executivenerd

[executivenerd]

Wesker's Vulnerability

[executivenerd]

The 'T' in T-Virus stands for Tsum

Got the idea from this masterpiece by @prim42 where Wesker got injected and turned into tsum. Sadly, Redfield siblings has gone through the same incident

[executivenerd]

So I have read several people complaining that they can’t be expected to know the “unwritten rules” of fandom. So here’s what I wish people knew:

Fanfiction is fiction.

Fictional people are not real.

Fictional people do not have rights.

Fictional people cannot be abused.

Reading or writing about something does not mean the desire to do or support it in the real world.

If I find art upsetting/triggering/disgusting/outraging/unpleasant/squicky/distressing/offensive, it is on me not to read it, not the creators and hosts to remove it.

Curate your own experience. The back buttons exist for a reason.

If you don’t trust yourself to do that, get someone you trust to do it for you.

Fandom is an adult space. Adults create and own and host fandom spaces. If minors want to participate, then the onus is on them and their parents/guardians/trusted adults to ensure they participate appropriately, not on strange adults to stop being adults.

You often don’t know the assault status or mental health status or neurotype or race or nationality or religion or gender or sexuality or age of a creator or consumer, and they do not have to disclose to you to justify their fantasy.

AO3 is not a safe space. It is not intended to be a safe space. Proceed accordingly.

Just because you don’t like something or find it offensive doesn’t mean it is a “problem” that “has to be dealt with”.

Most characters in anime are not white.

There is no onus on you to reblog or share anything.

Everyone makes mistakes in fandom and is less than their best self sometimes.

Persistent pseudonyms encourage long term relationships.

Ship wars are stupid.

Someone else enjoying things does not impact on your own enjoyment of other things.

Tagging and warning is a courtesy, not a requirement. Assume any fic might contain untagged content.

Rating is an imprecise art, not a science.

Don’t hassle IP creators.

Most people who are in fandom are hoping to make connections based on a shared passion.

Trying to profit from transformative fanworks puts us all at risk.

No one is obligated to share your head canon or fanon.

Being kind rarely fails to pay off.

It is okay to block and remove people who make your experience unpleasant. You don’t have to placate them. (Learn from my mistakes).

Britpicking is a good thing.

You don’t have to justify why you like a canon/pairing/trope/kink. Sometimes navel gazing is fun, but you don’t have an obligation to explain yourself, especially to strangers. I share the overwhelming desire to refute an unfair accusation, but the people accusing you are rarely doing so in good faith, so you’re batting a losing wicket.

I’m not your Mum. (Well, okay, a very few of you can call me Mum or Mom, but if you are one of them you already know who you are ❤️)

If you aren’t mature enough to take responsibility for your online experiences, you aren’t mature enough to be in fandom spaces.

[executivenerd]

[executivenerd]

words to live by:

we're we. here fuck. we're shit. queer up.

[executivenerd]

I bring a sort of "oghren's character would be lesser if he was written without misogyny in mind" to the function that most normal people don't really like

[executivenerd]

❤️🚙💙

[executivenerd]

happy neil banging out the tunes day to everyone who celebrates

[executivenerd]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[executivenerd]

hey sexy. I can tell by the frequency of your blog updates that you are once again avoiding it all

[executivenerd]

it's all bad but at FUCKING LEAST it's neil banging out the tunes day. at least it's neil banging out the FUCKING tunes day

[executivenerd]

I noticed you haven’t been online in 10 hours, is therapy finally working?

this websites hate mail game is ruthless

[executivenerd]

I'm finished with art for the semester soooo here's what I've been workin on! All assets are my own. I used a DSLR camera along with Photoshop and Clip Studio Paint

Feel free to send asks about the unaltered photos/photo locations, cause some of the original signs were pretty interesting tbh

[executivenerd]

I... I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me.

[executivenerd]

A few weeks ago, I got an "ergonomic" crochet hook, in the size that I actually use, AND of a variety that the person working at the store said wasn't often returned.

It's like, how did I even FUNCTION without it. There's some times where I've gone back to using my former hook, and it feels like I'm holding a STICK, or something else shaped without regard for human use. I'd been expecting an unpleasant period of "yes it's no what I've been doing, but I need to get used to it because it's better for my hands", but what HAPPENED was a few seconds of "where's the best place to grip it", and maybe a day of sometimes being surprised at where a loop settled on the hook.

The closest thing I can compare it to, is having run barefoot for a time and then putting on running shoes.

[executivenerd]

take this for the next time you’re sick 🪴

[executivenerd]

microwave popcorn is such a beautiful technology. captures the full range of sensory and emotional experiences. there's even a part where it gets loud and scary. the 1812 overture of cheap snacks