I can be feminine in all my rage

This is where I post about all things nerd *takes a deep breath* Musical Theatre, Marvel, Star Wars, all music, anime, manga, poetry, literature, movies, fanfiction, writing, writers...you get the gist

[colubrina]

for the love of god, write all the self-indulgent scenes you want.  be utterly  shameless about including every last fantasy.  i know everyone likes to share quotes and quips about how miserably hard writing is, but please please try thinking of it as joyful act where you get to be a messy human who makes art rather than some pain filled quest for icy perfection.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

Thank you for this!

[apropensityforcharm]

“Siblings in a past life for sure. I like to think our long lost souls saw each other and smiled the first time we met.”

[omegafanart]

And I’m FINALLY done! 

This took so long to finish  but I had so much fun making it. I tried to capture some of their character in each figure. 

 So the Nein on their way to adventure.

Do not alter or repost my art anywhere. Reblogs are love.

[daily-prompts]

prompt 1239

Name three things your character would like to change and why.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

Day 2 of my reinvigorated daily prompt challenge this story is called: Pocket 

Enjoy!

I can’t name three things I’d change about my world because it would take more than that to get back what we must have had.

“Sillah!”

The unnatural bob of bronze hair turned toward the voice with a smile that instantly betrayed curiosity.

“Dad! Did you find something?”

“Sillah I found it I’ve been searching there...there’s been evidence we’ve found pieces before but nothing nothing like this it’s...it’s...”

She stands up immediately, expecting an answer hoping that he’ll say.

“A Pocket.”

A legend. Her dad found a legend that they had both been chasing for as long as she could remember. For years they found scraps of things. Pieces left behind from a world no...a lifestyle that was scrubbed from digital history.    Every shred of paper is like gold.  The greatest thing they’d found before today was a ballpoint pen with some ink still in it.  Mom said we should save it, but dad insisted that we use it.

“Use things what they’re meant for. Pens are meant to write not sit around being admired.”

The digital archives have some clues if you dig deep enough but at this point they had plumbed the depths. No server ever had any record of a Pocket .  Maybe somewhere beyond highly encrypted legal firewalls there was more information, but none of their curiosity burnt quite bright enough to challenge the legal authorities and risk their stilted but still present freedom.  

“Where? Where did you-how did you find it?”

Her father shakes his head with a trembling finger pressed to his lips.  The curl in her hair comes from his, but you can hardly tell with his hair shorn close to the scalp and practical.    

“I promised never to speak the location out loud but that hardly matters, just grab your pack I’ll show you.”

To most people her father never seemed like an enthusiastic person.  Her mother was the one who could easily speak with anyone and whose delightfully raucous laughter would echo off bronze and chromium and cause her father to mutter under his breath that the only good thing about our world are the built in vehicles for Lanya’s laughter.  

“Those bricks I bring home and the pieces of wood I’ve salvaged they used to build incredible things with them.  When I was a child I saw pictures, on screens, but before they scrubbed the Old Way. Even then Pockets were a rumor, but we still had the history, the more history we lose Sillah the closer we get to losing.”

“What if the Old Way buildings also carried laughter, is it possible that they made it even more beautiful?”

“It is possible but be careful not to idealize the Old Way Sillah it was not a different world it was built by the same people it was still far from perfect, but...I like to hope it had a beauty that I know our way is missing.”

Her pack was in hand almost before he spoke. She dashed under the flap of the tent and out into the Satellite Forest.  Of course, her dad knew where to find her, he had gifted the stained yards of heavy canvas to her almost immediately after he found it.  

“What is it? It’s so rough.”

“I think it’s meant for shelter.”

Together they’d found a spot far enough away from chromium homes and wellness patrols in the oldest part of the Satellite Forest (they conveniently forgot to mention to Lanya that it’s also the rustiest) and gradually this became the place to brings every piece and particle of the Old Way that they’ve managed to find.

“I’m ready, how far is it?”

“Mmm better not to say, but its not close.  I told your mother not to expect us home until midnight.”

She nods.

“But its worth it right?”

“More than worth it.”

It took all day and the better part of the night to reach the settlement more fondly titled a Pocket.

“See look those are trees real trees! That’s how I found it now take a deep breath.”

She breathes in deeply and is immediately assailed by a fresh almost spicy sensation.

“W-What is that?”

“They said that they’re pine trees some of the hardiest trees that were in existence. Careful pushing through the pine needles they’re sharp but not dangerous just heh a bit unexpected.”

Slowly, carefully they made their way through the small grove of deep and silvered green.  Sillah is unable to hide her awe, even knowing that they were going to a Pocket didn’t guarantee that there would be trees! Against Edin’s advice she immediately reached out to touch the pines and was still surprised at how sharp they were, not necessarily sharp enough to cut but still strangely dangerous.  

“Dad uh you’re sure they’re not poison?”

He shrugs moving a branch out of the way while easily ducking under another.

“They only said what they’re called.”

After about twenty minutes they emerged on the other side of what Sillah kept calling a forest but Edin insisted that it was properly classified as a grove.    As soon as they cleared the tree they found themselves standing in front of a series of caves emitting a low warm light.

“Is this?”

“This is the Pocket.”

She walks in and looks around and everything is completely foreign but far from unnatural.  The walls have been carved to create adequate space and both sides of the walls are lined with tents made of the same or at least a similar material to Sillah’s own beloved hideout.  Above each tent or set of tents is a name carefully carved into polished wood.  The light is coming from cloudy lanterns and lamps.  The glass is scratched, imperfect, fragile, but the light was so soft and gold  instead of the efficient blue-white that she is used to.  Wordlessly she wanders in and the people in the tents and walking around stare and she stares back unashamed.  Their clothes don’t reflect the light its all made of cloth held together with stitched like in the canvas.  She feels her father’s hand come to rest on her shoulder to guide her to a tent near the end of the row.

“Edin? You’re back already? Oh, and your daughter Sillah right?”

A much older grandmotherly woman stands up, using a magnificently carved wooden cane to get to her feet and approach the two outsiders.  Her gray and white hair is intricately braided piled carefully onto her head in what Sillah assumes is an ‘ancient style’.  

She nods her affirmation still too overwhelmed with the hundreds of unimaginable sights and smells.

“Lanya didn’t come?”

“Next time.”

“Of course, well I’m sure you’ll need to be off soon so let me show you a few things before you leave. My name is Juliet I’m one of the founders of the Pine pocket.”

“A-Are there more?”

The possibility of there being more places like this, seemingly untouched by the technological advances of the New Way, gives Sillah back her voice.

“I’m uncertain how many more exactly but wherever you find a grove of live trees...”

Sillah’s dad shoots her a look.  As a family they always argue over words and meaning and its practically a crime in their household to same something and be unable to provide proof. Sillah chooses to ignore the obvious use of grove whispering under Juliet’s explanation.

“Forest still sounds better.”

Juliet raises an eyebrow but continues speaking while her father just sighs in resignation.

“...there is most likely a Pocket somewhere nearby.  Now I understand you don’t have time to hear all of this...”

She gestures widely to the lit stone hallway bustling with people who are clearly settling in for the evening.

“...Came to be, but there are a few things you must experience, I insist.”

Sillah manages to tear herself away from the careful scrutiny of every unusual detail of the Old Way.

“Yes, please!”

Juliet smiles.

“Good, first into my tent I’m going to make us a quick cup of tea.”

“Tea?”

Sillah looks at her father and they both exchange looks of genuine confusion.

“Oh, gracious don’t tell me those automatons have done away with tea as well.”

“If its something you cook than yes and if it wasn’t a major part of history than it probably wasn’t in the archives before they scrubbed them.”

She shakes her head sadly and holds open the tent flap.

“You have been deprived.”

It takes longer than she would expect to prepare this strange drink, which apparently involves heating water and leaves? But her father looks eager, so she reluctantly receives the stunning and impractically delicate teacup and takes a small sip. Hot bitterness followed by and expanding sweetness that makes the flavor something besides just strong.   She sneaks a glance towards her dad, he looks absolutely delighted.

“Incredible, strange but delicious!”

Juliet smiles approvingly.

“I knew you were decent folk.”

After finishing the tea Juliet led them through winding hallways that purposefully connect the series of caves to each other. If she had the time Sillah would have insisted on stopping to examine every other thing they passed by. Eventually though they come to a room with the tallest ceiling she’s seen in the cave so far, and carved into every wall is shelves, and lining every shelf are hundreds and hundreds of books.

“You can each take one with you as long as you promise to take care of it.”

Before she can finish speaking Sillah makes a beeline for the nearest shelf and carefully, lovingly begins running her finger along the titles.  The thrill of finding something that was supposedly lost that had been replaced and then destroyed is unbelievable.  She grabs the first one with gold lettering on the binding and the promise of fairytales in its title.

“This one. Please.”

“Of course, an excellent choice, such a fine copy of Hans Christian Andersen stories, an excellent first choice.”

Edin takes his time studying the shelves, visually sorting through genres and authors, eventually he narrows his choice down to history and philosophy.  He looks pained with the decision of choosing between them. Sillah hardly notices she’s already lost to the depths of her book, but Juliet does.

“Why don’t you bring the other back for your Lanya?”

He is clearly tempted to say but instead he slumps further into his literal and figurative corner of indecision.

“She won’t want this one.”

He waves a copy of Socrates dialogues which is still crisp and well annotated.

“And she wouldn’t mind this one, but I’m sure she’d pick something a bit different.”

Sillah responds without tearing her eyes away from the page for a second.  

“Mom would want a biography or a cookbook but she’d still read the history if you gave it to her.”

“I know but...”

Juliet smiles and quickly selects a well-worn book off the shelf by Julia Childs, part biography and part cookbook.

“Here this is for dear Lanya and you take Socrates for your earlier visit and Churchill for this one alright?”

“I don’t want to break any rules.”

“The rules are there to protect the books but I have full confidence that you and daughter will take excellent care of them.”

Still without looking up Sillah replies.

“We absolutely will!”

Edin nods resolutely clutching all three books to his chest like they were new and already beloved children.

“Wonderful! Well it is getting late you mentioned you would head back...oh dear before midnight.”

Juliet pulls out a marvelous piece of clockwork that quickly informs them that it is a quarter to two in the morning.  Sillah looks up just in time to see the pocket watch, immediately jumping up shrieking.

“Mom’s gonna kill us!”

Rather than disagreeing her father just nods somberly before turning to Juliet.

“Would it be alright if we spent the night here and head out in the morning?”

“You.”

She points to Edin and Sillah who are both still clutching their books like their lives depend on it.

“And Lanya are welcome here at any time for any amount of time all I ask is that you leave behind any technology and you keep the location to yourself. You and I both know none of this is officially against the law, but most of its been destroyed so we have to preserve every bit of what we have left. I trust you can help us do that?”

Sillah looks around at the few candles under glass and paper lanterns that light the magnificence of the Pocket underground library.  

“Of course, we can we absolutely will, won’t we Dad?”

“That’s all we’ve dreamed of.”

“Excellent, well grab your things we’ll set you up in a nice tent and I’ll send you home with a few fresh things and hopefully Lanya won’t be too worried.”

“She probably will be upset, but that’s alright, next time we’ll convince her to come and then she’ll understand easy it was to lose track of the time here.”

[manitamuerte]

Weekly Writeblr

Monday - Meet & Greet Monday // Motivation Monday Tuesday - Trivia Tuesday // Tidbit Tuesday Wednesday - Worldbuilding Wednesday // WIP Wednesday Thursday - Throwback Thursday // Thirsty Thursday Friday - Friday Night Fights // Flash Fiction Friday // Feedback Friday Saturday - Storyteller Saturday // Spotlight Saturday Sunday - Six Sentence Sunday // Smut Sunday —– @homesteadchronicles hosts different weekly themed: Moodboard Mondays, Character Tuesdays, Worldbuilding Wednesdays, and Spotlight Saturdays

[raevenlywrites]

For y'alls information

[daily-prompts]

prompt 1238

I’d be happy to come back to you, except that it was you who went away.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

I’m back with the creative writing prompts here’s a short story that’s very close to my heart that I’ve aptly named: Bleach

“I’d be happy to come back to you, except that it was you who went away.”

I stand there stunned and temporarily guilted into complete silence. She’s glaring at me daring me to answer. Always too intuitive for her own good or anyone else’s.  The cars keep rushing by behind us, consistently followed by the sound of wailing sirens, there to remind me that we’re not in a good place. I look at her.  There’s dark makeup smudged around her eyes, but she must have cried and rubbed them because there’s a dark streak across her nose as well.  The bottom of her brown, thin curls are bleached a horrific shade of orange blonde that only comes from a poorly executed DIY dye-job.

“What was so bad that you felt you had to run away?”

She lifts her chin defiantly with such timing and precision I’d easily believe that she practices emulating her favorite misunderstood heroines on a daily basis.

“Same reason you left.”

I know that can’t be true because the reason I left hasn’t been home for seven years and  is either missing, dying, or dead.

“I grew up I didn’t leave there’s a difference.  There’s a huge difference Maggie between making plans to go to college and walking out the door and disappearing like that.  Mom and Dad are having dual heart attacks I flew across the fu-freakin’ country to find you! What do you imagine gives you the right to do that?”

For a second I think she feels bad but then she stalks up to me, as if getting in my face will make her point of effectively.  This whole situation is exacerbated by the fact that my little sister is now a whole head taller than me.

“You can just say ‘fuck’ I’m not a kid anymore.”

I look at her, all five feet nine inches of seemingly stereotypical rage and teenage rebellion. She clearly fried her ends, now that she’s closer I can seem how brittle and stringy they are, and the make up mess doesn’t stop at her eye liner.  The dark lipstick is patchy and unlined, the concealer meant to cover zits is more than a few shades lighter than her foundation which highlights the blemishes rather than hiding them.  She’s wearing a t-shirt of a band that either doesn’t exist or she wouldn’t be allowed to listen to, judging by the graphic its probably trash.  If I had been home I could have saved her from destroying her hair, I could have taught her how to apply makeup and shown her which eyeliners are actually waterproof and which ones are liars.  I could have introduced her to good rock music and screamo if that’s she was looking for, I know my shit and I’ve dabbled in all the genres at this point. If I had stayed maybe I could have been a good sister.

“Why do you think I left?”

“Because you were suffocated, because they controlled every aspect of your life and you were sick of it! That’s why you left and that’s why you never come home! I don’t even want to go to college so why should I wait to leave?”  

She doesn’t know shit why I left. Which is fine, I’d prefer she didn’t know. I left because I couldn’t keep pretending that years of living in fear of our brother and being manipulated and abused and just constantly tip-toeing around like there was a bomb about to go off hadn’t affected me. I had to get away from that and she was six when I left so she didn’t understand what I had lived with for years before was even born. I probably won’t ever not hate myself for leaving, but I also don’t regret it. Maybe part of what she said was true though? I know our parents can be controlling, but for the most part they’re not unreasonable.  But it’s better that she thinks we’re just both selfish.

“Look, you can go wreak havoc on the world when you’re eighteen, no one is making you go to college...I did leave for lots of those reasons and I don’t come home and I’m sorry, but they don’t deserve this.”

Mom and Dad already lost one kid and they fought for him with everything they had.  Thousands of dollars and millions of hours went into therapy, special schools, rehab, mental institutions, nothing ever worked, but that wasn’t their fault.  Then I left. Its not fair to force you to be the one who stays, but please for the love of all that is good, at least stay a little longer.  Don’t make me come back.  If I go back to fake smiles, and nightmares I’ll go back to needles and nooses and I’ve been clean for years now. Please.

“I know you’re angry, and I understand that dyeing your hair shouldn’t be this big of a deal, but you’re making it worse.  Just get in the car and we’ll talk this out.  We’ll cut off those dead ends and if we can come to an agreement I’ll show you how to bleach your hair without murdering it...but you’ll probably have to earn it. You hurt them, you broke trust, next time...”

I hate that I’m standing here lecturing her, but I never learned how to be her sister, not really. I knew how to be a protector, a shield, a barrier...a third parent but never really a sister.  

“What? Next time what? I should talk to them? I should turn to you? Maybe I would if you were ever here!”

“I’ll talk to them about the hair dye, but please don’t even t ask about tattoos.  Just try to be good for them okay? For me? And remember you can still call...”

“Once a fucking week.”

She’s right I did say that, she has every right to hate me.  

“No, not once a week, whenever you need me.  I promise I’ll answer whenever I see you calling.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me, and I can’t really blame her.

She sort of collapses against me crumpling and suddenly sobbing. I stumble back and I just try and hold her.  She’s taller than me and stronger than me, it seems to be a running theme in my family.

“Why? Why did you leave what did I do to make you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you and I never have.”

I hate what I couldn’t be for you.

“And I’m sorry...”

I’m not sorry I left

“...I’m sorry I left you”

And that’s the fucking truth.    

[luckthebard]

Happy Birthday Marisha Ray!

Hope others will join me in celebrating by remembering their favorite Marisha moments.

I’ll start! 

When her liveshow outfits gave the gays everything they wanted

“I….wait.”

“You’ve never heard of boulder, parchment, shears?” 

That time she came onto Talks just to lie down and take a nap

Her Vex impression during the Honey Heists

Her Marlon Brando impression during the Honey Heists

wearing her most flammable pants to the fire-spinning episode of AWNP

“Don’t worry guys, it’s going out. Slowly but surely -” “THERE IS SMOKE IN THE HALLWAY”

Hazel Copperpot’s extria sylliables!

the combat Perch 

[equivalencept-deactivated202109]

Her Vinnie the Pooh accent during Honey Heist 2, and its slow degradation over ten minutes until Vinnie is almost incomprehensible

Honestly everything about the Honey Heists, those are my go-to when I’m sad

All of her descriptions of Beau doing cool monk shit

Keyleth being Maid-of-Honor-zilla during the wedding oneshot

Keyleth using control weather to move the storm out of the way when VM were on an airship, and Marisha’s description of it

How she played Beau when she had truesight

[apocalyps-o]

It would be criminal not to add “CALL ME A CHILD ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME!”

And the ever iconic fall after successfully casting Feeblemind

Begrudgingly saying “… because we care about each other”

[bixbiboom]

This is one time I’m gonna encourage y’all to check the notes for more comments because every one of them is solid Marisha-loving gold.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

- “I have passed through fire” 

-The insanely generous and involved way she portrays every character she touches

-the example she sets for women in creative fields who think that they’re limited 

-Marisha Fucking Ray came into the creative world and said FUCK YOUR LIMITS I’m going to act AND produce AND host AND direct and constantly blow your minds 

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

the thing about writing fantasy stories is that language is so based on history that it can be hard to decide how far suspension of disbelief can carry you word-choice wise - what do you call a french braid in a world with no france? can a queen ann neckline be described if there was no queen ann? where do you draw the line? can you use the word platonic if plato never existed? can you name a character chris in a land without christianity? can you even say ‘bungalow’ in a world where there was no indian language for the word to originate from? is there a single word in any language that doesn’t have a story behind it? to be accurate a fantasy story would be written in a fantasy language but who has the time for that

[a-kite-dancing-in-a-hurricane]

Tolkien had the time apparently

[misbehavingmaiar]

LIsten. Linguistics Georg, who invented over 10,000 conlangs each day, is an outlier and should not have been counted. 

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast Characters: Beauregard Lionett, Caleb Widogast, Nott (Critical Role), Jester Lavorre, Fjord (Critical Role), Mollymauk Tealeaf, The Mighty Nein Additional Tags: Empire Kids, Beauregard Lionett Has Issues, Alternate Universe - College/University Summary:

Beau tries to find a place on campus to let off some steam...things go awry

This is my first effort to add some of my more works from A03 onto Tumblr sooo we’ll see how it goes!

[ashaharellan]

Wanna follow more critical role blogs!!

So if ya post Critrole stuffs reblog so i can follow you! 💕

Art, fanfic, meta, gifs, cosplay ect

I wanna follow you!

[luckthebard]

I get the dramatic appeal of the “Caleb doesn’t even register on Trent’s radar, Caleb’s paranoia makes him think he’s a way bigger deal to Trent than he is” theory, but I’m wondering why it’s suddenly so popular when we have at least some canon proof that it’s not the case?

Caleb only has the anti-scrying necklace because one of Trent’s men was guarding him in the asylum. Trent had a guy watching Caleb for eleven years. That doesn’t seem to me like the actions of a dude who has totally forgotten his failed student.

Now, does Trent probably not care too much about Caleb, and only think of him as a broken tool? Sure, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t also think of him as a lost and potentially dangerous asset who he needs to get back under his thumb.

As for why Trent watched Caleb for that long, why he put him in an asylum in the first place instead of killing him, and why he would even care about getting a hold of him again - I think we finally have an answer. If Trent was handpicking students not just because they had the potential to be powerful mages, but rather because of their potential with dunamancy, then Caleb is a rare investment who he might not want to get rid of permanently, even if he “failed”. 

I don’t necessarily think Trent is putting any kind of energy or resources into actively looking for Caleb, but I absolutely think he’d send someone to snatch him up if he ever found out where he was.

[theregoesmylurkerstatus]

This is a great breakdown! And I don’t mean to hijack, but I just want to toss out there – I have to wonder if we still don’t have all the big pieces in regards to Caleb’s backstory. I think you’re very right that Caleb having dunamancy potential is the reason he got special attention and wasn’t killed! But even so, as you said, ‘fixing’ Caleb or getting him under control would still be a side project, a half-thought, for Trent.

So, if all of that is the case, then that means that Caleb believing Trent is actively out to get him IS being overly paranoid. In-game we’ve been given no reason outside of Caleb’s claims to believe Trent wants him that badly.

But, if it’s not paranoia and Caleb’s right… Why on earth would Trent be so desperate to get Caleb back in his clutches? Why would he actively go after the people around Caleb just to get to him? SOMETHING made Caleb believe he not only needs to wear a locket that hides him from scrying at all times, but also needs to use fake names and try and remain so dirty that he’s unrecognisable. Maybe that something is just Caleb being a little unstable (which is believable), but…

I can’t help but think there’s still something we don’t know.

[luckthebard]

^Oh, this is an interesting thought! I’m personally leaning toward Caleb being paranoid (he does have reason to be), but you’re right that there might be some as yet unknown reason Caleb thinks Trent would be invested in him specifically.

If there is, I’m sure it’s going to hurt.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

I’m so on board with this line of thinking, but let me just throw out this conspiracy theory.  Trent IS still invested in Caleb/Bren but not for any reason that Caleb is actively aware of...essentially Caleb IS being irrationally paranoid and overcompensating based on the information that he has (like others have said he has every right to be paranoid the poor man is trauma central) but that overcompensation is unconsciously protecting him because Caleb doesn’t remember why Trent would want him back, but his instincts tell him he does and he can’t let it happen even if he can’t pinpoint why exactly? Caleb has admitted in canon that he has very few memories from his years in the asylum, but now that we know that the asylum is also part of a research facility it seems possible that Caleb saw and heard things while he was there that were never meant to be known outside the asylum, consciously he doesn’t remember the fine details (because our minds sometimes do that thing where they try to protect us by making us forget things and it is sometimes helpful and sometimes not) but Trent knows that the classified information exists somewhere inside Caleb’s steel trap of a mind.  Therefore his motivation for getting Bren back is two part superficially it is to soothe his ego, no one ruins Trent Ikithon’s plans and escapes from under his thumb without paying a heavy price, but the real reason is to cover his own tracks.  Bren now Caleb Widogast possesses information that could tear down the entire Cerberus Assembly. Caleb is a loose end but he’s a loose end with growing confidence, unknown magical abilities, and powerful allies.  Trent is biding his time because if he triggers the memories too soon everything he built could come crashing down.  Bren was deadly, but Caleb Widogast is dangerous and his new friends only complicate things further.   

[carusti]

Bloodied Tracks to Cover

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

The price of knowledge is high

HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS ITS FANTASTIC YOU ARE A BRILLIANT ARTIST 

[luckthebard]

I thought about adding this to my previous “Caleb and PTSD” post thread, but tumblr is terrible to try and navigate so I’m just going to state this latest update in a new post.

As I’ve stated since Beau and Caleb argued about Calianna, Beau’s reaction to Caleb in that moment was very valid and probably what needed to happen, even if she was harsh about it. That was very much a case of a character with trauma allowing paranoia to overcome an ability to communicate. Paranoia from trauma can indeed make people controlling in a very negative way.

However, and because I relate to Caleb in a “wow, PTSD is a bitch” kind of way, I also want to point out something that I’ve found in relation to this behavior in my own life. In situations where my trauma makes me snap into “get shit done, get out of this situation, survive somehow” mode, I’ll get one of two reactions from people around me. If the situation is an actual emergency, and I suddenly snap into “this is bad, we need to get out of here now, here’s what we’re going to do,” and we all make it through that moment, the reaction is often “Wow, you really held it together, we would have been so lost without you! No one else was doing anything!” Never mind that I was dissociating pretty much the entire time the crisis was happening, and had a private breakdown hours later. No one even knew. But when I react like that in situations that aren’t a legit crisis or bad scenario, people (very rightly!) get super pissed at how controlling and bossy I’m being. Because my need to do things in a certain way for “survival” is, in that situation, not rational.

The problem for me and other people with PTSD though (and something that’s important to work through in therapy) is that, in the moment, I cannot tell the two kinds of situations apart. When my brain snaps into “survival” mode, I’m not very aware of how unreasonable I’m being until I calm down. And that can cause major interpersonal conflict, and is very much one of the more ugly sides of this particular kind of mental illness. I think sometimes PTSD and Anxiety can get so…I hate the word “woobified,” but I can’t think of a better one, online that the parts that make it hard to live with and cause problems can get glossed over as they’re unflattering and make a lot of people unsympathetic to the conditions. And you know, kind of understandably. It’s wrecked some of my relationships in the past, and that wasn’t really anyone’s fault but mine. 

This got kind of rambley, but I guess if I have a closing statement it would be that while I get why some people aren’t fans of Caleb’s trauma-based moments of reaction and problem-solving, I do wish, because he is fictional, that he might be an opportunity to see another point of view and perhaps be more understanding of and empathetic toward people who operate that way in real life. 

[vexie-chan]

T h i s.

I relate to Caleb’s trauma from an anxiety lens…I don’t have a specific traumatic trigger but I have a high anxiety disorder that will throw me into fight-or-flight mode in sometimes unsolicited situations. This is so much more common when I’m stressed, which is something I see in Caleb a lot. His responses when stressed or tired are so similar with anxiety.

The past few episodes, Caleb has been increasingly in what my husband and I refer to as the “High Alert Zone”, meaning his guard is constantly up and anything (real or perceived) can trigger fight-or-flight mode. He has a good deal of restraint and keeps it together fairly well, but you can see the alarms getting louder in his head.

I think the moment I realized where he was mentally was when he got pushed into the mud by those two orcs amd cast enlarge on himself. When questioned, Caleb couldn’t give a solid answer to whether he was all right but gave a very frightened/unhappy response of “I don’t know what I’m doing. I think we should leave.” This rang out as such a ptsd/anxiety response because a) his own feeling of wellbeing was super hard for him to pinpoint, b) he’s responding to situations instinctively and recognizing that his response might be kind of impulsive and out of his control, and c) he’s willing to drop all current missions to leave because that’s what his instincts are telling him-run. Leave. This environment is extremely bad and stressful, we need to get out.

But as they stayed and things have continued to be less-than-peaceful, Caleb’s stress and high alert has only risen. Liam said on Talks that he was playing Caleb on 56 as needing to talk to people privately and just kind of…being quiet and unhappy until he could (which never got to happen). By the time they got to the Queen, he must have been near explosive. I know I would have been in full panic attack mode if I hadn’t been able to process all of that stress yet.

Gah, this became long, but as someone with high anxiety and who minored in trauma/ptsd in grad school, op articulated what I’ve been thinking about for the past week perfectly. The ugly side of mental health isn’t pretty tears and hyperventilating into your lover’s arms, it’s sometimes responding to things in weird ways because you hear alarms no one else can and everyone else is looking at you, not understanding why you’re acting that way.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

This is such awesome meta about Caleb and as someone with PTSD I deeply appreciate how Liam plays Caleb with all of the controversy and ugliness that comes with mental illness it makes me feel valid and seen  

[c-is-for-circinate]

The last thing I have to say about Mollymauk, also (for now at least), after watching so very much Talks Machina and also Taliesin’s Between the Sheets and also thinking one more time about just how brief his tenure with the Mighty Nein was…

The number one thing I’m saddest about, is that he died before we could watch Taliesin discover he was wrong about his own character.  And I’m also weirdly comforted that everything happened the way it did, because even though that would have been amazing, in a lot of ways it feels perfect–the literary and metatextual kind, where everything is foreshadowing and inevitability and themes and arcs that curve around exactly the way the story always should–that it didn’t.

Keep reading

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

Best Molly meta I’ve read so far :0

[amorphoussystem-deactivated2024]

Trickster’s Prayer

As I lay me down to rest,

Trickster, won’t you be my guest.

Come and see me in my sleep,

And know my heart is yours to keep.

And when the morning dawns with light,

Trickster, keep me in your sight.

As I go about my day

Come and teach me in your way.

And when the world is harsh and cruel,

Trickster, use me as your tool.

Correct the wrongs as you see fit,

Criticise with word and wit.

And when a problem comes my way,

Trickster, promise me you’ll stay

To see it through until the end

And all the while remain my friend.

And when my heart is hard and hollow,

Trickster, find me in my sorrow.

Comfort me in times of pain,

And help me learn to smile again.

And when my heart is filled with glee,

Trickster, won’t you laugh with me?

Together, shall we mock the Earth,

Lighten our hearts with joy and mirth.

As I lay me down to bed,

Trickster, you are in my head.

Whatever morning has in store,

Be with me forevermore.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

If this isn’t a prayer to the traveler I don’t know what is 

[queendax]

This blog is run by someone who is way too attached to fictional characters.

[seered-nerdofalltrades]

I’m being called out

[oopsabird]

everybody is so bored while stuck inside bc of covid-19 that i just got an ff.net alert that a fic from 2009 i was following updated with a new chapter for the first time in FIVE YEARS

[bugheadsextape]

Reblog for your favorite old fic to rise from the grave.

[deinde-prandium]

Reblog for your writer’s block to go away so that you can actually resurrect your WIPs