#this is just my two hyperfixations tormenting me in different ways | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

not-poignant · 2 months

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Do you know how Raphael discovered his love of theater and singing and art and all that? Cania doesn’t seem like the most hospitable place for it, and I don’t see Mephistopheles being thrilled about a theater kid cambion son.

Why does Raphael love art and music and theater so much? Has Meph ever caused any problems for him because of it?

Sorry my brain just wants to put those two under a microscope and poke them because their dynamic is so interesting

Hi anon,

Cania is definitely not the place for it, but Mephistophele's is a pretty melodramatic guy, for all that he doesn't like to seem to be, he has a few pretty different natures, and he's got a huge flare for drama himself.

As for Raphael, he just had no real interest in pursuing magic or science in the same way his father did. He has skills in both, and his interest in the arts is a nice front for that.

I actually think he developed an interest in the arts inadvertently while employing them for black market endeavours. For example, human trafficking is often tied up in the arts, as is money laundering, moving black market items (i.e. trading with paintings and diamonds), to say nothing of the fact that a lot of desperate souls both end up in the arts and drawn to the arts. Just like Astarion knows if you hang around outside a bar you'll find an easy meal, Raphael feels the same way about a theatre and a brothel, and in Faerun, both of those things are frequently combined.

I have an idea that he was basically sent out to procure funds and make himself useful, and figure out how to harvest souls for himself, and learned the actually debauchery, fine meals, fine wines, live entertainment, music, poetry and more were all very diverting and made more of his life at a time when most of his brothers got slaughtered, and he had only distant ambitions.

We know he loves writing, too, and journalling. If he has inherited any of his father's strong emotions (which he has), getting them out onto a page is probably good for him.

As for Mephistopheles, I honestly think for the most part he doesn't think about it and he actually forgets he even has sons most of the time. He notoriously bounces from project to project leaving most of them unfinished, and hyperfixates on different things at any time. He's left behind some of the most world-changing magics and cities among Cania and just never given them another thought. So while it amuses him to torment Raphael about it, I actually don't think it's something that truly upsets him whenever Raphael's not in sight, lol.

Like, I imagine Mephistopheles is so 'nothingy' about Raphael that it's like, 'oh the most interesting thing about you is the money you've given me I guess and the noises you make sometimes' - but otherwise it's not even apathy, because you can't be apathetic about something you don't even notice is there. And Raphael prefers it that way.

(A problem honestly is when Mephistopheles does notice what his son is up to, and at some point he realised Raphael had amassed actually a rather significant amount of power and sent Harleep to keep an eye on him (this is canon) and distract him with like... sexual diversion. Raphael's preference is that his father forgets he exists and frankly once the Crown of Karsus was destroyed, all he remembers now is that Raphael had a goal to steal it, and Mephistopheles had a goal to steal it from him, so now that's ruined and he's mad about it sometimes).

(But in a distractible kind of way).

#asks and answers #palmarosa #thespectaclesofthor #idk how to describe it but i just don't think to someone like mephistopheles #raphael's disappointments are really significant to him #except as another device to torture his son with?#in the same way that astarion's trauma isn't really significant to raphael #except as a curious extra box of tools to torture him with #and break him apart with #although raphael is more interested in astarion than mephistopheles is in raphael that's for sure #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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purefandomonium · 8 months

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The Stubborn Player

Aaaaand I went and made another alternate version of Glitchy Red because why not? This isn't gonna end up like Connection, but I do have a few parts written so far. Ideally, I think it'll only be maybe 5-8 chapters long. This one will take more of a supernatural spin on it, and I wrote it using second-person POV, something I almost never do but have been meaning to work on. So yeah, this is just a little experiment. The file name is literally "stubborn player" because I haven't even come up with a title. It's also not meant to be taken too seriously. Honestly it's more of a gag because I got bored and needed to take a break from Connection, although I'm finally recovered from my injury enough that I can type again so I'll be posting more chapters at some point soon.

Red in this version is more sinister than usual (because that seems to be the easiest way for me to write him) and like some headcanons I posted a while ago, he thoroughly enjoys tormenting players. Keep an eye out for another headcanon list for this version because he is a bit different from the last alternate one I came up with. I'll probably post it this weekend, or the next if I don't get the time.

Can you tell I have a hyperfixation?

Writing below the cut.

What appear to be simple glitches in a barely-running game soon reveal themselves to be much more than that. The game, or rather, the main character of the game, is sentient. Sapient, even. Despite the murkiness surrounding his existence, one thing is very clear:

RED does not appreciate being treated like a puppet.

“This isn’t real,” you mumble in disbelief as the game refuses to turn off. You spend several seconds flipping the switch on and off to no avail. You’re rewarded with a firm ‘NO’ for your troubles.

Fine. Bastard can’t do anything if he’s not booted into a console, right?

Much to your dismay, the cart can’t—won’t—let you remove it. RED’s sprite remains in the overworld, smugness leaking through the pixels.

You’re not getting rid of me that easily, the text box reads.

You aren’t one to turn down a challenge. You go find the hammer.

------

Two hours. Two hours, multiple household tools, three knives, your car and a firearm later leave you with a totally undamaged—albeit irritated—Game Boy with Pokemon Red loaded into it.

The only thing that receives any damage is your neighborhood reputation when a few busybodies spot you in your yard, taking angry potshots at a children’s toy.

So you sit on your bed having a one-sided stare-down with said toy as you debate what to do next.

What’s wrong? If you’re so desperate to be rid of me, why not give me away to some other asshole?

“Because that’d be such a waste of three weeks and twenty dollars,” you reply, arms crossed. “And that’s not even taking into account the surprise shipping fee.”

You have sharp eyes, RED states suddenly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re not like the others.

You aren’t afraid of me. You’re stubborn.

You look like you’ll be fun to break.

Only then do you fully register the comment about your eyes and wonder how the hell he can see you.

The only logical thing to do is flip him off.

Weeks went by with you trying—and failing—to destroy the game. It’s become a strange obsession, you being so determined to wipe the smug bastard’s hard drive. When you run out of ideas you decided to chuck him into the basement closet. He can sit there and rot in all his stubborn glory. You could pawn him off to some more sensible sucker, but really, it’s all about getting the last laugh.

You don’t find it so funny when you awaken the next morning to find him leaning over you, face right in yours.

Out of reflex you swing. It phases right through him and his evil smirk. Wasting no time in scrambling out of bed and backing into the opposite wall, you glare at him.

“The hell?”

“Did you really think I’d let you forget about me? I’ve had enough of that to last several lifetimes…”

His voice is tinny and unnatural, clipping in and out and pushed beneath a layer of static. It’s fitting for something as broken as he is.

A stray book is the first thing your hand finds and you throw it at RED in a futile effort to make him leave. As expected, it passes right through him, the intricacies of his face briefly fizzling into static before reverting back to his bemused expression.

He begins taking deliberate steps towards you, reveling in how you have nowhere to run. You meet his ruby eyes head on, sending a cold glare in response. As fucked up as this all is, you aren’t about to let some bit-crushed fuck get the better of you. Not without a fight, at least.

There is no more space between you. You watch RED closely, waiting for him to make a move so you can counter.

His left arm twitches.

RED grips your wrist so tightly you yelp. So much for trying to slip by. He keeps you in place as his left arm reaches into his jacket.

Despite the situation, your only thought is how unfair it is that he can touch you but not the other way around. You’d give a kidney to be able to deck him right now.

RED pulls out an item—the Game Boy you’d attempted to hide in the depths of the basement—and forces it into the hand he’s got a firm hold on.

“You forgot something,” he says, eyes alight with some strange emotion.

“You keep it,” you say as you try to free yourself. His touch is sending uncomfortable sensations along your wrist and arm, like his hand is comprised of small, electrified feathers. You hiss as he moves to grip your hand over the Game Boy, feeling leaving your fingers.

“I want you to keep it. It’s yours, after all.”

He backs away finally and you let out a curse as you cradle your sure-to-be-bruised arm.

“How about a game?” He watches your ever-sharp gaze attempt to pierce him again and laughs. You’re a fun one indeed.

“What the hell do you know about games, asshole? You can’t even play yours.” Damn your arm hurts. What did he do?

RED’s blithe façade falters for half a second, visage twisting into raw anger before he reigns it in. You are the most interesting player he’s ever had. He wants to have some fun with you, and he can’t do that if he slaughters you or drives you mad like the rest. He wants something different this time around.

How long can you possibly last against his unnatural torment before you either fall like the others or pass him along to his next victim?

RED laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls in weird ways as his form flickers and shifts.

You watch him all the while, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Let’s see how long you hold up. You aren’t the first person I’ve tormented, but you’re the most fearless I’ve ever seen. Most people run screaming from me. But you…”

You suppress a shudder as his eyes flash brighter for a second. You’re finally realizing you’re dealing with something far more dangerous than a cursed video game. He’s watching you like you’re his prey. Despite this, you hold back a smirk.

You have the advantage of RED not realizing you’re more than the average ‘player.’

“You seem to think you stand a chance against me. So I’ll give you one. Either you succumb to madness or I somehow get fed up with you enough to leave myself. What do you think? Sound fun?”

You finally allow the smirk to show. “You’re on, Glitchy.”

#glitchy red #my writing #writers on tumblr #fic

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thegreatgaygay · 1 year

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Roxy's IRL Friends and Their Les Mis Experiences

right so the context is that i have been hyperfixated on les mis for two months and am insufferable and talk about it all the time with my friends, including my really specific in-jokes with myself (javert's 46 upsetting hats that he makes himself, javer'ts hat being huge/trying to eat him, a lot of hat related stuff actually, at this point it's just to make myself laugh), all the seperate canons i maintain (1-2rp canons, 3-5 fic canons, the one where javert personally knows and really hates shadow the hedgehog) and weird fandom bullshit (the one time i saw a piece of fan art that just absolutely snatched montparnasse's waist. good art btw. but just. he was so snatched and it stuck with me). and they just put up with it. so here's the post.

i have this one friend and she saw les mis on the west end in 2017 and remembers almost none of it but the things she DOES remember include: "two different blonde ladies" and at first i was like there are only three women in this show so it narrows it down but it took some prying to discover that these were, in fact, fantine and cosette.

master of the house is only song she recalls. the only song. out of all of the songs. (it objectively slaps but yall know how i feel about stars and she does too, she's read my stars essay). she said that "those guys [the thenardiers] got another song later on for no reason" which like is technically true i guess.

also, according her, "a guy died on a barricade". yes bestie many guys died on a barricade that's like half the fucking story

and she also got a nosebleed halfway through and spend half the show with her head tilted up so she wouldn't bleed everywhere so she didn't see anything. after she told me about this i explained the full plot of Les Miserables (1978) to her because i a, autistic.

but that's it that's all she remembers from the musical. she also insisted on pronouncing javert JAV-ERT for a month just to piss me off. including while i was dressed as him for halloween. i also have a running joke of people mis pronouncing his name but it used to specifically really get to me for some reason. but like i said my friends put up with so much bullshit from me and i get to hear about fallout 4 and sonic in return, neurodivergent people are so powerful.

my OTHER friend knows the plot of les mis and the songs well enough to torment me still further. he has invented a character named Maurice who does not exist at all ever and he brings Maurice up everytime I bring up les mis at the dinner table (which is often, some would say every single day with few excpetions). he says that his "favorite part of les mis is when maurice goes in the sewer and says 'it's mauricin' time' then her maurices all over the sewer" because we decided that's where maurice lives. i hate my friends so much. love those guys.

my OTHER OTHER friend who i know irl and talk to online said to me recently that they "forgot javert wasn't a real guy" which is hilarious and also reminds me that this person has never listened to les mis or consumed any les mis related media and must have such a fucked up idea of the plot at this point oh my god. they have seen all my memes and all my weird fic stuff but just...they do not know the plot. i wonder what they think happens in les mis???????????

and furthermore, some of my friends and i have discovered that like five of us all have special interests/hyperfixations set in France or that are France related in some way, so i have made a handy graph to hekp us keep track. it's not perfect but i love graphs so much. this is what i get for meeting every single one of my friends at the special move-in day for disability services or at special ed high school. only one of us is straight and only one of us is neurotypical, but it's the same guy and we like him anyways. here's the graph, with names removed but anyways the point is i love my friends but we're all terrible autism people. i'm The Crusades, FORMERLY Hamilton and Les Miserables, if you couldn't guess.

#roxy speaks #les mis #neurodivergent #neurodivergent friends #no clue what tags to gives this #awesome graph #autism

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tabsters · 7 hours

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SOMEONE LIKE ME (CHAP. 23) - A STARGLASS ZODIAC X ZODIAC EXPERIMENT CROSSOVER

i think this might be the longest chapter yet oops

previous chapter is here

next chapter is TBA

masterpost is here

tagging @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @hyperfixation-tangentopia @maiawhimsicalt and @sweet-star-cookie

The vine-lights in the theater dimmed. Music began to softly play from all around them—hidden speakers, Ciara assumed. The music began to build, began to grow, and when the piece had hit its peak, the curtains flared open.

"This is a tale of wisdom!" An actor ran up onto the stage, dressed in all blue—he looked like a bard. He was holding a lyre, and he strummed as he ran.

"Of courage!" A knight in fully-clad golden armor ran up as well, dragging a sword behind him. His boots clank-clank-clanked on the wooden stage as he went.

"Of compassion!" A woman, draped in one of the gorgeous rainbow dresses Ciara had seen earlier, made her way up as well, placing her hands on the bard and knight's shoulders.

"This is the tale of Asteria!" All three shouted, pointing their hands upwards, towards something—a window? Ciara looked up as well, finding a glass window stained with rainbow colors, depicting a woman with her eyes closed.

/Is she like the equivalent of Eclipse?/ Ciara thought, remembering the stories Capricorn had told her.

The bard and the queen ran off the stage, and another voice—the narrator, probably—began speaking.

"Our story begins with a knight," The voice said, as the knight drew his sword. "One day, after his duties, he found an injured animal. This knight's valor knew no bounds, and so he went off to offer his aid."

"Upon further investigation, he discovered it was a mythical pegasus!"

An actual pink pegasus clip-clopped onto the stage, her flank covered in blood—or no, red paint. She stumbled to her knees, her wings fluttering, whinnying in pain. Two actors dressed as bears chased after her.

"Oh! Beautiful creature, who has hurt you?!" The knight shouted, rushing forward. "Fear not! I shall aid you!"

"The knight rushed forward, slaying the ugly bears that were tormenting the pegasus!" The knight drew his sword and pretended to stab the bears—more red paint oozed out of the fake wounds.

"The knight withdrew a flask full of orange liquid, tipping it down the pegasus' throat! After a few moments, the pegasus' eyes fluttered open."

"Oh, brave knight!" The pegasus said, her voice bright and melodic. "I thank you!" She rose to her feet and trotted in a circle around the knight before flapping her wings and running off the stage.

"Wait!" The knight cried, reaching his hand out hesitantly. "O' great beast, who are you?! What are you?!"

"But the great pegasus had already departed," The narrator droned as the knight walked off the stage. "The knight went off on his way, dejected, but he never forgot the beauty of the great creature."

"Many moons passed, and the pegasus was thought to be just a figment of the knight's mind. Nobody would believe him." The knight reappeared, this time with a bunch of townsfolk. He gesticulated vigorously, trying to convince the people of his tale. "Nobody believed him. They all thought him a fool."

"That is, until one day." The knight and townspeople went off in different directions, and the curtains dropped. When they rose once more, the bard dressed in blue was standing there, playing his lyre.

"Hark! Hear the birds sing!" The bard sang. "This piece I dedicate to the beauty of nature itself! Even the beauty of humans cannot compare!"

He began playing a beautiful piece, first playing a tune that mimicked the sounds of the birds chirping. Then he switched to a melody that sounded like the flowing of a river—calm, and tranquil.

In the background, the shadow of the pegasus lurked once more. She began to sniffle, then cry, then full-out sob.

"Oh!" The bard whirled around, startled. He saw the pegasus' crying form, and rushed over. "Pardon me! Have I disturbed you with my song? I apologize. I shall go—"

"No!" The pegasus cried, wiping her tears with her wings. "No, your song...it was beautiful! These are tears of joy, you see! For it is so rare now to find souls that truly appreciate the blessings of nature."

"Is that so?" The bard began to pluck at the strings of his lyre again. "Would you like to hear more?"

"Yes!" The pegasus squealed, still shedding tears of joy. /Damn, this pegasus can really act well./ "Such dulcet tones have never been heard before!"

The bard kept playing, and the pegasus watched, enraptured. The tones shifted continuously, evoking every feeling from the peace of relaxing in the shade to the excitement of running through the forest.

When the bard's performance was done, the pegasus stood up. "I must depart. Goodbye, lover of the forest! We might meet again, we might not! I bid you farewell!"

"Wait!" The bard shouted, running after the pegasus. "Come back! You mustn't leave so quickly—you're the only one that appreciates my music!"

"And so, many more moons passed. The bard began writing more tales, tales about the pegasus." The bard walked off the stage and then walked back on, now singing for a group of townspeople. "The people thought him delusional, and turned their backs on him. Nobody would listen to him." The townspeople began scolding the bard—one of them even threw a tomato at him. Ciara giggled.

"One ordinary day, the knight was taking a stroll through the market, looking for something to eat." The set pieces changed, and it was then Ciara noticed the spirit moving them—a man with purplish skin and wavy black hair and a purple horn on his forehead. "When he heard the bard, singing the tales of the pegasus."

"O' great beast, where'er you are!" The bard sang, dodging the tomatoes being thrown at him. "Your great wings and beauty shall ne'er—hey! That was a perfectly good pie!" The fake pie splattered on the ground behind him, causing Ciara to stifle her laughter with her fists.

"Excuse me!" The knight in golden armor ran towards the bard hurriedly.

The bard scoffed, his blue robes waving in the wind. "If you're here to insult me, just go! I've endured enough slander for one day!"

"No, no!" The knight rushed up to the bard. "Do you sing of a mythical pegasus? If so—I've seen the beast you sing of!"

"The bard's eyes widened with curiosity."

"You're not pulling my leg, are you?" The bard sprang to his feet. "You are a member of the royal army! Take me to visit the queen, for with both of our accounts, she will surely believe us!"

"The knight was less enthusiastic."

"You saw how those people acted." The knight shuffled back and forth. "They think us lunatics! What might the queen say if she heard our story?"

"Noooooo, she'll believe you!" Ciara whispered as the bard continued to try to convince the knight to join his cause. Capricorn smiled over at her.

"What good will visiting the queen do?" The knight asked, still unsure. "What will she be able to do?"

"She will be able to issue a royal proclamation!" The bard danced around, strumming his lyre. "And with her aid, we will be able to see the pegasus again!"

"In the end, the bard managed to convince the knight to escort him to the palace to meet the queen." The props changed, and now a throne with the woman in the rainbow dress sitting in it was wheeled up.

Both the knight and bard kneeled before the queen. "My Queen," The knight spoke up. "A winged horse has been sighted in the kingdom. She was there one moment and then gone the next. And this beautiful creature could /talk/."

"She would bring much joy to our people if only we could see her again!" The bard exclaimed dramatically. "My Queen, please help us! Issue a declaration, and help us find this pegasus!"

"The queen rested her head on her chin, lost in thought."

"What does this winged horse look like?" She asked, slowly, surprised but without malice. "I would like to know what I am searching for."

The bard waved his hands about wildly. "A lovely pink hue, the color of roses just bloomed, with wavy chestnut hair and magnificent wings—"

"The pegasus was pink." The knight summarized. "With a brown mane and large wings."

The queen sat up, straighter, her eyes going wide. "A pink pegasus, you say?"

Both the knight and bard nodded, and the queen stood up suddenly. "I've been having dreams as of late. This...this pegasus calls out to me, beckons me. She tells me she will lead me to my destiny!"

"Later that night, the pegasus visited all three of them as they dreamt," The narrator said as all three of them walked off. "She told them of a great prophecy, and that the journey they were about to embark on would alter the very fabric of the universe."

"And so, the three of them, the knight, the bard, and the queen, set off on an adventure the next day, to find the legendary pegasus. Along the way, they faced many challenges."

"Their first challenge was a duo of vicious beasts, the Chimaera and the Manticore. They guarded a bridge, one that was essential for progression."

Two actors, one dressed in black, the other in white, advanced towards them. They had masks of beasts, giant wings, and tails swinging behind them. The knight unsheathed his sword, stepping in front of the bard and queen.

"The knight slayed them easily, with his bravery and courage."

The knight swung his sword gracefully, arcing it through the air and slamming it into the Chimaera's head. The Chimaera fell, and the Manticore snarled in defense. The knight backed up, and then with a leap that would've impressed even Cygnus (the best ballet dancer in her Astral Plane), struck the Manticore with a devastating blow.

"Woo hoo!" Ciara whisper-shouted, clapping quietly.

"Their next challenge was another monster—much stronger the Chimaera or the Manticore. It was the great Minotaur, and it was far too powerful, even for the knight. He was guarding the way to a great labyrinth that our heroes needed to pass through. He could not be beaten with sheer power, so the bard devised a clever tactic to bypass him."

An actor with a highly realistic bull head lumbered onto the stage, carrying an axe. The knight started forward, sword drawn, but the queen stopped him. The bard began gently strumming a lullaby on his lyre, singing softly, and the Minotaur sprang to attention.

The beast began to stomp around, his feet shaking the ground with every step. However, the bard's playing and singing was skilled indeed, as the Minotaur's movements began to become sluggish, and then he collapsed, snoring.

"Clever bastard," Ciara murmured, nodding in approval.

"The heroes tip-toed past the minotaur, completely unharmed thanks to the bard's wisdom. In the heart of the labyrinth, there lay the final monster that our heroes needed to best—the legendary Medusa."

An actress, skin painted vibrant green, with a snake tail replacing her lower half, slithered across the stage floor. Her wig consisted of many small, hyper-realistic fake snakes, hissing as she made her way across.

"Too skilled to be defeated in combat, too clever to be outsmarted, it seemed our heroes were at a loss as to how to proceed. But the ever-empathetic queen figured out a way."

The queen valiantly approached the monstress, sweeping her shawl off her shoulders and delicately placing around on Medusa's neck. The queen then bowed deeply, and Medusa raised her hands to her mouth.

"Yes, girlboss," Ciara said quietly, and Scorpio shot her a weird look.

"And so, touched by the queen's compassion, Medusa allowed the heroes passage to the top of the labyrinth, where they found a magnificent temple. Inside, they found..."

"The pegasus?" Ciara whispered.

"The great pegasus."

"Warriors!" The pegasus trilled. "You have persevered through the challenges set before you, just as the prophecy foretold!"

"A soldier, carrying a mighty sword." The knight stood to attention, placing his hand on his sword.

"A poet, whose weapon is his words." The bard strummed his lyre, flashing the audience a smile.

"And a ruler, whose brow is laid in thorn." The queen nodded, fixing her crown.

"Your journey has been long and arduous, and your reward shall be great and bountiful!"

"What is our reward?" The queen asked, her voice unwavering. "You said that our journey would alter the very fabric of the universe?"

"And indeed it will." The pegasus spread her wings wide, both them beginning to glow. "Brave soldier, step forth."

The knight stepped forward, kneeling before the pegasus.

"For your courage in the face of peril, I award you with the powers of the sun. May you burn bright and glorious."

A spotlight flashed on, and the knight's golden armor seemed to shine even brighter. The knight stood up, a yellow orb now nestled in his palms.

The pegasus' left wing dimmed, and it folded to her side. "Clever poet, step forth."

The bard stepped forward, bowing deeply.

"For your wisdom in the face of uncertainty, I award you with the powers of the moon. May you shine brilliant and luminous."

Another spotlight flashed on, and the bard's azure robes seemed to be bathed with splendor. The bard straightened up, a blue orb now sitting in his hands.

The pegasus' right wing dimmed, and now she folded both her wings to her sides. "And for you, kind queen. Step forth."

The queen curtsied, hands spread to her sides.

"For your compassion in the face of hatred, I award you with the powers of all the stars. May your magnificence never run dry."

A final spotlight flashed on, and the queen's rainbow dress now glowed with even more vivid color. The queen tipped her head back, her hands and arms now glittering with power.

"The pegasus, now drained of all her power, had at last completed her task. These three beings would now ascend to a higher plane of existence, becoming the gods of a new land."

The three heroes began exchanging items, talking softly. The queen lifted her crown off her head and gently placed it on the bard's head. The knight presented the queen with his sword, and the queen graciously took it. The bard swept his arms out, handing the knight his lyre.

A different string instrument began softly playing—violin? Cello?

The knight ran off the stage, returning wearing a dragon costume—it looked like one of those dragon dancers from Chinese new year's.

"The knight became the god Solaris, wielder of fire and earth magic, and bearer of the Sun Starglass."

The bard also ran off the stage, returning with a similar dragon costume—this one in blue.

"The bard became the god Lunaris, wielder of air and water magic, and bearer of the Moon Starglass."

The queen turned around, shaking her hair down around her shoulders—her hair reached the floor. She spun around—once, twice, and suddenly her dress flared out, becoming adorned with feathers and beads. (Like that one scene from The Hunger Games, where Katniss' wedding dress became the mockingjay dress with wings.)

"And the queen became the goddess Asteria—the creator of the Astral Plane."

"Ohhhhh." Ciara muttered. "That makes so much sense."

"Together, these three created a rich world of constellations and spirits." More and more spirits crowded up on the stage, the three gods rising above them all. "The world that we live in. The world of Asteria!"

"Long live Asteria!" All the actors chorused, cheering. The background music began to swell, and the curtains swung closed. A moment later, it re-opened, with all the actors standing in a line, holding hands. Asteria, Solaris, and Lunaris were standing in the very middle, all three of them sitting on the pegasus. After a moment, all of the actors bowed deeply, smiling and waving at the audience. (Which only consisted of four people.)

Ciara clapped enthusiastically, Scutum following her example. Capricorn clapped lazily, nodding in approval. Scorpio waited a couple moments before hesitantly clapping as well.

"That was amazing!" Ciara shouted as the lights came back on. "Is that actually how your Astral Realm came to be?"

"No, no," Capricorn chuckled, leading the group over to the stage—to meet the actors, Ciara hoped. "None of us actually know how this world was created. Pegasus actually wrote this play."

"Pegasus wrote this?" Ciara asked, just as the titular Pegasus rounded the corner.

"Capricoooooooorn!" Pegasus giggled, trotting over to the group. Behind her, a light purple colored unicorn and a cream colored foal followed. Ciara assumed they were the constellations Monoceros and the other horse constellation. (Ciara forgot its name—there were too many vowels.)

"Peggy, excellent performance up there." Capricorn patted Ciara's shoulder. "This is Ciara, the visitor to our Astral Plane. She really enjoyed our show, it seems."

"Oh, helloooo!" Pegasus tittered. "Good to have another theatre lover here!" She waved her wings, nearly knocking Scorpio in the head. "These here are my brothers, Monoceros and Equuleus! Monoceros is our stage hand, and Equueleus is our aspiring apprentice!"

"Hello," Monoceros slowly said, nodding his head. "A pleasure to have you here in the theater."

"I noticed you during the performance!" Ciara exclaimed, remembering the man moving the props. "You were the guy helping to change the scenery!"

Monoceros nodded sagely. "That was me, yes." He began to shapeshift into his human form, much like how Ciara's own Pegasus could shift between human and pegasus. The now human Monoceros flexed his fingers. "Taking the role of a grip rather literally, as you can see."

"Sissy, you were so cool up there!" Equuleus shouted, running circles around his sister. "I liked it when you were whining in pain!"

Pegasus sighed, smiled, and shook her head. "One must always know how to suffer for their art!"

It was then Pegasus noticed Scorpio and Scutum standing behind Capricorn. "Oh, Scutuuum! How have you been, dearie?"

Scutum shook Pegasus' wing with one of his hands. "Good, good. And you?"

"Maaarvelous! Though I must say," Pegasus folded her wings so that Scutum and Ciara were hidden from view—presumably so they could gossip without anyone hearing them. "I am surprised you managed to convince Scorpio to come here!"

"Why?" Ciara asked, casting a glance at Scorpio. Was he on bad terms with everybody in this Astral Plane? "He actually came with us to the clothing store to pick up the costumes."

Pegasus let out another appalled gasp. "The costume store? Oh my, how did you ever manage to do that?!"

"Uh. What's so bad about that?" Ciara asked, oblivious to Scutum's hand-across-the-neck gestures.

"Don't you know there was a horrible, horrible accident involving Pisces and Scorpio?" Pegasus lowered her voice even more. "Pisces was one of the few people directly harmed by Scorpio's Void magic! Why, I believe—"

"Peggy!" Scutum whispered, desperately trying to make her shut up.

"Aquarius threw him out of her shop, last time I heard—"

"Peggy!" Scutum whispered, more urgently. "Peggy, he's right there—"

Scorpio was in fact there, desperately pretending he couldn't hear their conversation.

"A lot of us used to view Scorpio as an outcast because of that—ow! Hey!"

"Peggy!" Scutum bonked Pegasus on the head with all four of his arms, nodding towards Ciara.

"Sorry, sorry." Pegasus unfolded her wings, walking away and waving with her front hoof. "Catch you later, Capricorn!"

Capricorn wiggled his fingers goodbye, turning back to Ciara. Scorpio awkwardly stood there.

"Aquarius and Pisces are actually siblings in my world," Ciara said, changing the subject. Capricorn's face wrinkled up in intrigue, probably thinking about what it would be like if his own Aquarius and Pisces were siblings instead of wives.

Ciara kept thinking. It seemed that Scorpio was intrinsically linked to exclusion, or shame, or disgrace, no matter what form he took.

She wondered why that was.

check out @sweet-star-cookie's starglass zodiac lore if you liked this!! questions about my lore are greatly appreciated!!

#oc #oc lore #zodiac #zodiacs #zodiac sign #zodiac signs #zodiac lore #zodiac oc #zodiac ocs

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that-bitttch · 2 years

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Disability representation in media and fandom- Part 2

Hi all, Beanie here again with the part two to my previous post! This section is focusing more on the autistic side of my story.

So as I mentioned in my previous post, I am autistic, and i struggled consequently as a child (still do). I do not understand social cues, present emotions 'properly', hyperfixate on things and so much more. I was too loud or too quiet (HOH issues), massive sensory issues. I cannot sit still to save my life. Because of this i was an outcast, amongst my peers and adults. It sucked, big time.

I spent the majority of my childhood sucked into books where characters could not hurt me, where i could pretend i was somebody else. I was tormented, and calles slurs, and used as the butt of jokes. My peers would laugh and my siblings would ditch me at the first opportunity they got.

I did not hear the term autistic until i was 15. I went to a school assembly i should not have with one of my friends in solidarity, and i remember sitting there and thinking 'wait, does everybody not feel like this?'. There was, and still is, so little decent autistic representation, and i grew up in one of Englands most diverse areas.

I went home that day, and spoke to my mother about it. Turns out her and my siblings had already figured it out, and just;; did not tell me. Much like my hearing in fact. It is my body, and I was the last one to know about it. For reasons they never even tried to justify. Still happens to this day.

My own sister refuses to stop using the r-slur. The sister i have grown up sharing a room with, the one who knows me the best. Because she thinks it is okay, because she does not know how it feels, to be the outcast, to absolutely hate yourself because your brain doesnt function like every body elses does. The worst insult she has gotten in her life is 'four eyes'. (by the way, this is not me putting down people who have trauma from glasses btw, I also have glasses, and your trauma is valid, but in this comparison i need to say it). But wearing glasses is normal, or at least more normal than autism, or deafness. I cannot emphasise enough that if you are not normal, then you are worse than nothing. You are the scapegoat. The tormented. You try to conform to what they want but it is too late. They already have their impression of you in their eyes and it will never change.

I go to high school, and i hear ablist slurs thrown around as a joke. One of my teachers was bullied out, and moved back to NEW ZEALAND because students thought he was gay. I go to college, and my experience does not change much. I still hear the slurs, the judgement. The people who will never like me purely because I have different needs. I read about the people who think autism is a disease, caused by vaccines, something to ABORT children for (your body your choice, but for autism? I disagree.). the ones who claim i havw no bodily autonomy and cannot make decisions for myself. The discrimination i face and will always face in my life. And media representation could help so much with that.

#personal #autism #disability #awareness #representation

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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The photo set you reblogged of Yusuf and Niccolo helping throughout time just filled me with so many happy feels and it made me realize that it seems so common in media with immortal couples that they take breaks from each other and reconnect after a few decades. Which is a great trope but seeing these two that seems to have been attached at the hip since the day they met just fills me with all the heart eyes.

(I haven't read your fanfics for them yet. I know I'm a bad fan but if it helps I havent been able to read anything since all this started but while writing this ask I got the feeling that all this rambling I spewed out is a big theme)

Hush. Bad fan nothing. We all are coping with this stupid, awful year in different ways, some of us by escaping into fandom and some of us being unable to engage with it and some of us doing both or anything else. You certainly don’t owe me or anyone any obligation to interact with our content, fic or otherwise. So just to have that there on the top. You’re good, hun. :)

ANYWAY, thank you for giving me a chance to meta a bit on the boys and their relationship and to have a window into what my brain looks like pretty much 24/7 these days. (I blame them.) I keep thinking about all the ways this couple is depicted in the TOG film and how lovely it was and how unusual it is for me to have an OTP where I actually love them in canon and don’t need to violently disavow it in order to create AU fan content with just the characters. (See: Timeless, Game of Thrones, pretty much any show I’ve hyperfixated on at some point.) I love AUs anyway, because that’s the way my brain works, but the fact that I can also enjoy canon just as much is rare for me and for a lot of us. I saw a post somewhere remarking on how the fanfic for Joe/Nicky isn’t fixing anything, which is usually the point of transformative fanworks: we take something that canon atrociously fucked up and fix it. But in this case, all our interpretations are based on actually appreciating the way they’re presented in canon and wanting to enjoy that and uphold it, and that -- especially with a couple like this one -- is shocking??

Like. Despite my historian gripes about the occasionally incongruous details for their graphic-novel backstories (which are the only things I HAVE fixed in my fics), I’m just... deeply appreciative of the care which everyone, writers and actors and all else, put into depicting Joe and Nicky and their relationship. And god YES, one of the things I love the absolute MOST is that they’re a loving, faithful, committed, happy married queer couple over centuries, and that seems to be the case for as long as they’ve known each other/ever since they got together. (See Booker’s “you and Nicky always had each other.”) These fools can’t sleep apart from each other even when they’re stuck on a freight train in the middle of nowhere, they flirt like teenagers at dinnertime and even when they’re strapped to gurneys in a mad-scientist laboratory, they make out to enrage bad guys and also because they’re just still that goddamn into each other after all this time.

I think it was Marwan Kenzari who pointed out that there’s simply no way to truly state the depth of their knowledge and devotion and commitment to each other. They’re 950 years old. They have known each other since they were in their thirties; they’ve been husbands for literal centuries. There is no way anyone else in the world could possibly come close to replicating the kind of bond they have with each other, and neither of them have ever had any inclination to look, because why would they? Especially with the fact that queer couples in media, even otherwise sympathetically portrayed ones, often have Drama and Third Parties and Promiscuity and whatever else (because of the tiresome old canard that Gays Equal Hypersexualized!), and Joe and Nicky don’t need or want ANY of that. There’s no urge to make their relationship a cheap source of soap-opera conflict. It’s the rock and the center and the core of both of their lives, and everything they do stems from that.

There have been some great metas/comments on how neither Joe and Nicky are sexualized, they dress like stay-at-home dads during quarantine (Marwan Kenzari and Luca Marinelli are both objectively gorgeous men, and they’re out there looking like that, god bless), and the viewer is never invited to goggle at or fetishize their relationship. There are no leering or exploitative camera angles on anyone, and their expressions of love aren’t posed or intended to titillate the audience, they’re just solidly embodied and natural and lived in. It’s never bothered to be stated clunkily in dialogue that they’re a couple; we just see them exchanging looks and smiles in the early part of the film, and then we see them spooning on the train after the mission in Sudan, which confirms it.

At every turn, the narrative celebrates the kindness and love shared by the Immortal Family, the individual characters, and Joe and Nicky, especially and explicitly in queer form. The villains of the film are also defined by how they react negatively to that love. @viridianpanther had a great meta on how Keane as a villain is especially set up to menace Joe and Nicky as the narrative representation of toxic masculinity, aggressive heterosexuality, and the usual “Kill Your Gays” trope that we’ve all come to wearily expect. But instead, after that scene where Joe and Nicky fight Keane, Nicky is shot and comes back to life in Joe’s arms rather than dying permanently like we probably all momentarily expected, and then Joe gets to FUCKIN’ BREAK THE NECK of the guy who enacted that violence.... good GOD. The first time I watched it, I almost couldn’t believe it was happening. (This goes for the whole film, but especially that scene.) Like... when do we get that?? When do we EVER get that???

Obviously, there are so many stereotypes, whether visually or in behavior or character traits, that could have been assigned to a gay Italian character (excessively dramatic, effeminate, fashionable, etc) or a gay Arabic/Muslim character (explicitly announcing He’s Not Like Those Muslims, having to actively reject his heritage to make him more palatable to westerners, being tormented over being gay, etc) and Joe and Nicky subscribe to none of those. I get very emotional about Joe referring to Nicky as the moon when he is lost during the truck scene partly because it’s SUCH a common motif in Arabic love poetry. To call someone your “moon” is a beautiful way to say they’re the light of your life, and since the Islamic calendar is obviously lunar and the holidays, months, and observances, are set by the phases of the moon, this also has a deeper religious significance.

I don’t know for sure if they did that on purpose, but it it’s a lovely and subtle way of showing us how Joe clearly doesn’t have an issue with being both queer AND Muslim, and is able to draw on both facets of that identity in a way that a lesser narrative would have denied him. And that is just really wonderful. Yes, we’re seeing these characters when they’ve had centuries to settle into themselves, but there are plenty of writers who would have forced those conflicts artificially to the surface, rather than letting them be long in the past. It’s the same way when you watch a film set in the medieval era, it wants you to know that it Is Set In The Medieval Era. Cue the filth, misogyny, racism, violence, etc! Rather than it being a lived-in reality, it has to be jarringly drawn attention to, and I’m just so glad they didn’t do that with Joe and Nicky. And for them to have met in the crusades and fallen in love??! Come on. That’s just rude. Rude to me, personally.

Anyway, this was a rather long-winded and feelsy way of saying that these characters are constructed, acted, and written organically in such a way that you hate to even THINK of them being separated, and it’s not because they can’t function without each other, but because they are two halves of a whole. We also see that the characters themselves can’t stand being forced apart: Joe’s freakout in the truck scene when Nicky briefly won’t wake up, Nicky making sure to tell Joe that he’s glad he’s awake in the lab, the whole post-Keane fight scene that I talked about above, the way Nicky fights ferociously to get to Joe when Merrick’s stabbing him, etc. For that to be given to the queer couple, where the strength of their love and devotion is reinforced as one of the emotional goals of the story, and for that queer couple to be written in the way that Joe and Nicky are, both individually and as a unit, is just so very rare.

Because yes, there’s plenty of drama and angst and pain in their lives, but there’s none at all in their relationship, and that’s what fans keep telling TV writers the whole time: they WANT to see the couple confront things as a unit, rather than being kept on tenterhooks the whole time and forced to go through manufactured or artificial drama. It would feel especially wrong for Joe and Nicky, who have known and loved each other for 900 years. The fact that their respective actors also put so much care and love into them is very obvious, and makes me feel even luckier that they’re played by people who clearly get them and honor them and know what they’re doing.

Basically: of course Joe and Nicky have been with each other the whole time, and of course we’re all drowning in feelings over it, and I feel very blessed that this ship exists, and I very much need the sequel ASAP. Thanks.

#the old guard meta #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #long post #roseoswiins #ask

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bubonickitten · 4 years

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Relistening to TMA yet again (new hyperfixation, what can I say), and I can’t emphasize enough how much these early episodes kill me.

Because for a long time, Jon doesn’t realize what he’s becoming. And yeah, that’s obvious -- but it’s even more heartbreaking on a relisten, because he senses that something is off, but from his perspective the changes are so incremental that he doesn’t realize how much he’s changing until he’s in too deep.

He finds himself getting attached to this tape recorder (even when he initially hated it), but tries not to think too hard about that. He’s becoming obsessed with recording everything, and tells himself that he’s doing it for posterity’s sake. Jon is adept at using outward denial to hide his inner, nonstop, overthinking doubt. (Eventually it escalates to full-blown paranoid information gathering, which I think is where the Eye’s influence really starts to show, but more on that later.)

At first, it’s a safe half-lie (or at least not full-truth) to tell himself. He’s an academic, a researcher. He no doubt has a deep appreciation for the preservation of history, for the documentation of human experience -- that part is probably true. It’s how he makes sense of the world (and that started when he was a child, when the main way he interacted with the world was through books). And let’s be honest, the man is a nerd, and (I say this lovingly and with a tendency to infodump myself) he was probably prone to infodumping long before he became the Archivist. (Giving a Wikipedia summary of emulsifiers at a coworker’s birthday party, anyone?)

But beneath all that, Jon is just... scared. And Jonathan Sims comes to fear a lot of things, but one of his first fears was being forgotten. So it’s no wonder he takes so well to the compulsion to record, document, archive.

Makes sense; he was, by his own admission, emotionally neglected as a child. And sometimes harassed. He chalked it up to being “a deeply annoying child,” which -- oof, no wonder he acts like an ass sometimes. Even if he was adept at social interaction (which he’s not), keeping people at arm’s length can feel a lot safer than letting them close and risking rejection when they decide you’re too much to handle.

Point is, being ignored or ostracized was already painful, but it became his normal. Being forgotten, though, would be a existentially terrifying step beyond that.

All of this is put into even starker relief after “A Guest For Mr. Spider.” At 8 years old he witnessed someone get snatched from the world without a trace – someone ten years his senior, who died because he made the choice to torment Jon and just did so at the exact wrong moment (or perhaps right? Maybe the Web decided that early that Jon was more useful alive). But despite the fact that it was his bully, Jon has survivor’s guilt over it. He feels responsible. He admits that it’s illogical for him to think he could have done anything differently—he was eight—but he still comes out of that experience with the fundamental belief that being forgotten would be a unique kind of punishment that he believes even his bully didn’t deserve.

It’s such a raw, vulnerable moment when he finally admits it out loud: “Because I’m scared, Martin!” All that denial was external, and so fragile that it took one panicked moment for him to drop the veneer. But internally? Jokes about his obliviousness aside -- and, yes, in a lot of ways, Jon is that smart dumbass -- he’s got some self-awareness. He’s put two and two together, realized that the “real” statements don’t record digitally. He’s seen the artifact storage. He’s had a Leitner-based trauma, like so many statement givers. He’s just scared and he Does. Not. Want. To. Talk. About. It.

He tries to hide it early on behind a cold, stoic academic demeanor, but that… doesn’t last long, and once that veneer drops, he absolutely spirals into open paranoia and fear. And going forward, he really doesn’t hide his terror much. When he’s threatened, we hear him beg for his life. Even when he thinks the world might be better off without him, he still doesn’t want to die. He’s afraid of death, and after S1, he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. (I really appreciate a horror protagonist who shows fear even when they’re trying to be brave.)

So, by the end of S1, we get to see him start to admit that his new obsessive behavior is not just a detached academic interest, or his workaholic urge to do his job well. It’s because he’s scared. But beyond that, through S2 and into S3, he starts to admit that beneath that, there’s something else going on. His rapidly escalating paranoia spiral is due to trauma, as well as the realization that Gertrude was murdered, as well as the general sense of uneasiness and distrusts that permeates the Institute (the Eye loves that shit), but also, honestly?? I think this is where the Eye starts to really get a grip on him. The Ceaseless Watcher, the fear of, in Gerry’s words, “needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you. The feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.”

Beyond the tape recorder obsession, Jon doesn’t seem to notice early on that when he reads statements, it’s almost like he’s in a trance. (I think one of the first episodes where he starts to notice this is actually in MAG 32, when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ statement. His introduction to the statement is shaky, stilted, like he’s dreading it; when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ words, it’s like he’s channeling her tone and delivery in a far more extreme way than he has before; and when he’s done, he’s clearly unsettled by the experience.)

(Another thing that stands out to me on a relisten is his tone shift when talking to Elias in MAG 40 -- he has an almost dreamy, trancelike delivery of the line: “Tens of thousands of... things without mouths screaming as one.” Like he’s reliving a flashback, yes, but there’s something else in his delivery of that line that continues to show up in his later spooky-Archivist-powers moments. And Elias pauses, and I can only imagine him thinking in that moment, all smug and conniving, Good. Jon is starting to become The Archivist.)

And, of course, Jon also doesn’t notice when he starts being able to compel statements--which is kind of funny, because my first thought when listening to early statements was, “How are all these statements so detailed and coherent? Did all these statement givers take creative writing classes or something?” But Jon doesn’t really seem to question that at first. It becomes more clear when the archive assistants try to take statements -- the statement givers can’t stay on topic, can’t remember details, can’t relive the moment in the same way they can if they’re forced to through compulsion. Adelard Dekker mentions that in one of his letters to Gertrude, too. It’s also sad, though, because he kept getting accused of forcing people to answer questions when he didn’t realize he was doing it (e.g. his interviews with Basira, Daisy, and Jude).

It’s just... such a gradual downward spiral. And yeah, there’s something tragic about that--and it isn’t going to end well; this is a horror-tragedy story after all--but one of the things I like about Jon is that he works so, so hard to change and become a better person in spite of what the Beholding is trying to turn him into.

I’m getting way off-topic. Basically, Jonny Sims is... very good at character development, and it’s fun to relisten and start to pick out the moments when things start to go wrong, the little details that maybe didn’t stand out so much on my first listen. Admittedly I, much like Jon Sims, have my own little conspiracy corkboard flavor of overthinking, so some of this might just be me reading too far into it. But still, I like all the layers going on here.

#tma meta #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #tma spoilers #long post #also. in s2. jonathan sims has never had a paranoid episode before and IT SHOWS. he is Not Prepared #don't get me started on neurodivergent jon sims but like. dang. that paranoia spiral #big relatable mood

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #rk800 dbh x reader #falselywrites #crosspost from main acc

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oidickhead · 3 years

Text

Aight the time has come

TMA / DIVINE COMEDY META POST

inspired by @soaringsearingphoenix

I loved their idea and really think they're onto something with that, there are quite a few parallels in the whole Two Men, One Of Which Non-Mortal and with Absolute, Supernatural Knowledge, Going Through an Hellscape.

Source for this is gonna be the three years I spent studying the Divine Comedy as part of my Classics high school degree, and also the hyperfixation I had on it when I was 12 - buckle up!

The thing I really love about the Divine Comedy and the way Dante describes the soul in Inferno (hell) specifically is the lack of judgement which seems so counterintuitive like

Medieval Europe was a time where mankind - and especially writers - abode rules very strictly, subjectivity and personal feelings weren't something important. Writing was symbolic. I think it's something people overlook a lot when they do those "Dante just wrote a self insert fic!" posts about the Divine Comedy and similar like yes yes absolutely he did and he got to hang out with his literary bud Virgil, but to him that was very different than what self insert fics are to us today. He's writing himself as a symbol for all humanity (he's well intentioned, but a cishet white man nonetheless), and then he needed someone to show him around. A dead person that to him represented Moral and Knowledge so naturally he goes "oh yeah Virgil is that. Obviously." - TO HIM that's simply the most obvious thing because Virgil is the author of the Epic Poem that founded Roman culture, the Aeneid, so if he's gonna write the next Epic Poem to found Florence/Italy's value (Italy wasn't a thing yet but he still uses the word) he HAS to be guided by who did it before him.

Jonny Sims does know his fair share of classical myth as proved by his work with the Mechs, Ulysses dies at Dawn has some slightly niche references that did impress me (I don’t know a lot of the mechs’ creative process tho so it might just not be him writing those bits in the album?)

I don't know if any of this is useful for metas but I definitely do think the fact that Virgil does not get to be in Heaven at all, no matter how good he is, is interesting if we compare it to Jon because he is doing his Best to not eat people, and not give in to his nature, but eventually we all know it is not gonna go well. In the Divine Comedy - Purgatory specifically - Dante has to leave Virgil behind before going to Heaven, and it's one of the most tear jerking bits of the whole work. We read it in class and there were literally 30 teens sobbing.

But this is a massive tangent on the issue of judgement which is where I think the juicy TMA parallel can also be bc as I was saying everything in medieval times follows very specific rules. The rules the Church has decided, and the Church is seen to be the absolute power of God.

So no matter how Dante feels about morality, that Truth is there. An excellent example of this is the circle of Sodomy - aka homosexuality: there Dante finds his teacher, a person he loved and admired. He feels immensely sorry for him and he shows him all the affection and respect he has for him. This most likely reflects Dante's real, personal opinion on homosexuality. however if the Church and therefore God says u go to hell for being gay, it's out of Dante's hands. U go to hell. So he cannot change that, even in a text that he himself is writing, cause it’s not about his own pov at all - he's writing a poem to reflect the word of God and he's showing how even "sinners" are just human and some sinners did literally NOTHING wrong on a human level but still end up there.

I think when it comes to TMA this is pretty similar to how Jon feels about the Avatars. Some of them are awful evil people eaters like Not!Sasha, and some sort of stumbled into it and while they might not be great people it's really not their fault either (the kid I can't remember the name of, or Oliver Banks, and so on)

And they all ARE monsters in the same way Jon also is a monster and doesn't really shy away from that anymore, but also there isn't that much judgement in that state of monstrousness. Sometimes no matter what you do you end up in Hell.

(Also the “punishments” work in a very Dantesque way where what you were most afraid of in your past life is coming back to torment you forever.)

So anyways this was my piece, thank you for coming to my ted talk, honestly can’t wait to have my ass handed over to me on a plate by some Jon kinnie who hyperfixates on medieval history and has to Wellacthsually me, this is not me mocking you or asking you not to do it I am a Martin Kinnie, if I’m wrong please break me with your FACTS I think that’s very HOT

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archive #the magnus archives is a podcast #podcast #magpod #tma meta #divine comedy #tma divine comedy #what even are these tags #do not archive

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lovecorebutch · 3 years

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🎥(cinematic)🎶💔🏳️‍🌈💎💢

sorry i keep meaning to do this and then get distracted/i accidentally closed out once T_T thank you for sending!!!

anyway! for league! this got long so it’s under the cut hehe

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

the leona and diana cinematic... just the sheer Longing and how it’s clear both of them want things to be different. also the parts with leona and ahri in a new dawn, how leona is so brave and protective. i also love awaken and warriors. that one shot of camille racing towards jhin as he bows is amazing.

🎶 if your hyperfixation has songs/an ost, what is your favorite song from it?

so many good songs so i’ll pick a variety! nami’s theme, light and shadow, dark cosmic jhin theme, aphelios theme, villain, the mako remix of piercing light.

💔 tell us about one of your LEAST favorite characters and why you dislike them.

personally i have the fight reflex towards thresh and hecarim, because i’m really attached to senna and kalista and also just... they are so shockingly cruel in general. thresh tormenting so many people for so long. hecarim murdering someone who trusted him, someone who was just trying to do the right thing. i like a compellng villain every now and then, i’m fond of aatrox for an example from the same source, but... i just can’t seem to feel any positive emotion toward either of those two.

🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you?

i wish someone would outright say leona is wlw. that’s... ambiguously canon but my specific headcanon/me being a kinnie for leona is that she’s a butch nonbinary lesbian. they also should confirm taliyah is trans. possibly xin zhao is intentionally implied mlm especially in “what once sailed free” but i’m not sure. for less heavily implied, i love nonbinary wlw soraka, trans man braum, and nonbinary bard.

for neurodivergent stuff... honestly kindred is a copey kin for me, i relate to them because i have dependent personality disorder and have (had to varying degrees of intensity over time) dissociative traits; their backstory of intense loneliness and being created from the pain of one being gets to me; i still get teary thinking about their conversations in the event earlier this year. i also view older lore soraka (where she was attacked by warwick) as having ptsd, this is important to me. i like that version of her story better- the way she holds onto her compassion and desire to help people even after such a betrayal is very moving.

💎 are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share?

YES i could ramble so much but here’s some interesting things about the star guardian/magical girl setting!

zoe’s eye mark, starry/diamond-y actually most closely resembles soraka’s! neeko also has unusual eye marks, but they’re more rounded. these three are the only ones to have different pupils/etc. soraka also intentionally has an eight point star, and the rest of her team has 4 point stars. neeko does have small eight point stars in part of her outfit, but the most prominent one is only eight point in her prestige edition, where she is more powerful/reached more of her potential. Much to think about

another thing is that poppy is the only star guardian to have no familiar shown so far! lux’s familiar has been shown in art but is commonly in staff form, and the others have one or more familiars (multiple familiars = more of a wild card star guardian, such as jinx and syndra) shown, but poppy’s familiar is always just the hammer. some speculate that the pig star guardian little legend might be her familiar, but i’m more inclined/hopeful to believe that one is a familiar for a sejuani star guardian skin in the future.

💢 what do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

players go afk/get toxic too often, it’s frustrating. also i keep hoping for better, more widely diverse representation. i think there’s slow progress i just... get tired of waiting and want more than the crumbs of lgbt representation. + specific things like how when they replaced xin zhao’s old splash art he was shown with significantly paler skin, and the swain rework handled his physical disability uncomfortably, like... idk. it rubs me the wrong way that you can’t really tell in game anymore, especially with what they said about it. i still love the game overall, and want them to keep moving in the right direction and change existing harmful stuff.

#asks #i can get to the other one later! probably i'll do ffxiv for that one #TY AGAIN i love getting the chance to talk about this... special kinterest #catboylux

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pointedly-foolish · 4 years

Text

[ вut "sєntímєntαl вσч" ís mч nσm dє plumє ]

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

you did what you were designed to do.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesis only gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my art tag or my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human #connor detroit: become human #connor x reader #connor dbh #connor rk800 #falsely writes

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textsfromtheborderline · 6 years

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I'm gonna be honest: I like your posts a lot, think they're informative and look good. The reason I don't follow you/RB any of your posts is because you once made a post where you referred to "narcissistic abuse", a term that unfairly stigmatises NPD. However, since then I think you may have deleted it, and have made posts that indicate you don't support the stigma against NPD. Basically, what I'm asking is, do you believe narcissistic abuse is a valid term? (If i got the wrong person, my bad!)

Hey, thanks for asking!

I deeply appreciate that you like my inforgraphics.

I never made a post referringto “Narcissistic abuse;” it was in the original FAQ page of my blog whereI used it to describe my experiences with my NPD/ASPD abuser. Rest assured,I’ll be addressing this concept and your question in a much more detailed and impactful way in the not too distant future…

For now, I will say that no,I do not believe any longer that “Narcissistic abuse” (or Borderlineabuse, for that matter) is a valid term.

Why I used tothink it was valid:

I had never before in my life encountered such cruel emotionalabuse + manipulation. It completely crushed me. I was ignorant to thisparticular mental illness. Once I identified the behaviour of my abuser (thanksGoogle!), Narcissistic abuse seemed the appropriate term to describe my livedexperiences and the bewildering behaviour of NPD.I initially simply thought that “My abuser is a Narcissist” + “abuse” = Narcissisticabuse. I didn’t really think of it as being a part of stigma or its own specialcategory until I started finding out about the experiences of other abusesurvivours.

The articles, vlogs, books, and blogs I’d relied on for informationwhile I was going No Contact and just beginning my recovery process allconfirmed that Narcissistic abuse was quite distinct from run-of-the-millabuse. I thought that so many similar experiences could not all be wrong. The most prominent reasons offered were: 1) Narcissists are inherently abusive;they exist to torment unsuspecting people so everyone is a potential SupplySource/victim2) Narcissists prey upon HSP/Empaths inparticular, which makes the abuse distinct, insidious, and especiallydestructive.Of course, I’ll point out that these two statements are highly contradictoryand present a black + white/ good vs. evil narrative that honestly has no placewhen it comes to discussing mental health in an open, honest and well informedway. It is difficult and impractical to moralize mental illness.Now before I knew about my BPD, HSP/Empath was the first concept Iencountered that really reflected my inner processes since childhood. It turnedout to be correct, along with BPD. But I didn’t have all the information Ishould have had, so the context within which I was processing information aboutmyself and about NPD was skewed.

My own painful experiences + misinformation=prejudice. Honestly, Ididn’t want to consider that what hadhappened to me was simply “ordinary” abuse. It still felt far too significantin my life, and affected me personally on such a deep level, that I felt thatto consider it anything other than “Narcissistic abuse” dismissed + invalidatedmy experiences. I thought Narcissists were trying to excuse abuse and tomanipulate perception of their disorder. I never cared to consider the stigmabecause I was too wrapped up in my own experiences.

This was my perspective until very recently, when I started thisblog.

Why I don’tthink it’s valid anymore:

Learning about my BPD was the catalyst for me starting tochallenge stigma. I got sick and tired of being labelled a “demon” or “monster.”Especially since the way I live completely contradicts those labels. I have never abused anyone, and I never will-mental illness or no. I’d had enough of the misinformation, distortions, outright lies, and lack ofresources for Borderlines. I wanted to make a difference. So here I am justtrying my best in hopes that it helps.

Other Narcissists and abuse survivours writing to me and gentlyexplaining that there was no such thing as Narcissistic abuse. I was able toconsider their perspective this time because I had hit a “recovery wall:” Iwasn’t progressing with healing or knowledge, I was stagnating. The reason why is because I found that the online recovery community was nolonger helping; it was frightening me with the toxic, misinformed, and franklyhateful + dogmatic rhetoric being spread under the guise of “recovery.”Where I once found solidarity, I now found the very same emotions I was tryingto heal from: anger, despair, confusion, and rage. These people were no longermy fellow abuse survivours. I saw them for what they were: people stuck andhyperfixated on their suffering, blinded by emotion, professing to a truth theythought was complete, but actually doing more harm than good.While I still check up on a few YouTube channels, I do it because these arefocused on recovery and healthy coping mechanisms, not on demonizing Narcissistsand wallowing in the aftermath of abuse. But even then, I take them with agrain of salt.It also bothers me that so many channels/blogs/authors monetize their preciousknowledge. That kind of vulture-like opportunism on the suffering + desperationof victims hurts us all.Fundamentally, any kind of “knowledge” about BPD and NPD that does not includean open, honest discussion between non-personality disordred people (abusevictims or not) and personality disordered people, cannot truly be knowledge because it’s missing key information +perspectives of the Cluster B community.That’s why I became disillusioned with the recovery community. Ifind them all so amusing and pathetic now. In my opinion (which may be harsh),the survivours who are truly committed to recovery and moving on have checkedout of that toxic community and are learning + healing on their own terms.

I wasn’t furious or in pain anymore; my hate and despair hadburned out. I was ready to truly moveon. And moving on meant acknowledging that I had gaping holes in my knowledge.It was time to humble myself and learn once again.

So when I was told to consider Narcissistic abuse as invalid, I actually listened.

The term “Narcissistic abuse” is invalid because while the abuse aperson experienced is real and valid, itis not its own special category. There isno disorder that makes someone abusive. Abuse is a choice that is made mynon-disordered and disordered people alike.Mentally ill people, particularly Cluster Bs, do need to managepotentially dangerous symptoms. But they are not inherently abusive. It’s also important to keep in mind that moreoften than not, they are actually the ones beingabused.

So ultimately, “Narcissistic abuse” does more harm than goodbecause to blame a disorder for the choice to inflict abuseis just taking the blame off the abuser. They are at fault for whatthey did, and to use their disorder as a reason for why they did it is givingthem an out.

To be clear, I contributed heavily in my own way to the stigmaagainst NPD (and I will also be talking about this openly in the near future aswell). I said some hateful and quite ignorant things to my abuser. I dehumanizedher in order to fully go No Contact. She was not a person, I convinced myself,she was a Narcissist and therefore Iwas allowed to dismiss her thoughts, feelings, and experiences. It was the only (wrong) way I thought wasavailable to me at the time.

I felt completely justified because I was furious and in terriblepain from the abuse; I was betrayed by my best friend and partner of sevenyears, and it just felt righteous to lash out. I don’t take those things back,but I do wish I had been able to reach a reasonable, calm state of mind inorder to truly understand. The situation did not permit it at the time. But it’s been two years of NoContact. Two years filled with tears, learning, growth, victories, andknowledge. I realize now that I was misinformed and even plainly wrong aboutwhat I once thought I knew. That’s okay, because here I am now.

As far as I’m concerned, my abuser can rot in hell. I am happy tohave finally reached a point in my recovery process where I am completely emotionallydetached from her and absolutely cannot care less about anything to do with her(which is a big deal for me so I celebrate it).

No Contact has served me well, and will continue to do so. Istrongly encourage + support everyone to go No Contact with abusive Narcissists and Borderlines.But that is precisely the distinction: having the knowledge and understandingavailable in order to separate the abusers from the genuinely decent Cluster Bpeople, which in my experience is the majority of us.

But that’s an important discussion for another time.

I hope this answers your question!

#thank you for asking!#anon #q + a #bpd #npd #actuallyborderline #acutallybpd #mental illness #abuse #healing #recovery #actuallynpd #actuallynarcissistic #textsfromtheborderline

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twistedrunes · 6 years

Text

A note on fics and requests

Hello friends!

I’m writing this today in the spirit of fostering a happy and ongoing relationship between us.

I can’t begin to tell you all how much I appreciate all of you who follow me, like and/or reblog my stuff. Those of you who send me comments, feedback and asks are my favs (I’m sorry unlike my mother I have favourites). In the past few months since I joined this site, it has become my safe space away from reality. I have found some truly amazing humans who have shown me kindness, support and friendship beyond measure. I have been lucky that thus far I have not encountered any trolls. So Tumblr for me has become my home within my home.

I love that on Tumblr I can share my writing with a wide audience. I love that people will tell me that they enjoy my work, or that they check my account every day to see if I have new stuff. That I’ve made people have feelings or thought differently about something. Getting notifications that a person is reading through the chapters of George honestly makes me smile, watching someone binge is a feeling I can’t even describe.

I love that people value my writing and deem that I may just be able to give life to their ideas. I love when people request work from me and that people send me amazing, brilliant, heartwarming or funny ideas which shoot me off in a creative direction I never thought of (I’m looking at you here Shirts and Performance Anxiety requesters). I like that I can collaborate with people I’ve never met and will like never know beyond an anonymous ask and a keyboard. I view requests as a collaborative work.

I love it all.

The wonder of the Tumblr is that we are all relatively anonymous. I’m sure most of you realise I am not actually a crone who lives under a trap door. You don’t know what I look like, what I do to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly, or much else about me. Although some of you probably have a good idea of my political and social justice views and weirdly, now I think about it, many of you have probably had some insight into my particular “tastes” (okay this is embarrassing now I think about it -- moving on.)

Among the things you don’t know about me is I have depression and anxiety (I don’t like to say I suffer because thankfully there are good days, even weeks or months sometimes). I like to think of them as my very own black dragon or rather a pack (or whatever the correct nomenclature is for a group of dragons - hoard?). Who on occasion sweep in and raze my village to the ground and takes a sheep or villager or two. Unfortunately, my dragons are not quite as sweet as toothless. On the whole, I can keep my dragons in check by providing them with regular offerings and by having my kingdom knights in place to guard against them (sleep, regular meals, medication, therapy etc).

But, in the past few months my dragons have deemed these offerings insufficient and have been raiding more and more often and my knights have suffered catastrophic loses. So I am alone with my sword against the hoard. A battle worthy of the Grecian epics has been waged and fair to say my sword has not been as swift or sharp as I would have liked and the hoard has redoubled their efforts. I am tormented on a daily if not hourly basis. These battles have worn me down and worn me out and currently, I am quite literally bunkered down in my hovel.

I have a love-hate relationship with my brain and my dragons. My brain has helped me create some work I’m really proud of. I’ve run a business and worked in some amazing places where amazing things were happening. I graduated from Uni with first class honours and am working my way through a PhD. Hyperfixation helped me write 60,000 words of my fic George in just a few weeks. I like to think that sometimes I’m funny or witty and that I can have some empathy for others who have their own struggles. Other times my brain convinces me that I am stupid, mean, inadequate, unworthy or just plain unlovable, even unlikeable (I’ll stop there but know given the chance I would write a thousand things). I have significant issues with ‘rejection’ and it causes me physical pain and great mental distress to feel I have made anyone feel any of these things.

So why does this matter to any of you? Well, really it doesn’t. BUT, I need to start rejecting some of the requests in my inbox. I need to reject them because having ones I don’t feel I can do in my inbox is stressing me out. But, my dragons have me convinced that I will hurt peoples feelings or that they won’t like me if I do this. The intellectual part of my brain knows that for the most part, this isn’t true, but it’s hard to be intellectual when dragons are burning down your village and trying to eat you. But I have to change something.

So going forward:

* I’ll be cleaning out my inbox of any current requests I don’t think I can do.

* I will reply to your request I won’t just delete them

* I will keep my requests open - but if after a week or so the request hasn’t sparked anything off on my brain I’ll respond and let you know that I can’t do it, I will try to explain why (if it’s a reason beyond - I have no idea what to do with this.

* However this does not mean you are guaranteed your requested fic within a week or any other set time period, just that I’m keeping it on my “to do” list.

* I am happy to have a dialogue with you about your request, but remember I am not a monkey (paid, trained or otherwise who can just churn out fics)

IMPORTANT NOTE:

Me rejecting your request does not mean I think its, dumb, stupid or anything beyond, I don’t have a plan or idea for what to do with this. Basically the ‘prompt’ has not prompted any ideas for me or I know someone has already done a similar request that I don’t have anything ‘new’ to add. Or if its something I’m not comfortable writing about.

The only reason I will reject a request because of ‘you’ is if I know the same request has been sent to multiple authors. Because when people do that it’s not a collaboration. There aren’t many peaky writers out there are we tend to read each other’s work and we talk to each other, often discussing ideas so we tend to notice.

So, in summary, I appreciate all of you, I love getting requests and feedback from you all and I hope we can keep working together going forward.

The above is not a cry for help or an attempt at garnering sympathy, simply an attempt at an open dialogue.

TLDR: If I reject your request it’s not you, it’s me.

Wishing you all a wonderful day/night wherever you are.

‘Twistedrunes xox

#housekeeping #asks #request #twdepression #tw anxiety #tw mental health

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psychologicharacters · 7 years

Text

Psychology of Edward Nygma

Alright, alright. So this one’s a bit of a long and complicated discussion, but for the purposes of this post I’m going to be talking about the version of the Riddler displayed in the TV show Gotham. There are two main things I want to talk about to start off, and I’ll probably make separate posts later going into his MBTI or aspects of his villainy, but for now the two topics I want to discuss are 1) Ed’s apparent autism, and 2) Ed’s background of abuse and trauma and how it shaped his canonical behavior.

To start off, although I don’t have autism or spend a lot of time around people who do, I’m very interested in the topic and have researched autism and similar topics extensively. That being said, this is, of course, nothing like a formal diagnosis or anything; I’m just stating my thoughts and opinions on his behavior based on what I know.

Edward has a lot of trouble with social cues, recognizing tone and facial expressions, and inferring emotional information from indirect or vague statements. Some examples of this are:  - when he’s pursuing Kristen Kringle in S1: he can’t see the cues in her tone and expressions that would alert him to the fact that she doesn’t want to be around him - when talking to harvey or jim in S1: he doesn’t see their distaste for his riddles and video game discussion, trying again and again to lead conversations with these topics until harvey directly tells him he isn’t interested - the very first time he meets oswald: he follows him around the station and tries to engage in conversation multiple times despite clear cues from penguin that he doesn’t want to talk - when he tries to rearrange kristen’s office in S1: he has good intentions, thinking he’ll help her by arranging it in a way that makes sense to him, but the cues that she doesn’t want him to touch her things go over his head right up until she has a breakdown after he takes it all apart - when he can’t sense that kristen’s boyfriend is making fun of him

There are more examples, but we’ll stick with these for now. This pattern of failing to recognize and understand social cues is typical to many types of autism, but especially Asperger’s.

Ed is also highly intelligent with special interests in puzzles, riddles, and human anatomy. Although not necessarily characteristic to Asperger’s, high intelligence is common among those with Asperger’s, which is sometimes referred to as being an autistic savant. Special interests, similar to hyperfixations in the ADHD community, are a part of autism. Ed is almost compulsively drawn to puzzles and riddles in every aspect of his life, and his interest in and intelligence for human anatomy (autopsies, in this case) leads him to get into trouble in S1 when he performs several unordered ones despite being in forensic analysis instead of autopsy.

Although not canonically explored, I believe that Ed most likely has some sensory issues common in autistic and ADHD people, including a compulsion to stim. In S1 especially, his wardrobe consists of very similar sweaters and pants, which could be an indication that those materials are the most comfortable to him in a sensory way. He’s also seen chewing on pens and sometimes his finger or fingernail, especially when he’s thinking, which is a mild form of stimming.

Now, onto the topic of Ed’s childhood. In the comics and other adaptations of Batman, he was physically and emotionally abused/neglected by his father from early childhood on. Most adaptations say that it was because his father was heavily narcissistic and insecure and was jealous of Ed’s intelligence. I’m pretty sure he was also an alcoholic. Either way, the main points of Ed’s father’s abuse are that: 1) he physically beat Ed and told him he was a liar when he showed intelligence; 2) he punished Ed for lying; and 3) he isolated and alienated Ed from his family and from having a father figure.

Abuse trauma is a very difficult and complicated thing that is experienced differently for everyone. Some people can even psychologically repress the experiences if they were young enough at the time. As sad as it is, I believe that Ed’s trauma became a center point of his personality in many ways.

I believe that, as a result of his autism and childhood abuse, Ed grew up isolated from and bullied by his peers and his family, unable to clearly learn right from wrong by example, misunderstood and looked over by adults, and terrified of upsetting authority figures. This lead to a few things: a compulsive need to tell the truth, a compulsive need to show his intelligence (or narcissism), and an inability to healthily release anger and sadness. Ed’s need to tell the truth stems from his trauma - his learned behavior was that lying, or perceived lying, = pain. This is, in my opinion, what produced his compulsion for riddles. When asked by the police if he knows where Jim Gordon is in S2 or 3 (I can’t remember), Ed answers first with yes, then no, then a riddle to which the answer is “home”. He is deeply shaken when Lucius Fox figures out his riddle and goes to search his apartment, suggesting that he either didn’t think they could guess the answer or that they would ignore his riddles like most people do. This phenomenon of supplying a riddle in place of an answer happens frequently throughout the show. I believe that it’s Ed’s subconscious finding a loophole in his learned behavior logic: if he answers questions with another question, he can technically never lie.

Ed’s narcissism is another key point to his personality. In my theory, the narcissism developed as a defense mechanism in response to the overwhelming isolation and torment he experienced as a child and even still. If someone insults him, his brain simply refuses to accept it, instead twisting it so that Ed can safely revel in the fact that he’s smarter than everyone and everyone who says those things about him is obviously so below him in intelligence that their words aren’t even worth listening to. In this same vein, his compulsion to prove his intelligence, most likely born from a deep and primal need to finally impress his father and get him to love his son, is often the very thing that gets him caught. When forging Kristen’s boyfriend’s goodbye note in S1, Ed literally can’t resist leaving a mark of his genius on his work, resulting in the first letters of every line in the letter spelling “NYGMA”. This ultimately leads to his incrimination in the man’s murder. This compulsion is, in my opinion, also where the famous green question mark comes from. Leaving a sign of his intelligence is irresistible as a serial criminal, but it’s also a driving force leftover from his childhood abuse.

Lastly, Ed’s inability to express his anger and sadness appropriately leads to the creation of a second personality who taunts, berates, and threatens him before and throughout S1. Terrified of his own violence and anger because of his home environment, he repressed the negative feelings so hard that they manifested themselves in the form of another Ed. Throughout S1, Ed is seen arguing with his other self and seemingly trying his best to separate the violent, confident, dangerous Ed from his docile and awkward main personality. The fusion of the two personalities in the end of S1 is what “creates” The Riddler, resulting in the scarily composed, incredibly manipulative, dangerously unpredictable Edward Nygma we know and (mostly) love.

I think I covered everything I wanted to say for this post. Let me know if anyone has any questions or comments about anything said here. Thanks!

#edward nygma #ed nygma #the riddler #batman #psychology #character analysis #abuse #autism #my posts

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pointedly-foolish · 5 years

Text

[ вut "sєntímєntαl вσч" ís mч nσm dє plumє ]

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gender-neutral!reader

genre: slight fluff; angst with sad ending

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy. you did what you were designed to do. memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat, scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was no longer. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesis only gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

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