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7-wonders · 4 years

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Wilted Roses Smell Just as Sweet

So I don’t know if this will be a prologue for an actual story, or if it’s just backstory, but this is that Beauty and the Beast AU I was talking about last week. Let me know what you think!

The butterfly effect, commonly found in pop culture, is the idea that the smallest action can result in bigger changes later in time. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings leading to a tornado is a popular example, and many people believe that the butterfly theory and karma go hand in hand. Although scientists and mathematicians have attempted to quantify the results of the butterfly effect, that directly contradicts the chaos theory from which the butterfly effect stems.

For the entirety of his life, Duncan Shepherd has found no reason to believe in any sort of cosmic effect. When you live a privileged life, there’s really no reason to believe that what you do will result in a different outcome. He already has everything, and has for his whole life, so it does no good to imagine what it would be like to have nothing. In retrospect, he should have paid more attention in the Intro to Psych class that he was forced to take to fulfill a general education requirement in college. Hindsight, however, is 20/20.

One simple fact had caused Duncan to decide that he needed a break. One simple fact had prompted Duncan to steal away to one of the family’s many homes, a large country home in the woods of the Appalachian Mountains. One simple fact had frozen Duncan’s heart into a block of ice, although one could make the argument that he held no warmth long before he learned that he was adopted.

The words still stung to think about. Adopted. Not truly a Shepherd. Being adopted is, in and of itself, not a bad thing. The way that Duncan’s “family” treated the adoption, illegally obtaining a child and erasing any trace of his true parentage, made it seem as though it was something dirty.

After learning the truth, Duncan’s world had completely tilted on its axis. Unsure of what to do next, the only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t bear to be around Annette or Bill for a while. He needed to get out of the poisonous city that was Washington, D.C. and clear his head. Luckily, the Shepherds own a multitude of houses in a variety of locations for him to choose from. Deciding that the seclusion of a forest was what would be most conducive to his recovery, Duncan chose to hide out in one of the family’s larger homes. Nestled within the Pennsylvanian Appalachian Mountains, the sheer size and splendor made it more of a chateau than a house. It was the perfect location to get away for awhile.

And so, the heir to the burgeoning Shepherd dynasty holed himself away in the hopes that a good month of sleeping, drinking, barking orders at the staff, and solitude would do him some good. Annette didn’t have much of a choice but to let him go; if she lost her son, she lost any chance she had at securing power for years to come.

Small actions resulting in bigger changes further down the line. The decision not to tell Duncan he was adopted led to the explosive revelation by the President in an attempt to wound the family. The confrontation between mother and son, uncle and nephew, brother and sister, was followed by Duncan’s need for space.

Three weeks had passed since Duncan shut himself away from the world. His odd vacation was coming to an end, and while he couldn’t say that he was eager to return to his family, he did miss the hustle of the political center of the nation. For now, though, he was enjoying every last moment of calm that he could.

It was a surprisingly stormy evening, the wind blowing the trees that surrounded the house in every direction as rain fell upon the property in sheets and lightning cracked through the sky. Duncan had remained in his study for the evening, the fire providing much-needed warmth to the chilly room as he read. If there was one positive stemming from the fallout, it was that he had read more books than he had in years. He had finished Wuthering Heights yesterday, and was already halfway through Frankenstein when a knock at the door disrupted his concentration. Duncan had every intention of letting the evening staff answer the call of whomever had arrived, if only they weren’t strangely absent.

Three separate times, the visitor knocks on the door, and three separate times, Duncan waits for the door to open. By the fourth time, he huffs in resignation and decides that he’ll have to answer the door himself. What’s the point of having staff if they’re not going to do their jobs?, Duncan thinks as he unlocks the door and opens it harshly.

“This is private property, and I will--” Duncan trails off as he tries to take in what he’s seeing. An old woman stands in front of him, a soaked cloak covering her hunched form. Stringy white hair peeks out from the hood, and she smiles at him with a grin that’s missing a few teeth.

“I’m so sorry to bother you this evening,” she says hoarsely, “but I’m lost, and the storm’s getting too bad to walk in. I was wondering if I could use your phone and remain here until I can be collected? It’s cold out, and it’s so easy for a woman of my age to catch pneumonia in these conditions.”

Duncan sneers, put off by the way this elderly woman believes she can just get whatever she wants. Sensing this, she reaches into her cloak and roots around in an attempt to find something.

“I don’t have any money for you, but I do have this.” She produces a red rose in full bloom, looking as if it was just cut from a bush and not at all like it’s been held in the grasp of a sodden woman for hours now.

“You expect me to let a stranger into my house to use my phone and remain here for what could be hours, and in exchange for what? A stupid rose?”

The woman looks taken aback. “I promise you, only the finest roses are cultivated in my garden. Your kindness would surely be rewarded down the line.”

“There’s a ranger station about a mile south of here. They’ll have a phone that you can use, and hopefully some towels. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

The grin that she has been wearing morphs into a scowl. “You would deny an old woman shelter solely due to your whims?”

Duncan rolls his eyes, fed up with this interaction. “I already told you that you’re on private property, and now you’re beginning to test my patience. You’ll find what you need with the forest rangers, but I can’t help you. Goodnight.”

He goes to close the door, mind already wandering to thoughts of where he left off in his book, when a blinding strike of lightning has him throwing his arm over his eyes as he staggers back from the door. The wind whips the heavy wood open like it’s little more than a fragile screen door, the cold chilling Duncan to his very bones. Blinking his eyes to clear the spots that have gathered from the sudden brightness, he’s more than surprised to see that the old woman is gone, replaced by the figure of a glowing, ethereal woman.

There have always been stories of the magic that resides within the wilderness of the Appalachian Mountains, but Duncan had always taken them with a hefty grain of salt. After all, there’s no way that magic is real. It’s a fairy tale, a bedtime story told to children to ward off nightmares. Staring at what used to be an elderly woman, however, there’s no other answer to what she could be than an enchantress.

“Less eager to turn me away now, aren’t you?” Her red lips are twisted in a cruel smirk, the wind forcing Duncan to his knees in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I--I didn’t know…”

“What, you didn’t know that I was actually beautiful? If I would have shown up at your door in this form, you would have let me use your phone without any sort of hesitation.” It’s not a question: she’s seen into his very soul, and knows just as well as he how he would have reacted if it had been the beautiful young woman who knocked on his door.

“No, it’s just--”

“Silence,” she commands. “I have seen what lies in your heart. It’s cold and dark, with no love to be found. You carry such beauty on the outside, but it does not extend inwards. Your dutiful staff is treated as if they’re invisible, so what difference will it make if they are? If you want to act like a beast, Duncan Shepherd, then a beast you shall be.”

Pain rips through Duncan’s body, leaving him helpless to question how she knows his name or what she means.

“Until you can learn to love, and be loved in return, you shall outwardly display the beastliness that lies within your heart. And this rose, which you so quickly spurned, shall serve as a reminder of this curse. It will continue to bloom until your thirty fifth birthday. If you are unable to break the curse by then, you will die when the last petal falls off of the rose.”

Another bright crack of lightning has Duncan falling backwards. It’s as if there’s a tornado whipping through his home, and combined with the overwhelming pain he’s feeling, he can’t tell which way is up or down. The wind reaches a fever pitch along with his pain, and Duncan passes out before he can even attempt to fight back.

The light burns through his eyelids when Duncan finally regains consciousness. He’s sprawled on the floor in the entryway, but when he tries to remember how he ended up here, his memory is fuzzy. He must have had a bit too much to drink last night, and he’s certainly paying for it now. Staggering to his feet, the only thing on Duncan’s mind is getting some water to soothe his burning throat. After that order of business is taken care of, he’ll worry about getting one of the maids to close the blinds.

It’s when he runs a hand through his hair that Duncan begins to get the impression that something’s wrong. Is it possible for hair to grow so much in one night? His locks must fall to at least his chin now, when last night they were so neatly kept. Trailing down to his face, he feels more facial hair than the artful stubble he normally sported.

His heart begins to race when he once again inspects his hair, finding hard protrusions on top of his head that end in points. Racing to find a mirror, Duncan gasps when he looks at his shaking hands. Impossibly, they look sizes bigger, and his nails are fucking claws. The ornate mirror hung on the wall of the hallway reveals a truth that Duncan was certain had been a dream.

His hair and beard is wild and unkempt, almost reminding Duncan of fur. Jet black horns jut out of the top of his head, their points shining in the light of the hallway. When Duncan opens his mouth to let out an exclamation of fear and call for help, he instead screams at the sight of fangs in his mouth.

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd au #beauty and the beast au #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine

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creaturecarnival · 4 years

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Fallout’s Plants

A post nuclear wasteland isn’t exactly a botanist's dream, but the Fallout universe makes that anything but untrue. I fell in love with the franchise around the time I was 14, after a prophetic dream about Mobile homes. I bought New Vegas, died a lot, and then went on to only ever play fallout 3 until I figured out how to be Good at Video Games. Fallout 4 came out not too long after, and my hype for the franchise has stuck. Don’t get me wrong, the games are awful, but when has something like that ever stopped me before?

A botanist's guide to the Wasteland

Fallout plants

Venus Man-eaters- Cordyceps aren’t the only thing mutated in that vault. Venus Flytraps had to get in on the action too!! They aren’t actually called venus man-eaters in the game, no, they’re called “Spore Plants.” But that’s lame and I’ve personally retconned their name. You can thank me later, Todd. They look like absolute goofballs. They hack up and spitooy a glob of green spore stuff at you, and are a blast to fight. They’re actually in the second fallout, and you can rip off their spikes to use as a little knife!

Sundews- Sundews are literally the reason I even purchased Fallout 76. No really, they are. The trailers I saw were interesting enough, they advertised a fun little game of exploration and survival. Yeah, i’d buy that on sale given the chance. But sundews? Huge, potentially intelligent sundews that lure you into their groves and kill you? I was Immediately hyped. I thought about all the possibilities they could bring. Could they lure you in with high level loot but then act as an ever shifting maze leading you to your eventual starvation? Could they grab onto you and force you to shoot at them?

Stranglers- Part of one of the promotional interviews for fallout 76 mentioned “Intelligent Plants,” heavily implying sundews. PSYCH! It was these orange vine thingys that infest the scariest area of Appalachia: The Mire. It isn’t the most dangerous, however it is a big spooky swamp with the creepiest enemies, squirming gulper salamanders and the Vicious aforementioned Anglers. An event quest allows you to try and defeat the “Heart of the Swamp,” a huge, Little Shop of Horrors plant mouth that summons Strangler infested enemies. Such fun!

Fever Blossom- Fever blossums are really REALLY pretty flowers that you can find in Fo4’s best DLC “Nuka World.” They’re bright blue and they grow on nasty looking stems. But the really kicker is when you’re assigned to go collect them to make a frenzy effect grenade for the Diciples, a raider group known for their intense sadism. You need to go collect fever blossoms to do this, implying that they will make you Angry if ingested. Imagine that. You and your ghoul buddy Steve are wandering the wastes and he dares you to eat this flower, and next thing you know you’re beating the radioactive snot out of him for no actual reason. My kinda thing!

Lure Weed- Lure weeds are a sham. You don’t really need them. It’s not worth the risk, lest you fall prey to the dreaded “Angler.” Lure weed’s whole purpose is look exactly like the protruding lures of the terrible beasts. But the problem is, there’s no real reason to go get lure weed at all! They’re only used to make two consumables, and unless you REALLY want Seasoned Wolf Ribs, it’s best to avoid them altogether

Gutshroom- gutshrooms were added post release, the same time a new (albeit pretty lame) dungeon “the burrows” was. They go hand in hand with actual guts, added to the loot table of small animals at the same time. The concept is fun, if a little unusual. I’m not sure what they’re actually for, though. Are they to make players think they’re in a dangerous area when they’re actually not? Are they supposed to look good and add to the cramped, soggy atmosphere of the sewer system?

Firecap- firecaps are bright orange mushrooms that are found in the forest area of fallout 76. They kinda do look a bit like fire, but not really. I like their almost animal like veins all over them, they’re really neat. There’s not a whole lot to them, but I appreciate their simplicity.

Snaptails- These mutated cattails are the first plant I found and photographed in my Fallout 76 botanical adventure 9000. They’re not much different than regular cattails, other than their flowers have become huge, bloated, and presumably very hard. They hold a special place in my heart, and I make sure to snatch a few when I get the chance.

Ginseng root- hehe it looks like a tiny man

Punga Fruit- Punga fruit is an important aspect of Fallout 3’s DLC “point lookout.” They’re weird looking fruits that are a staple to the diet of the inbred, unfairly powerful hillbilly locals (that and the occasional tourist!) It has a “mother of all Punga” and that’s used to drug the Lone Wanderer so they can cut your brain out. It’s sinister, scary, and probably tastes like farts.

Corpse Flower- YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love these things!!! I’ve always had a fascination with corpse flowers, and when I learned that they were in the game, I wasted no time in trying to photograph them. It was part of an event quest where I tried to defend them from critters, but I am bad at video games, so RIP corpse flowers I guess. I can only imagine how they got into the West Virginia ecosystem!! A zoo? That would explain the sloths! Vault 94? Most likely, but also that’s not as fun as the idea of a potential zoo we could go to in the future! Nuka world’s Ghoulrillas, Brahmiluffs, Gazelles, and Gatorclaws were ok, but I need mORE!!!

Firecracker Berry- Firecracker berries are a wonderful source of food and jumpscares. They have one gimmick: when you get too close, they explode, making tiny high pitched firework noises. Cute!

Glowing Resin- Ok actually, I’m not too confident that this stuff is a plant. Maybe it is? Maybe it's a huge pulsating lichen for all I know. Maybe it’s deathclaw snot. Maybe it’s an excess of radioactive stuff that the tree is expelling out of it’s system in the form of a toxic sap. Who knows! Whatever it is, it looks nasty.

Pitcher Plants- These things can be found in several places in West Virginia, and I don’t like them. Like, there’s nothing wrong, it’s just that they’re so underused. They have basically the same shtick as sundews: they spray a cloud of stinky at you when you get to close. Where’s the fun in that? I wish they did something like antlions where you can’t help but draw close, and you need to kill it before it swallows you whole!!

Glowing Mushrooms- yeah yeah, theres not a whole lot going on with these things. What do they do? Well they glow. That’s pretty much it. They are basically made so that when you go into caves, you arent stuck in pitch black. But the thing about them is that they’re just so….so…. Nice! They’re just quality shrooms living their best life and helping wastelanders and mutants alike navigate the underground.

Brain Fungus- I always wondered what these things actually came from. Mold? Mushrooms? Puffballs? Who knows. I’m not sure what they are, but I love the way they grow; all over walls, clustering around like barnacles. I also love the fact that due to radiation, mushrooms just kind of decided to turn into brains for no decernable reason. I love it.

Tato- Tatos are, by all means and observations, just regular old tomatoes. I don’t think they really have any mutations at all, aside from the strange bendy and twisted stems that are ever so common in post-nuclear plants. I don’t have much to say about this, I really didn’t want to reveiw already existing plants such as corn, broc flowers, aster, etc., but “Tato” just so happens to be the name of our late tomato frog. I had a strange relationship with him, one of my paranoia that my pet would die and one of mutual respect. Rest in Peace tato, you will always find love from me.

FOOTNOTE: this is not in any way all of the plants i had intended. its just that this was supposed to be done like a month ago so i need to do this now, and leave out some stuff

#Mod Brainworm

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varietydisco · 5 years

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Hay Fever and Other Romantic Gestures

Pairing: Bill Williamson/Kieran Duffy Rating: General Audiences Tags: Crushes, Bill being soft on the DL, Jack is also there hanging out Word count: 3k

Description:

Bill gives in and lets Jack put flowers in his hair, but he doesn’t count on someone watching them.

There was a lot of thinking to be done sober.

It wasn’t usually a good thing, and thus lead to a lot of negative thoughts, but today was an exception. Bill could sit in the warm afternoon sun with his hat down over his eyes, drifting in and out of sleep without a care in the world. It was rare, but when it came it was sweeter than honey and more valuable than gold.

The grass was green and sweet smelling. The smell of wildflowers and fresh pine seemed to float on the breeze. Bill couldn’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable, mentally and physically. For the time being, he could forget his worries and let them melt into the spring ground.

Bill was laid up a good ways outside of camp, in a little clearing with tall grass and swaying trees on all sides. The only sound to be heard was the stream babbling not far off.

He thought about everything and nothing all at the same time. Mostly, Bill drank in the warm sun, the sweet smells, and the soft sounds. It was all gentle enough that Bill could have fallen asleep.

But footsteps approaching kept him from doing so. Light, clumsy ones.

Bill didn’t need to wonder who was coming around, because once they got within a few feet, Jack’s squeaky voice asked, “You sleepin’, Bill?”

Bill grunted. “Tryin’ to.”

A thoughtful silence came from Jack. Bill heard him hum under his breath.

“Grandpa’s lookin’ for ya. He sent me to find ya.” Jack stated. His voice and steps got closer until he was directly beside Bill. “Called you a lot of mean names.”

Bill pushed his hat up a bit. “Which one?”

“Said you was a lazy and dumb son of a—”

“Which grandpa?” Bill corrected sharply.

“Oh.” Jack sat down in the grass. Bill heard it rustle under him. “Grandpa Hosea.”

Bill pushed his hat back down. He grumbled nonsense.

A breeze whistled through the canopy of leaves overhead; they shook and rustled a melody that filled the clearing. Jack plucked a fistful of grass from beside him and then scattered it in the wind.

Bill sighed into his hat.

“Did he say what he wanted?”

Jack shook his head. “No... Jus’ that he wanted to find ya, and make sure you wasn’t rottin’ somewhere.”

“Great.” Bill grumbled. “Don’t tell ‘em I’m here. First time I’ve got some peace an’ fuckin’ quiet...”

“I won’t tell,” Jack whispered. He ripped up more grass and sprinkled it in his lap. “Promise.”

Bill made another throaty noise. Jack thought he sounded like an animal, which made him smile.

They both sat there in silence for a moment. Bill was thinking mostly about falling asleep, and Jack was plucking grass and generally disturbing the wildlife. It was a fine fit.

Bill didn’t mind Jack; he was a good kid. It would have shocked a lot of people to find out that Bill didn’t really mind kids this way or that. He thought they were cute, if nothing else.

His sister had a couple kids. Bill used to make it a point to go see them every once and a while for their birthdays, but after coming back from the war, things got too complicated for that. The last time he saw his nieces, they were Jack’s age, or around there; now they must have been ten or twelve.

Thinking of it in terms of years made an uncomfortable feeling swell in Bill’s guts. He pushed it aside.

Jack shuffled beside him and got to his feet. He trudged away without a word, leaving Bill to the ambient sounds of the clearing.

Spring was a weird time of year. People always raved about its beauty and how it meant that winter was finally over, but as far as Bill was concerned, it wasn’t even that great; the first half of every spring was spent dead and dreary while the snow melted, and the rivers flooded. It wasn’t until May that the trees grew leaves and the wildflowers sprouted. Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if it all just came quicker. And if Bill didn’t need to trudge through mud puddles and sinkholes for three months while everyone else raved about how beautiful it was out, maybe he wouldn’t mind.

But he did. People called him bitter for it, but damn the spring and everything else it entailed.

Over the sound of the bubbling brook came an equally airy giggle. Footsteps crunched and came up beside Bill. Bill raised his brow to himself behind his beat-up hat. Otherwise, he stayed still.

Jack giggled again, though it sounded like he was trying to smother the sound. Bill felt something tickle his face.

“What’re you doin’, Jack?” Bill asked. His voice was hard, though it missed any real malice.

“Nothin’.” Jack replied innocently.

“Better be nothin’. You won’t like me mad.”

Jack burst into wild giggles. He fell back as Bill suddenly sat up and pulled the hat away from his eyes.

Jack had a fistful of daisies and golden rod, and a huge grin on his flushed, chubby cheeks. He kept laughing, and it took a second for Bill to realize why.

Bill reached up and touched his beard; he felt soft petals and stems sticking out. Upon glancing down, he saw a few flowers weaved into his bushy facial hair. He pulled one out and examined it, then turned an exaggerated scowl to Jack.

“This funny to you?” He demanded.

The laughter stopped, and Jack faltered for a second. His expression shifted from amusement towards something more scared and uncertain.

Bill reached out and ruffled Jack’s hair. He then stuck the daisy behind Jack’s ear.

“‘Cause I think it is,” Bill finished. He had a crooked, uncharacteristic smile as he tilted his head back. “Gimme a few more. Make me smell nice.”

Jack’s lips spread with a grin again. Nodding happily, he hopped to his feet and returned to weaving flowers into Bill’s beard. Bill closed his eyes and let his mind wander.

Bill didn’t mind being silly sometimes, just as long as it stayed between them. He figured that even if Jack did go telling others, no one would believe him, anyway.

Big ol’ mean Bill putting flowers in his hair?

Never. Not a chance in Hell.

As the stem of a daisy ticked his chin, Bill cracked open his eye. Jack looked set and serious, as if the task at hand was the most precise and technical one he’d ever had to do.

Bill thought it was cute.

“You really like flowers, huh?” Bill asked. “You’re always pickin’ ‘em an’ whatnot.”

“Uh-huh! I think they’re pretty,” Jack said enthusiastically. “Aunt Tilly even showed me how to make a daisy chain.”

“Ya don’t say? Daisies are my favourite flower. You figure you could make me one?”

Jack’s eyes lit up. He bounced on his feet, grinning wide.

“Yeah, course!” Jack shoved his handful of flowers towards Bill. “Hold these, I’ll go get the daisies! There’s big ol’ patch of ‘em by the water!”

“Alright, go ahead,” Bill said as he took the flowers delicately. “Don’t get too close to the stream.”

“I won’t— you stay here, now! I won’t be one second!”

Bill watched Jack bound off, excitedly scrambling through the tall grass. Two seconds, and he disappeared through the lining of trees like a faun.

The silence of the woods surrounded Bill once more. Smiling gently to himself, Bill lifted Jack’s flowers to his nose. He closed his eyes as he breathed deep and enjoyed the sweet scent. Maybe spring wasn’t as bad as he thought.

And then someone sneezed not far off.

Bill’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked his head towards the sound. His eyes roved over the lining of trees surrounding the clearing, though at first, he didn’t see anything.

Bill squinted and shifted up to his feet. The hard edge returned to his voice. His cheeks went red with rage and embarrassment at potentially being caught.

“Who’s out there?”

Naturally, no one replied. Bill still waited, looking comical holding a bouquet of wildflowers with a beard full of daisies and shedding golden rod. He glared around angrily.

Another loud sneeze, and Bill located the onlooker.

Kieran was half-hidden behind a birch tree, hunched over and clutching his mouth. His eyes were wide with shock.

Neither of them moved. For a long moment, they stared at each other, equally surprised and confused. When nothing that immediately endangered his health happened, Kieran dropped his hand and smiled weakly at Bill.

That made Bill come to his senses. Cheeks flushing even hotter, Bill threw the flowers to the ground and bellowed, “Goddamn O’Driscoll!”

The smile dropped off Kieran’s face. Instead, it replaced itself with genuine terror. Kieran turned and scattered, his heart pounding. Bill thundered behind him, hollering out, “Don’t you fuckin’ run, you chicken shit!”

Kieran figured if he made it to camp again he would be in the clear, or at least that he could climb a tree and hide up there, worst come to worst. However, he only made it about ten feet when his foot caught on an upturned root. Kieran pitched forward with a yelp; he fell on his hands and knees into a blanket of pine needles and moss. Kieran flipped onto his back, and Bill was upon him.

You’d think it would be hard to be afraid of a man with daisies weaved into his beard, but Bill had a burning hate in his eyes that made Kieran want to cower. Kieran winced, his arms flinging up to cover his face as Bill pounced in his lap.

At the force and Bill’s weight, Kieran wheezed. Bill grabbed a fistful of Kieran’s shirt and reeled his other fist back, ready to strike.

“You little shit,” Bill hissed. “How much did you see?”

Kieran held his hands up defensively, as if he had the strength to fend off Bill even if he wanted to.

“I don’t know! I mean, I—I didn’t see nothin’!” Kieran hesitated. He anxiously eyed Bill’s poised fist. “Nothin’ worth tellin’ anybody about, anyhow.”

“You’re damn right you didn’t see nothin’. Because if anybody finds out about this, I’ll take your fuckin’ head off your shoulders.”

For emphasis, Bill psyched Kieran out by shoving his fist forward. Kieran flinched, his face contorted with fear.

“How long was you watchin’, anyhow?” Bill demanded.

“Just a few moments! I followed Jack out here t—to make sure he was stayin’ out of trouble.”

“Or was you tryin’ to get dirt on me?”

“What? No!” Kieran’s insides felt squirmy and odd. Bill was practically on top of him, and inches from his face. His own freckled cheeks were a deep, ruddy red. “Why would I— what would I even do with dirt on ya? N—nobody at camp trusts my word, anyhow.”

That kind of threw Bill for a loop. He faltered for a second, then screwed his expression up again. He jerked his fist towards Kieran’s face, making the latter cry out and flinch.

“Don’t matter! I ain’t gonna give you no ideas.”

“Okay! Okay. I—I just think it’s cute, is all, you know?” Kieran sputtered all at once. He turned his head away from Bill’s face and screwed his eyes shut. He tried not to think of how romantic this could have been if Bill wasn’t threatening to knock his block off. “You with Jack, I mean! You don’t look the fatherly type. It surprised me and I—I didn’t mean to spy on ya, I swear. I just—just thought it was cute.”

Once more, Bill faltered. Almost immediately, he blushed, and instead of confronting his mixed feelings towards that, he gave Kieran a good shake. Bill dropped his face close to Kieran’s.

“I ain’t fatherly, so don’t be sayin’ shit like that!” He hissed.

Kieran made a strangled noise as his head bounced off the mossy ground. Something like the word “okay” tumbled out of his mouth.

From behind them, Bill heard a twig snap. A quiet voice sang nonsense.

Bill looked back over his shoulder and watched as the tall grass by the brook shook and swayed as a little body moved through it.

“Shit,” Bill whispered.

He turned his evil glare back to Kieran. Kieran’s face was contorted in a strange way, but before Bill could ask or comment, Kieran jerked his head to the side and sneezed violently twice.

“Hay fever, sir,” Kieran managed. “I got... Hay fever. And the, uh, the pollen from your beard—”

Bill scoffed. He threw Kieran down to ground and then clambered to his feet.

“Get out of here.” When Kieran didn’t immediately move, Bill gave him a kick in the shin. “I said git! Go!”

Kieran nodded wordlessly. He scrambled around, grabbed his hat, and jumped to his feet. With a last, fleeting look and a small smile, Kieran turned and hurried his way back towards camp.

Bill adjusted his hat as he watched Kieran go. Once he was certain that Kieran was out of earshot, he turned around and wiped his cheeks down. They were still fiery red, and the encounter had left his heart fluttering in his chest like a rampant butterfly. He didn’t want to think about it, and he didn’t want to think of why he felt that way, even though he knew damn well.

As Bill lumbered back into the clearing, Jack emerged from the tall grass. He had fistfuls of daisies and other flowers Bill didn’t know the names of. Roots and dirt still hung from a few of the stems.

When Jack toddled over, his smile disappeared.

“You look mad.”

“I ain’t.” Bill replied sharply. He relaxed his shoulders afterwards and sat down in the grass. “...Come on. Show me how you make them... Daisy chains.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. His smile returned, and happily he knelt in front of Bill. He laid out all the flowers, oblivious to how distracted and weird Bill was acting.

“Okay! So, the first thing you do...”

—30—

Bill’s body ached. After riding all day, scouting the area and trying to hunt, he didn’t want to think, and he didn’t want to talk to nobody— all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep until noon the next day.

When he hitched his horse at the post, Kieran glanced up at him. His mouth moved as if he were going to say something, but a mean glare from Bill convinced him to shut it again. Didn’t help any that Kieran was about the last person Bill wanted to talk to, anyhow.

Their... Encounter in the woods had been three days ago now, and Bill hadn’t heard a word of it from anyone else, either to his face or behind his back. So, thus far, the O’Driscoll boy seemed to be keeping good to his word.

The camp seemed quieter today than usual, as Bill shambled his way towards his makeshift tent. That suited him just fine, though; less people wandering and talking meant that he could get some peace and quiet. Upon entering, Bill was immediately overcome with the desire to rest and sleep, but of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

In the low light, he noted something laid out on the bedroll.

A bouquet of daisies tied together at the stems with a bit of twine rope. Bill’s heavy brows furrowed. He knelt and picked them up to look closer.

“The O’Driscoll left ‘em there for you,” a small voice said from behind him.

Bill jumped a little with a surprised noise and jerked around.

Jack stood there, innocent as could be. Loosely, he clutched a toy horse.

“What did you say?”

“I says, the O’Driscoll left the flowers for ya.” For emphasis, Jack pointed at the flowers in Bill’s hand. “I helped him pick ‘em! He asked me where to find ‘em, so I showed him.”

Bill’s cheeks flushed. He looked again at the flowers in his hand and then shoved them out of sight partially behind his back.

“Great,” he grumbled. With his other hand, he shooed Jack away. “Leave me ‘lone, now. I wanna get some rest.”

“Are ya gonna thank him?” Jack asked. “Mama says you’re s’pposed to use manners. Pleases an’ thank yous, even if he is an O’Driscoll...”

“You worry about your own business before mine. Now git!”

With one hand on Jack’s shoulder, Bill steered the boy out. Afterwards, he closed the curtains of his tent which acted like a half-assed excuse for a door and settled in the half-dark. A little light came in from under the curtains, barely enough for Bill to see what he was doing. He brought the flowers back to his front.

Kieran had left these. Put effort into fancying them up, too.

Bill’s cheeks were red, and his heart raced.

After a moment of deep contemplation, he lifted the flowers to his nose and breathed. They smelled sweet and fresh, like how spring was supposed to smell. No mud or rain, or dirt or death.

Just sweet.

Maybe a little bit like puppy love.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #bill williamson #kieran duffy #bieran #jack marston #bill williamson/kieran duffy #bill/kieran #My fic

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feel199x · 5 years

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cupid/eros!hwang hyunjin, greek mythlogy!au

🏹 summary: loosely based on the greek myth eros/cupid and psyche, in which Hyunjin falls for your dancing in a meadow, but you can’t look at him both because he needs to be sure you fell for him and not his face, and if the risk is worth the wrath of the gods

🏹 author’s note: so this is written differently, a lot more poetic (i write poetry, fun fact!) n im really proud of this one! im also trying something differently for the posts, let me know if you like it! masterlist

🏹 warnings: none, i believe, please let me know if you find any!

💌 song rec: movement and moment’s silence AND NFWMB by hozier (you can definitely see the influence)

It was something you did every night, how could you not? The breeze, the willow trees, the whispering of the grass, the smell and brush of flowers against your skin. It was escapist, you knew, but there was no better dreamscape to run to than here. The night was young, and so were you. Something about the night was like a little rip in time, a pocket in reality. The smell of summer and youth lingered on you as you moved. The moonlight shed a warm glow on your face, illuminating your features as the stars circled in the sky, watching intently. Your sorrows were buried here, rotting with the gentle sins of self-proclaimed saints. There was nothing more magical than this, the warm soil beneath your feet- the heat of the summer day residing in the earth. The oak trees were as green as they ever could be, green like envy. It didn’t matter once the brightness faded because you knew that they would be back. The leaves would fall and rot, but no matter what, like nature, they would be back. You would die here, one day, but not today. The stars had yet to burst, the earth had yet to decompose with you lying in it- so you were here. It gave you peace, let your soul emerge anew once you left the sheltered greenery.

It was rare to find places like this, no technology could give you the feeling you had right now. The cicadas began to sing, soon joined by the gentle hum of ominity. It was like thunder against the earth when your feet hit the floor, hands reached, fingers grasping for something not quite there. Who else would give you this feeling? No man, no woman, no person, no god. This was self-satisfaction, you and you alone. Maybe it was ridiculous, but you moved like water, flowed like river. This a ritual, breeding peace and self-love. Life was winter, cold and unloving- but you? Right now you were the burn of rum and passion, tasting like cherries and dribbled honey. It didn’t matter if you didn’t feel beautiful then, outside of here. Because out here you were all that and more, angel dressed in silk, lust and innocence. No one could tell you anything, how could they? You moved like you had nothing to lose, heart content as it started to pour lightly.

The earth beneath you became wet, but you danced still. Clothes becoming damp, clinging to your body- but still, you moved. Arms up, fingers traveling up and down your skin as the sky’s tears still poured. What blasphemy could enter this grave, what god was her but you? The stars could watch, but they couldn’t dance, not like you could. Noah could part the seas, but you could not disrupt the flow, the course that your body took. This was as natural as nature herself, she too was watching, admiring among others. The witching hour was yours and yours alone, whoever you were didn’t matter. What mattered was who you were when you left, soul anew. Power, you cried. And power awoke in your veins. What did you have to lose? Anything that could be lost will be gained again someday, even for a breath.

Your sins were not yours here, they were the earth’s. She was the only one you could trust, her only lover the sun, her only persuasor the moon. She has seen what is yet to see, what is yet to come. The earth was your altar and you were the patron saint, even if only as the night slept. It was okay though, the moon and the ignition of your passion was enough- it was going to burn you to ash, your soul from bottom up. Pomegranate blood and persephone piety, this was heaven. Moss covered, flower based temple. Your rosary was made of rose and root, your sin abandonment. The only love you needed was yours, no foreign god’s name to scream in vain because you were the only divine.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I know.”

You weren’t scared if he was here to take- then your end was eden. You moved still, the presence inching closer to you. The rain slid down your back, your eyes still closed as you twirled. “Are you here to dance?” You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and patient. “Yes. But you can’t look at me.”

“Sure, but leave your masks outside. We are sinners and saints in the silence, away from god’s eye.”

You turned, fingers traveling across his chest when he caught your hand. “Please, tell me your name. Could you?” You brought the both of your hands to your chest, pulling him closer and moved close to what you assumed to be his face. “I could.” His breath hitched as you teased him, feeling the heat of his skin. “But not yet, the night is still young.” He twirled you, becoming more confident in his steps. “My name is Hyunjin,” he murmured in your ear, “I’ve never seen someone dance like you do.” You smiled, unsure if he could see it in the empty darkness. “Of course, there’s only one me.” He danced with you, though there was no music. The only melody your hearts beating in sync, beating because no one could be sure when it would stop. “You’re divine,” he murmured again, “Never in all my years...seraphic, that’s what you are. Never has there been anyone like you in all of creation.” He was holding your hand up, moving when you did, following your pace as erratic as it could be.

“Immortals feel mortal love, a pain unimaginable to me,” you whispered, “But your pain escapes this realm. We are flesh and blood here, Hyunjin. Raw, human and nothing more.” He hummed, pulling you closer to him so your head could rest against your chest so your head could rest. “How did you know?” he continued to sway, “How could’ve you already figured it out?” You let go of his hands to move by yourself, for yourself. “The embarrassment of a mortal escapes them within their death, an immortal’s doesn’t. What other reason could you have for me to close my eyes?” You moved towards the forest’s opening, feeling him trail behind you.

“Can I ask something of you?” he grabbed both your hands, planting a kiss on them, and you nodded. “Your name,” he paused, “and a kiss?”

You laughed, the kind that made your shoulders shake a smile as bright as the moonlight above you. “My name? ___, and you may have a kiss…” you felt him lean, nose and forehead touching, “If you come back.” He laughed, and his breath smelled like cream, “I thought you were going to ask me if you could open your eyes.” You shook your head. “Your mask is not mine to take off.” He pressed his lips against yours, your hands in his hair, and his in yours, the ends of his palms on your jaw. He tasted like cream too, his hair like silk, he smelled like wisdom. Your lips parted and you disappeared into the yawning sun, spewing apricot light up into the sky. Water dripped from your clothes, damp and trailing water but you were content rubbing your cherry lips as responsibility submerged you into the day.

The next night the stars seemed to shed light just to prove themselves. Summer was still in full bloom, green and ripe like it would never get the chance to be. It was still dewy from the night before, drop of water swimming in the folds of grass. The night was lively, the dryads peering from the trees, the animals cautious and curious. Maybe it was awe, maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but they watched you nonetheless. You didn’t mind that you had an audience, this wasn’t exactly a normal feat and it only came once a night. The melody of forest life quieted, you could feel the earth move under him. “You’re back,” you closed your eyes, “I was expecting you.” He moved your hair to the side, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck. “I could never pass up the chance to see you dance,” you could feel his hot breath on the side of your neck, “or another kiss for that matter.” You swayed against his chest, his hand wrapped around your waist, hands hanging on your stomach and laughed. “Who said you were going to get another kiss?” His finger tapped against your waist before you turned around. The wind around you held its breath, everyone was watching, expectantly. “You are heaven incarnate, when we kiss, heaven sighs,” you felt yourself dip, back against his knee as he brought you back up again, “Time is of no consequence, I will wait like a fool for your love.”

“Love begins and ends wars, Hyunjin,” you warned, “Flora will grow over the fool of our graves.” He cupped your face, and you wished you could open your eyes. It had only been two days, but he had already seen a repressed part of you- and because of that, you had a naive sense of trust. Surely, it would be the end of you. But with no fallen eden, there would be no earth. “Then let it be, I will crawl my way back to you so the stems can sprout from our hearts.” You smiled against his lips, soft and plush. “You’re reckless.”

He rested his arms around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat thumping against his chest. “Only for love, only for you.” But it was time sooner than later, you could feel the sun pulling the night’s sheets to uncover the day. He held your hand as you tugged until the last forest opening to the dirt road home. You stopped, holding both of his hands as you stepped on the tips of your toes to give a peck. “Is that all I get?” You gave a smile, “What do you mean?” Hyunjin moved your hair out of your face, pressing his forehead against your, noses pressed against one another. “Can I show you?” You nodded, feeling his hands hold your face softly. His lips were soft as always, traces of a sweet fruit lingering on his taste. You gasped as he pulled away, and he pecked you again. He watched you disappear in the light of the growing sun.

Maybe it was something about that day that made you angry, the soil exploded as you jumped back down, spilling over the grass. You could feel the terra stick slightly to your heel, your movements were fluid but sharper than usual. This fire in you, it burned the edges of your soul until it became hardened and the ash fell to the earth. You relaxed, feeling the weight of your body while you danced. Man or god, you feared no monster, no, not here. The air was cooler, no humidity to make the heat in you rise. You could feel the cutting of the wind as your lips reached up and back down. Your eyes were open for now, looking up into the velvet sky as the violet clouds blocked some of the moon’s illumination. There was something unadulterated with sight, seeing things as they were in their natural sight. Nature didn’t exist for you, she lived for herself. We are all guests that inhabit her. And you admired that, you wanted to be just like her- uncaring and self-loving, and for the night you were. Your mind soon reached Hyunjin as you saw a deer approach you, circle around you as you danced. You knew there must be a reason, some insecurity, but again- a butterfly could not leave it’s cocoon prematurely. You didn’t need to see his face to realize that you liked him, it was something beyond visuals. He could dance, he could keep up with you- and he kissed like no one could, that was all that mattered. It didn’t matter what he looked like, the earth’s flowers didn’t care how beautiful they thought they were, why should anyone else? The deer ran off as someone paced towards you, and you instinctively closed your eyes. “Tonight is about you,” he said, “I’ll just watch.” He knew you somehow, and you figured it’s because he’s watched you for a while. He knew how your body moved with every emotion like the back of his hand. You wanted his company, but he restricted some of your movement, not that you necessarily minded. But tonight was different, the soil was caving under your feet and the air moving with you instead of around you. You couldn’t see his eyes on you, but instead feel them watching you intently. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, “It’s magical, how do you do it? I could watch you like a broken record.”

You didn’t respond, you knew that’s not what he wanted. He wanted to watch you dance, so that’s what you did- because it’s what you did best, most naturally. You collapsed into his lap finally, and he stroked your hair. “___?” You hummed in response, a small smile hanging from your lips. “Why haven't you asked to open your eyes yet?” You took his hand, intertwining your finger with his, lacing them like ribbons. “Because it doesn’t matter. You dance with me, and that tells me everything I need to know.” He kissed the back of your hand, “Don’t you feel vulnerable?”

“You’ve already seen me dance.”

It was autumn now, your time for dancing in loose clothing coming to an end soon. You had barely started when you heard the owl’s hoots stop echoing. “You’re early.” He held your hand, kissing it had become a regular greeting. “It gets harder and harder to wait, my love.” he placed something in your hand, water falling off the stems, “Turn around, I got you something.” You obliged, holding the bouquet up to your nose. The smell lingered even as you pulled it away, hauntingly, sickeningly sweet. He brushed your hair away, fingers accidentally brushing across the nape of your neck, making you shiver. The metal was cold against your skin, and you traced the pendant with the pad of your finger. The two of you danced like you always did, chest against chest, heartbeats in sync. “My love,” Hyunjin paused, whispering lowly in your ear, “what will we do when winter solstice comes around?” You pulled back, using one hand to hold his face and he leaned into your touch. You pecked his lips, “We will make do like plants growing through the cracks of cement.” His hand touched yours, “If it’s not too much, could we,” his voice trailed off nervously, “Could I go back with you?” Your eyebrows furrowed slightly and you bit your lip, “Won’t you get in trouble?” He laughed, and you could feel his face smile. “Love and affection is a nature they can not deny me of.” And you nodded, “Okay,” you murmured, “but you need to follow behind me.”

The keys jangled in the lock, and before the door was completely open you heard Hyunjin ask for you to close your eyes. It was difficult to navigate since you weren’t used to walking around your home without your sight. You knew he would be gone by sunrise, but you asleep in each other's arms. His heartbeat lulled you to sleep as he told you how he admired you, and you him. It was as honest as your ritual dancing, and though you tried to keep yourself awake as long as possible but Hyunjin kept planting soft kisses along your face and neck, and in no time, you were asleep.

It was like clockwork when he came, you could hear the cicadas quiet and the breeze became hushed, the grass just barely touched you. It was the next autumn now, the breezed louder as it’s fleeting kiss lingered on the crisp autumn leaves. “I missed you,” he kissed you, “I just want to watch you.” The soil was harder beneath you, it didn’t jump like it was startled when your feet pressed into it. This summer you had fallen for Hyunjin, it was unmistakable- his presence loomed like a haunted piece of artwork. It was painful to fall for someone that felt like a dream, for a love that would never see the sun’s rays.

He was like angel dust, beautiful and pure and gave you the illusion of no consequence. Just once- but it never was really. “I want,” his breath quickened, “I want to see you illuminated by the sunlight.” You smiled, bright like a new star, and paused to give him a quick kiss. “I do too,” you said into the forest, “but we both know what will happen.” He pulled you from your dance, something you would never allow anyone but him to do.

He planted kisses like seeds all over your face, you could feel the sun’s head peeking into the sky. “I don’t care,” he said breathily, “I want you to, you have to see me.” You smiled letting your fingers trail lightly along his face. “I know things about you that no one else does,” he murmured, “No man, no kings. You and I are no strangers, just strange in love.” You let your hands sit on either side of his neck, forehead pressed against his chin. “God or man, we know no mercy,” you murmured, “love and lust a deathless death.” His hands sat on your hips, bringing down his head to press his lips against your forehead. “You are heaven’s last mouthpiece,” he whispered, “eden will only fall when flowers grow within your wake.”

The both of you swayed with the melody of the breeze, only to be broken by another whisper of nothing, “Open your eyes. Mercy not of man or god, but angels like you.” You knew it was wrong, to have fates intertwine like this. But he was the tide of the night, washing you up ashore all renewed. Nothing more human than eden’s forbidden apple, and that was this love. The sun was rising, the sand in your hourglass slipping fast. You could feel the peach light growing on your skin, suddenly warming up. “You look more angelic in the golden hour of the sun,” he said. It was getting late, you knew would never pass this up anyway, but the doubt lingered. “And you love me?”

“Even after heaven’s last star falls.”

He was beautiful, had the face of piano music. You understood now, why he asked you to envelop yourself into the void of no light. His wings brushed against the floor, white like buttermilk cream, like innocence, like naivety. A birthmark decorated his face, just below his eyes and his hair like nightlock. He brought you into his arms, running his fingers through your hair. “The golden rays suit you,” he looked up, whispering into the empty air, “Like running honey, so sunkissed.” This wasn’t allowed, but even buried in his grave, Hyunjin would find his way back to you. You fell for him, like lucifer from heaven. He was lust embodied, but never had this feeling sprouted in the pits of your heart and mistook it for love- and it never would. He kissed you again, and he smiled, giggling between the small gasps of the kiss. He was sweet, tasted like ripe strawberries. “I adore you,” you said breathlessly and he tangled his hand into your hair. “I’m infatuated with you, my love,” he said back, “Dance for me, even if just one more time.”

So you did.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz fic #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fic #skz hwang hyunjin #stray kids hwang hyunjin

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entergamingxp · 4 years

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The Last of Us Part 2 Proves Love is the Anchor for Its Consequences

July 13, 2020 1:00 PM EST

The Last of Us Part 2 is an unconventional love story that dissects the human emotional psyche through its incredible characters.

Spoiler Warning: This article does mention some story moments from The Last of Us Part 2. We’d recommend coming back to this piece after playing through the full game.

Like countless other players who have completed The Last of Us Part 2, my emotions were in tethers by the end. Having spent almost 40 hours exploring its beautiful but forbidding world, capturing infinite pictures in photo mode, and absorbing the unyieldingly intense narrative, I felt like I needed a very long vacation that included a very large, free bar. Without a doubt, The Last of Us Part 2 is designed to make you feel strongly about its actions and storyline, so if you come away from it with feelings of disgust, sadness, anger, regret, or admiration, then Naughty Dog has ultimately fulfilled its purpose. There are no heroes or villains in Part 2; no one truly “wins.” But what I did discover, beneath the rage and revenge, is that love is the anchor in which those intense feelings have grown from. So in essence, The Last of Us Part 2 is at its core an unconventional love story about the things you will do because of it.

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t have an intense dislike towards Abby when that scene happened with Joel. Initially, I felt sick, then angry, and then a feeling that I hadn’t quite counted on, and that’s wanting to understand Abby’s actions. What could possibly drive someone to act out a horrendous crime like this? At the time, Abby was someone I had absolutely no backstory context on, other than that she belonged to the WLF and she was out for Joel’s blood. Instead of taking Abby’s actions as “this is a bad person; I hate her and want her dead”, I wanted to know what warranted this profound fury and further along, I got my answer. Abby’s emotional anchor in The Last of Us Part 2 is love: the adoration she had for her father who died at the hands of Joel. Without this initial feeling, Abby would never have taken her journey, nor would it have produced her deep-seated response of rage and revenge.

“Abby’s emotional anchor in The Last of Us Part 2 is love: the adoration she had for her father who died at the hands of Joel.”

It was easy for me to apply empathy once I found out what spurred on Abby’s motivation. Here was a young woman who had witnessed the demise of her father, a brilliant doctor whose passion and love for humanity drove him to want to do good things, but this was cut short by Joel’s desire to keep the one thing he loved as well. From that, Abby built her entire love for her father around retribution and the flip side of that love coin – obsession. Neil Druckmann from Naughty Dog had said that The Last of Us was built around love, and Part 2 was built around hate, but I don’t agree with that at all. The Last of Us Part 2 shows us (in my opinion) the lengths we go for love, what actions it will drive us toward, and–in the end–is revenge worth losing love for?

This analogy can also be reproduced with Joel. I’ve listened to many people discuss that what Joel did at the end of The Last of Us with Ellie was an unforgivable act of selfishness and, in part, they are absolutely correct. But what some people tend to forget about Joel is that he is a flawed person, just like the rest of the characters and also us, the players. When Joel lost his daughter Sarah, his whole world fell apart. He struggled with living and had essentially lost his purpose; that was until he met Ellie. Ellie gave Joel that unconditional love of what being a father was back again and in his mind, he’d move heaven and earth to never lose it again. The idea that another “daughter” could be ripped from his life again sent Joel over the edge. So he made the only decision he could, and that was to take Ellie away and protect her at all costs; even at the cost of humanity.

I think you would need to have a heart of stone not to understand why Joel made this choice, or at the very least, aren’t as truthful with your own real-life decisions as you initially thought. Humans, by default, are fragile creatures prone to ego, self-centeredness, and an innate desire to self-preserve, providing a cocktail of ingredients that are later mixed in with learned behaviors like love, kindness, and empathy. At many points in our lives, we choose or will eventually choose our own selfishness over what’s right for the greater good – this is part of the natural mechanic that makes up the human complexity. Granted this may not be as dramatic or as horrific as Joel and Ellie’s situation, but it still provides the same outcome. Our own desires and love for something (or someone) can outweigh what is perceived as technically the “right thing to do.” More times than not, we will do it anyway regardless, because of our fear of loss and our need to love.

“The Last of Us Part 2 is at its core an unconventional love story about the things you will do because of it.”

There is a certain point in the original The Last of Us where young Ellie is chatting with Sam, and he asks her what she is most afraid of. Ellie replies “being by myself; I’m scared of ending up alone,” and by the end of Part 2, this is exactly what happens to Ellie. Her lust for revenge blinded her initial deep-rooted fear of being left in a savage, loveless world on her own. She was so dazzled by wanting to get justice for Joel, that she forgot that there was still love to be found in Dina, who followed her with unchained and unconditional devotion. It took almost drowning Abby to make her see that this wasn’t the path that she wanted to be on any longer. Killing Abby couldn’t bring Joel back, and from seeing what killing Joel did to Abby, there certainly was no absolution from the heart wrenching pain and love that she still held passionately for Joel – the anchor that led her to where she now was – eventually broke through the blinding red mist.

Probably for me, the most surprising relationship that I took away from The Last of Us Part 2 was that between Abby and Lev. Here are two enemies who have relentlessly fought against each other’s camps for years without really questioning it. We soon find out that Lev has led a very sheltered life; his naivety and innocence are mostly down to the harsh and regimented environment of the devout Seraphites. But even though he is trained to kill the WLF, which Abby is a part of, he helps her due to questioning the Seraphite’s traditions. The two form a unique and dependent relationship; they put aside their differences initially to help Lev’s sister, but it soon develops into a beautiful kinship. Even though Abby’s intentions stem from her redemption arc, she learns to love and care for Lev as if he were her own child. Part of this may come from seeing herself in Lev when she was younger and having lost her father, as Lev lost his mother.

“Even though Abby’s intentions stem from her redemption arc, she learns to love and care for Lev as if he were her own child.”

As much as The Last of Us Part 2 surrounds itself in the neverending cycle of violence through its narrative and gameplay, I believe that Naughty Dog left it up to the players to find out what the real, true message of this sequel was. For me, it couldn’t have been any clearer than how love was at the core of almost every action of its characters, and how it then drove people to do unquestionable acts. It showed that at times, there are many complexities and ugly faces to what we know of love, and that anyone who has ever acquired it will know that it’s not solely butterflies and rainbows; it’s brutal, frightening, lonely, and painful. Without it, I truly believe The Last of Us Part 2 would not have existed, nor would it have had such an impactful response not only to the characters, but to the players as well.

July 13, 2020 1:00 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/the-last-of-us-part-2-proves-love-is-the-anchor-for-its-consequences/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-last-of-us-part-2-proves-love-is-the-anchor-for-its-consequences

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nerdymedzebra · 5 years

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Anxiety & autism

(c/p from fb)

10 months later I would find out that, at least currently and in general (certain specific situations excepted) my anxiety symptoms don't stem from cPTSD as much as they do from functioning in a neuotypical world with an autistic brain.

Before diagnosis I saw 10 therapists and It was the 11th psychiatrist (incl. some psych nurses) I've been to since high school (when the school brought in a therapist to pull me out of algebra once a week to talk. He was useless but I loved getting out of math 😅)

This is why I feel strongly about spreading awareness of the different ways autism spectrum disorders can present, especially in non cis-boy-children (which is the population the vast, vast majority of autism research has been on).

(That was commented on a share of this post, which I wrote on January 20, 2018):

Re: Yesterday-- so i talk about having anxiety a lot, but I think I don't frequently clarify/remember/accept that I don't technically have have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which my psych eval yesterday confirmed (as have others). I do, however, have PTSD, still (since childhood, though I didn't get diagnosed til a lil over 4 years ago tho ive not gotten treatment specifically for that (just anxiety, which assumed the same root cause anyway) or really taken it seriously until maybe now), and it's apparently my "main diagnosis". I do *have* excessive anxiety (which I've been medicated for in the past (tried wellbutrin and neurontin) and which has put me in partial hospitalization once and intensive outpatient programs at two psych hospitals twice), but I was told it's only a symptom of the PTSD and not it's own condition/GAD. The psych at the place that i did a partial hospitalization program at in '13 told me the same, but I have thought it was mostly bs (like yeah i had a shitty childhood, so do lots of people who can still function in the world as actual adults, and I no longer have the maladaptive thoughts or bad schemas or the rest of the unhealthy thought patterns and i dont have flashbacks or anything so i'm all better?) --- buuuuuuuut the more I think about it, and as I figured out while writing the first 'draft' of this post which I then deleted.. I guess it's still pretty bad? The hyperarousal and avoidance are still pretty intense are are two of the apparent four types of PTSD symptoms. Thinking about the mess that is me through that lens it all actually makes sense. Maybe I should start learning more about PTSD and how it's different from anxiety, I guess. It's weird because yeah I've been called that before but I'm only now actually taking it seriously and like, what does it even mean for me? Hmmm. Anyway, sharing this shit as part of my crusade against Mental Health stigma crap. There's no reason that mental health should be discussed less openly than any other aspect of our lives, and the social norm that says that talking about mental health stuff *is* "oversharing" (or worse "looking for attention"! *burns that one with fire*) should be ripped out at the roots and thrown into some metaphoric wood chipper or something.

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alfiehsmith · 6 years

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On Harvey Weinstein, the Sexual Harassment Uprising, and Social Mutation

According to the comic series, “X-Men”, mutants aren’t freaks of nature or random malfunctions in genetic replication; rather, they are an evolutionary leap forward. The process of evolution normally takes millions and millions of generations, but mutants are humans whose genetic structure has already reached that point. The underlying implication here is that humans will eventually evolve into creatures possessing those abilities.

Throughout human history, social evolution has witnessed ‘mutations’, where social evolution is not gradual, but sudden and radical. The Bible hints at one such episode with Moses and the Pharaoh. Human history has recorded such incidents as well. These usually occur during the rise of an empire (such as the Mongols in the mid-Middle Ages, who curtailed Russian development for 200 years) or at the collapse of an empire (such as the fall of Rome in the 6th century CE, when Western Europe fell to the Barbarians). In cases like these, social evolution has ‘mutated’, becoming something so radically different from what it was that the new model is hardly recognised, and even feared and hated, by the old.

In the last 200 or so years, we’ve seen several instances of social mutation (as opposed to social evolution): the criminalisation of slavery, where it was decided that humans who weren’t white are still human and are therefore entitled to certain inalienable human rights; the abolishment of slavery in the US, where a country so polarised on the notion of human servitude went to war with itself, the result being the decision that blacks in America were people, not property; the women’s suffrage movement, where it was decided that women are just as intellectually and socially capable as men, and therefore should be allowed to vote; and the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s, when the world realised that people who weren’t white, heterosexual, and/or male were just as important and just as valued as everyone else, and were therefore entitled to all the rights and privileges afforded all human beings. These are all cases of social and societal ‘mutation’, where society has made a tremendous - and usually, very violent - leap forward.

And now we come to the latest point to witness a social mutation. Over the last 24 months, dozens of high-profile men have been accused of sexual inappropriateness, sexual harassment, sexual abuse, and even rape. Many of them have been proven true, if not through mounting evidence than through their own admission of guilt. This has thrown the celebrity world into a tailspin. As the drumhead rolls on, more and more men who thought themselves untouchable are learning exactly what ‘touchable’ means. Heads are rolling - a good thing, too - but there is a problem.

This social mutation will be, in my opinion, the most challenging one ever faced by the human race. It will be far more challenging than the civil rights movement, the emancipation of women, or even the American Civil War.

The problem is that there are several obstacles standing in the way. The first one is the same one for any attempt at social change: the people who currently enjoy power and are vehemently opposed to change because it means the end of their reign. Since before Christ, white males have enjoyed the luxury of having a monopoly on power, and over the last 2 000+ years, and vindictively and bitterly watched the erosion of that power. That doesn’t mean they didn’t try every trick in the book to keep that from happening. Today, the power the white, wealthy male has is a rancid skeleton of the mighty beast it once was, but they’re damned well going to defend that skeleton with gnashed teeth til the day they die. These days, they have to go about it in sneakier ways: tax havens, lobbying politicians, and even gerrymandering (which is illegal, but they do it anyway).

This obstacle, as I said, is common to any social change. What is not common is the resistance to change not just by the oppressors, but by the oppressed. Despite this aggressive - and righteous, I might add - attack on the objectification of women, it would be naïve to think there aren’t women out there who use sex to get what they want. They aren’t the majority; wouldn’t even say they compose half the female population. But there are enough to make a case for themselves. Those women use it to get deals and breaks on things, for career advancement, and so on. There are, undoubtedly, even women who use the concept of female objectification as their sole means of self-sustenance. For them, the abolition of the objectification of women would be disastrous; the one Trump card they have in life (see what I did there?) can no longer be played. There are also women who engage in re-victimising other women. They argue that a woman who was raped played a contributing part to the act because she wore clothes which were too revealing, flirted or even “led him on”, or (as people like the current Vice-President would have you believe) was just out hanging out with guys. So the victims are shut down not from misogynistic men, but misogynistic women (which, apparently, is a thing). I’ll never forget one woman going on record as saying she’d “rather be grabbed by the pussy than governed by one.”

This is different from other moments of social mutation. Black men and women didn’t come forward and say they’d love to remain as slaves. Fairly certain the LGBT+ community didn’t fight against the idea of tolerance and acceptance.

Sadly, these two obstacles are only part of the problem, although they are front-and-center on the stage. The third - and most potent - obstacle comes from behind the curtain. It comes from the underlying paradigm behind these two other obstacles: sexual harassment isn’t all that bad.

This notion, ingrained into the minds of men and women for countless generations, across countless cultures and religions, and manifested in countless actions and inactions, is by far the most daunting opponent to this social mutation. So entrenched into our society and our psyche is this attitude that it may very well derail the movement currently underway. When the debate about the slave trade was hot, no one used, as a defense of the practice, the argument that buying and selling blacks so that they could spend their entire lives performing low-skill, repetitive, back-breaking labour for no compensation at all wasn’t all that bad. They argued it would be bad for trade, for the economy, for the society as a whole, but never for the blacks. The same goes for the LGBT+ community, for women, for Natives, and so on. Members of society - women as well as men - are finding it difficult to change their mindset because the actual impact sexual harassment has, has not fully taken form in their minds.

So why is it not supposedly all that bad? There are so many arguments - far too many - to dismiss it. The first one is taught to us before we can walk. For generations, women and men have been raised with the notion of men being providers and hunters. Man strong. Man fight. Man make money for family. Man take care of woman. Concurrently, women are taught to look for a man who can do these things, and to allow him to do them. (As a small example, ask as many of your female friends if they have ever asked a man out on a date. The responses might surprise you.) And this is okay, we’re taught. A man should protect his woman. (Notice the possessive tone of that last sentence?) Fight to obtain her, and jealously guard her against other men who would want her for their own. A man who is either unable or unwilling to pursue the object of his affection is labeled by any number of names, none of which are compliments. “So what if I was a little too aggressive? That’s how I flirt!” “Women like men who come on strong.” So on, and so on. (And, as stated earlier, there are lots of women who do.)

The second argument stems from the first: it’s just flirting. Where’s the line between flirting and sexual inappropriateness? Is there such a line, meaning can it be universally agreed that everything up to point ‘x’ is flirting, and everything beyond is harassment? We may not agree on the answer to that, but we can agree that there are too many conflicting responses to establish a cut-off point. This grey area is where most of the men accused of sexual harassment get into trouble. Some, like Weinstein, went well beyond any reasonable measure of appropriate contact, but most of the cases I’ve heard so far have been rationalised by the idea the assailant didn’t honestly think what he was doing was wrong. (Remember Trump‘s “locker room talk” ‘apology’?)

The third is the look-but-don’t-touch attitude, the idea that, as long as a man doesn’t actually touch a woman, he’s safe. Catcalling, leering, etc. is fine because there’s no physical harm to the woman. It’s especially alright if she doesn’t even know it’s happening. American society is wrestling with its conscience over the premise that words are just words. As long as we maintain that maxim, that what we say or how we act is fine as long as the recipient of those words or actions is unaware, then the socio-sexual revolution we’re looking for won’t ever get off the ground.

These arguments, plus many more, all lead to the conclusion that we don’t need to stop objectifying and sexualising women because objectifying and sexualising women isn’t that big a deal. The apathy against this mutation, this revolution, is far more entrenched, far more widespread, and - worst of all - far more easily justifiable in the minds of the perpetrators or would-be perpetrators because they don’t see it as a big enough problem to warrant fundamental change. “It’s not like we’re chaining women nude and forcing them to have sex.”

If any progress is to be made, this paradigm needs to be ripped up by the root.

#metoo

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