter Bridges (labor and connection). Identity has become inextricably linked to labor that has once again become fulfilling. Everyone seems aware how vital their role is in the survival of humanity. Medicine and weapons aren’t all we deliver, but books and art, too. Although Sam himself is disillusioned with his labor and the world, but that’s a different topic.

Porters (and preppers) are the opposite of alienated from their labor. They know their labor is crucial to the survival of other human beings. Porters can choose the routes to deliver packages, can rest whenever they want, and aren’t doing it to make someone who owns the means of production richer. Preppers provide Sam with mutually-rewarding upgrades to his equipment, increasing his chance of survival, and humanity’s. They may not even get a wage from it, but do it because it is fulfilling, because they know other human beings depend on them. Their labor has objective value and is highly prized in the post-Stranding society. There’s no enriching shareholder value and, presumably, no money. Porters leave ladders, ropes, structures, and post-boxes filled with items for other porters simply to help each other out.

#death stranding

[minecraftbookshelf]

The think about asking about the things you want to talk, is that they’re the things I want to know about. Same brainworms. Nerd to nerd communication. Speaking of, my last fixation was fading right as I started thinking about this AU, so guess what took its place in prime brain real estate. I have so many thoughts about your AU, it brings me great joy.

But first, there’s only one “how to become emperor for dummies” left, considering you’ve already covered xornoth and shrub pretty neatly in other posts.

So. How does one become the lost emperor? And also why did Joey decide to rejoin the rest of the world? (It’s funny that this is last one we learn about actually, considering the lost empire’s whole situation)

It took me so long to answer this mostly because I wanted to keep this ask in my inbox to make dolphin noises over for a bit longer XD

The nerd to nerd communication be strong.

Hopefully this is a satisfying hyperfixation for you while it lasts! Especially with the non-zero chance of fic before the end of the month!

(Ironically, my plans for Shrub have changed quite a bit since the original concepts for this au...but that would be telling :) )

As for Joey and The Lost Empire...

standard copy+paste

Also a general note relevant to the succession criteria of the majority of the empires. Remember this whole thing, where Pix kind of accidentally changed the formal definition of war in the empires? That had a lot of implications for how royalty functioned in the Empires. While they still absolutely have internal duties and responsibilities and privileges, ultimately their most important job is that they stand ready to defend their empire and its people at all times. Part of this is that they also function as international ambassadors in a way, while most empires also have official ambassadors, the relationships and interactions between the emperors themselves are a very important (sometimes volatile) facet of international relations. A country cannot be recognized internationally as an autonomous nation without an official Emperor/Head of State.

The Lost Empire has been isolated, within magically established borders, since The Plot Things I keep referencing vaguely.

So they don't operate with the "modern" rules. They are a bloodline monarchy, but they have two bloodlines.

Most of the population of the Lost Empire are hybrids, and both of the royal families are hybrid. One avian and one feline. They alternate who is active ruler, with an avian taking the throne after a feline and vice versa.

(assassination between the families is prevented by the simple method of "if the ruler gets assassinated then all members of both families are executed and two new families will be chosen to take their place." It's brutal but fairly effective.)

So yes, Joey was raised in the fire temple with the intent of inheriting the throne. And then he did. And a couple of years later he took down the border and made the first ventures into the outside world (and raided Fwip's kitchen in the process.)

His reasons were mostly just that he wanted to and he had the means. There's more to it, but he is going to get a fic so I'll leave some things for that. XD

-

AU Masterpost

#ask and it shall be answered #whoevenknowswhatshappening #marriage of state au #empires smp #empires s1 #rain rambles #joeygraceffa #mos: worldbuilding #mos: asks #mos: joey #mos: the lost empire

[manyblinkinglights]

i dont know of you ever got an answer but i asked and heres the result

thanks, I’ve been thinking about this still and like curlicue cal mentioned, there’s a ton of layers to this—autonomic nervous system type stuff, my confusion was momentarily assuming that fevers are controlled in a way they’re probably not (some kind of adjustment to the target setpoint that thoroughly and predictably would affect every system thru central control, like the incubators at work). (I bet myself ten dollars here and now it;s way more bogus than that and probably something gets suppressed instead lol)

while balls are frequently depicted as contracting in response to imagined/internal stimuli like anticipation of cold or distress, and they prolly do, all body stuff is wired in upside down redundantly and backwards, especially something as critical as this I bet. So JUST having a fever and perceiving yourself as cold, these are a couple inputs to a complex holistic body switchboard, and I’m no longer surprised that balls have a local override to the brain’s perception of cold. Paralyzed ppl’s balls probably dangle accurately too.

I’m still a little curious about whether that local temperature sense is the same as the main cns or brain or whatever one, like same receptors and chemical logic and stuff, or whether it’s interesting or purpose built in some way.

[soullessjack]

don't want to wade into discourse but do want to say i appreciate your takes on Jack's character. it's just really refreshing. a lot of fandom straight up does not want to engage with Jack's thematic core, aka 'young man is INCREDIBLY powerful & he has to struggle w/ his relationship to his powers / learning to use them for good' when that character idea is very compelling & also doesn't work if Jack has no agency/autonomy/makes no real choices/is a child. it is complicated, because Jack is a young adult (say, an 18-year-old and a 40-year-old are both adults, but their maturity level is VERY different) and didn't choose his power, but I don't understand why the fandom framing that Jack shouldn't have that power/responsibility/should be a child is more sympathetic than Jack learning how to use his powers & coming into his own. (which is how I read his story even if the writing was thin at times.)

hi, thank u!! 🫶🫶

I think most of the fandom’s refusal simply stems from the idea that he doesn’t deserve what he goes through/the burden he has to carry, and that’s all well and good, but it obviously starts to spiral into never seeing him as a complex autonomous person who can handle responsibility or experience trauma, which then gets grossly simplified into never seeing him as a person at all.

I honestly think it’s become kind of a cycle. People don’t want to acknowledge what he’s experiencing beyond “he doesn’t deserve this,” so -> ppl refuse to engage with him as a full complex adult character -> then don’t understand that autonomy is a fundamental part of him and his narrative -> so they make the decision to de-age him -> which hinges on the idea that he’s giving up his autonomy or never had it to begin with, and -> that becomes the most popular way to see his character, so -> they shut out anything that opposes it -> and they don’t see the problem with it because they don’t understand what they’re taking away because (see above).

I admit it sounds like pointless discourse from that perspective, but

A) this fandom has complained about far less for far longer, especially when it comes to their favorite characters being misunderstood and misrepresented

B) people have a right to be frustrated over their passions, especially when the problem is persistent and basically an open secret that nobody wants to change. this isn’t just about the autistic perspective on him. It’s general fandom, as well.

C) the added perspective of jack being autistic (which frankly goes beyond headcanon or simple interpretation, but that’s its own post) makes this more than petty discourse. fiction and reality go hand in hand with each other, especially in any issue concerning representation of a real group. that being said, when a marginalized community tells you that something is harmful, you listen.

sorry for the long reply lol. ofc it’s not directed at you, I’m just putting it out there in general. and thank u again! It’s nice to know that my silly ramblings are appreciated 🫶🫶

#holdthypeace.txt #spn #spn fandom #jack kline #fandom discourse #but not really discourse like this is kind of important actually ^_^

[puppyexpressions]

Signs of Anxiety in Dogs and Puppies

There’s been a huge shift in understanding and treating human anxiety over the past decade. Our canine counterparts also feel stress and anxiety, but they can’t verbalize their feelings, which makes it hard to know when they’re feeling anxious.

When you become a dog parent, you take on the job of recognizing what causes anxiety for your pup. If you lessen these causes, you can make your dog feel as safe and comfortable as possible in their environment. Signs of anxiety in dogs can be subtle, which makes it even more important for you to be vigilant and learn to identify what may be causing their stress.

Stress in dogs can be broken down into three types: fear, phobias, and anxiety.

Fear is an instinct in response to an external threat. Analyzing the situation helps you figure out if it’s a normal or inappropriate response. For example, fear aggression could be normal if there’s a true threat to your dog or their loved ones. In other cases, fear aggression is considered inappropriate if it’s directed at a person who is not showing any signs of being a threat to your dog. Remember that your dog may interpret the situation differently, and something that is not a threat to you may be to them.

Phobias are excessive fears to an external stimulus. The most common phobias in dogs are noise phobias (fireworks, loud noises, thunderstorms).

Anxiety is an uncomfortable feeling or fear related to the anticipation of danger. For instance, separation anxiety occurs when a pet has abnormal reactions to being away from their owner, whether for short or long periods of time.

Signs of Stress and Anxiety in Dogs

It is important to be able to distinguish between normal and anxious dog behaviors, which requires familiarity with your dog’s normal behavior.

Most of the time, relaxed dogs will have round, open eyes; weight on all four legs; a raised tail; and raised, forward-facing ears. They will breathe normally unless they are panting from play or exercise.

Here are some dog anxiety symptoms to watch for.

Pacing and Shaking

Just like humans, dogs often pace or make wide circling movements repeatedly when stressed. This can be a sign of panic or nervousness in general. Your dog may also shake or tremble. This often stops once the stressor is gone.

Increased Heart Rate and Panting

The autonomic nervous system kicks in automatically when stress occurs. This is the “fight, flight, or freeze” response to external fears or stressors. It is an involuntary response system for survival and adapting.

Dogs also have a sympathetic nervous system. When a dog is stressed, this system releases adrenaline and increases their heart rate and respiratory rate, which is often seen as panting.  

Yawning

Dogs do not only yawn when they are tired—they also yawn when they’re nervous. Usually, these yawns are frequent and longer than when they are tired.

Drooling

A dog’s nervous system is activated by stress and causes drooling and frequent lip-licking or “lip-smacking.” This is also seen when a dog has nausea and may have something to do with activation of the gastrointestinal tract by the nervous system.

Compulsive Behaviors

Dogs engage in a number of behaviors to help calm themselves, but these can become compulsive and destructive when they are really stressed. Common compulsions include licking themselves excessively, licking floors or walls, barking excessively, or chewing objects compulsively.

Often, this behavior can lead to skin infections from overgrooming, foreign body ingestion, upset stomach from ingesting things, digging behavior (holes, bedding, rugs), or destroying their crates in order to break free. Crying or barking can also be a self-soothing behavior in anxious dogs, or a way to alert us to their stress.  

Hypervigilance (Dilated Pupils, Ear Signals, Stiff Posture)

Dogs with anxiety often have dilated pupils and blink faster. They tend to stand stiffly at attention when preparing for impending danger, but this behavior may also be related to the involuntary freeze, fight, or flight autonomic nervous system response.

The whites of their eyes tend to show more than when they are calm, and their ears can either be standing at attention or pinned back against their head in times of stress. Tucking their tails between their legs or shifting their weight to their hind end can also be signs of fear in dogs.

Hiding or Acting Depressed

Stressed dogs will often hide behind you or objects such as chairs or cars to avoid stressors. They may seem hyperactive and use their muzzles to nudge your legs or hands to tell you to move away from the stressor. Your dog may also completely shut down, stop moving, and seem depressed or disassociated from the situation.

Having Diarrhea or Accidents

Adrenaline affects dogs similarly to humans, causing an urge to go to the bathroom. Your dog may immediately posture and urinate as a result of stress, dribble urine, lose control of their bowels, or even have diarrhea.

This behavior is modulated by the sympathetic nervous system. A lesser gastrointestinal sign of stress in dogs is a decreased appetite. A stressed dog may even refuse their favorite treats if their anxiety level is too high.

Shedding

Dogs who are stressed often shed more, and this is frequently seen during veterinary visits.

How to Help an Anxious Dog

Here are some tips you can use to help your dog avoid or react to stress.

Avoid Stressful Situations

The most important treatment for stress and anxiety in dogs is limiting the exposure to stressful situations. Avoid interactions that may cause an anxious response.

For example, in cases of separation anxiety, set up a calm, quiet space with safe toys and items that smell familiar. Start training your dog by leaving them for very short periods of time.

Every time you return, praise your dog, and perhaps give them a small, healthy treat. Through repetition and slowly increasing the length of time that you are gone, your dog will learn that you will always return, and their stress will start to fade.

If your dog is stressed by having new people in their environment, keep them confined in a calm area of the house when new people are there to avoid a fear-induced interaction.

Try New Strategies in a Safe Environment

Abrupt desensitization, where you expose your dog to the thing that is causing stress until they no longer react, is no longer thought to be the best way to help with stress and anxiety in dogs.

Continuing to introduce triggers often increases your dog’s fearful responses. Instead, you should teach new strategies and ways for your dog to respond to stress.

To establish a new response to a stressor, you must develop a reward program for your dog, such as offering food, love, or an activity/playtime. The reward should always be earned, and training will be slow and steady. This should be done in a stable, safe environment, and not during anxious situations.

Treatment starts with learning control strategies at home, where your dog is required to earn everything by responding appropriately when you give a specific cue. This creates a predictable response from your dog’s perspective. Starting with calm tasks such as “sit” or “lie down” and then eventually moving to “focus” and “escape” responses will help set expectations for what will happen.

With focus responses, the goal is to have your dog make eye contact with you or focus on a treat/toy to distract them from stressors. Escape response is training your pet to go to a safe, calm environment (such as a bed or a room) as soon as they feel stressed. Using yummy treats can be helpful until they learn where their safe space is.

Never punish your dog physically or by scolding them, since this is ineffective and will only raise their stress level and teach them to fear you.

It is important to have realistic expectations. Some issues may be lifelong or require training or medications that can only be given by a training specialist, veterinary behaviorist, or veterinarian.

Ask Your Vet About Anti-Anxiety Medications

Your veterinarian may recommend prescription anti-anxiety medications (including Fluoxetine, Clomipramine, or Alprazolam). These are almost always prescribed with the recommendation of behavior modification training.

The medication type and dosage will be based on your dog’s age, other medical conditions, and triggers. Medications often take several weeks to months to improve anxiety, and they often require adjustments and regular bloodwork. The minimum treatment for anxiety in dogs usually averages 4-6 months but can take years in some cases.

Medication therapy may help alleviate your dog’s response to triggers and can assist in learning new behaviors. However, when medication is weaned or discontinued, their anxious behaviors may return. Medication is usually continued lifelong.

Your primary care veterinarian may refer you to a board-certified veterinary behaviorist when severe anxiety issues are noted, or if previously attempted treatment plans fail to help. It is important to learn your dog’s triggers to be able to help them have a calm, balanced, and positive quality of life.

#dogs with anxiety #anxiety dogs #dog behavior #dog stressed #dog separation anxiety

[nunjournal]

(paywall removed here)

"Soon, Youngmi shaved her head, too, and stopped wearing makeup, joining the so-called “escape the corset” movement happening among young women in South Korea. The movement, which first gained popularity in 2018, saw Korean women publicly turn away from societally imposed beauty standards by cutting their hair short and going barefaced. (Youngmi was not alone — in 2019, a survey found that 24 percent of women in their 20s reported cutting back their spending on beauty products in the previous year, with many saying they no longer felt they needed to put in the effort.)

This eventually led Youngmi to “4B,” a smaller but growing movement among Korean women. 4B is shorthand for four Korean words that all start with bi-, or “no”: The first no, bihon, is the refusal of heterosexual marriage. Bichulsan is the refusal of childbirth, biyeonae is saying no to dating, and bisekseu is the rejection of heterosexual sexual relationships. It is both an ideological stance and a lifestyle, and many women I spoke to extend their boycott to nearly all the men in their lives, including distancing themselves from male friends. . . .

For Youngmi and many others who subscribe to its basic premises, 4B, or “practicing bihon,” is the only path by which a Korean woman today can live autonomously. In their view, Korean men are essentially beyond redemption, and Korean culture, on the whole, is hopelessly patriarchal — often downright misogynistic. A 2016 survey by the Ministry of Gender Equality and Family found the incidence of intimate-partner violence at 41.5 percent, significantly higher than the global average of 30 percent. While 4B’s adherents may hope to change society — through demonstrations and online activism, and by modeling an alternative lifestyle to other women — they are not trying to change the men whom they view as their oppressors. It is too soon to tell whether this movement can survive and thrive over the long haul. But its ideas and actions have already affected the country’s online discourse, its politics, and most of all, individual women’s lives."

A means for survival in an untenable situation.

#Korean feminism #feminism #escape the corset #reads #beauty culture