#“Of course it's inaccessible what were you expecting?”

[hisohisoart]

We thank you for your prompt answer.

Thankfully, Hisoka.

To whom it may concern.

What is this blog's stance on opera as an artistic medium?

Thank you.

Ooh!!

Taken neutrally as just an artistic medium I think Opera is such a wonderful fucking thing

It's a genre of expression that doesn't have alot of the usual hang ups we might expect from musical theatre- you could dare to say its the closest thing to taking the idea of musical theatre to it's logical extreme. My point is, opera is big and loud and excellent for extreme and telenovela esk plots.

Opera is also very inaccessible. This is from my perspective as an italian-british bloke, but Opera isn't something easy to get into any kind of way. Seeing Opera live is insanely expensive and obviously the loud noise and often flashing lights- though that's one of my big problems with theatre as a whole- make it inaccessible, at least from where I'm standing.

That isn't to say you can't get into Opera without money- there are version of the Magic Flute and other classics online- but it's the Classical Art of musical theatre.

[artsekey]

I'd been seeing videos on Tiktok and Youtube about how younger Gen Z & Gen Alpha were demonstrating low computer literacy & below benchmark reading & writing skills, but-- like with many things on the internet-- I assumed most of what I read and watched was exaggerated. Hell, even if things were as bad as people were saying, it would be at least ~5 years before I started seeing the problem in higher education.

I was very wrong.

Of the many applications I've read this application season, only %6 percent demonstrated would I would consider a college-level mastery of language & grammar. The students writing these applications have been enrolled in university for at least two years, and have taken all fundamental courses. This means they've had classes dedicated to reading, writing, and literature analysis, and yet!

There are sentences I have to read over and over again to discern intent. Circular arguments that offer no actual substance. Errors in spelling and capitalization that spellcheck should've flagged.

At a glance, it's easy to trace this issue back to two things:

The state of education in the United States is abhorrent. Instructors are not paid enough, so schools-- particularly public schools-- take whatever instructors they can find.

COVID. The two year long gap in education, especially in high school, left many students struggling to keep up.

But I think there's a third culprit-- something I mentioned earlier in this post. A lack of computer literacy.

This subject has been covered extensively by multiple news outlets like the Washington Post and Raconteur, but as someone seeing it firsthand I wanted to add my voice to the rising chorus of concerned educators begging you to pay attention.

As the interface we use to engage with technology becomes more user friendly, the knowledge we need to access our files, photos, programs, & data becomes less and less important. Why do I need to know about directories if I can search my files in Windows (are you searching in Windows? Are you sure? Do you know what that bar you're typing into is part of? Where it's looking)? Maybe you don't have any files on your computer at all-- maybe they're on the cloud through OneDrive, or backed up through Google. Some of you reading this may know exactly where and how your files are stored. Many of you probably don't, and that's okay. For most people, being able to access a file in as short a time as possible is what they prioritize.

The problem is, when you as a consumer are only using a tool, you are intrinsically limited by the functions that tool is advertised to have. Worse yet, when the tool fails or is insufficient for what you need, you have no way of working outside of that tool. You'll need to consult an expert, which is usually expensive.

When you as a consumer understand a tool, your options are limitless. You can break it apart and put it back together in just the way you like, or you can identify what parts of the tool you need and search for more accessible or affordable options that focus more on your specific use-case.

The problem-- and to be clear, I do not blame Gen Z & Gen Alpha for what I'm about to outline-- is that this user-friendly interface has fostered a culture that no longer troubleshoots. If something on the computer doesn't work well, it's the computer's fault. It's UI should be more intuitive, and it it's not operating as expected, it's broken. What I'm seeing more and more of is that if something's broken, students stop there. They believe there's nothing they can do. They don't actively seek out solutions, they don't take to Google, they don't hop on Reddit to ask around; they just... stop. The gap in knowledge between where they stand and where they need to be to begin troubleshooting seems to wide and inaccessible (because the fundamental structure of files/directories is unknown to many) that they don't begin.

This isn't demonstrative of a lack of critical thinking, but without the drive to troubleshoot the number of opportunities to develop those critical thinking skills are greatly diminished. How do you communicate an issue to someone online? How do look for specific information? How do you determine whether that information is specifically helpful to you? If it isn't, what part of it is? This process fosters so many skills that I believe are at least partially linked to the ability to read and write effectively, and for so many of my students it feels like a complete non-starter.

We need basic computer classes back in schools. We need typing classes, we need digital media classes, we need classes that talk about computers outside of learning to code. Students need every opportunity to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to self-reflect & self correct, and in an age of misinformation & portable technology, it's more important now than ever.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Out of control COVID means permanent segregation for many disabled people - Published Aug 15, 2024

It’s August, and we are once again in the throes of a major COVID wave.

Using wastewater data- the only data that measures the amount of circulating COVID-19 in an era of inaccessible tests and discouraged reporting- infectious disease modeler J.P. Weiland estimates that the US has yet again crossed the million-infections-per-day mark as of August 9, with about 1 in 33 Americans currently infected with COVID-19.

The CDC, indeed, reports that over half of states have now crossed their “very high” threshold, and the raw wastewater data shows a dramatic upward swing.

1 in 33 means COVID in every restaurant, every supermarket, onboard every airplane, and of course in every hospital- where infection control teams continue to harm and kill vulnerable patients by failing to implement airborne infection control measures.

I’ve written before about how, in November 2021, nearly a year after the debut of the vaccines, Fauci publicly declared that US COVID cases would need to fall “well below 10,000 a day” for us to get a “degree of normality,” and allow us to return to pre-pandemic life. In the nearly three years since, the US has never had a single day with under 10,000 new COVID cases per day; in fact, we have never had a single day with under 100,000 new COVID cases per day.

Instead, in August 2024, we have over one million new COVID cases per day.

Is over a million new COVID cases per day “well below” 10,000 new COVID cases per day? Or did this administration pivot and sell a public health failure as a public health victory?

When we talk about the failures of the vaccine-only approach to COVID, it’s important to understand what the goals of that approach were. Why did Fauci believe we would have under 10,000 cases a day, and why was that important?

Fauci and other officials around the world hoped and believed that we would achieve herd immunity to COVID, if not through vaccination alone, then through a combination of vaccination and infections. Herd immunity would protect the vulnerable- including people who cannot themselves be vaccinated or who do not mount an immune response to vaccines- from COVID exposure.

It’s also important to keep disease transmission low because, frankly, diseases are not neutral events, even for nominally healthy and abled people. It’s not healthy to be reinfected with SARS-COV-2, or any virus, once or twice each year. Disease is economically costly due to worker absences and productivity slowdowns. “Healthy” and “abled” are also permeable categories; when you infect people with diseases more often, you increase the number of “unhealthy” and “disabled” people. By keeping transmission of SARS-COV-2 “well below” 10,000 cases a day, the community at large is returned to a state of pre-pandemic well-being.

This promised land of low transmission, clearly, never happened. To understand why, you can read my piece about viral evolution and vaccine evasiveness, which explores in depth how SARS-COV-2 evolved faster than expected and escapes immunity from both vaccines and infection within months (if not weeks). This immune evasiveness successfully got the virus to the other side of the failed vaccine-only strategy, and that’s where it’s really been able to stretch its legs. Because on the other side of the vaccine-only strategy, there is no plan B. There are no masks, no mitigations; there’s no plan, and no plan to make a plan.

Instead, the approach is one of denial, misinformation, hiding data, stripping resources, privatizing vaccines and medications, and turning those who (believe they) can play “back to normal” against those who simply cannot. “Herd immunity” has been redefined to mean … well, what exactly does it mean, in the context of the entire population being reinfected over, and over, and over again? To pundits it’s a shorthand for “most people have already had COVID before.” To politicians it’s an applause line equivalent to “COVID is over.” To the public, it just means, “I don’t have to care anymore.”

For immunocompromised people, disabled people, and other people avoiding COVID, it’s meaningless. Herd immunity to measles means vulnerable people are never exposed to measles. Herd immunity to SARS-COV-2 means vulnerable people are exposed every time they leave home.

Read the rest of Julia's article at either link!

[ghostfilecabinet]

I've thought about this a little bit, and it feels like a cop out, but truly I can see both sides.

On one hand, it's a fledgling company who wants to make art in a way they feel proud of. It's all well and good for us to say "we were here when the text was blue and yellow and we don't care about production value", but as someone who in her own right creates - whether its gifs or writing or silly little scrapbook pages - it's about creating something you believe is of the highest quality you can create.

Not only that, it's also about being a company that can support its employees and pay them a more-than living wage. It's potentially about being able to fulfill promises to people who had invested in Watcher in the beginning, though I know less about that.

To say that 'they make bank' with patreon and sponsorships and merch when they support a staff of over 20 people is potentially untrue. What seems like corporate greed can have several layers.

On the other hand, it's not an overreaction for fans to feel abandoned and disregarded - especially those in non-Western countries, as well as younger fans.

Fans feeling bitter at being told that USD5.99 is an amount 'anybody and everybody can afford' isn't unreasonable. It's a large amount for many fans who live in countries where several USD is a quarter of what they earn in a month, or even for people who are at stages in their life where everything they earn has to go into keeping themselves fed and housed.

Imagine a life where you struggle so much to meet your own needs, where some of your only comforts is sitting down at the end of the day and watching people talk about conspiracies or shout at air in abandoned buildings, only to see that was being taken away from you (and by the very system that's been holding you hostage and making you miserable)? I can see why people would lash out. Why it would seem like these people who joked about eating the rich and understanding privilege have been lying all along.

To me, both of these things - creatives turning away from a highly controlled space like YouTube with its low financial returns, and fans hating that content that used to be free now has to cost them money and reading that as capitalist predatory behaviour, all stem from the same issue, which is that money and art are intertwined. Whether this is terrible and insidious or just a fact of life is another point of mixed feelings, for me.

The point is: I understand why Watcher is doing this. I understand why people don't want Watcher to do this.

Do I think it's a good thing? I'm not sure. How much will their content change? Their reasoning is feeling that they're having to make content for both their fans and advertisers, so that creates an expectation that making this decision will change what they put out in a positive way. That's added pressure. Another thing is that there is a narrative they're pushing of doing this for their audience, while of course making it inaccessible to a potentially large chunk of them. How will that bridge be crossed? These questions definitely need answering, but they need time to be answered. I'm withholding judgement until these get answered for me, and I'm ready to be patient.

Do I think it was the smart thing for them to do in the long run? I have no idea. I want it to be, because I don't want them to fail and decide to give up. It's not a nice feeling to see artists give up on making their art be their livelihood.

[chalkrevelations]

Oh. My god.

So, last night, I reblogged a gifset of that conversation Pete has with Pol when they’re on stakeout, tailing Vegas, sitting around in the car, and Pete wants to know who Pol thinks would do a better job – Vegas’s bodyguard or Pete? And I added this bit of commentary:

My theory on the closest thing Pete has to a sexual fantasy at this point in the narrative and his life: Pete saves Vegas's life in some kind of shootout or assassination attempt that no one else could have protected Vegas from, thereby earning headpats from Thee Vegas Theerapanyakul, who Everyone Knows is a completely detached sociopath who usually has no more use for his bodyguards than as human bulletproof vests (which is somehow different from the main family for no reason I can discern but apparently exists?). Only now, Pete has proven himself and is both Noticed By and Special To this violent, emotionally inaccessible man (who, as an added bonus, is in a position of power over him). I mean, for whatever variables of "special" Pete can even conceptualize at this point, anyway. And I wonder how many times he's imagined this. It's Pete's very own mafia-filtered version of the Bad Boy fantasy in which you're the only one he cares about - you're the only one who can have that effect on him - and that makes you the Most Special-est Girl. C'mon, who's the most inaccessible Bad Boy in Pete's sphere? Certainly not Kinn, who'll just up and tell Pete that he trusts him the Very Most - even more than Pete's best friend! who Kinn is fucking! - the hot minute that Kinn's coercing Pete into doing something he really, really doesn't want to do. And you know Pete's daydream version of what makes him the Most Special-est Girl involves killing someone the best and quickest and most efficiently - because if he wins in the ring a fight, then the most emotionally inaccessible, violent man he knows (who, as an added bonus, is in a position of power over him) will love him, right? Not to mention, a guy with that many gun posters doesn't get stuck on Tankhun-babysitting detail and not have fantasies about proving his worth via violence. Listen, he just spends an awful lot of time standing around in Vegas's right-hand man spot like he's trying on the position during Ep 7, is all I'm sayin'.

… in which the vague allusions to Pete’s Daddy Issues were absolutely intentional. And I’ve also commented before about Pete finding another home with an angry man at the safehouse. And yet it wasn’t until yesterday’s post rolled up on my own dashboard and I saw it again today that the Brick Of Revelation hit me in the head and I thought about this through the framework of - my god! Pete and Vegas really do play out the very scenario that Pete warns Vegas about when you’re seeking the approval of your father abuser!

In the safehouse, Pete wins. He achieves his fantasy. He pulls the thorn out of the lion’s paw, and he gets the notice and special regard of Vegas Theerapanyakul, and he gets his world rocked on top of that, and then … then it turns out nothing changes. Vegas – the guy who expected that Pete winning in the ring would mean that his father would stop beating him, the guy who continues to seek his own abusive father’s approval, who keeps trying to win against Kinn, in the hope that Kun will stop treating him as a disposable whipping boy – Vegas goes right back to physically and emotionally abusing Pete. On top of that, the fantasy doesn’t play out in reality; Vegas literally tells Pete that he’s nothing special. (I mean, lies, of course, but the fact is that Vegas says it right to his face.)

I just. This is another one of those instances where I walked up to this revelation and even walked all the way around it, poking at it, but I just never looked at it straight on until this moment - the way Pete’s experience in the safehouse so closely mirrors his experience with his father. We watch Vegas continue to recreate the cycle of abuse, and we're like, "oh, dude, you need to make some better decisions," but we've also just spent 2.5 eps watching Pete, dispenser of this very wisdom, fall back into the same patterns he warns Vegas about. Because breaking that cycle and changing your behavior and your expectations is hard. Even when your head knows better. The things this show says about generational trauma and intimate violence and patriarchal control, I just ... god. Just, don't mind me, I have to go claw at some drywall for a while.

Also, it makes me wonder if Pete did kill his father. Because if he ran from home the same way he ran from the safehouse, if we’re supposed to look at this echo forward into the present of what happened in the past, then are we supposed to think that maybe there was a similar confrontation in the past, in which Pete struck out before he extricated himself from the trap he was in and ran?

Vegas is a lot younger and more resilient (and used to being knocked around) than Pete’s dad probably was, at that point.

[drunkenskunk]

So, I'm laying in bed, waiting for the painkillers to kick in, with an ice pack strapped to my knee, and I'm letting my mind wander. And I'm thinking about Warhammer 40k, because of course I am, this is what I do when I'm bored and in pain.

While laying here, I got to thinking: when were the first "official" conflicts between humanity and the all the other Xenos factions? So I'm just delirious enough to be like "let's figure this shit out."

And I'm already needing to start off with a mulligan, because the Orks, the Eldar, and the daemons of Chaos have always been ubiquitous in the Warhammer galaxy ever since humanity first walked upright, so trying to pin down "first contact conflict" is a mugs game. It would all be pre-Dark Age of Technology. Who the fuck knows for sure.

So who else is there: in terms of "major" Xenos factions (that is: armies with a codex), we got the Tyranids, the Tau, the Necrons, and the Leagues of Votann. Which is less than I hoped, but about what I expected for James "SPESS MEHREEN" Workshep.

So: the Tyranids. The First Tyrannic War was in 745.M41. However: if we really want to be specific and pedantic (and I do), then the first time the Imperium ran into the Tyranids was "sometime" around 500.M41 when genestealers were first encountered on the moons of Ymgarl. Then again, I'm not actually sure we should count that, considering that the Imperium wouldn't even make that connection themselves until much later.

Next: the Tau. Technically first "contact" was in 789.M35, when an AdMech explorator ship, Land's Vision, found the planet that would eventually be named Tau, and recorded a primitive species that had mastered simple tools and fire. But because that planet became inaccessible due to a warp storm, and the records got lost in the chaos of the Age of Apostasy, we (again) probably shouldn't count that. First real conflict was the Damocles Crusade, between 742.M41 and 745.M41... and it only ended because the Tyranids showed up.

Moving on: the Necrons. Technically, they've been "around" even longer than the Eldar. But they've mostly all been fucking asleep in their tomb worlds, except for a select few who woke up early (looking at you Trazyn). So, really, if we're ignoring shit like Szarekh the Silent King returning from his self imposed exile in response to the Tyranids showing up (are we noticing a pattern here?), first "official" conflict with the Imperium was the Sanctuary 101 massacre in 897.M41.

And finally: the Leagues of Votann. And, again: they've been "around" for who knows how long. It's heavily implied that their generation ships left Earth for the galactic core before even the Dark Age of Technology. But they mostly kept to themselves and didn't venture outside the holds in the galactic core until Cadia exploded and the Cicatrix Maledictum cut the galaxy in half, forcing them to leave. Finally, an "alien" faction being introduced to the setting that has nothing to do with the fucking Tyranids.

And, y'know... looking at all that? That really does kinda put in perspective why everything seems to have gone to shit in 40k, doesn't it?

Between the end of the Horus Heresy in 014.M31 and the start of the Damocles Crusade in 742.M41, the only things the Imperium of Man had to really worry about were Orks, Eldar, daemons, and renegades/traitors. Like, none of that is great (and a lot of it is self inflicted), but that kind of setup seems manageable. The Eldar never show up in huge numbers, and daemons require incredibly specific circumstances to even manifest outside The Warp. Hell, even the Orks for most of that time are basically just a nuisance, since a warboss on the scale of Urlakk Urg wouldn't be seen till Ghazgkull. Really, the most dangerous thing the Imperium had to worry about during that stretch of time was regular humans rebelling (rightfully so) in the face of the Imperium being a nightmarishly oppressive theocratic fascist state.

That's 10,000 years or so that you could almost call relatively stable, where the vast majority of issues were problems that it inflicted on itself. Business as usual.

AND THEN

In the span of just over 250 years, there's several wars with the Tau, the Tyranids show up over and over again, the Necrons start waking up, and... then the Leagues of Votann are also here now lol

Something, something, decades where nothing happens, and weeks where decades happen, etc.

[shrimpathizer]

this is just a theory (i haven't looked into this bit that much) but I feel like the reason that misinformation is so wildly rampant in online communities about ADHD (probably also autism) is in part because of how inaccessible actual professional information about it is.

Like, I remember before I got my diagnosis (what started off this whole thing a while back), I was looking at the CDC website description of symptoms of ADHD with my mom and. If you thought you were neurodivergent and were looking at this thing trying to see if you should get tested, its basically saying "screw you. you're either a child who is going to be here because of their parents, or an adult who is also here because of another neurotypical."

one of the criteria was literally "is often 'on the go' acting as if 'driven by a motor.'" that means absolutely nothing. you are using undefined expressions to explain something to someone who historically is not good at understanding unexplained social norms (such as expressions).

plus, its incredibly subjective. "on the go" could mean something wildly different for one person then the next. and "often" could mean "all the time every day" or "only at school" or even "every other week." not to mention the memory issues that at least a lot of the people who I know with ADHD struggle with.

someone who might have ADHD has no way of knowing if they "often have trouble organizing tasks and activities" or if that is a normal amount. there is no way for them to easily know if they "often do not seem to listen when spoken to directly."

so it seems obvious to me, that they would turn to other people with ADHD. and the easiest place to find them these days is online. thats how I started wondering if I should get diagnosed. they're probably trying to find some other way to understand or know. and since its social media and social media is rampant with misinformation, of course they are going to be fed misinformation.

people are going to tell them "you see this weird thing that you do? I do that too. and its actually because of this much larger thing. trust me." and people will. because there really isn't much of another place for them to turn. they are going to self-diagnose with every disorder under the sun to make themselves feel at home and feel like they aren't weird or wrong.

maybe i'm way off here but I think that if you want people (teens in particular) to stop turning to social media for comfort and information, you should give them other resources that are accessible. that they don't have to pay to see, that they can understand clearly, that acknowledges all the weird things that they feel bad about.

and sort of as a side note: i remember in elementary school, early on (this might have just been my school/city/state), the school set up one of those mobile classrooms on the yard and would pull kids out for like a good couple months to do eye exams. because we've normalized that kids also have eye problems and thats normal. and maybe, could we also get a small little assessment. just to see if we can find neurodivergent kids early on and get them help so that they don't suffer for years and years.

and i'm not talking as someone who has had it hard. i have had it so easy compared to so many others. i have supportive parents and get good grades, and yet, i am constantly burnt out. i constantly feel horrible. not just because of depression. maybe i'm being too radical here but i feel like i shouldn't need a 504 plan to say that if i'm having a panic attack i can leave the room. that if i'm having trouble focusing i can go to the library or somewhere else. that i can get extensions on due dates. that i can see a copy of the notes or lesson for reference. i don't know maybe i'm just incredibly radical that i think people shouldn't have to be expected to work four times as hard to get anything done and then get blamed when they don't live up to the expectation. whether or not they are neurodivergent.

[demonic-shadowlucifer]

LPSCon: How *NOT* to host an event

(Trigger Warning: Brief references to suicide/self-harm and gaslighting) Welp, I read about it, and knew it was something that needed to be talked about.

If you're an active member of the LPS Community, you might be familar with LPSCon. Maybe you've attended it before. Or at the very least heard the name. But for those who don't, put simply, LPSCon is a convention around Littlest Pet Shop (LPS) toys, and the community that surrounds it (Think LPSTube!). LPSCon has had issues, as all conventions do. However, this year was *especially* a disaster. Now, I have never attended LPSCon, and after the events and stories I've heard about this year's, I most likely will not ever attend. This is based on the experiences I have heard from multiple individuals, and sources will be linked at the end. What Went Wrong

For starters, the event took place during an incredibly hot day in Vegas. Vegas. In summer.

Of course, that went about as well as you'd expect. There was little to no shade, no water (And when there *was* water, people had to pay for it, which wouldn't be an issue IF NOT FOR THE FACT PEOPLE WERE DEHYDRATED AND EXHAUSTED FROM HEAT), and poor air conditioning, meaning that even indoors it was still very warm. People were fainting, some had to leave early due to the heat, and one attendee stated that a friend "basically got heat stroke" as a result.

As for food, there were only two food trucks. *Two*. And little variety. No outside food or drink was allowed, and the trucks eventually had to close due to overwhelming orders. I can only imagine how exhausted the staff at those food trucks were. Next, the venue. I'm just gonna cut to the chase on this one: The venue was an awful *awful* choice. It got overcrowded way too quickly, tables ran out of room. And the upper floors were reserved for VIP only, which didn't do anyone favors. It was also incredibly inaccessible, with the mics and hosts being extremely loud, which was overstimulating to some, and no way for wheelchair users to get around. On top of that, security was no help. At some point, they just gave up and let *anybody* in and barely did bag checks (Something that is INCREDIBLY fucking dangerous). On top of that, staff was rude and snarky to others, with one attendee being refused a slice of confetti cake very rudely during the cake-cutting event! As well as allegations of a diabetic attendee not being allowed food (or allowed to bring their own food?) On top of that, the event itself was a total disaster. During the event, there were goodie bags (Known as "swag bags") given out. Those bags were supposed to contain LPS toys, candy and other items. What most fans got were some G4 LPS that had missing heads, unwrapped candy that was most likely expired, a ton of random garbage, LPS that were *incredibly* dirty or broken, and some attendees got no LPS in their goodie bags at all!

Additionally, many people's items (Including LPS) were stolen or lost. And any attempts at getting them back were unsuccessful, with LPSCon not cooperating whatsoever. The prices on items were also *horrible*, with some LPS being unreasonably overpriced, and other items being unreasonably cheap, including raffle tickets.

And don't even get me started on the stupid foam party.

LPSCon's "Apology"

After the event, LPSCon "apologized" on their Instagram page. And I put "apologized" in quotes due to them failing to acknowledge the actual issues at hand.

They made a second post later on, that was arguably worse than the other. Instead of apologizing, not only did they double down, they also straight up made guilt-trippy comments.

Now, harassment is bad. I've made that clear many times before. But once you resort to gaslighting tactics, including a threat of SH or suicide, you lose all credibility.

In summary

LPSCon 2024 was a pathetic excuse of an event. Poor staff, awful prices, terrible prizes and management, and oh yeah did I mention that the organizers behind LPSCon may or may not be money-grabbing con artists?

We've seen many awful cons before. From Dashcon to whatever the fuck that Willy Wonka event was, this might be worse. This is a poorly planned event, and one that was all but doomed from the start. The organizers of LPSCon should be ashamed of themselves. And until there's changes made, I suggest you guys don't waste your money on this "convention".

Sources/accounts from others: LPSCon Experience Megathread on Reddit.

LPSCon 2024 was a Mess By ZombieXCorn.

What Really Happened at LPSCon by Sugar Diamond

Instagram post by felicitylps

Instagram posts by hudson_lps

Instagram post by written_wolf

[bleachbleachbleach]

For one of the fanfic memes :D :

2.How do you react to positive comments?

4. Post a screenshot of one of your favorite comments

15. What fic of yours would you most like to rewrite?

33. Which of your fic titles is your favorite?

Aahhh, thank you for these!! I didn't actually reblog this meme (just the responses someone gave me when I sent in an ask for theirs), but I will *happily* take the opportunity to play, anyway, any time! <333

2. How do you react to positive comments?

I do this for any comment or kudos/like I get, but: I’ll click through on the person’s username and look at their page and their fics (if applicable—usually it isn’t), profile, bookmarks, etc. to try to learn more about who they are (and perhaps find things for me to read, too).

I re-read the comment multiple times over the course of multiple days, maybe even a dozen times, depending on how much there is to take in, by which point I probably have portions of it memorized.

I reply to comments to say thank you and to revel in the opportunity to have a small blorbo and/or craft conversation with the person, because that’s what I wish fandom were like alllllll the time, but it’s actually mostly not. So I try to do as much as I can with the moment!

4. Post a screenshot of one of your favorite comments I’ll forego any comments I’ve received from anyone on Tumblr who might see this post, though I treasure them and love them dearly. <333 But a comment that’s stuck in mind wasn’t even a comment someone gave to me or wrote directed at me, or ever wrote a me-directed version of.

There used to be a fandom convention of having large anonymous forums where people would talk fandom together anonymously, including fanworks. (I guess the modern-day equivalent here is private Discord servers, which are even more inaccessible, rip.) These threads could be pretty brutal, because they were anonymous people addressing other anonymous people and not thinking about the author at all—but they could also be the most interesting, because it was clear people involved in the discussion were actively reading and interpreting and critiquing. They were really giving your work their time.

My thread for this particular fic was 50/50 in terms of positive/negative reactions, but this comment was the first one in the thread that was positive, and it’s stayed with me for over a decade now:

15. What fic of yours would you most like to rewrite? Having waded back through that comment thread, jesus, that one, I guess! But not really. I’d just write another fic (and have, in fact, gone one to write 13 more years of fics for those characters—when I wrote that one, I was a year or two into writing fics for them).

I feel like fics belong to their specific time and place, and end up being imbued so closely with whatever flavor my life is at the time and whatever experiential details of my life are staying with me that to rewrite would be a different fic, anyway. I remember those highways and those watermelon cookies and moving in the middle of writing this fic and sitting in a towering forest of cardboard boxes eating cereal straight out of the box because that’s the only food that was unpacked.

33. Which of your fic titles is your favorite? Fic titles are interesting, because they’re a piece of the fic that rarely has any use? I can’t refer to a fic by title and expect most people to know what I’m talking about, because that would require a general audience to have familiarity with my writing, or to have read it. So I usually just describe the fic rather than use its name, if occasion comes up to talk about it. So a fic title is at its most functional for me in the AO3 kudos email, where the litmus test is “do I know which fic this kudos is for, based on its title.” The answer is generally yes, even though I have a fic titled "Instructions" AND a fic titled "Instruction," and a fic titled "Gone Fishing" AND a fic titled "Gone Fishin’"… (In my defense... different randoms/different pseudonyms!!)

Even though I do it a lot I don’t really like it when I use titles of already-existing media, or song lyrics, or single-word titles, though often the referentiality is the point and why I liked the title enough to use it. I do really like double entendre titles. Going back through all my titles on AO3, this morning I’m really liking:

Clutch, Bite — because who doesn’t love VERBS, especially such visceral ones. But it’s the title of a fic about violent grief and also learning how to drive stick shift, so I love the additional reference to a clutch’s “bite point.”

Set and March — I’ve talked about this title before, but I like it because the fic is a tag to an episode titled “Game Night” and I think the title-play is clever, haha.

This is a ghost story / This is not a ghost story — These titles were just funny to me because they were two fairly unrelated fics I posted on the same day and they were both ghost stories.

That Were — which is a line from already-existing media, but it’s such a deep cut of a line I feel like it loops back around to original. I just like the the weird tense play and the fact that there’s no actual noun to be seen. (The full line is “the pearls that were his eyes” from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, lol.)

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

I don’t know, I can’t swallow the arguments posed by some amateur ‘class conscious’ and marxist critics of shows like Arcane have where “the villain made good points and the writers were too cowardly to put their all in revolution so they wrote in some stuff that made him evil to show that revolution is bad.’

Like what moment did you think that Silco was a good guy, and what point did you think that the revolution was being portrayed as bad? Ekko is RIGHT there not disagreeing with the need for change but very much disagreeing with how Silco is literally poisoning Zaun in his efforts to make weapons and scary super soldiers. Silco reluctantly and cynically understands that ‘base violence’, or the threat of it, is necessary to force change but where Silco gets it wrong is that he’s willing to sacrifice the well-being of his own people to achieve it. You can have a militant revolution and not poison your people. You can have a violent uprising and not force children to work in dangerous toxic factories, but for Silco, such exploitation is all he knows, because that exploitation is what got Piltover their prosperity and results, so in Silco’s mind the same exploitation is alright because it will be for Zaun’s benefit.

The writers of Arcane didn’t just randomly tack on some evil moments to Silco’s character to undermine his cause. The man’s final form is from the ground up a complex character sketch of how the violence of poverty can turn you down several different paths. You become a Silco, a Vander, an Ekko, a Powder, a Vi.

Do you think that gangs in real life are some knights in shining serving their communities? No, they’re terrorizing it same as the police. They’re poisoning their neighborhoods with drugs and weapons and intimidating shops and luring kids with no future prospects into violent lives. The only difference between them and Silco is that Silco is a Thomas Shelby/Don Corleone type, an echo of the early 20th century organized crime boss who has the business acumen and political savoire faire to match and mirror any of their ‘legitimate’ oligarch counterparts.

Silco is not a political leader who happens to do ‘counterproductive criminal things’ that are then supposed to be intended by the writers as ‘see? Revolution bad’. He was an aggrieved socioeconomically marginalized man who threw himself into the gray-black world of unregulated drug and weapon manufacturing because those avenues granted a modicum of power and money back to the community (see the tweet about Vander and Silco setting up the Lanes with smuggling. That was to take back some economic power denied to them by Piltover). Silco distinguished himself by wanting to go further. He wanted to use what resources Zaun had to fight for its independence. Of course he was a criminal and did criminal things. Being poor in Zaun is a crime and a punishment in the eyes of Piltover. When fighting for the right to exist is a crime, when basic luxuries and staples of decent living are inaccessible except through illegal channels, do you honestly not expect or understand why men like Silco might want to push the envelope further? Why the exploitation and violence (inherent to scarcely fettered capitalism) inflicted upon them might not then be internalized and reflected back onto the world in retaliation? Do you not expect men like Silco to be moulded from these circumstances, to be a bit wayward and skewed in their morals and values? Like what the hell are we even doing here.

[pininghermit]

Dare I Desire (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7|

AN: Here is a link for reader's family dynamics.

Freshly showered, Adrian finds himself in the dining room with a steaming bowl of soup. He did not cook it. He did not clean the piling unused dishes or broken shards of glass that he had expected. He is almost surprised to find all the chairs and the table intact.

It did not take much to figure out who it was done by. The vampire who now stares at him from the other side of the table.

Y/n, you call yourself. Your intentions remain a mystery and your threat increases with every passing second. You speak of unknown lands and unheard kingdoms. Adrian finds it hard to trust you. The bargain encouraged the seeds of doubt to sprout further.

‘Mate-,’ Adrian quickly banishes the thought. He does not deign his attention to such lies.

“Come on, let me know how I did,” the soup remains untouched. It contains no poison. It smells normal. Yet, Adrian finds it hard to bring himself to eat.

“Just tell the story already,” had he not showered already? He would not obey every command like a dog.

“Eat,” you repeat. Making a show of settling back in your chair. As if mocking to drag out the argument.

Stupid bargain. His dumb curiosity be damned. Adrian feels wronged in ten ways.

“Hmph,” Adrian picks up the spoon and the cutlery feels foreign in his hands. How long had it been since he had felt the metal of silverware instead of the glass of a wine bottle in his hand?

Warmth blooms in his mouth. The soup that’s more of a broth, tastes watery at best. He can taste dill, rosemary, thyme, garlic, and some chicken flavoring. Salted very lightly it seems to be an amalgamation of spices. Could be much more awful for a Vampire’s cooking. Adrian finds it quite palatable.

After months he feels more human than ever. Ironical that you, a vampire, are the reason for the feeling of humanity.

“What say? How’s it?” You ask with genuine curiosity in your eyes. Adrian does not offer you a response but it is utmost annoying when he spots the smug smirk as he goes for another sip.

“I reckon I promised you a story,” you break the awkward silence. Adrian simply continues drinking his soup and does not react when you push another bowl towards him.

“In the kingdom of Asor reside 3 conflicting powers. The vampires, the founders, and the rulers of the land. The Elves, who reside in the forests aloof from most. And the Fae, who live in caves and valleys inaccessible even to the rulers of Asor.

The Vampires are the protectors, the fighters of Asor. The Elves are the providers, they’re the farmers and lore masters. The Fae are the primary magic bearers who maintain the balance of our lands. There are of course other races but those fare in little numbers.

These races have fought for power for centuries. However, recent treatises have established some semblance of ‘peace’. With the territories divided each retreated to their own. But the Vampires still ruled most. Even the Fae and the elves remain subservient to the Vampires. For the spirits of creation who aided the formation of Asor were convinced by my father. The king of Asor has always been a vampire.

In the past, there have been wars among the folks of Asor. And one such brutal war was between the Fae and the Vampires. Immortals who had little to lose did not care for their soldiers. They had time and numbers. Nothing could stop them, leave for the weariness of their subjects.

A bargain was made,” you look at him breaking away from the story. “And bargains are nothing if not load full of crap.” A warning rings loud in the room. The fickle-ness of bargains was not unknown to Adrian, not after today.

“The Vampire king, my father, Orthere who was wed to Heiu, the queen of Asor, had a child with the queen of Fae, Blasa. They did not marry but slept together to bear a child. A compromise that the powers of Asor agreed upon.

A half fae and half-vampire offspring who would unite the courts and balance the power. Or so, they had hoped.

A spokesperson of the Fae in the main court of Asor. A royal who would promise more control to the Fae.

Blasa bore the child while Orthere returned to his territory.” Adrian could not help but re-examine you. Were you truly half fae and half vampire? Your looks did not betray your origin. In fact, you look exactly like a pure-blood vampire with your fangs, pointed ear, and your bloodless pallor. Even your powers were vampiric.

“Unlike most the Fae court is matriarchal. Females rule while males are mere accessories. In such court, a child came to be. A child who would’ve been nothing but a bed warmer had he not carried the blood of the King of Asor.

There were others too. Two other sons and a daughter, who was to be the heir to Blasa. Ingal, Daylan, and the Crown Princess Eilos. All half-siblings to each other and the child.

The child who can be me or someone else entirely. But that’s for you to figure.” You shrug with nonchalance. Your manner too relaxed, yet the tale was too detailed.

“Growing up with the Fae who lusted for his power but could not care enough about him the child who remained unaware of his father. He was an oddity. Not Fae enough but not foreign either. His mother treasured his worth but not him.”

Adrian feels the oppressive silence as soon as you stop speaking. A treaty you had called yourself. Yet, there remains the memory of Asor that he had a glimpse of. Was it worth it?

“The Fae are the folks of the forest. They rule nature and possess the ability to glamour it to their will. They speak in riddles, but they cannot lie. Bored out of their immortality they find immense pleasure in others’ pain. So, what do you think Adrian? Does my possible fae blood explain my tolerance to the Sun?” With the first tale out of the dark. The question now loomed in the near future.

Later in the night, when Adrian plows through all the books about the Faerie folk, he stops. For that one moment, he imagines a lonely child. A child with familiar brown hair and silver eyes. Features similar to that of the obnoxious vampire. He sees the child crouched as three humanoid figures, with their backs to him, snicker in a sinister joy. At that moment, he feels a distant dread as the figures close on to the child with unkempt hair and misfitting clothes.

[mediumsizedwildcat]

Guardian Demon

pt. 1 - pt. 2

masterlist | stranger things m.list

summary: A month before shit went down, Eddie summoned a demon. It saved his life and now it may be in love with him. Most certainly, Eddie gets to fuck the demon.

cw: supernatural mlm; description of the demon, bit of world mechanics, biting, blood, spit, jerking off, lube, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, non-human body functions (asshole turning wet), pain kink, lmk if I missed something

Eddie Munson x demon!reader | 3k words

*Minors & ageless blogs Do Not Interact

— ☾ —

Gently, very gently, Eddie runs his hand over your back, his fingers following the natural lines of your skin. He tries his best to not wake you up, watching as the muscles react to his touch, moving your wings ever so slightly.

As his hand wanders further down, you let out a soft purring sound. Eddie smiles and whispers, "You like that, huh?"

He starts pressing kisses to your shoulder and you can't keep the soft giggle in. Eddie smiles, carefully grips your waist, pressing his thumb into the flesh.

"I should repay you," he whispers, "for what you did last night..."

"It's okay," you sigh softly, enjoying his touch. Where you're from, tenderness like this is very short in supply.

Being completely honest, Eddie shouldn't even touch you like this. You shouldn't be in bed with him and you shouldn't have sucked him off either. But it feels nice to be this close to someone.

It's probably a body-thing; being a demon in this world is a new experience to all of your dimension. Perhaps when other demons answer to new summons you'll be able to talk to someone like you about this.

Eddie grins softly, "When I summoned a demon I didn't think I'd get one like you."

You turn around, sitting up before you lie on your back so you don't squish or otherwise hurt your wings. Frowning up at him, you respond, "What did you think?"

"That it wouldn't work," Eddie chuckles and places his hand on your chest. "Why did it work?"

"Well," you think for a moment, "we know when we're being summoned, but until a few months ago, this world was inaccessible for us."

You shrug, "I guess that Vecna-guy your friends keep talking about accidentally opened up a gateway and even though he's dealt with, the gateway is still open."

"So, you knew that I did a summoning ritual?" Eddie moves his thumb over your skin, looking down as he tries to understand this.

You nod, "Yeah, I knew you summoned one of ours. We all did, since you didn't really specify whose services you tried to secure. Usually nobody cares for summonings from a world we can't access, but I've always wanted to know this one."

"That means," Eddie frowns, "you held onto the summon for a month? Why did you come, after all that time?"

"Because you were dying," you state simply, as if it's obvious. To your kind it may not be, but you expected Eddie to know.

Instead, he keeps inquiring, "You didn't even know me. Why would that matter?" What Eddie truly wonders is, Why would I matter?

You giggle, "Stupid human. You were my way into this world and from the moment I entered your body I was tethered to you. Now I don't have the footing to stay here, you humans are weirdly obsessed with that money-stuff."

"Oh," Eddie mumbles, sitting up. Of course you're just with him because he summoned you. Because you don't have another option.

To reach your wing around Eddie's back, you sit up, too. Gently nudging his cheek with its claw, you make him turn his head to look into your direction. He's not hiding his emotional response to the new knowledge.

"When I saved your life," you keep your voice gentle, "my response to your summon was fulfilled. I could've moved on to any other person." You place your hand on his cheek and gently run your thumb over his cheekbone.

"I wanted to stay with you," you smile as you nudge his nose with your own. "I've had so many people scream at me, but you didn't. You summoned a demon and you weren't scared of what you got."

Eddie chuckles dryly, "Why would I be scared of you? You're, like, real hot..."

"Let's see," you press a kiss on his cheek, "the first time you saw me it was your mirage with my distinctive features. Usually, people get scared. I don't know how it is with humans, but that's been my experience so far."

He looks you up and down and smiles, "Distinctive features, huh? You mean the horns? Or the wings?"

"Them and the claws and the fangs," you grin widely, showing the fangs off. "You know, it was very hard to not permanently change your body when you were almost dead. I could've just made it mine and I probably would've been able to heal it so it's of good use to me..."

With your face already so close, all Eddie has to do is to angle his head. Hesitantly, he presses his lips to yours, unsure if you're feeling it, too. Unsure if last night was a one time thing.

You smile and reciprocate the kiss, your hand wandering to the back of his neck. Pulling Eddie's head closer, tangling your fingers in his hair. He smirks and, minding your wings, pushes you back down onto the mattress. Finding his place between your legs, he slowly grinds his hips down, his kiss nearly bruising.

Bless his stupid little heart, pumping all that blood down to his dick, making him hard and ready for you. You bite his lip, enough to draw blood, gaining a soft grunt from him. Running your tongue over the cut you make Eddie hiss at the pain. Though, judging by the way he bucks his hips, he seems to like it.

"Stupid human," you repeat, breathing heavily. Eddie huffs a laughs and trails kisses down your neck, gently sucking on the skin at your throat. "You really make me feel empty," you huff, "I didn't even know bodies could feel that way..."

"Bodies can feel a lot of different things," Eddie purrs. "I'd like to show you all of them... Starting with this..." He runs his hand down your body, gently pushing it under the band of your underwear.

The moment his hand wraps around your dick, you close your eyes, a soft moan falling from your pretty lips. He starts to move his hand, slowly up and down, teasing you, so to say. You whimper softly, letting your body's instincts take over.

"There you go," Eddie praises. He sits back on his knees and kisses down your belly, carefully removing your underwear.

You giggle, "Why don't you get rid of your own clothes and come back down here? Let's celebrate this body~"

Eddie laughs with your suggestion, but pulls his shirt off over his head. He throws it aside, rubbing his palm over your happy trail. You smile at the feeling, almost literally purring. “The rest, too,” you hum as you gently pull on the band of his boxer shorts.

He gets up and grins, “Wanna see it all, huh?” He shoves his underwear off while you’re sitting up and as he straightens out, you press your lips to his again.

Pulling him onto the bed, you turn the two of you around, intensifying the kiss as you climb onto his lap. With your dicks throbbing, Eddie grabs your waist and pulls you closer. He starts pushing his hips up and he whines when nothing comes from it. You giggle and sit down on his thighs, brushing your hand through his hair.

“So,” you grin, “how does this work, pretty boy? How do we, what is it called again? Make love?”

Eddie feels a hot shot surge from his chest down to his cock. “Fuck,” he curses, “‘make love’? Really? You wanna kill me or something?”

You tilt your head to the side, a confused look on your face. “Why would I want to kill you? You’re no good to me with a dead body.”

He huffs, “I’ll explain later. How you wanna do this?” Eddie sighs, “I mean, you okay taking me? Getting, uhm… Getting fucked?” Nerves running wild, he looks up at you.

Cheeks flushed from your body’s arousal, eyes wide and curious. Somehow, your body seems to know what it means, moving ever so slightly closer to his dick. “I,” you look down at your body, your own cock thick and throbbing with need. The same need is what you can feel in your hole; you always wondered what that one was for. Perhaps procreation?

“Yeah,” you finally nod, “I think I want that. My body feels very ready for whatever ‘getting fucked’ means. Which, weirdly enough, this body seems to know.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, “Alright, there’s lube and a condom in the night stand,” he points at it, "why don't you get them for us?"

As you lean down and over to get what Eddie told you to, he spits into his hand and reaches between the two of you. He puts his hand around both dicks, gently spreading the saliva and starting to pump his hand.

You moan and lie your head on his shoulder. “Fuck,” you echo his cursing, “that feels good. Oh, that’s really good, Eddie.”

Hearing you say his name, all desperate and needy for him, Eddie grunts. “Lube,” he nearly growls, “now.”

“So commanding,” you pant, “are you like that with all people?” You open the nightstand, "Or is this all for me?" Pulling out the container filled with lube.

Grinning at your victory, you show Eddie the container, wave it in front of his face. “Now what, big guy?”

Eddie smirks and kisses you, taking his hand from in between your bodies and gently running his hands down your waist and hips. He squeezes your ass, quietly praising the sounds coming from your mouth. He opens the container and dips two of his fingers into the lube, coating them generously.

Once he’s sure you’re relaxed and ready, Eddie carefully rubs his fingers over the rim of your hole. You gasp, your whole body responding to his touch.

“That’s it,” Eddie coos as he works you open. With your head on his shoulder, you breathe heavily, your hips pushing back against his fingers. Feeling your breath against his skin, hearing your little, very pathetic moans. “You feeling ready?”

You nod, pre-cum leaking from the tip of your cock, smearing onto Eddie's, mixing with his pre-cum. "Yes," you sigh, "very ready."

Eddie doesn't ask again, moving his hands from your ass to your thighs, squeezing gently. He coats his hand in lube again, this time smearing it all over his dick, pumping it to get it nice and wet for you.

Whining at the view, you dig your claws into his chest. "Eddie," you whine, "already waited long enough! Please~"

"So impatient," Eddie grins, watching your dick twitch with anticipation. "Alright, move up, pretty boy."

You comply, urging your body up, pressing your knees into the mattress. Even your wings flatter, your whole body waiting for him to make you feel even better than he already has.

Lining his dick up with your hole, Eddie gently presses his hand down on your lower back. "Sit up, sweetheart," he coos, "gotta sink down on my dick, okay? Take it as much as you can without it hurting and take as much time as you need."

You steady yourself with your palms on his chest, but lean down to kiss him before you sit all the way up. It takes Eddie by surprise, but he kisses you back before he watches you sink down on his cock.

When you feel him pressing past the rim of your hole, your head falls back and your lips part, eyes watching Eddie even though you don't mean to. You let out a breathy moan, your tail wrapping around Eddie's thigh and your wings barely holding up -a telltale sign that you're relaxed and calm.

Eddie dies a little inside, lust taking over most of his motivation. Clearly you're very turned on and clearly, his body likes what you're doing. His breath grows heavy, his hand squeezes your thigh and when he wets his lips the cut in his lip burns.

He doesn't care about the pain, he doesn't care that your claws break the skin of his chest. You're too fucking hot for him to care. Who thought fucking a demon would be something Eddie would be into?

The deeper you take him in, the more your body changes. The tip of your tongue splits again, taking on the demon you are instead of the humanoid body this is supposed to be. Your horns grow, too, just a little, your tail gaining strength.

Most importantly though, your hole starts to turn wet. It's not blood, it's simply what your body thinks it's supposed to do. Eddie curses, not so under his breath, gripping your hips tightly.

"Fuck-" His chest heaves with every breath, "Are you- Are you getting wet? Fuck, that's- Shit-"

He presses his head into the pillow, his back arches and when he finally bottoms out, feeling your balls against his skin, Eddie nearly loses it.

"Jesus Christ," he clenches his jaw, staring down at your dick. "Are you like, a succubus or something? Fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

You clench around him and Eddie moans loudly in response. "Please," he starts to beg, "please, I don't wanna cum yet! I don't- I don't want this to be over, please!"

Trying to make this as comfortable for Eddie as possible, you try to relax your body. You lift your claws off his chest, long tongue carefully licking up the blood.

"I'm not a succubus," you explain with a soft voice. "Succubi have vulvas and vaginas, the ones with penises are incubi. Which I'm also not, they're sex demons."

Eddie huffs, "You-You tryin' to tell me they feel even b-better?" He's fighting his orgasm so hard and the way you look down at him, concerned and confused, doesn't make it any easier.

"I don't know," you shrug, "I've never tried sex before. That's what we're doing right now, though? That's the right word for what's happening, no?"

"It is," Eddie quickly assures, his thumbs digging into your flesh.

You smile, "I bet I could help you with that. Make you, uh... Not cum? Is that how humans phrase it?"

"I-I guess," he huffs, "how? How would you help?"

You grin and move your tail from around his thigh to around the base of his cock. You can feel him throb and he moans at the sensation, but when you tighten your tail's hold, Eddie lets out a relieved breath.

"That better?" You coo, leaning down to kiss him. "I did study some of your anatomy when you weren't aware of me. Glad it's coming in handy."

Eddie grabs you by your neck and crashes his lips against yours in an aggressive, bruising kiss. "You're such a fucking--" He doesn't end the sentence, unsure what to call you. Demon? Well, that'd just be accurate.

"Liar?" You suggest, giggling. "Creep? I did 'creep on you', as others would say it. Watching you jerk yourself off in the shower..."

His cheeks turn pink and you grin. "So easily manipulated... That's so human of you, baby."

Not wanting to go down without a fight, Eddie thrusts his hips up in a stark motion. Your eyes rip wide open, a loud but short moan forcing its way out of your throat.

"Awww," Eddie copies your attitude, "that's so demon of you, baby."

Your cheeks flush and you give him a soft apologetic kiss. "Got the message," you mumble, "I'll try to keep it down."

"Thank you," Eddie huffs, kissing your cheek. "You wanna do this or you wanna keep talking?"

You lick the cut in his lip and, very carefully, slip it into his mouth, placing your lips on his like you saw in Eddie's magazines. Once again he reciprocates the kiss, playing with your tongue as he starts to move his hips.

The cautious movements make you huff and whine, feeling good but not quite as good as you know he can make you feel. You sit back up, massaging his chest with your palms as you try to get accustomed to the new position.

Once you're ready, you start moving on your own, up and down and up and down, opposite to the rhythm Eddie set. His breath falls short, little whimpers falling from his lips.

Meanwhile you get to feel it all, the pulsing, the thickness, getting filled and being wanted. You slip your wings under Eddie and, despite his confusion, pull him up, pressing his chest against yours.

With him this close, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your fangs into his neck and moaning against his skin. Eddie moans at the pain, slides his arms around your waist and starts pushing your rhythm. Faster and harder, until he's moaning into your shoulder, the room filled with sounds of wet squelching and skin slapping against skin.

"Eddie," you groan, pulling his head back and pressing your bloody lips against his.

He slows down, focuses on your kiss. It's his turn to bite your lip and you clench around him, starting to take on the speed and force he left off when you kissed him.

Happily letting you take the lead, Eddie leans down to kiss your chest. When you let spit drip down it's mixed with blood, but lands on the head of your cock. Eddie understands, kisses you again, forcing his tongue into your mouth and using his hand to spread your spit over your dick.

Through your riding him, you fuck yourself into his hand, making the most pathetic sounds Eddie ever heard. Your tail loosens, its tip moving to play with Eddie's balls instead.

He whines, "Not yet, fuck, please!" But you don't want to hear his pleads anymore, you want him to cum. "Don't want it to end," Eddie begs and you moan against his lips.

"Please," it's your turn to beg, "I want you to fill me up, Eddie. I want to feel you cum."

He whimpers and starts kissing you more intensely. He gives into the knot tightening in his abdomen, white hotness surging through his body as he comes undone. He groans very loudly into the kiss -into your mouth- and feeling the hot thick splurges of cum shoot into your hole, you moan with him.

"Yes," you encourages breathlessly, "fuck, yes, just like that, Eddie!" You kiss him, sloppily, open-mouthed, "Shit, thank you. Oh, fuck, thank you!"

Your thighs squeeze around Eddie's hips as he comes down from his high, but you don't have enough yet. He didn't want it to end so why should it have to?

— ☾ —

don't forget to reblog to support writers & artists

[boy-above]

some lore for minette and mikhail:

mikhail is the last of his species, the others having been wiped out just under ten thousand years ago. most of them were killed in war while the remaining few were exiled to the tundra where they were expected to die. mikhail, a normal solider at that time, watched as his remaining comrades started freezing to death, and for reasons unknown he was able to summon a great strength. he ascended to godhood right there, and gained what came to be known as the great flame pelt. the heat he produced saved the remaining few people there, and without anywhere else to go they established a tiny village in the middle of the tundra, made only possible by mikhail's heat. exiling people to the tundra was common practice in the other kingdoms, so whenever exiles were found alive they would be welcomed to the village. it grew over the centuries, with mikhail being declared their king and god. eventually the last few members of his species died of old age, leading the now immortal mikhail alone as the only survivor.

minette's country is a very rich and corrupt place. it's situated on a very thin but tall mountain with infrastructure built into the sides. it's almost entirely inaccessible if you can't fly, as minette's species are all winged. if you're disabled and cannot fly, you're treated as a lesser being. in fact, anything deemed as an "imperfection" is punished in this society. you strive to be a perfect person and if you can't meet their standards you'll live a life of ostracization. the lowest class lives the closest to the ground, and the people get wealthier and more influential the higher you are on the mountain. the royal palace is of course at the very top, closest to the mother sun. they worship the sun here, which never sets. their species has a special connection with the sun, it gives them their power and life. if a member of the species were ever to have their connection to the sun severed, they would die within hours.

this was what happened to minette. she was born flightless, and that was a source of shame and embarrassment for her parents. they hid her from the public and stewed on what to do. minette was the crown princess, meaning she alone had inherited ability to weld the divine power her mother, her queen, used. her parents decided that the only solution would be to rip the power from minette and give it to her sibling instead. this is a process they thought would kill her, but as it was an unprecedented circumstance they didn't expect the outcome. minette lived, as an immortal godling she could not be killed despite having her power taken and connection to the sun severed.

this was a devastating event for minette, a being who depends on the sun suddenly not feeling its warmth for the first time, and knowing you never would again. it was like in an instant her life wasn't worth living anymore. despite the shock and pain she felt, she knew she had to run before her parents could finish the job. she was terrified that they would take her wings, as it's common practice for ones wings to be removed when they're exiled from the country. minette ran, and did not stop running. she traveled through several different kingdoms with one man in mind. she'd heard from parents and other royals about king maksimillian, a wolf god whose pelt rivaled the sun. being without the sun doesn't just make her cold, it results in a chronic pain that can't be managed or shaken. some days it's a dull ache while on others it can be excruciating, on top of having fatigue and general weakness. minette hoped that it was true that his pelt really did feel like the sun, because maybe she could not be in pain anymore.

eventually she made it to the tundra. as a nonhuman being the cold doesn't actually harm her, it's not exactly comfortable but she was of no danger of freezing to death. she ventured through until she found the village, now a proper (albeit small) kingdom. after finally managing to get close to the king, she discovered that yes, he truly did feel like the sun. she was afraid at first for anyone to find out her true identity. her country and its neighbors had after all had a large part in the killing of his people. minette was born long after this happened, currently she's only 500 years old. still, a royal daring to step foot in his kingdom could be a great disrespect. it took a while but once minette told mikhail of her true identity, and that his presence alleviates her of her pain, he immediately welcomed her into the palace.

mikhail can be quite prickly and stone faced, and many find him to be intimidating and even scary. but he treated minette so well and was truly the kindest man she'd ever met. because of her need of his heat, she would spend a lot of time with him. at first her bed was in the room next to his, eventually it moved in his room next to his own, and eventually they shared a bed. she'd lay on his stomach as he was afraid he'd squish her otherwise, their size difference is quite large. they grew very close over time, and minette trusted him more than any other. sometimes minette needed his heat while she bathed, so he would sit behind a screen as to protect her decency. eventually she started trying to coax him into doing away with the screen, there's nothing she wouldn't want him to see, she says. one day though she realizes her arms are too weak to wash her hair , and she meekly asks if he can help her. eventually washing her hair becomes a daily activity and he becomes less shy around her. one day minette gets very brave and asks if they can bathe together, and mikhail reluctantly agrees. mikhail's tub is very large and minette finds that the water nearly goes over her head, so she finds that sitting on his knee is much preferable, and that's their routine from then on. becoming much less shy and hesitant around each other.

eventually minette does confess her feelings for the king, and he's hesitant at first. he doesn't want to accidentally take advantage of her, being afraid that she feels obligated because he provides her with heat; or that she simply thought she liked him because he was the only man she trusted, and perhaps if she got out more she'd discover there are men she likes much more. eventually minette managed to convince him of her feelings after much persistence. mikhail finally accepted her feelings and obviously he felt the same, just very afraid of hurting her somehow. the two were eventually married and the kingdom readily accepted minette as their first queen. mikhail had never loved before in his thousand years, so everyone knew minette must truly be something special.

minette is infertile, she discovers. she doesn't know if she was born that way, or if was another unfortunate side effect of being taken from the mother sun. all she knows is that her fertility problems make her incredibly sad. mikhail says that it's just fine if they don't have children, it's not mandatory to have an heir or anything or the sort. but minette wants a child and mikhail strives to give minette anything she wants, so they spend centuries trying every single fertility spell, potion, blessing, concoction, whatever, to try to have a baby. adoption is of course an option, but minett really wants mikhail's baby. she wants to hold a child that looks like mikhail, him being the last of his species makes this especially important to her. after centuries of trying they finally manage to conceive, and after months of telling herself not to get too attached because she's so afraid of miscarrying, minette has a beautiful, healthy, baby girl. she had milhail's ears and claws and teeth, all things minette absolutely loved about her husband. the entire kingdom celebrated their new little princess and knew that this baby was so so incredibly important to their gods, their faith in which could never be shaken.

minette lived the first few years of her life in sadness and pain, thinking she could be happy, but her life in the tundra saved her from it all. she started life as a princess denied her throne, and now sat in a tiny throne next to her husband, a very, very, happy queen.

[wordtotherose]

Elizia wakes up groggy and disoriented. 

There's a warm wall at her back that she quickly identifies as Karlach from the familiar snoring. Her own breaths are shallow and her chest aches, lungs feeling like they'll never be full of air again. Some sort of sleeping powder then. She keeps her eyes closed, keeping up the ruse of being unconscious still. They've been strung together with chains and left to sit propped up by each other; judging by how much her body aches from the uncomfortable position and the numbness in her legs stretched awkwardly in front of her, they have been here a while. 

The last thing she remembers clearly is deciding to stop in at the Flophouse for a quick drink with Karlach before they returned to their rooms at the Inn after a covert trip out of the city to hunt and bottle up some blood for Astarion. It had been Karlach's idea, having brought up that the bite marks on her neck had nearly healed over for once so where was Astarion getting his sustenance in the city? The only answer Elizia could think of was the rats, the city guard having rounded up everybody's livestock for war supplies and thus made them inaccessible to a dubiously moral vampire spawn. So, with as many empty glasses as they could find and a couple of cooling charms from Gale, they'd headed off to put their plan into action. It had gone better than either of them had expected and, with a couple of bags of blood wrapped in rags to stop them clinking suspiciously, they'd decided a drink was in order. 

Then it got a bit...nothing. 

Her coat was missing, the armoured weight absent and the bags were definitely gone. Left in only one of Astarion's ridiculous shirts underneath she felt horrendously exposed, their weapons had obviously been confiscated but so had her hidden daggers and knives. Even the ones in her boots. Whoever had them knew what they were doing. 

Shifting slightly to try and encourage bloodflow back to her legs, Elizia spreads her fingers over the floor trying to suss out if they were still in the flophouse. It's a maybe but the lack of sunlight through a window worries her, why the darkness? It wasn't late when they returned and unless they'd been out for hours it shouldn't have been this dark. 

"Petras. She's awake." A woman's voice, not too far away, a small room maybe. 

The creak of a bed, the shift of sheets having been moved by someone standing or sitting. Petras, probably. 

"Open your eyes, pretty one, there's no point hiding." 

Continue on AO3 or under the cut

She kept her expression neutral as she looked up at their captors. A man and a woman. Pale. Familiar. 

The bar... they'd come over, tried seducing her and Karlach. Karlach had liked the woman, laughed loudly at her jokes. The man hadn't taken no for an answer very well, fingers on her thigh inching up and about to be broken before Karlach said something and then things went fuzzy. 

"Hello, it's nice to see those eyes again," he leans forward to brush a loose hair out of her face and she decides to go for broke and bite at his fingers. 

He recoils before zeroing in on her neck and suddenly he has her by the jaw, harshly turning her head up and away, straining her already sore neck. 

"Dal, here. Now. Look at this."

The woman comes to stoop over Petras' crouched form holding up a candle to illuminate Elizia's freckled skin.

"Shit. How?"

Petras pushes again, slamming her head back into Karlach's who lurches awake with a grunt of surprise. The two take no notice of her. 

Petras speaks first, voice low and ominous. "A bag of blood vials. Bite marks on your neck. And your friend spoke his name as if friends. Tell me. Where is he?"

Elizia's eyes harden.

Ah.

Right

Of course.

She grits her teeth and says nothing.

"He can't turn you, you know? And he certainly doesn't care for you, he isn't capable." She wants to slice those touching fingers off so badly. "Protecting him isn't in your favour. Tell us where he is, and what he's doing back, and we'll let you go."

"Tav?" Karlach's still disoriented, they must have had to double dose her or hit her round the head too to take her down. "Where are we?"

A good question. 

The room looks incredibly basic, a couple of beds and chests at their feet, a window covered by a heavy black curtain which explains the darkness. Now she's paying attention to her surroundings in a relatively more lucid manner, she can pick up the bustle of the tavern going on below them and the occasional tread of footsteps outside the door. 

They've been taken upstairs, that's all. Makes it easier to hope that at least one of their companions will notice their prolonged absence and start looking around for them. Shadowheart maybe. Gale for sure will notice, worrier through and through when he looks up from his books. Halsin. Halsin would have noticed. Would have gone straight to Astarion who will brush it off until he couldn't in good conscience any longer, that will be hours yet.

Dal leans over her brother to grip Elizia's hair with sharp nails scratching her scalp. "Tell us what we want to know. We will leave you and your friend out of it, we only want him."

"Don't touch her!" Karlach snaps, wriggling in the chains. 

She stays silent until Petras delivers a painfully strong slap that has her head snapping and hair pulling in Dal's grip. 

She laughs. This is absurd. Ridiculous. How is this her life?

Karlach is fuming, spitting insults until she has Dal's full attention and rags tied round her mouth, Elizia guesses, to shut her up. Dal returns to stand over her, a hand on Petras' shoulder. 

"You cannot be so stupid as to think he will come to help you," she says, gentle as if she thinks she's breaking some terrible news to Elizia. "At best you're the first person to let him feed willingly now he's gotten out but he can always find another. He will find another, it's what he does. And if he's back in the city then he's throwing away whatever it took him to escape in the first place. Cazador will know. We will have to tell him, we have no choice. And then Cazador will come for him, and he is not forgiving. He will be used in the ritual and discarded, at the absolute best. Tell us where he is and we can warn him."

Anger writhes under her control at that, sparking. She bares her teeth at them both and pushes into their hands to be as close to their faces as possible as she growls out her only words for them.

"Go. Fuck. Yourselves."

She wholeheartedly expects pain in retaliation, Karlach is clearly thinking the same given her renewed writhing, but instead…

Instead, there's a scuff of shoes behind the door and a brisk knock. 

The whole room stills. Heavy silence. The spawn siblings look at the door. Elizia looks at the spawn. Karlach, facing the door herself, is also looking at the door with little else to watch. 

Another knock. "Hello? Awake in there?"

Karlach breathes out an attempt at words that sound suspiciously like 'thank fuck' but come out garbled through her gag. Petras' hand clamps around Elizia's neck, hard, cutting off her airflow so she doesn't call out. Dal lets go of her at least, stepping back with what suspiciously looks like fear in her eyes as she retreats towards the window.

"Elizia Tavaril if you have passed out after day drinking without me around to mock you, I'm going to be sorely disappointed in you. Karlach too for not fetching me." 

The lock is picked. The door swings open. 

She cannot see Astarion's expression as he takes in the scene before him but seconds later she can see the rigidity in his back and the fury in his movements as he rips Petras away from her, slamming him into the curtained window by a hand around his neck. A sweet sort of vengeful mimicry. Dal cries out and goes to attack Astarion only to be threatened with a dagger in his spare hand. Petras has gone limp in Astarion's grip, feet dangling above the floor, eyes wide with shock still. 

"Not drunk," Elizia says at last, trying to lighten the suffocatingly thick tension in the air when no one else does or moves, only it comes out rough and makes her cough hoarsely, there'll be bruises on her neck later then. 

Astarion barks a cold, mirthless laugh. "Are you alright? Both of you?"

"Fine," Elizia promises, forcing the words out, "nothing permanent." 

He spares a glance over his shoulder at her as if to check for himself the truth of her answer only to come up less reassured than she wanted. He whips back round and tightens his grip, Petras' hands start scrabbling at Astarion's forearms. 

"Good to see you again, Petras, it's been a while," Astarion's words are laced with contempt and Elizia lets herself relax back into Karlach who huffs a laugh at her. "I see you've not grown any more brain cells in our time apart."

"What happened, brother?" Dal asks, finding her voice. There's a slight whine in everything she says and it is incredibly annoying. 

Astarion doesn't look at her when he replies. "I got out, that's what happened."

"How?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he snarks. "What were you doing, I think is the more appropriate question right now. This isn't how we secured marks for Cazador when I was around, change in management style is it?"

Petras kicks feebly at Astarion but he's so close to passing out already that Astarion easily avoids it and tuts condescendingly at him. 

"Now, now, brother, that's no way to behave in front of company."

"Please, Astarion, let him go. We'll go, we'll leave."

"And trot right back to him to tell him I'm back? I don't know, Dal, doesn't seem like a great option for me."

"He'll know either way now, please, Astarion. Please."

Elizia watches him consider. Pays attention to the subtle shift of his weight and the tilt of his head. She isn't surprised when the curtain is ripped down and Petras' skin starts to burn in the sunlight, Astarion utterly unaffected, almost preening in show at how much the direct warmth of the light doesn't hurt him as it agonises his brother. Dal reaches out to grab at him but stops before she can touch the beams of late afternoon sun. 

"How about this," Astarion says, enjoying himself, "I let you go and you run back to Cazador and you tell him I'm coming for him. That he isn't long for this world, his time is up. And then, when I come for him, you stay out of my way and I might consider letting you live through the aftermath. What do you think, darling, is that fair?"

The last part is directed at Elizia and she smirks, oddly proud of Astarion's restraint from outright bloodlust and enjoying the terror in Dal's beseeching gaze and Petras' choked off screams as his skin flakes away. 

"Pretty fair to me," she agrees. 

"Perfect." He drops Petras.

Dal rushes forward to drag him out of the light and to his feet. They leave with multiple backwards glances at them all. Astarion just waves with a sickly sweet smile. 

Karlach kicks the door closed when they're gone and it snaps Astarion back into action. He ungags Karlach first, nodding absently as she starts thanking him and apologising for getting them into this mess, before freeing them from the chains. 

"Yes, yes, alright, Karlach, you're very welcome," he interrupts eventually as he undoes the bindings at Elizia's wrists, carefully inspecting them for injury; she lets him take his time. 

Karlach, having sorted herself out, hovers by the door, watching Astarion kneel in front of Elizia. "Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds to it. If you're not back at camp in half an hour though then I'm going to be leading another search party."

"Thank you, Karlach," Elizia says, keeping an eye on how distant Astarion goes in his own thoughts and memories, "we'll be fine."

Karlach hesitates a beat longer before going. 

Now without Karlach's back to lean on and with only Astarion to see, she lets herself drop backwards to lie looking up at the ceiling, causing Astarion to let go of her hands. It also, usefully, snaps him back to the present. Less usefully, he decides that in the present he's still going to be his unique brand of aggressively nice by crawling over the top of her to poke at her sore neck with cold fingers. 

"Hmm."

"Mm."

His eyes flick up in disapproval but not the distaste they would have held had he been truly offended by her mimicry. It was still far too fun to copy him, she didn't want to have to give it up yet. It kept him on his toes with her. 

His fingers leave her neck to for some reason pull her eyelids down to examine her eyes. 

"What are you doing?" She mumbles, letting him only because it means she has his rapt attention. 

"Your eyes are bloodshot, my dear, I'm checking there's no little tentacles popping up. Did they take the artifact?"

"Not tentacles. Just drugs. Good ones apparently."

Another hum and finally the inspection stops. She expects him to back off now, take his space back but instead he drops more his weight on her entirely, forehead pressed to hers, noses brushing, his fingers holding her cheeks and thumbs tracing her jawline and tilting her chin up slightly. It takes her a moment to realise that he's apparently staying and respond in kind to the odd embrace he's initiated. She wraps an arm loosely around his waist, hesitant in her touch until he opens his eyes again only to roll them at her and shift to hide in her neck, on the side he frequently bites of course. Permission granted, her grip tightens to become what she aims to be comfortably secure and she starts to run her fingers through his curls. 

"Your siblings, I take it?" She asks, knowing that if she doesn't start this conversation now he'll brood on it the rest of the day and all night until he's angry enough to rant to her about it. 

"Unfortunately."

"They seemed...nicer than I expected."

Astarion's disagreement is palpable before he even answers. "How you can honestly say such a thing when they literally just kidnapped you and threatened you to get to me is baffling. You're even more insane than I thought."

"Is this the limit then?" She sighs as dramatically as she can whilst being squished by the bodyweight of a well fed vampire spawn. "Alas, of all the things I thought would be your breaking point, some family drama didn't make the list."

He nips her earlobe, then stretches to nip at the tip of her pointed ear. She knocks her head into his to discourage him from continuing. He does, instantly retreating back to her shoulder with a soft kiss she almost misses it's so light, barely there. 

"I feel I must apologise on my siblings' behalf, gods know they never will themselves, but also- ugh. Also for myself. I should have better warned you so this sort of thing didn't happen."

"You have nothing to apologise for, my love." It isn't often that she calls him anything but his name, endearments are more on his side of the conversational table and she's always struggled to say things she doesn't mean, but now, with him, it's different. Every single thing has been different with him. "Trust me, worse has happened than some man trying to strangle me."

"That does not mean you shouldn't be..." He trails off and, unable to see him properly, she has to guess as to why. 

"It's done, Astarion. You came looking, you found us, you got us free. I cannot ask for more."

There must be something in her tone of voice or some undercurrent to her choice of words that she didn't intend because he's suddenly levering himself up on his elbows and claims her in a searing kiss. Her gasp is quickly swallowed up by his pressing mouth and she's barely begun to tease his bottom lip with a brush of her tongue when he's pulling back. She keeps her disappointment to herself, makes sure all he sees is peace and acceptance. Had she hoped the conversation was over and perhaps she could keep him here, kissing and holding her, for a while longer? Yes. Is she ever going to willingly make him doubt whether what he offers her is enough? No. 

"You didn't think I would come," he accuses, not...upset, but curious perhaps. 

She shakes her head. "I knew you'd come. I just thought it would be a while longer. Staying out of camp past dark is hardly new for any of us, you wouldn't have had reason to worry properly until then."

"You think I would not notice you were missing until it was the middle of the night? You didn't even tell me you were going to be away, Halsin did, hours after you were meant to be back!"

"You were busy, I wasn't going to disturb you."

Astarion sits up, knees either side of her hips, weight gone, arms crossed. She stays lying down, still feeling drowsy.

"Next time, Tavaril, 'disturb me'. I didn't think you were such an idiot not to think that I would welcome your interruptions by this point. What were you doing anyway?"

She frowns up at him quizzically. "Were you worried?"

He scoffs but breaks eye contact. "Hardly. I was hungry, that is all."

She nods, closing her eyes against a rush of vertigo. She throws an arm in the general direction that his siblings had thrown her bag.

"Blood in there, help yourself. I will pass out on you if you try and drink from me right now and then you'd have to carry me back to the room."

She doesn't watch him but listens as attentively as she can as he gets up and rummages through the rags and pulls out the first bottle. There's a whole lot of silence, then the unstoppering of the cork. A sniff. She can see him swilling it around like he does his wine perfectly in her mind's eye. A sip and then the restoppering and he's back sitting on her stomach this time. Her chest lets out a rough exhalation then promptly an embarrassing whine as lips kiss up her neck, over the teeth marks, round the bruising that must be starting to blossom, then up her jaw to tease before vanishing once more. 

"You went to get blood for me."

She nods, tucking her hands under her head to get more comfortable. Maybe Astarion really will be carrying her back to base camp, she's fighting sleep as it is now and his voice deepening, taking on that pleasant cadence it gets when he's being sincere. 

"Next time, tell me where you're going. I...You are the only person I have ever been...you worry me, despite my attempts not to."

"Romantic," she yawns.

"Oh shut up," he says, exasperated not commanding. "I want your promise that you will tell me when you're going to be off doing something stupid."

"So you can come save me? My knight in shining armour."

"Elizia."

She cracks a bleary eye open. He is very serious and any other time she'd do him the due respect of being equally invested in the conversation. But it's been a very long day and she had the life nearly choked out of her not long ago. 

"I promise, Astarion. I'll let you know."

He considers her, his gaze piercing even when her eyes flutter shut once again. "Good. Are you genuinely falling asleep right now?"

She means to shrug or nod or something but he's sort of warm and is a very comforting weight and really, sleep is hard to come by these days. The last thing she hears before she lets rest swallow her up is a hushed 'sweet dreams, darling'. 

[nonbinarydeity]

The true nature of reality

This post is meant to be a simplified explanation of manifestation, without any of the terms that can make it inaccessible to newcomers. Even if you already know what each term means, it will probably be helpful to read this post, because some terms become so loaded with meaning that we forget the basics of what we're doing in the first place 💙

Long post ahead!! No tldr because every part of this post is important 🥰

When you first learn to create your reality, you're so used to living in your old truth that it makes sense that you try to change that truth using the old rules. The only problem is that you don't really live in the old truth, you live in your thoughts.

-NonbinaryDeity

"Fixed reality"

Ever since we were young, the idea of a fixed reality has been presented to us as absolute fact, "that's just that way things are, you can't change the world, stop dreaming." This concept is drilled into us so deeply that we accept it as fact, so much so that many of our views on the world have this as a foundation. The brain forms connections by taking our experiences in the past and building up on them to predict what we will experience in the future; in this way, the construct of "reality" is formed within us. The only problem with this process is... there is no such thing as a fixed reality in the first place.

Mind blown, right? Of course, if you're reading this, you probably already knew that, but have you really taken the time to understand it? Most, if not all, of your thoughts, experiences, and assumptions have been built on the core foundation that there is one reality and it cannot be changed. Some people may also have an idea of fate, or a fixed route that our lives, and our world, must take.

This poses a problem for those of us trying to create our realities, because we have all of these ideas in our heads about what reality is and can be, and it can be extremely difficult to circumvent those expectations. Trying to change your reality can be difficult and even frightening, but we can start by creating a new foundation, and throwing out our old one.

One of the core concepts of a fixed reality is that everything outside of you is 100% fact. You live in a reality that you can experience with your senses, which makes that reality real. But you've never really lived in that reality; instead, you have been living inside of your mind this whole time.

When have you ever been outside of your thoughts?

I want you to take a second and look back on the day you've had. What do you remember about the day itself? Chances are, you'll have a lot of thoughts about the day, but barely any recollection of the day itself. You may remember a few key events, but how much of the time you've been awake have you really experienced? Herein lies the key to beginning to set the new foundation of your reality. Every event you have ever experienced, every feeling you've had, every truth you've learned are all thoughts you have had.

When you recall an old experience, you recall it in your mind in the form of a memory. That event is not happening now, and yet, you are experiencing it now. You remember it, so it must be real, right? But, you also remember the daydream that you had yesterday, and you experienced that daydream as if it were real in the moment, the same way you experienced your memory. Who is to say that one is real and one is not? Only you make that distinction, and you have complete control over which one is your truth. The only reason that you do not perceive your daydream as truth is you do not allow it to be true.

Your reality belongs to you

Every reality exists as a fact, and the only thing controlling which reality you experience is you. What you set your attention on will become your truth over time, as your brain starts to form new connections around the new foundation you set for yourself. To cement this new foundation as fact, you must persist in the new idea of reality until your mind accepts it as fact. You can do this in a variety of ways, but it's best to observe the way your thoughts flow naturally and mimic that flow while creating your new truth in your mind, as that will help you accept your new truth much more easily. Please note that there is no "right" or "wrong" in this process, only what you perceive.

As you persist in your new truth, you will notice that your mind naturally starts to build new thoughts around that truth. This happens faster for some than others, but trust the process and you will notice changes in your mindset fairly quickly. As your mindset changes, you will see changes in your reality as well. It can be as simple as people treating you more kindly, and as complex as waking up in an entirely different reality. All realities exist now, all you must do is build your new truth in your mind to see it reflected into your life.

Don't force it

It's perfectly normal to fall into the trap of trying to force your reality to change. You're so used to working hard to get what you want that you think you must work hard to create your reality, but that is far from the truth. This is as easy as you make it, which is why it's best to do what feels comfortable for you.

Putting it into practice

Some simple tests

Seeing as this seems so incredibly outlandish at first glance, here are some simple tests you can do to build your belief in yourself. These can also be used as practice to find out how you naturally create your reality.

See a blue butterfly

See a purple car

Someone says a specific sentence to you

Find a penny on the ground

Someone buys you food

Read a specific sentence

See a picture of an old friend

None of these tests seem like anything too impossible, which is important when you're just starting out. As you start to consciously create your reality, it can be easier to start with things that could reasonably happen within your current understanding. As you do more and more of these tests, you'll find that you start to believe more and more in your ability to change your experience. I recommend doing more than one of these tests in a row, as one can be written off as coincidence, but five or ten are so out of the realm of probability that it's more likely that you are creating these scenarios yourself. As you practice more, you'll find that each is as easy as the other (try not to assign difficulty levels to each creation, as that can hinder your progress).

Next steps

Once you reach a point where you can reasonably believe that you are the creator of your reality, you can create an end goal for your reality. Go wild, anything is possible! Do you want to exist in a world where you're a millionaire? You can do that! Do you want to exist in a world with magic? More than possible! Do you want to change the laws of physics? Go for it!! Every possibility is already a reality, and you get to choose whatever you want! You can also do as many things as you want, so there's no need to limit yourself!

Once you have an end goal in mind, you should start creating a foundation of reality that would support that goal. If you want to be a millionaire, you might set the foundation that you have a very high paying job, or that you were born into a rich family. If you want to have a superpower, you might set the foundation that you were born with special abilities, or that you were in a situation where you were given said powers. Your foundation can change your past, or could be a present or future event (anything is possible!!). As you persist in your foundational beliefs, your mind will begin to build new thoughts around that foundation. This is a very natural process, so don't worry about trying to make it happen! As your brain forms more and more connections to your new truth, your old truth will start to slip away. This is a part of the process too! It can be scary to realize that you no longer think in the same way, but don't worry, this is a good thing, because it means your reality is changing with you. It might seem strange, but this process is truly meant to be easy and natural.

Welcome to your new truth!

Thank you for taking the time to read through this post! I hope it gave you some new things to think about, insight into where you might be going wrong in the process, and/or a new foundation to build your reality on 💙

[t-top-apologist]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Except lets face it, the modern dating pool sets neither men nor women up to succeed, the apps are where love goes to die, and with the way the economy seems to be tilting all that talk about a good fortune doesn't seem to be meeting modern female expectations as set up by pop culture figures (note to self: figure out how to patent "sober and demure" hip hop that espouses the benefits of homemaking)

In fact, due to the military-industrial complex's concept of "podcasting," these young men are practically unmarriageable. If they podcast and go to therapy, then doubly so. This has created a crisis of single young men in possession of previously good enough fortunes to marry who are simply unfit by both historic and modern standards, forming an entire demographic of what we call "brigands."

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single brigand who fails to get his DJ career off the ground, must be in want of an adventure. Except those are hard to come by these days, being either illegal or inaccessible due to a requirement of personal discipline inherently absent in brigands. A lack of adventure often turns brigands into curmudgeons, and so something must be done.

Looking back to the last time society was in crisis over young people with bad hair rejecting the concept of "marriage" and "not abusing drugs," the 1960s provide us with the perfect answer: cars. Cars are material wealth that can attract partners (see: the tender homoerotic car based relationship the two leading men of Thunderbolt and Lightfoot have. Don't YOU want to die in another man's arms?). Cars are a means of self actualization (putting speed parts on for tangible horsepower gains). Cars provide valuable time for meditation (garagetime zen while installing said parts). Cars a even a source of good exercise (throwing heavy metal tools across the garage after snapping a bolt during install). Cars provided adventure, excitement, and even acted as wedding carriages as young men pulled away from wedding festivities with white-gowned passengers signalling they were no longer in want of a wife. All because they were in want of a car.

Of course the 2010s were much better economic analogs to the 60s, as the 2020s seem to be closer to the 1970s malaise era in both overall income and cultural ennui. Therefore it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single brigand who is in possession of a podcasting setup and niche meme account, must be in want of a bad car.