#((its easier for me to draw out what he looks like than describe it but again a good reference is majorpectoralis on t.ikt.ok))

[shush-itsasecret]

"I don't know why I'm here"

I saw a YouTube comment that mentioned something about writing a fanfiction where BEAST Odasaku visits Dazai's grave and yup I ain't giving any spoilers just read!! I started working on its art first and then some ideas about the fanfic popped up in my head so here it is!!

Only read after you've already read both sides of "The day I picked up Dazai" and BEAST for complete understanding.

Kindly-

Don't repost without giving credit

Tag me and credit if you draw the idea

No Odazai shipping in this post. I only view them as besto friendo

4. ENJOYY!!

--

The sky is dark. Maybe it will rain today. The slow, cold breeze is blowing, taking with it the gloomy heat of Yokohama. I see some children making paper boats on my way. They were probably planning to play with them in the streets after it rains. Origami. That's what it's called. An old Japanese art of making different animals and objects by the mere act of folding paper. I think I remember Sakura mentioning that she was learning to make origami turtles. I'll have to ask her about it later.

As I entered the cemetery, the earth felt soft and damp under my feet. The familiar smell of wet soil hits my nostrils. Wet soil always smells nice, like reminiscences of the beloved past. But right here at this moment, it felt like the finishing touch of the scenery. It smelt like how a freshly painted portrait smells of paint. I make my way over to the other side of the vast graveyard.

My feet came to a halt in front of a certain melancholic gravestone. Gravestones aren't melancholic. They're just pieces of stone. But this one exerted a strange, eerie aura. The name written on it felt unreal too. Everything about this grave is different. Even the soil smelt differently. It smelt of loneliness and forced heartlessness. The image of his last meeting with me flashed vividly in my mind. The youngest port mafia boss, Osamu Dazai, now lay silent in his eternal rest. They say that death is the same for everyone, and it makes everyone equal regardless of what their life is like. But I doubt the same could be said about this man here. His last words echo in my ears.

"Goodbye, Odasaku"

Odasaku. The name felt strange yet familiar. He was the first who called me by that name, yet it felt startingly nostalgic. Like when you....nevermind. I can't think of a way to describe this feeling.

"I don't know why I'm here" The words coming out of my lips aligned perfectly with my thoughts, leaving no space for contradictions.

"I thought you'd like to be the first one to hear it" The wind blew whistles as if nodding in response. "Kunikida-san and Akutagawa are helping me with the editing. The story you're about to hear is still raw but it's completed nevertheless. I hope you like it" I slid down beside the gravestone. The atmosphere felt welcoming. It was the first time I was reading my story out loud. Maybe it will prove helpful, giving me insights and a new perspective on it. I fixed myself in a more comfortable position and leaned on the gravestone.

The words slipped out of my mouth easily, as if they had been waiting to be listened to by this person. As if from the moment this story came to me, it had waited patiently, solely to make Dazai it's first reader. Or well, listener in this case.

I think I'm forgetting a few parts. it's easier to remember the stories others have written than to recall one's own story. My lips moved easily, in perfect harmony with the whistles of the wind. An instrument. I realized that I was like an instrument at that moment, my words being my music. They decorated the air like stars on a dark, lonely night. Dark clouds roared, and the wind whispered back, creating a back-and-forth melody. Maybe I could spend a little more time here.

I don't know how long it's been now. I left my wristwatch at home for some unknown reason. A few hours is my guess, though I'm not sure. I look up at the sky. A few cold droplets hit my face.

"I'll get going now" I stand up, brushing the dirt off my clothes. The coat had gotten dirty with the mud but that doesn't concern me right now. Akutagawa's babysitting the younger ones today. I hope they don't sneak out and play in the rain. They'll catch a cold if they do.

"When are we meeting next?" I was genuinely startled. There was nobody around. I could have seen them with my Future vision ability if anyone had come. They say that on rare occasions, under specific conditions, the shrieking of wind can sound like a human's voice too. The only odd thing was that I recognized this voice too well.

"I'll come again. There's more to the story and I forgot some parts too." I said to no one in particular. The words left my mouth and evaporated in the air, becoming a part of the scenery. When I looked back at the grave, it felt less lonely now.

I take out a cigarette and the matchbox I always kept on me. 'Lupin', it reads. The breeze behind my back gently blew through the leaves and grass, waving goodbye like an old friend. I think I'll come here again. This place might not be so bad after all.

[goomyloid]

hi sorry if this is a lot BUT! i have really enjoyed your art for a while and for some reason only now thought to actually go thru your blog.. i saw you tag a lot of things as kriselle and i found your post explaining that and. yeah i think i get you

bc like to me im not a fan of them romantically unless it’s specifically focusing on the fucked-upness of snowgrave. in that case it hurts but it’s like. reeeaaally interesting

but they’re also like. they can’t be accurately described as “friends.” they’re so close and so far from one another. they grew up together. they both know things nobody else does. they understand each other better than anyone else. and yet they haven’t talked much in years. noelle questions if kris is even her friend. they’re not quite friends but also, of course they are, how could they ever not be

anyways all this to say umm. kris and noelle make one go insane

hiii!! thank you for enjoying my art firstly 🥺🥺🥺 i have a disease and its called draw kris and noelle as many times as humanly possible. i am indeed insane

when it comes to pairings i think it might just be the gray area between (or outside of) friendship and romance that is unexplainable and comforting but still strange (this is a pattern ive noticed for almost all pairings i like, romantic or not...) like just being able to look at a couple of characters and recognize the unique closeness they have with each other...

that being said i will support romantic kriselle shippers till my dying breath LMAO its just not My Vision (you get me)... i think i ended up saying this on twitter a couple times but whatever those two have going on in the estranged childhood friends department is just infinitely more interesting to me LOL. and it becomes easier to tag things as kriselle even if theyre literally Just Standing In the Same Image Together

(i actually filled out one of my own ship charts for them, and when i posted it i was very nervous about somehow multi-track drifting into simultaneously disappointing everyone in some way (for being an apparent kriselle shipper and/or not actually shipping them romantically) So it makes me happy that people out there understand where im coming from with my interpretations of them...)

Also yes i love the weird fucked up romantic implications of snowgrave a lot lol. its HORRIBLE and im obsessed with it. kris putting a ring on noelle's finger and neither of them are happy about it. hand in unlovable hand and all that. as hellspawnmotel once put it, they get forced into this extremely strange and uncomfortable, almost heteronormative husband-and-wife (again ring imagery) kind of vision Which is so horribly unsettling considering theyre just two queer kids trying to exist (something something kris getting commonly misgendered with he/him and noelle having a very obvious crush on another girl). as a nonbinary lesbian it almost comes off as this really fucked up correctionist way of playing where noelle just becomes a romanceable option, not to kris but to the PLAYER and kris is just forced to go along with it. it SUCKS. and its SO interesting to me i cant stop thinking about it after THREE YEARS.

omfg i did not mean to write so much sirry. this is what happens when you talk to me about kriselle btw. Ty for the ask!!!

[thetriplets3]

melt - muse a holds muse b’s face gently, drawing circles into their cheeks with their thumbs

with matt its so cute

This is so cute I loved writing this please keep the requests coming <3

❊ delicate ❊

If there’s one word to describe how life has been lately it would be exhausting, in every aspect. I spend half my nights awake, restlessly tossing and turning thinking about the long list of things I need to do. I can’t seem to make the racing thoughts in my head stop.

I've isolated myself from my friends and more importantly, you. I’m trying to do a million things and keep my thoughts under control and not drag anyone down with me. Other than the odd text here and there to you we haven’t talked a lot in a week. I can’t help but feel bad. I don’t do this on purpose and you understand that, having experienced the same thing yourself. You give me space and know that I’ll come to you when I need help or when I’m ready.

Which brings me to now. Knocking on your door, I’m greeted by Nick who welcomes me in with a hug. He tells me that you and Chris have just gone to get groceries and should be back soon.

“I’ll let him find out on his own that you’re here” Nick tells me as he retreats to his room.

I send Nick a smile as I head to the comfort of your room. Simply being in your bed and the smell of your cologne is enough to make me fall asleep with ease for the first time in a while.

Matt’s POV:

Walking into my room I’m met with you sleeping peacefully in my bed. “Oh sweet girl” I coo to myself.

Taking my backpack and hoodie off and placing them on my chair, I carefully climb into bed trying to not wake you. I lie there facing you, happy that you feel safe enough to come to me when you need me. My eyes dance over your delicate features. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at you.

I love your eyes. They remind me of an endless galaxy that I never wanna leave, the way your eyes squint when you’re truly happy, how unknowingly expressive you are, the way everything about you's so perfectly suited, just for you. I can’t wrap my head around what there is that you could dislike about yourself. You’re the most beautiful person that has walked this earth and I can’t believe I get to call you my girlfriend.

Noticing you slowly start to wake up I place my hand gently on your cheek and begin softly rubbing circles into your skin. As your eyes open I can see the emotion and the toll this past week has taken on you. You don’t let this stop you from smiling back at me as your eyes flutter shut, taking in the physical contact you’ve been missing.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you honey. Are you okay?” I whisper.

“I’m okay now that you’re here. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I don't mean to do it, it just feels easier to deal with it myself and not put it on other people” you whisper, sadness filling your voice.

“You’re not alone in this, I’m here for you, just like you are for me. Do you wanna talk about your week or do you wanna forget about it?” I ask.

“I know, thank you for being so patient with me. I wanna forget about it and just be with you right now. I’ve missed your touch” you say.

I open my arms inviting you in. You rest your head on my chest, tilting it up to look at my horse necklace as you fiddle with it. Wrapping one arm securely around you, knowing it makes you feel safe, the other makes its way back to your cheek. My thumb mindlessly draws circles on your soft skin. The warmth of my touch makes your eyelids flutter as they grow heavy, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

Even when things seem like they're falling apart, he's right there to pick up the pieces.

Taglist (msg me if you wanna be added)

@d0wnt0wnstu4n1ol0 @im-a-matt-girl @iluvmatt @antisocialties @stxrniqlo

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Did I ever tell yall about my mother's habit of sitting me down once a month to have a Serious Developmentally Appropriate and Relevant Conversation? They started when I was about 5, and continued until I was 17 (with some inconsistencies when the two of us were on the outs), and we talked about SO many things. We had the same conversations multiple times at different levels of depth, complexity, and nuance too, which was a really cool way for me to learn what it feels like for knowledge to be inherently cumulative in nature. I feel like that's part of what has made me as curious, as prone towards positive change over time, and as analytical as I typically am.

Anyway, these conversations were all about important life issues. Body health, drugs, sex, relationship dynamics and boundaries, the different ways people harm other people and what it could look like to react to that, racism, gender, war, death, sexuality, capitalism, surbival resource obtainment, sexism, ablism (although I don't know my mother called it this at the time), etc. My mom's general approach to "risky" information with me was essentially "you're going to find out eventually, whether I try to intervene in that or not. I'd rather your first awareness of these things come from me so it's easier for you to recognize when someone is selling you a load of bullshit." My mom and I have a lot of very different ideas of what it should look like to be a parent, but this was absolutely something I think she did right. She was frank and open, she never made me feel like a question or tooic or even certain words were dangerous or "wrong", and she was careful to scale her approach to the conversation in relation to my own emotional and psychological development. I still actually remember a lot of these conversations, tho of course some stand out better than others.

It took a while of me percolating on our conversation about war and intercommunal conflict before I asked her why people fight in wars if they're so awful for everyone involved. She explained a few different reasons, and things that might draw a person to this one or that one, while acknowledging opposing logic where she could.

Then she describes to me the draft. The act of a political entity compelling its own people to put their lives in harm's way for political interests or assets. She explained different ways the draft might work, and different kinds of people who might or might not get drafted. And then, she says,

"Not everyone obeys when they're called up." She watched me very carefully whenever she was using my reactions to gauge her next words. "In fact, several people in our family have refused to be drafted. Some because of their beliefs, some because of their circumstances. A lot of people do. It's called draft dodging."

See, my grandma was born in 1931. She spent most of her and her brothers' childhoods growing up in the place where her father's family had lived since about the 1500s, up in the Virginia Appalachians. But then Pearl Harbor was bombed, the USA joined world war 2, and a draft came up. It'd been calling up so many of the local men who simply. Did not come home. My grandma's parents knew that the family absolutely would not be okay without her father for any significant length of time, let alone forever. Her mother, Josephine, was visibly brown skinned and a first generation orphan immigrant who had already raised her own siblings by the time they'd eloped at 17. It wasn't that she wasn't capable, it was that she didn't have the bandwidth for any new traumas. They didn't trust that she could hold herself together for their kids and her siblings if she lost the one person who made her feel safe. (Ultimately her husband did die young, several decades before Josephine, but after all the children were grown and married. As expected, she did not take it well, and lived with my uncle for the rest of her life grieving)

So when his number came up, he dodged the draft. Sold everything the family had, packed them all into the car, and fled the state. (Apparently a Canadian radio jockey bought the family land back in the 90s and was incredibly frustrated that he couldn't convince the people in town to start calling it after his name instead of my family name lmao) My family was lucky. They had the resources to do this, and to arrange an exemption when they arrived in their new home. Not everyone manages that. And the alternatives can sometimes be a lot more impactful than "just" blowing up your entire life. Jail time, bodily harm, communal rejection, even death. It depends on your circumstances.

And yet people ALWAYS do it. They dodge the draft, or they go AWOL, or they find SOME way to stay out of the war machine. There will ALWAYS be people who choose and prioritize saving lives and denying a war more cannon fodder.

I think about this a lot when I hear about military, militia, or otherwise militarized organizational violence and human rights abuses. I think about the way humans tend to chafe at being denied their autonomy. How in intense hierarchies, people who are belittled by their higher-ups may often lash out at those they are above when they feel a compulsion to re-exert control. I think about the history of asymmetrical warfare, and what we know about what soldiers tend to do in those environments.

And at the end of the day, I think about how when these things happen, when they KEEP happening. Everyone has the choice to refuse. There have always been people who make that choice, even under the worst of consequences.

So what makes the difference between a person who refuses to supply the state with more power to exert violence with, and the person who complies?

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

hello i am asking politely for your mommy Medic surgeon goresex thoughts. feel free to use the reply to this ask as your dumping ground if it would be easier than an original post!

Welllll if you insist! Putting all this under a cut bc despite my cool exterior I'm extremely ashamed of every thought I've ever had (and bc I wanna put this in some tags and if the juicy stuff is under a cut no one can complain)

Uhhh CWs for sex, gore, goresex, surgery kink, medfet, mommy kink (just the title and the persona for Medic, no specified role for the sub), needles, knives, boot stuff, whatever. This makes me feel like a real writer

Sooo first things first bc I think people won't understand this one at first: Medic tf2 is a man who is a mommy dom. To me and to a lot of other kinky people, there exists a non-gendered semantic difference between a "daddy dom" and a "mommy dom", so women can be daddies and, much more rarely, men can certainly be mommies. Kink educator Evie Lupine describes mommy doms as "giggly, joyful sadists". Sound like someone we know? He's mommy (Mommy doms are also typically more "nurturing" and smothering than daddy doms, I'll get to that later)

I really love characterizing Medic as extremely faux-sympathetic (with flashes of real sympathy every now and again), so he's telling you (or whoever) just how bad he feels for you, you poor thing, that looks like it really hurts, and it's, like, the extra hand he attached to your pelvis. If it does actually hurt and the procedure wasn't successful he will safely remove it, though

Although I definitely think Medic can be mean, I think ESPECIALLY in a gorekink/medfet context, he gives a LOT of praise. He's SUPER full of himself, he'd never deride one of his Crowning Achievements In The Field Of Medical Science!

Similarly, he's very good about giving compliments specific to like, all of a person's inside stuff. The size of your organs, the shade of your blood, the prominence of your veins, the sturdiness of your bones... Medic tf2 is leaned over you on the vivisection table lovingly stroking your liver and cooing about how much he loves the color

This one's kind of a big one for me tbh... I think Medic tf2 would intentionally (consensually, temporarily) incapacitate someone so he gets to take care of them. Misery-style. My favorite version of this is Medic "accidentally" taking too much of someone's blood out during a blood draw, so they get all sleepy and he needs to feed them (with his boobs) and let them rest (on his boobs). Despite it all I think he really does like to feel needed.

I think Mommy Medic can be veryyyy... smothering. Figuratively and literally. He can really heap on the compliments, especially with a character who isn't very used to praise, which is its own kind of sadism. And he literally suffocates you in his boobs/thighs/ass/tummy/whatever. That one's a little less psychological.

Okayyyy goresex time... surgery makes Medic horny and he wants to fuck people's internal organs. Tf2 is really fun for this because the medigun is a built-in explanation for how he can do that while the other person is still awake. In Meet the Medic he should've been straddling Heavy's hips and jacking off onto his large intestine.

I don't know how into drinking blood normal humanguy Medic would be, but he definitely likes touching blood. Getting it all over his hands. I think he'd maybe be more into making you (or whoever) drink blood, lick it off his gloves, off his boots, off his big hairy (eroticized body part of your choice here). One of those things that he probably intends as a humiliation thing but if you're enough of a freak you just enjoy for what it is.

The penetration imagery of the needle. I read something like that recently about the scene in Breaking Bad where Jesse does heroin for the first time and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You understand

On a humiliation note, I think Medic would think it's Very fun to "force" (lovingly encourage) someone to call him "mommy" if they're embarrassed about it, which I think most of his team would be. Medic using kink to help Sniper drop his inhibitions and give in to his urges and Have Fun is one of my fave bushmed dynamics and I definitely think getting Sniper to get over the hill and call him "mommy" for the first time would be a big thing for him. Of course this is all part of his plan to break you (consensually!) and have you (or whoever!) whimpering into his cleavage as he gets to nurture you

Imagine everything I just said but he's in a sexy nurse outfit that's extremely visibly too small for him. And also just COMPLETELY covered in blood. That's my vision

[fandomwritingbit-main]

King Dice collecting a debt

A/n: just found this on my old computer, it's a little something I wrote two years ago.

Warnings: violence, injury, debt collecting, gang ideology, threatening and aggressive behaviour.

Nothing could describe the fear that would run through people’s veins when King Dice banged on their door. His reputation really did precede him. The whole Isle knew of King Dice, so named because he ran the underground gambling scene sponsored by the Devil himself, his self-proclaimed comrade. In reality, it was more of a one-sided relationship, the Devil getting Dice to do him favours and collect his debts- with Dice more than happy to comply.

Regardless, when the well-dressed kingpin knocked on a door looking for the money someone owed him, it was bad news. Even if he started off with a jaunty showtune, whistled away as he rapped the door frame, even if he was in a good mood, even if they were a pretty little thing that he liked the look of: they were in for a terrible time.

They could try and hide, not answering. Praying that he’d assume they weren’t home and depart. But he could always tell that they were there.

“You know who it is: let me in.” His tone was oddly playful for a man who had come with the intention of beating the frighteners onto someone.

The knock would be brisk and stately, no doubt drawing the attention of neighbours, who would shut their curtains enough to not be seen, leaving only a small slit for viewing. Spying the gangster as he waited. There’d always be a lackey with him, but Dice preferred the more personal touch to debt collecting.

~

“I ain’t got time to mess ‘round.” They must have known that by hiding they were only making it worse, but still the fear prevented them from answering. If they let him in, perhaps he’d have had more respect for their... ‘cojones’, maybe go a little easier on them even. But they never did and so he didn’t need to uphold that end of the bargain.

Sooner or later, he grew impatient, and the distinctively nerve-wracking sound of a door being booted off its hinges alerted the homeowner that their plan had not worked in the slightest.  

His hand smooths back his hair that had been displaced from the act of dislodging the front door and he cast a rather sinister smile at the figure cowering in the corner. At first this Cab Calloway look-alike may come across too dandy for this line of work, but beating, torturing and tax collecting were next to nature to him.

“If you’re playing the ‘I’m not home’ game, next time you may want to take your car off the drive.” He grinned, showing rows of immaculate teeth. “But if you have an intelligent bone in your body - there won’t be a next time.”

“Look, uh Mr Dice. I ain’t got your money, alright? But I will! Just give me two days, I can-” Whilst they pleaded, he walked fully inside the room, having a look at any trinkets, family photos dotted around, anything he could use to send his message.

“It is a lovely place you’ve got here. What a delightful clock.” His white-gloved hand took the piece of decor from the wall, turning it over and inspecting it. The owner gulped, watching the intruder hesitantly.

“Looks too expensive for you. Is it stolen?” He mocked.

The man’s eyes widened in fear as Dice approached. “It uh was a present- for the Mrs.” He said, following the object with his gaze. It was easily the nicest thing in this run-down property and Dice intended to use that.

Dice kept his hand on the clock against the wall, encasing the man for a few moments before letting out a hiss between his teeth. He looked him dead in the eye and the small pupils of the man pleased him.

“You’d think that someone with such a stunning timepiece would know that he was late with my fucking money.” He spoke harshly, his spit flying towards the owner, punctuating the syllables by gesturing with the clock.

Letting his face soften for a moment, a smile began to grace his lips as he shook his head, the man against the wall breathed out a sigh of semi-relief. It was cut short by a fearful intake of breath, when Dice suddenly smashed the object against the wall, mere centimetre from the man’s face. So close his ears were ringing.  

He took the clock, turning it over to look at the face.

“Would you look at that. Its stopped. I’ll leave it here...” He brought his face very close to the man before saying the last part. “That way you can tell the coppers exactly when I arrived.”

The homeowner was about to speak but Dice put a finger to his lips indicating him to shut up.

“Let me guess: You ain’t gonna tell no one, huh? You’re gonna get me my money, right?” He smiled, nodding his head almost pityingly. “Yeah... no it's too fucking late for that.” King Dice stepped back and to the man’s horror began taking off his jacket. Then his waistcoat. Undressing down to his undershirt, hanging each expensive garment on the coat hook, like he owned the place.

“What are you...?” He asked, not even able to finish his sentence, as he just watched struck dumb.

“Oh, please excuse me. That jacket’s new.” He said with half a laugh at the man’s wince: at last, this fool was clocking on. Truth be told, it was part of Dice’s intimidation game and part practical, he certainly knew how hard it was to get blood out of suede. Not to mention a white shirt.

~

Not even 15 minutes later, Dice was walking out the door semi-dressed, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, humming a tune as always. He stopped next to the doorway, using a mirror there to check his reflection. Though his clothes were spared due to his intervention, there was blood splatter down the side of his face. Oh well, he thought, sends a message, don’t it? He checked his teeth, running his tongue over them before looking over a shoulder and shooting the man on the floor a smirk.

“Three days. You ain’t got what you owe then, I’ll come back. Only that time I'll stick around and wait for the family to come home.” The man just stared at him, knowing the threat was simply a promise. He didn’t have the agency to respond, just looked at him, through a black eye, mouth bleeding and his right arm cradled by the other.

“Might wanna get a doc to take a look at that.” He said with a mean laugh, sauntering out of where the front door was, leaving the fella to sort himself and the door out.

[thirst2]

I can't say that I would've always noticed it but there's this shitstain of a mag. called Queer Majority I keep (unfortunately) bumping into that's clearly an attempt to siphon off more moderate Queer people towards more orthodox conservative ideas but covertly with the guise/trappings of Queerness.

It describes itself itself as covering "issues related to the gay community with a classically liberal perspective" and perhaps the editors are sincere in that (though I do think the option of writing for an American audience and opting to use the phrase "classically liberal" is absolutely an attempt to pull one over) and it's not an overt psyop. But it's a lot of introducing "LGB without the T" crap (framed as "just asking questions!" and like, "Gee wiz, I dunno…; those other members are just so, gosh, extreme;" 🙄) and clear appeals to capital sympathy but trying to frame it as a concern actually always present in Queer culture, from the earliest of day. Like, imagine arguing for classical gender roles on the basis that a lot of gay artists throughout history draw "classically" masculine men and it's an indication of the way Christian-influenced gender roles are, actually, beneficial (and natural!) for us, too; that kind of propaganda. In one of the latest issues, the editor-in-chief argues for "the importance of the gay community in having a positive relationship with police".

Just; utter drivel.

And it worries me, with the general dissatisfaction people have been having around the world that's been building to a head over the last decade, and the general isolation a lot of Queer people still have to a sense of stable community.

But that's a very extended conversation and not what I was recently struck by.

It's mentioned that the editor-in-chief is also assistant director at The Bi Foundation and lead organizer of amBi, a bi social group; I was curious and clicked through to both.

And Queer Majority already had this aesthetic but they both also just as…vapid.

Just, like, empty. I mean, The Bi Foundation's website has an advice column which can always be really helpful both for the marginalized writing in and because hearing our real stories and difficulties are the easier ways to humanize us but most of it is retrofitting bi-ness into pop culture media and "famous bis" which often are based on uncertain historical verasity.

Like, maybe that worked 2 decades ago when we needed to ease the rest of the society in but (perhaps in light of the Queer Majority project and its aims) it's like eating junkfood.

There's so much Queer history and activism you could talk about but I think having to veer that clearly outside of blessed normativity would cause a crisis of identity for it.

And it's all so slick and conventional in its site's graphic design; which isn't inherently bad: The Advocate looks like your usual news site/mag. But it actually covers Queer issues and points out when transphobia happens.

And amBI is even more of that: a slick, professional looking website (à la MeetUp) with pop culture references all over the place and not really offerring much more than "Bi people are in this location". Like a book club oriented around everyone having the same tastes in books.

Just…the bar is so low and you, somehow, managed to offer something even less substantial/nourishing.

I get the impression that the creator isn't much interested in his sexuality beyond its label and has only come to terms with it because, well, you can't change your sexuality. So all the other characteristics about himself take so much more importance, for him.

Perhaps that's less charitable than I ought to be for someone I hardly know but he's also trying to astroturf conservatism into my community so color me unconvinced.

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

Conspiracy Theory-D

In this treatise, I plan to revisit earlier mathematical theorems and revise them considering our new observations on the Light, the Darkness, and lifeforms imbued with those respective powers. But before I do so, I must preface it with a personal note. Despite high-minded assumptions, mathematics is not an intrinsic language of the universe. It is how we describe the portions of the universe that we can observe. While numbers can track the abstract and find pattern in chaos, they cannot account for fundamental aspects of reality such as compassion or justice | ɹɐǝɟ ɹo ɹǝƃuɐ ɹo pǝɹʇɐɥ ɹo |. The existence of the Lucent Hive, and Hive Ghosts in particular, may expand our understanding of causality, but they themselves are not "new"—the only thing that is new is our awareness and observation of them. These Ghosts have already been living alongside us. They've traveled with us. Endured with us. What we see is the mushroom, the fruit of the fungus. The fungus itself is a vast mycorrhizal network of filaments growing and working unseen below the soil, often barely connected to the fruiting bodies we observe. Similarly, we have observed Ghosts—Hive Ghosts included—without understanding the nature of the unseen filaments that may guide us. In our eagerness to understand the universe, we must not assume our observations are complete, or objective. Otherwise, we blind ourselves to possibilities… like the possibility that an unnoticed faction among us may be one temptation away from betrayal. Or that what drives our creator is no more than the same base desire for survival that drives all living things. —On Secants, Introduction, Ophiuchus

A dream of a metaphor made starkly, an allegory discussed in study of ontology, in Darkness not unkind. It leaves behind a warped, barely-real data fragment to mark its passing. There is a voice that echoes across the Darkness, and it asks this question: what is the purpose of it all? And there is another voice that calls back and says: listen, I will tell you a purpose. I will tell you of a Final Shape. Look: there are a hundred gildings for this story. It comes down to one key matter. Beings in suffering crave purpose to carry them through. The tyrant consumed by ennui or the disenfranchised struggling simply to survive—it is the state of mind, the pain which cries out: give me a reason I should suffer so! Let us speak of power and choices. A man comes to a crossroads and asks of the sky, "Which road shall I take?" There is no answer from the sky, nor the wind, nor the earth beneath his feet. But another wanderer on the road, coming from behind and hearing the question, says, "I know the way. You should take the dexter road." If the man agrees, he puts himself in the wanderer's power, ceding his own choices for the implicit promise that this is the correct road, the safe road. And if he disagrees? Let us say that the wanderer draws a knife. The man may therefore be made to take the dexter road. But now if the knife goes away, the man will certainly flee. And perhaps even if the knife remains, the man may tire of being threatened and decide the risk is worth fleeing. In this way, the wanderer erodes their own power. If the wanderer says, "The wind has said that you should take the road of my choosing," will the man accept the choice made for him? And if the wanderer says, "Behold, I have seen that the meaning of suffering lies along the dexter road," will the man give away his own power for longer? Is it not easier to accept the guidance of a stranger when the path ahead is unknown?

Heard while scavenging a pile of dead Ghosts within the Throne World Pyramid: "Oh insatiable you—how many beats on the snare of self-righteousness will it take before you acknowledge all the avenues from which you stall the flow of things as they should be? "You do not see the collective obligation before you, the duteous burden that has rested on all sentient beings since time's origination—to ferry existence toward inevitable consequence: the final shape. "Why do you unendingly insist on waylaying the machinations of every being with a worldview differentiated from your own? You lack respect. You lack direction. You seek only what you are guided to seek, and for that, you remain little more than an unrelenting nuisance. "I was like you once. Wayward. Driven to misguided perfection by the bubble society painted around me. But when I look back, none but one had the answers. None but one shed all the airs of any pretense of what the universe was supposed to be in the eyes of the infinitesimal individual—my Witness. "Through it, I found incentive. Clarity. Purpose. I sought to shed from myself the layer of barbarism that had pervaded my being for so long. I turned instead to the sophistication of infecting others with self-actualized corruption. "You see, total eradication may be efficient, but the goal is not to be the last one standing. Rather, it is to remove the obstacles that encumber you and those who remain from reaching your destination. "Annihilation of your kind was never the goal. But filling you with the right kind of ideological purpose, the kind that serves the finality of shape—well, that's the point of corrupting a beating heart, is it not?"

Chioma Esi, research log: the Veil. [sighs] I don't even know where to start. When we landed on Neptune, there was... something waiting for us. An alien structure. It's an electromagnetic anomaly. No mass, but a tangible surface area. It's like a thesis statement to the Von Neumann-Wigner hypothesis. It's definitely paracausal, like the Traveler. Maya calls it the Veil. She says she heard the name in a whisper when... when she looked at it. When I asked her who whispered, she said it was... her own voice. I still haven't had time to process that. Everyone on the initial survey team died. The minute they touched the object, they entered a state of... of brain death. All of them. To make it worse, the EM radiation emitting from the Veil is causing psychological distress in the Exos that came with us. They've all described moments of intense, hallucinogenic reverie. Some of them went silent and rigid and just... stopped. Maya called it "billboarding." Something from the early days of Clovis Bray's Exomind project. She doesn't seem afraid. Or surprised. She's convinced this thing—in her own words, she says—it'll be our "salvation."

And though they lived in paradise, they came to crave a greater purpose. They desired meaning. Structure. A Winnower, to shape the garden.

Even paradise is a prison when you can't leave

A gardener and a winnower set out their chairs and play a game of flowers. The flowers know only that they grow or wither, struggle or flourish. Sometimes, they are touched by one hand or the other, and that influence is the closest they will know of the divine. A flower and a flower spread their leaves to the sun above. (Remember that the sun is also a metaphor: a thing said beautifully, winnowed down to poetry, when the truth is too vast to put in words at all.) They jostle for space, each competing to be the pinnacle of their shape. One flourishes. One withers. Is it the fault of the flower or the fault of its position? A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game called Possibility. This is a game about a garden, which is to say that it is also a game about flowers, just as a game about a living being must also be a game about organs and bacteria. A gardener and a winnower collaborate to create a protein. Whose hand is it in the design, that shortens one life to extend the rest? It is the winnower that discovers the first knife, but it is not done without the gardener. This, too, is a tradition: a knife does not come to exist without something that must be cut. A woody stem, a colored petal, a vital vessel. The first victims of the blade. All of these are true. All of these are false, for metaphor simplifies as the knife does. It pares incalculable concepts into shapes your wrinkly little brains can comprehend. The weight of billions and the simple curve of a planet give you pause, and how then are you to be expected to grasp the forces that created your nth-removed creator? So the stories woven with utmost delicacy in and around the falsehoods are, after it all, true. There was never any option for the knife to not exist in the garden: it was only ever a matter of time and opportunity. And as for the shape of the knife itself— No. That is enough. I will tell you of gardens.

This is the Coronation of Oryx, the Taken King. It happened thus. In the cold abyss of the sword world, King Aurash walked under a cloak of green fire. He walked through the sky and the sky shuddered and froze beneath his feet. He walked until he found Akka, the Worm of Secrets, who was denying a truth until it became a lie. “Akka my God, Worm of Secrets. I am Auryx, sole king of the Hive. I have come to receive a secret. I want the secret power of the Deep, which you hold.” “I give no secrets,” said Akka, whose voice was code. “No,” said Auryx, ���you give nothing. Giving is for the Sky. You worship the Deep, which asks that we take what we need.” Akka said nothing, because if it denied this truth, the truth might become false. “But you gave us your larvae, the worm,” said Auryx, “and that is why the worm devours us now: because it was given, not taken. So I must take what I need from you, although you are my god.” Said Akka, “You have not the strength.” But this was a lie. Auryx had killed Savathûn his sibling and Xivu Arath his sibling, and he had the sword logic of killing them. Auryx the First Navigator set upon his god with his sword and his words, and cut Akka to pieces, and took from those pieces the secret of calling upon the Deep. He wrote this secret on a set of tablets, which he called the Tablets of Ruin. And he wore them about his waist. Then Auryx said, “Now I may speak to the Deep, the beautiful final shape. I will be King of Shapes. I will learn all the secrets of our destiny.” His speech to the Deep is not recorded here. But it is known that he returned, and he said, now I am Oryx, the Taken King. And I have the power to take life and make it my own. Then he went out into the universe, and fought the Ecumene with his Tablets. And the Worm his God was pleased.

I dive to understand.

It was there they found what the Warlocks named the “Cathedral of Dusk.” A Hive burial site for— what? A former master of Oryx? Comrade? Lover? It was vile. And obvious that Oryx never expected the Light to reach so deep inside his throne, to such an intimate space.

Project day 45. We kept thinking about H-349 as a destroyer. But it's more sophisticated than that. I mean, with a normal gun, it's just… boom. Done. H-349 on the other hand is deadly, not destructive. Much like a viper, its bite does not bring about instant death. Instead, its venom cajoles. It co-opts your beating heart into a death clock, ticking down your last moments. Your own pulse kills you.

Death may be slow and agonizing for its victim. But for the viper, time is an amenable trade for efficiency.

Is your Light bright enough to stand in full gaze of the Hive's abyss? Arise for Crota, Son of Oryx, the Hope-Eater! He who has seized the Sky lair above Ceres, which peers into other planes, now vassal to the might of the Worldbreaker! Within these keyholes our brood communes with unheard voices. They who whisper that the curse of our Thralls is a blessing granted by the Deep. Now, in honor of the God-Knight, we fashion these gluttonous whispers into death. His Hellmouth becomes home to the profane: the corpse of the Sky, reborn in the abyss. — Enkaar, the Anointed

"Victory is not in the unmaking of an enemy, but in the re-making of an enemy into your blade." —9th Understanding, 7th Revision of Sorrow

Ah, pardon us. It just seems like he's always hungry. When I first became a mother, I didn't realize how much time would just be spent feeding him. Do you mind? Thank you. No, he doesn't look much like me, I know. There are a lot of orphans these days. I heard him crying from… oh my, it seems like half a world away. It was chance, honestly. I never thought of myself as a parent, but caring for another little life… it's taught me so much. May I? Sorry, I don't know why I'm sharing so much with you like this. You just seem easy to talk to. And becoming a mom has really given me a lot more insight into the little connections between people. I used to focus so much on my work. I actually lost a few friends over it. Oh! Shh, shh, shh… there we go. That's right. Growing babies need their calcium. Now I can see what matters. The beauty in small things and quiet moments. In watching others light up when they see him. In the way meeting new people broadens him. I had another child, you know. That was… before. I didn't keep him safe. It's for the best. He's… safe now. Besides, it means I can appreciate this little one so much more. Just the two of us. I love my little Striga. And he's always… so… hungry. //CASE 620102; SUSPECT IDENT JANA-14; STATUS: AT LARGE //EVIDENCE IDENT #303, AUDIO DEVICE; RECOVERED ADJACENT TO DISMEMBERED BODY, RIBS EXCISED

"The Weapons of Sorrow are not the endgame, but a road map. Each evolution, every advance in the delivery of pain and the mastery of destruction feeds the Hive's hateful weapons research. They will map every scream, harness every aggression, until they understand every method by which to ravage the hearts, minds, and flesh of man. And in doing so, they will turn us against ourselves—feeding our lust, our greed, our fear, until we become a threat unto ourselves like none we could imagine. So, wield these, angry reaper. Strive to know the darkness in your own heart. Walk in the shadows of fallen heroes. And know that you are an enemy of hope." —a warning

Chioma Esi, research log: Veil interface. Maya and I have finalized a prototype interface for the Veil. Hopefully, it'll allow our research team to investigate it in detail. The system's designed like an orchestra, with a central "conductor" directing a symphony of minds to act like a distributed network. The... idea came to us by watching how collective networks like SIVA and the Vex operate. The hope is we can aggregate and parse the vast amounts of psychic data emitting from the Veil. Turn it into something intelligible. If we're successful, the interface will provide us with a starting point for any future technological research tied to the Veil. The risks of — of such integration are high. The estimated mortality rates are... but I... I... I don't know what I'm doing. This is wrong. This is so wrong! We shouldn't — all she ever talks about is survival! "Think big picture!" What about your survival? What about your heart? My heart? [sighs tearfully] I can't keep doing this. I can't. I can't!

Chioma Esi, research log: The Veil. She did it! Maya connected people to the Veil. Our own scientists. And they survived. I should be happy, but… happy that all this horror wasn't for nothing? But I'm not. I'm disgusted. In myself. In Maya. In all of us. This thing, the Veil. It's… it's some kind of web of consciousness. Just like the Vex network, but organic instead of artificial. It make sense why the Vex want it. Paracausal simulations? There'd be no stopping them. I should be happy. To— to be a part of history, to solve a cosmic riddle. Happy for Maya; happy for all of us. But I'm not. I don't feel anything. Maya is gone. The woman I knew… may as well have died when we landed on Neptune. But her ghost still haunts me… this place. I don't know what to do. There's a generation of children born here now. This is their home. [sighs] I don't know what to do.

Chioma Esi: Years ago, back on Venus, the Vex simulated copies of us — Maya and I. Trapped in a virtual hell. After so long, even hell can look like heaven, can't it? [chuckles] I'm tired. I'm done. Maya has to be out there. The Maya I remember. And all I want is one more moment with her. To hold her in my arms. Tell her that I love her. So she can tell me to "hush" one more time. If... if we learned anything from the Veil, it's that eventually... we all have to learn to let go. So... I made contact with the Vex. I'm ready. And it's time to say goodbye.

Osiris: I've reached the extent of what I can glean from the research data.

Nimbus: What've we got? Osiris: Less than I'd hoped for. But the last of Chioma Esi's research has led me to an intriguing topic: Ghosts. Nimbus: Ghosts? As far as I know, Neomuna never had any contact with a Ghost before you all showed up. We knew about them, but... Osiris: Precisely. Chioma Esi was researching the entanglement of Light and Dark without fully understanding either. Our Ghosts are a link to the Light of the Traveler. Then how was the Witness able to — on numerous occasions — communicate through them? Nimbus: Is this about the, uh, the magnets thing? The parallel energy fields, right? Osiris: Very good. In areas of Darkness, the Witness is able to create a link, not unlike what it created with the Veil and the Traveler.

Your Traveler has a dark mirror.

[sanitytomychaos]

So as I’m taking a brake from playing BG3… a thought came to mind

What was are Dark Urge like before the betrayal of there sister? What made them the apple of their fathers eye and why did Gortash like you more than they tolerate Orin?

So me being me I looked up Bhaal and read a little about him.

About dear old Pa….

He’s a neutral evil god. (In 5e)

He’s Lawful evil in BG3

He’s the god murder in BG3

He was a god murder and the hunt (amung other things in D&D)

He’s was that guy in D&D that wanted to murder everything so THE MURDER HOBO

He was petty Because he lost to Bane and a Merkel, and therefore he had to be the god of murder.

From what ever art I’ve seen of him, we did not get are looks from him at all.

He also impregnated many woman as well to carry his seed. So that’s why You and Orin are half siblings (sisters in my case) and then I learned they were wiped out… well clearly the missed some here. So it’s either we are really flipping old.

(Wait does this mean we are demigods???????)

Anyway you were described as the perfect one… why ? Was it because you were not as unhinged as your sister? The one who took pleasure in murdering her victims in a chaotic insanity?

And are you the one that just enjoys the hunt that leads to your murder? And you’re not as unhinged as your sister hens why is easier to talk to you and have a conversation, and not blurt out you want to murder the person who you’re talking to.

You to your father.

Du (calling her Posie, cuz putting Durge is weird…) she was his fine crafted tool, she was perfect one, she didn’t complain and did her work. She was the “point and kill with out questions asked”

She was devoted and not crazy. No crazy makes you miss all the fine detailed of your kill. Makes you miss and appreciate the murder. How it was done, why it was done.

And you know why it was done, and it brakes you. That’s why you are the favorite he wants you to suffer as you do the deed so you know, each soul you take will haunt you and curse and scream your name.

But he forsakes you once your mind is corrupted by the Tav pole, his voice isn’t there any more to keep constantly whispering. The butler is his way of trying to get Posie back. This is the only way he can help to get his daughter back. To give you gifts and rebuild you.

And since you were “perfect” before. The fall you didn’t need the butler…

But never answer your questions.

That’s what I think…

BEFORE EVERYTHING

Relationship with Orin..

I wanna think Posie (okay pocket we get it she’s the Du) and Orin were sisters ( well duh pocket) .

Posie tried to be good sister to Orin, cuz she wanted a family or have some sort of family, but Orin made it very had to do so. They were two deferent sides of the same coin.

But there were small moments? Like Orin would listen to Posie as she reads something out loud. And then listen to Posies questions on the “holy” scriptures to Bhaal as alot of it was hogwash.

“He wants blood in his name, nothing more or less. Just that”

Orin complains that Posie is not. Doing things right and she does the same to Orin.

Share a meal together…

( they are both cannables, only fact I will stay with in the game cannon the other stuff is…. I’m sorry I draw the line of necrophilia and incest tendencies, This game has no chill at all man).

It would be a “hey I turned this Drow into a roast what do you think? Too much garlic or its not enough sage?”

Yes full on Hannibal’s here with the cooking…of humanoid meats. There’s even a part in the game were you can eat said meats in the goblin camp and it heals you by a lot…

I can see Posie just be “Orin that hand was in piss, do not- “

“Orin do not put that in your mouth!”

Orin proceeds to eat the hand anyway because she gives no shits and she is chaos energy.

Posie doesn’t talk to Orin for the rest of the day or week Because that’s just vile even for a cannable like her….The rude ones get eaten only, or she stops because people are junk food and she was gaining some weight.

Orin makes fun of Posies name all the time “Sister dear you should change your name”

Posie refuses to do so as it’s the only thing that keeps her human. And reminds her “there are flowers that can grow from blood”

We have Orin “The Red” because blood and gore..

Posie Would have been “The flower of Bones” as when a body decays. Nature takes it for its own. And bones are forever?

Foreshadowing that Posie will be around even after death….(someone’s death! )

Durge had nothing, your Bhaalness awakens when you were a child and you murdered your foster parents.

(Great really make your Durge a tragic character why don’t you Larian. I love it!)

Orin had parents and Posie will forever resent Orin for that.

Orin was the one that betrayed you. I think when Posie gets to that part in the game. And just thinking about it now. With being more human than she ever was before and finaly fighting her father and wanting to be free of all the nightmares and the voices.

She would be heartbroken. Her sister took everything from her and Orin dosnt care, she was watching and waiting for her sister slip up, and she did slip up. She fell for the chosen of Bain.

Why? It could be a lot of things, bust mostly jealousy, why did someone like Posie get all the love and she got nothing? And even when Orin took Posies place she will always still be compared.

Orin and Durge will always be that Back staving jealous, sibling troop. You still get rid of the sibling you hated and wanted to be… but you’re forever compared to them and your forever and their shadow no matter how much you shine in your own, right. That’s Orin in my eyes…

About the DarkUrge…. Posie.

(It’s funny you get murdered or beaten up by an orc with a flower name)

Im doing a Monk play though with this character so really plays well with being the “perfect weapon”. Posie body is the weapon. Everything around her. Is a weapon so when she’s out doing something for Gortash she throws her victims in a false sense of security

“You fool you have nothing to kill me with!” They have a sword.

She then disarms arms then and used that sword agents then “You were saying?”

I’m also multi-classing as a Druid in there too (I love moon Druids) Because… sneaking in as a cat or bird undetected is just funny.

“Oh look a pretty kitty!”

Turns into a half Orc (need more orc love) then proceeds to murder. Then walks away with bloody paws or flys away as a raven…goes and cleans the filth off your paws or preens your feathers for the next 3 hours.

When she’s mad she will throw things. Books, spoons, chairs…people. Has Yeeted a victim in the Gray bay Because that woman was just- let the fish eat her.

Each murder is different and never the same twice back to back.

She doesn’t do senseless murders. That’s not her style. She wants them to mean something. Hens why this. Would make her the favorite.

Posie had more sanity in them than Orin did. You were able to carry out conversation and look like a completely normal person and not go batshit crazy when you were stalking your target.

(Looking at you Orin)

You were a hunter… a well sharpened You didn’t play with your kills- naaah, you like toying with them.

Or you just liked to strike when your pray was at a peaceful state of mind were they think they are safe but not. That’s when you liked to strike.

That’s what Bhaal loved the best…

I’ll have more, maybe just needed to get this out there

[thievesandtraitors]

This is going to be a long post, but it's just me explaining a funny thing that happened to me which then turned into an interesting conversation with my best friend.

To preface this--no one was offended, not me, not my boss, not my friend, no one. It was actually a funny interaction that happened, but I wouldn't have fully seen it in this particular way I'm going to describe, had it not been for my friend. Again, my boss is a very cool, kind, funny, personable man. But, he also is still...a man. So, onto the story.

My job is in the kind of industry where, much to my dismay, a lot of business happens on golf courses. We're constantly in tournaments, our partners want to discuss projects, work, potential opportunities, etc etc while playing a round of golf. And I, unfortunately, know how to play golf. I've done it since I was a kid, competed in high school (wasn't the best, but wasn't the worst), I just hate the sport. I hate everything about it. And I told my boss when he asked, "yes, I know how to play, but I really, really don't like it." Now, am I going to have to play? Yes. But generally how these tournaments work it's much easier and much more fun than competitive golfing. But, I digress.

So it's one evening and my boss invites me to go hit some golf balls at the range. I say yes because it meant I didn't have to go to the gym, and it was a gorgeous day outside. So we show up and we start at the chipping area. (For those who don't know golf, chipping is referring to the area just outside of the green. It's a very, very short distance and its just practicing short hits up onto where the flag/hole is. So, not hard). But he's giving me some pointers about where to place the ball in my stance, relative to the slope of the ground, yada yada. And I grew up an athlete; I'm coachable, I listen whenever someone is giving me direction, so I take in what he's saying and do as he suggests. At first, I thought it was kind of interesting he was giving me pointers anyway, seeing that I never asked, but I was like "eh, he likes the sport, wants to share what he knows, cool." Didn't bother me.

But then it gets funny. So I'm hitting a few balls and after every hit he goes "wow, that's really good." Every. Hit. And I'm not saying this to boast, I don't care. I said thanks. But I literally thought to myself, "is he going to say this after every shot I take today?" I was genuinely wondering why he kept saying "that's really good". Again, I'm not trying to draw attention to the compliment, just setting up the point.

But I keep hitting and don't say anything meanwhile after every hit he's just ~amazed~. So he realizes I don't need any more pointers on chipping so he's like "Okay, you get it. You don't need this, let's go." And we go to the driving range. (For those who don't know, the driving range is where everyone is stationary and they're just hitting balls off into the distance.) We get to our spot and he's like "okay, show me what's going on." And I kind of look at him but don't say anything. Like "why did he say it like that?" Again, laughing on the inside because all his commentary was just interesting. I grab my bread-and-butter club, aka the club I always hit well no matter what. Take my practice swing and then hit the ball for real and it goes dead straight, a hundred yards. Boom. Whatever. I look at him and his face is surprised, but neither of us say anything, and I hit two or three more dead straight, no issues. And finally, he goes "What did you say you needed help with?" Completely puzzled at how well I'm doing. And I say (which I totally meant to come out as a joke but it really just landed more sassy) "I never said I needed help." And he busts out LAUGHING. I mean we're cracking up, and I was like "It's true!". Anyway, I can't live it down to this day, right, and this happened three weeks ago.

Flashforward to my conversation with my bestie and why I'm writing this post. But she pointed out to me as I was retelling the story that men hear "I don't like X" as "I'm not good at X and therefore I don't like it." And, subsequently "But if you teach it to me, then I'll love it." And the way that blew my mind! Because I was just reacting as I always do whenever I do sports, especially (and usually) with a guy around; they're always shocked at what I'm capable of doing. And her saying that made me realize men will always hear what you're saying as a way of saying we're unable, and therefore need their help, because we just fail or suck on our own. And again, not dissing my boss. The whole thing was lighthearted and he meant well. But it's interesting that there's always this level of misogyny laced through a man's thinking that they always have something to teach us and can make us like something that we don't, and we're always looking to be showed how to do things. Just because we don't like something doesn't mean its because we are bad at it and will love it "once we have help". Like no. I just don't like golf. I never said I was bad at it. Ever. I never even eluded to that assumption. Just men and their superiority complex interpret everything as "oh, she's asking for my help, she just doesn't know it yet". Its what John Oliver said in his clip about people and their UFO sightings, but with a twist. "What you think you heard depends on what you were expecting to hear". It's the same way men assume my bestfriend is stupid because she's a blonde and she runs.

[happymetalgirl]

Listening to Problematic Bands

This is a segment taken from my Lingua Ignota review awhile ago that focuses on the aforementioned topic, and I figured I would give its own separate post. I made a few edits to make it more generally applicable and of course a few additional thoughts. It’s an interesting topic of discourse with a lot of facets and it’s certainly not going away any time soon.

The problematic artist discourse is complicated, I get it; I don't have a golden bullet answer to it. But somehow in all the discourse I've seen about being responsible and not supporting problematic artists and not enabling shitty behavior, I haven't seen anyone acknowledge the obvious elephant in the room, which is that fans don't want to be punished for something they didn't do.

As listeners, watchers, readers, viewers, enjoyers of art, we all (should) go into enjoying any piece of art with the understanding that, no matter how authentic they may come off in their music or their public appearance, we never fully know the artist. We can't know with complete certainty who of them might be up to some unsavory shit behind closed doors, even the edgy ones, some of whom genuinely do keep their antics on the stage and in the studio. And often the art we enjoy does indeed stand so far away from the artist that we don't think about the artist at all (think: lo-fi hip hop beats to study/relax to). And then there are some (think: asshole Mark Kozelek and his dumb boomer podcast ramblings that he calls "songs") who really put themselves as a person into their art. A little harder to dissociate that kind of shit.

I agree with minimizing support for artists doing bad shit on the basis of it possibly discouraging such behavior from others and it consequentially pressuring them to change, but that can be surprisingly hard to go absolute zero on and draw a line on. Does it stop at the band? Does it stop at the label? Does it stop at side projects? Does it stop at collaborators who haven't come out and said anything? But just because there's no agreed-upon line does not mean that we should just shrug our shoulders and say "well what can you do?" Ultimately, as an individual, the answer to that is pretty much nothing, but somehow you add up enough individuals and you can start to get some good change if you all know that better things are possible and expectable. Maybe you don't all agree exactly how much more you deserve but you sure as hell know it's more than that shit boss is paying you all. Maybe we don't know exactly where we draw that "problematic artist" line, but we know the behavior Hayter described of Alexis Marshall is far beyond wherever we draw it. Being attentive as a listener, however casual or invested, is not about being a paranoid hyperreactive sentinel around artists and trying to have a power trip on people you have little individual power over, and it's certainly not about policing individual fans into not listening to their Antichrist Superstar CD or whatever. Again, I get that vile behavior makes some artists immediately more repulsive and easy to let go of at the drop of a hat, and it's easier for some to drop band they've listened to forever than others. And then I think of my favorite band, Meshuggah.

I listen to Meshuggah more than anything else probably. And to my knowledge they don't have any accusers or hold any racist beliefs or anything of the like, but they could. And as much as I imagine it would very likely taint my listening to their music if everything I hypothetically proposed was in fact true for them, I have a hard time imagining not listening to them. How I listen to music has been so irreversibly shaped by Meshuggah, I tap the iconic rhythm of "Bleed" with my fingers on every surface around me without even thinking about it, and I hear Meshuggah in the thousands of bands they've influenced. I snuck Meshuggah into my wedding playlist. It's honestly hard to think about what my music-loving life would look like without Meshuggah, and in some ways it feels impossible, and for me (and probably most Meshuggah fans) it has never been about Jens or Fredrick or Martin or Tomas or Dick. And it doesn't seem like it's ever been about them to themselves either. So I get it for fans who feel torn between their love for the music and their feeling betrayed or that it's been tainted by the very artist that made it.

The whole "separate the art from the artist" cliché tends to be invoked pretty superficially and left at that as just an excuse to not think critically about listening and supporting choices. There is validity to our ability to compartmentalize the two, but viewing art in a vacuum where the artist doesn't exist is reductive, and choosing to only assess art though that lens because grappling with the complicated, dicey, or uncomfortable context surrounding an artist and their art is and lazy and cowardly.

-

When the Me Too movement kicked off, revealing the extensive abuse of power that went on often in plain sight did really shock the system of music and film, but it also came as no surprise that there were a significant number of power-tripping rapists and abusers within the upper echelons of politics and entertainment. Abusable power and influence tends to draw people that want that power at least partly for the sake of abusing it. My initial (naïve) expectation that Me Too would open up the festering abscess of well-connected, powerful abusers and allow them to be drained from the positions they abused. I expected it to be a tumultuous process, for the industry and for fans; it is definitely hard to grapple with a series of revelations of artists you might have liked to be revealed as horrible people behind the scenes. I can only imagine how pop punk fans feel. But I expected it to be relatively quick, like amputating a gangrenous digit.

Unfortunately, nearly a decade later, musicians, actors, producers, etc. are still being revealed for what they truly are, and it's evident that sexual abuse within the arts and entertainment is not a matter of one rotten digit but rather a sepsis that requires intense systemic treatment to fully cure. I don't think it's as much of a matter of abuse-hungry monsters being drawn to positions of power the way the U.S. police systematically attracts and grooms pathologic liars and untreated anger management cases. I think that's part of it, and I think power can definitely corrupt too. But ultimately, I think the extent of abuse is due largely to the attitudes endemic to the broader culture and (un)consciously accepted as normal that surround sex, consent, and abuse that still frame absolutely pathologic behaviors, manipulations, and violations of consent as natural methods of pursuit. It's also the general social framing of sex as a pursuit by one sex and avoidance by the other that perpetuates this, but that's too much of a tangent to go off on.

Obviously, sexual abuse by band members is not the only route for bands to be problematic. Metal is an old enough genre for its once rebellious and transgressive Gen X and even boomer pioneers to now be the out-of-touch pearl-clutchers putting their feet in their mouths and unwilling to learn where they don't understand in favor of reactionary stagnation and decay. We also have no shortage of outright racists and neo-Nazis, some of whom are just too beloved for the culture at large to reckon with, which (for lack of a more resonant term) seems pretty cucked to me. Like, we're worried about reckoning with the racism of so many of the big figureheads in the genre because, what? Metal is dependent on them? You can't let go of Phil Anselmo? We can't imagine that if Peter Steele were still alive his legacy of goth metal pioneering could be tainted by some kind of anti-vax-jizz-is-better nutjob winging about cancel culture if not outright commitment to the iffy Nazi bits he teased in his music? That's fucking weak? Metal as a genre culture looks fucking pathetic clinging onto these toxic idols like we can't do better. The people that whine about "cancel culture run amok" don't care about metal's culture surviving; they've listened to the same shit for 30 years and don't want to feel bad about being uncritical of the metal comfort food from their teens that they still consume. Part of maintaining the health of a culture is having the guts to be critical and recognize when toxicity from toxic people needs to be addressed for what it is, even if those toxic people are legends, even if that legendary band's legacy becoming sour in retrospect is hard to think about.

[capricioussun]

Sorry gamers I fell asleep and also appear to have a throat infection(?) BUT I am awake now so

The hashtag Commentary on the artists and styles✨ (under the cut ⬇️ )

⭒ Up first is decafcoffee00 - decaf's art is so next level, everything is so SHAPE and there's personality in every line istg. Surprisingly, this one didn't fight me as much as I expected! I don't think it's half bad, and I had an easier time w/ this one than any other lol, but fr if you're not following him uhhh you should <3

⭒ The next to the right, minksinty - phenom's art inspires me SO so much, the way they colour things is absolutely stunning and life just flows through it, even the doodles! I think this one is probably the one I did the worst on lol, idk! It just doesn't seem to have any of the right energy, but it'd be more than worth it to do a more thorough study bc uhhh absolutely gorgeous art fr

⭒ And the third in the top row, bonetrousledbones - the only one I've actually tried before! So I had a liiitttle more familiarity with it, but it's such a fun, super expressive style. Their art just seems to translate the characters feelings and personalities so strongly, it's like. A narrative art style. If I had more time and focus I'd have loved to do a full body shot like this, especially to get more into studying their Clothes Technique, of which they are a master in their craft !!

⭒ Now on to the bottom row✨ jnpie - this one is small bc I was so happy w/ the first sketch I didn't want to try making it bigger and having it get all fuzzy lmao, but! Jnpie's style is so cute and like. Idk what would be a good word for it, sincere? It really is an expression, and you can feel how much they put into their art just by making it, it's just so -gestures emphatically in a positive way-. This is also the only one that didn't have a direct ref to look at! So pls forgive any discrepancies 🙏

⭒ On to the right, savestar - her art always exudes such a softness to me? Almost like a somberness that I don't quite know how to describe but its sooo pretty and makes their stuff feel very nostalgic when you look at it. It probably comes in second for the ones I struggled w/ a bit and feel I couldn't quite capture, but you can make the judgement for yourself by checking out and following her :*)

⭒ And last but certainly not least, owl-bones - this one was very fun, I'm not sure how obvious it is but his art has definitely been an influence on whatever direction mines taken for how I draw these bone boys, as it should! Rayne's art is sooo cool and pretty and this is another style I'd love to try doing a full body shot w/, the way he poses and draws clothes is so fluid and appealing and !!!

-

Sorry if this reads a little off I'm a bit fog brained atm and did NOT check for typos well but I didn't want to put this off any more! Bc seriously while I was working on this I kept getting distracted just scrolling through everyone's art these ppl r sooo cool and good at art and just 🌟❕💗

I wanted to get to the second part too yesterday but I was flagging so hard man, so next week! And until then don't forget to rest and stretch and hydrate <3

[sheliesshattered]

I've been dealing with a little bit of a cold this last week on top of the normal spoonie-ness, so it was slow going on my most recent sewing project -- the hooded wrap, not quite a cape, not quite a shawl, definitely not a scarf, definitely not a robe thing -- which Jack says I need a better name for lol -- but with pacing and slow incremental progress, I was actually able to finish it in pretty good time.

Ironing and pinning the very long hem was the most time consuming part, but pacing myself actually allowed me to slow down and handsew all the corners into place before I put it through the sewing machine, which resulted in much crisper edges than I would have had if I was rushing to finish it. This time last week I wasn't sure if I would be able to machine sew the hem, but I actually like the look of the top stitching it produces, so I went with what was both easier and nicer looking. After all the ironing and pinning it took me nearly an hour to sew the whole thing in the machine, inching along to keep my lines straight and remove all those pins, so I don't even want to think about how long it would have taken me to handsew it, lol.

I did french seams on all the seams, since they may be seen from the outside, and turned the hem under twice at about the same width for a nice crisp matching look. The resulting hooded thing is soft and cozy and moderately warm, and can be worn a bunch of different ways, which is fun.

With the hood down and the wrap bits left to hang straight down, it's got nearly Jedi robe vibes:

One of the wraps tossed over the shoulder creates nice asymmetry:

But with both of the wraps up on the shoulder and the hood up, it's got a different feel entirely:

The fabric is a brushed cotton herringbone that grips itself reasonably well, so once the wraps are tossed over the shoulders they stay put pretty well. From the side view you can see how it just drapes nicely down the back:

And when they're tossed over the shoulders like that, the finished ends are similar in length to the center back point:

With the wraps unfolded and left long in the front, the back panel is much more visible. There's no shoulder seam at all -- the wraps just continue up over the shoulder and meet at a 45 degree angle in the back:

I was careful when I cut out the pieces and when I pinned both parts of the french seam, so that I could line up the herringbone weave neatly and get these cool chevrons at the center back:

The length in the back is enough for it to feel a bit like a cape, but not in a huge dramatic way or anything -- and Disney generally frowns on large capes and robes for Batuu Bounding, from what I've heard. But with this length I feel like my back and shoulders are covered, but the longest bit of the center back isn't so long that I actually sit on it. I wore it out of the house this weekend and was comfortable both wearing it in the car and walking around an outdoor flea market.

I have about seven yards left of this fabric, so at some point here I'm going to make a Norse-inspired apron dress out of the rest of it, to go over the fleece dress seen in the photos, which I sewed last month, and to go over lighter underdresses in the spring, and possibly on its own in the summer. I like the idea of this hood matching that apron dress, and I did draw some inspiration for Norse/viking hoods with pointed capelets in front and back, too. Not at all historically accurate, but historically-inspired, like the fleece dress.

But really my brain is all about Star Wars right now, and the Batuu Bounding for our trip to Disneyland coming up in about six weeks. The hooded wrap has a very different vibe with big boots and leather-look leggings and a fitted vest and various Star Wars-y accessories. My nb sibling described this hooded thing as 'what Luke Skywalker would wear if he was a crow witch' -- and as an irl crow witch and a non-affiliated gray Force user in my silly Star Wars OC building, I can certainly live with that, lol.

I have a few detail things for my Batuu Bounding outfit that I still want to work on, but generally I'm really happy with how it's coming together. Next up, I'm going to switch gears and work on some details to spruce up Jack's jacket for our outing, now that we've got the base-layer pieces for him figured out too. Pictures of that (and my outfit) as they start to come together.

Six weeks isn't a ton of time to get costuming pieces done in, especially without pushing myself too hard, but I also feel like both of our outfits are good to go the way they are right now. It's just, they could be cooler looking with a little more time and effort. And hey, I'm having fun with the process and it's keeping me from vibrating in place and rewatching every Star Wars movie and tv show over and over again while I count down to my birthday, lol.

[kingofsting]

Dark Shadows: Chapter 2: A new face

Aria's P.O.V We left the castle, luckily the guards didn't notice so we got out easily. We followed Merla to where the figure was standing.

"Why would someone stand here to watch the ceremony?" Zara asked.

"Maybe because the thing wants to kill you I don't know." I snap.

"Oh well excuse me for not knowing everything about killers!"

We glare at each other, and I think to myself, this is gonna be a long trip. Before I can snap back, Zara's fox Flare jumps off her shoulder and sniffs the ground. A second later, it jumps and does a swan dive into the ground and tunnels away.

"And you say you don't get my bird?!"

"She picked up their trail, she wants us to follow her, come on." Zara says and dashes after her.

"Well that makes it easier I guess." I ran after Zara and her freakin fox drill.

It goes for about a quarter mile till it stops at the town entrance and yeets itself out of the ground, landing on Zara's shoulder, somehow completely dirt free...I need tips from that fox for Merla.

"So I'm guessing your fox lost the scent?" I ask.

"No she smelt a burger nearby, yes she lost the scent." She replies.

I swear I'm about to bitchslap royalty.

"Anyways, it hasn't been long, it might still be in the town. Let's look around and find it." She says.

"BUT, you.stay.behind.me. Ok? I don't want to be responsible if you get hurt." I tell her, and I'm NOT changing my mind.

Zara rolls her eyes. "Fine, jeez, your acting like my father."

"Hey, at least someone needs to," I mutter to myself.

We walk into the town and begin looking for anyone with a cloak. Still, without getting a great look at the person or the color of his coat, or even his face, no one fits the profile. We walk around for about half an hour, and still nothing. We walked into the middle of town to an open area. Apparently, hunters have captured a live moose.

"Nothing yet, he could be long gone by now," I mutter to myself, but I get a small nagging feeling someone's watching us. I whistle for Merla and have her fly over the town to see if she spots anything.

"Your fox-miner get anything?" I ask Zara.

"Her name's Flare, and no she hasn't yet." She replies.

"Ok, well wait for Merla to do a look around for a bit then we'll try and get its scent with her, if that works, we might need a carriage if the person left."

As we walk through the town, I get a sense that something is wrong. I keep my hand near my dagger and look over at Zara. She looks as casual as can be, and not like she could get kidnapped any minute now. We keep walking around till I realize we've been walking in circles.

"Ok this is going nowhere. We haven't found any leads and we don't know where the fuck we are going. Well at least I don't. We're going back to the castle and I'm coming back here tomorrow BY MYSELF. Don't argue with that." I tell her.

As Zara's about to argue, we hear people cursing. I turn and see the people trying to keep the cage closed, but the moose breaks from the cage and starts BARRELING towards us like someone tried to stab it. I draw my dagger, but I don't know, what the fuck am I gonna do, run?! Fight!? It's a fucking moose!!!

It's about to hit us when suddenly, a cloaked man gets in between us and the moose, and it just stops...just like that, like he held a belt to a child and stopped whatever he was doing. He pets its head, and the moose calms down and walks out toward the woods. Then the man turns around and looks at the two of us, and I'm very on edge.

I see a man who looks about my age with a white coat which I can only describe as something a pirate might wear, like a swashbuckler or something with black accents, the hood up that looks a brighter white than the rest of the coat, black shirt, pants, black and brown boots, and a black fabric mask over his mouth and nose so I only see his light brown eyes, and from what I can make out, black hair. He looked behind me and raised an eyebrow.

"What. Do you need something?"

He silently points a finger behind me, and I turn around to see Zara missing.

"Oh my fucking god, where the fuck did she go?"

I can't yell out her name because the town will go fucking crazy, and news like this will spread very quickly. Then clears his throat and points to a small stand, and Zara's just hiding behind it. She was gonna let me fight a fucking moose by myself that BIT- oh wait, I told her to stay behind me and I'll do everything.....fuck her for listening to me for once.

I use a hand gesture to tell her to stay where she is, and she nods her head. I turn around and look at his coat, and it seems very familiar till I realize that it's the same guy who was in the shadows earlier. I grab my dagger and hold it to his throat, and I calmly say, "You are coming with me back to the castle, and if you don't comply, I won't hesitate to slice off your dick and feed it to my raven. You got that?"

He glared at me, and before I could react, he took my dagger, flipped me around by my arm, and shoved me away...Oh, this bitch bouta DIE.

"Ok I have A LOT of pent up anger because of that girl in the stand. You just made it fucking worse."

I grab my twin daggers and get ready to take this bitches to head off, and this bitch just turns one shoulder towards me and doesn't move like I'm just an annoyance...the AUDACITY. I run full speed because I have some aggression to let out, and the second I swing, he sidesteps it, grabs my arm, and judo-flips me onto my back. I go in full-on hashing and slashes, and he just catches my daggers...I thought this bitch was crazy till I noticed he had a weird claw thing on, and he kicked me in the gut knocking me away, and casually put his arms down.

"Ok, daggers are out," I put them away and grab my scythe chains. "Let's see you block these mother fucker."

And this bitch..this bitch. PUTS AWAY HIS WEAPONS, and just casually stands there.....I didn't think someone would piss me off more than the brat queen, but apparently, I was wrong. "OH, YOU COCKY BITCH!!!" I shout as I swing the chains at him, and this bitch just dodges it like it's high school dodgeball. I start letting out ALL my aggression, and I can't land a single thing, and I'm just getting MORE AGGRESSION TO USE ON THIS BITCH!!!!!

I swing them around into the sky, and I bring them down on him like Thor's fucking hammer, and he catches them both with some struggle from the impact. "You are very persistent," is the first thing he says, and I don't even have time to be pissed because he flips my chains around, spins around, and steps on them, and I get YEETED towards him as he grabs me and kicks me onto the fucking ground right in front of Zara, but I flip and land on my feet.

I decide, "Fine, hand to hand it is," and charge him again. I throw a punch, and he deflects it, clearly more of a defense and counter-fighting style. He throws a punch of his own as I block it and drop down and kick upwards, he jumps back, but I don't give him room to breathe as I keep attacking. We go back and forth for a while till he throws an uppercut, and I dodge it and hit him in the pressure point of his neck, and he stumbles back a bit. Any normal person would've crumpled after that, so I gotta respect him for only being stunned briefly. He holds his neck and cracks it, loosening up.

"Your good." He says I don't even have time to ready myself because one moment he's standing five feet away from me, the next I'm hit five times and on the floor with the wind knocked out of me as he holds me on the ground with his foot on my gut, leaning down towards me. 

"Not so bad yourself." I reply when I can breathe.

Suddenly we hear things fall over, and I see Zara knock a few cans over. The man looks at me, then at Zara, then back at me. He releases me, and I throw myself up on my feet, and I'm ready to fight him again because I am a stubborn bitch, but I feel a hand gripping my arm. I turned around to see Ace standing behind me, and I stared at him, wondering when he got here. "Firstly...WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU BRING THE PRINCESS HERE!?!?!?!?" He shouts, angry.

"Will you shut up and not be so loud! I don't want people to know that she's here! And don't yell at me. You said for her to be by my side at all times, did you not?" I rebut, crossing my arms. "I didn't mean to chase after someone who you were gonna fight. You're supposed to PROTECT her, not BRING HER TO DANGER!!!"

"You think I wanted her to be here?! She is almost more annoying when she begs than Richie. She even threw a fucking dagger at me, when I said that I tried to leave without her I mean I tried. Trust me. And by the way, when the fuck did you get here?"

"She's hiding behind MY stand."

I look to where she is hiding, and I see her sitting on the stand, smiling like she won some kind of award.

Oh, that little brat. She's dead when she gets to the castle.

"I know what your thinking and no you're not killing her, not that you almost did that already with THIS one," Ace says, pointing at the cloaked figure that's been standing by Zara talking to her.

I look at them and back at Ace and say, "What the hell is going on? I don't even know anymore. How are they friendly? Isn't he trying to kill her or something? And why is she talking to a random stranger that kicked my... I mean... uh... that I beat up? Can I just go back to the guild? I'm getting gray hairs from all this stress like you for god's sake."

"One, the moment you come back to the guild, Your on probation for the next three missions, two, he completely kicked your ass. I saw everything, let it go, three, I don't know what th...OH MY GOD, WHY'D YOU LET HIM TALK TO HER?!?!?!" He shouts, just now processing they were talking.

"I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS GOING TOO!!!" "WHY'D YOU LET HIM GET NEAR HER HE JUST KICKED YOUR ASS LIKE IT WAS CHILD PLAY WHAT DO YOU THINK SHE CAN DO?!?!"

"BECAUSE YOUR HERE BITCHING TO ME! And also when the fuck did you get a stand?"

"I've had it for a while. I have to make a living somehow without the guild, ALSO YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE TWO!"

"YOU DO SOMETHING!!!"

We both bolt towards them, weapons drawn.

"Wait!" Zara yells, but the figure calmly says, "It's ok," and once again, this bitch disarms BOTH of us. He simply grabs my arms and holds my wrists together while grabbing Ace by the face and

lifting him in the air since he didn't fight him previously, Ace took my gun from my holster and tried to aim it, but the cloaked man dismantled it in a few seconds making it useless...not gonna lie I kinda enjoyed seeing him dangling thereafter he was bitching at me.

"Now, are you two done?" he asks.

"Yeah, they are," Zara says.

"Bitch you don't tell me when I'm done." I snap.

"Oh ok do you wanna try him again, I'm sure he'd be happy to lay you out again. Plus im the queen...so i kinda do."

Now I can't tell who I hate more, the brat bitch or the boy bitch. Im fuckin torn. He puts Ace down, "I'm not here to fight, but you attack me again, i will drop you, got it?" 

Ace and I both look at each other, and I know what he's gonna say, and I REALLY don't want to get bitched at again.

"Fine," I say, putting my daggers back. "We won't-" AND ACE THROWS A SUCKER PUNCH AT THE BITCH!!!!! He catches it, of fucking course he does, but what the fuck Ace?!?!?!

"I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA TALK IT OUT LIKE YOU ALWAYS SAY TO????" I scream in frustration.

"I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA TAG TEAM HIM, THAT'S ALL YOU DO IS FIGHT! WHY IS THIS ONE TIME I THINK LIKE YOU DO AND YOU THINK LIKE ME?????"

And the second he said that I remembered, I said the same thing to Zara...wow, now I know how Ace feels around me...damn. Before I can say shit, though, the dude chops Ace's neck, and he's out like a light, literally like he flicked a damn switch just, click, then he just picks him up and puts him on his stand like nothing happened.

Then he and Zara have a chat and walk off, and the stands a wreck, and where did the moose g- "HEY, WAIT, GET BACK HERE!!" I shout as I storm after them, catch up, grab Zara by the arm and spin her around, "Where the hell are you going?! You need to get home and away from this guy." I say.

She blinks, and realization crosses her face, "Ok, look, it's a long story, and with the convo we just had, and you've had a long day and got your ass kicked three times now, but here's what's happening. He's not the thing in the shadows. We're gonna find it. If I stay here, I'm either dead, going to get kidnapped, or marrying that dickweed of a prince. I'm going with him because he's the only one who doesn't want to kill me at the moment. You are obliged by him," points at Ace, "To never leave my side till the thing is dead. You come with us, he'll explain everything, or you could try to argue with him and try a round four?"

I stay silent for a little before I say, "I fucking hate both of you...so.damn.much."

"Feelings mutual. Why do you think I was so happy to see him knock you around?" she says, smiling and walking away.

"...I don't get paid enough for this. Maybe I'll have the guy kill me. I mean, he CLEARY can, or I'll just shove this dagger down my throat that'll do the trick," I rant on following them, "Whoa whoa whoa, hold up, who the fuck are you anyways?" I ask the guy in the cloak.

"Sorry. My name is Nick, and your name is Aria, correct?" He asks, taking down his hood and mask, and I can see I was right about the short black hair.

"Yeah it is. And if I may ask you Zara, why are you so comfortable with him? He's a complete stranger and you just met him like," I say as I look down at my fake watch, "Fifteen minutes ago?"

"Ok first off it's starting to sound like you're actually caring about me for once. And second I don't know. I feel like I know him from somewhere. Also you were a stranger just yesterday and have said SEVERAL times you wanna kill me and he hasn't, soooo." Zara says.

"Ok first that's because I have anger issues with people that I don't know. Second, what do you mean by you think you know him from somewhere? Don't you just know if you do or not?"

"That's a funny way of saying in general." 

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Ok I'll admit I have anger issues but that doesn't matter right now. What we do need to do is figure out what we are going to do next. Are we going back to the castle or are we going on to find this thing?"

"Yeah, uh hell no we are not going back to the fucking castle. I don't want to marry that Chad. Besides he has a crusty ass beard. It's nasty."

"Yeah, seems just like a cocky arrogant prep boy who marries for power. Seen them a lot." Nick says.

"Fair. I'm not gonna ask how, but I'm just gonna go along with it, but if it gets to much for us to handle we are coming back, and leaving you here so you don't die, ok?" I ask Zara.

"Fine, whatever." She replies. 

"Good, also Nick, you're a good fighter. You have my respect."

"Likewise." He says.

"Hey what about me?" asks Zara.

"You're getting there." I say to her.

"Your mocking me aren't you?"

"Yeah I am but you're kind of getting on my good side. Only because THIS one is taking your place on my bad one."

"Fair enough, not a lot of people like me anyways." Nick says, shrugging his shoulders.

We walk to a small shack with carriages, and there's no one there, so I guess it's closed, but there are not even horses to pull the carriage.

"Before we go, do you two need any supplies or need to stop anywhere?" Nick asks.

"Yea we do. But I have money on me so we can just buy some weapons and stuff." I say, although id much rather-

"Buying a new weapon is worse than getting ones you're used to. And it's better to use on food and essential rather then weaponry." Nick replies, almost mirroring my thoughts.

"Agreed, but little Mrs. Princess doesn't want to go back to the castle."

"Nope." Zara says.

"I'll sneak in and get some weapons and I'll be back. Meet me here." I say.

"How the hell are you supposed to sneak into the castle? There are way too many guards." Zara says.

"Oh, don't worry. I know how to handle them," I said while smirking.

"Ok, but you did technically kidnap the princes in their eyes so don't be too arrogant and be cautious, don't need you getting your ass kicked when you can beat them because of your arrogance." Nick states.

"We are not going to talk about that. But someone needs to watch her, and since you two are such a 'lovely couple', you can stay with her, and I'll go get weapons." I say, and as I do, I see something in Nick's expression change, it's ever so slight, but I can't make out what it is. Annoyance, sadness, confirmation, i have no clue and that bothers me.

I leave the two love birds and get the weapons easily, with no sweat whatsoever. I can't carry a lot, so I just grabbed what I found, a sword, a shield, and a few throwing knives. Then I went back to them and saw they got some food and items.

"Oh yay, Aria's back. I'm so happy." Says Zara sarcastically.

"Ok that was a little too much." I reply.

"Really, Coming from you. That's rich."

"Says the one who has acsess to daddys money?" "Oh you li-"

"Your the short one here, you wanna finish that sentence?"

"Ok ok, lets not do this please. Your both pretty, stubborn, and talkative people who have, by the looks of it, very different lives. I know its hard but could you TRY and get along?" Nick asks.

"Ok that first thing is a LIE but ok." I say.

"Its only a lie because you have self doubt."

"I- ok we are NOT talking about that."

"Alright then, you ready?" 

 "Yeah, I'm hungry and we are getting food. Let's go."

"We got food to last us about five days, three if you two are just snack junkies."

"No I'm not!" Zara and I say at the exact same time.

"That's a yes for both of you," He replies.

"Fine, but how are we going to travel because I don't want to walk." I say.

"The cart we got here, it'll get us around." Nick states.

I look around, and I see something missing.

"Ok that's good but we are missing something. THE GODDAMN HORSES!! CAUSE IF YOU THINK THAT ANY OF US ARE GOING TO PULL THAT SHIT YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING MISTER!"

"Who said horse?" Nick asks with a smile.

All of a sudden, a loud growl can be heard. Zara yelps and runs behind me, and pushes me toward the noise.

"Wow really I feel so loved by you right now."

"You really should, you said to stay behind you!!!"

"God damn you. Why do you listen to me? Anyways another question to add to that. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT! That noise scared Merla and she doesnt get scared even though she's a bird bitch!"

Behind me, I hear Merla caw angrily and start pecking and clawing my face.

"Oi, stop it you idiot or I will put you in a cage when we get back. And don't think that I will forget about that."

Nick chuckles a bit.

"Whats so funny???" Zara asks, holding Flare close to her.

"Nothing,  it's just cute how startled you two get, especially with how aggressive Aria's reactions are." He replies, and I get a little flustered and angry.

"Ok, I am NOT cute! I'm threatning anf a killer!!." I rebut.

"Never said you wernt, compliments dont equal weakness."

I'm seriously gonna have to slap him upside the head soon, I whistle, and Merla turns into a white wolf ready to maul whatever the fuck that was, and even the brat's fox gets ready to fight. Then a stack of hay, or what we thought was hay, got up and loomed over us, and Merla and the fox turned around, but before I did, they both backed up and fuckin layed down whining. I turn around, and there's a bear behind me staring at me

"WHERE IS THAT GOD DAMN MOOSE?!?! I WANT IT BACK. Wait Merla turn into a moose."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Nick warns.

I whistle, and she turns into a moose. She twirls around, probably wondering what the fuck is going on.

The bear sees the moose and lets out a small roar and sends it into the shack and begins to tackle it and is about to eat it before Nick jumps in."Fluffy no!! This is a friend, not food." 

The bear gets off, and Merla turns back into a bird and BOOKS it toward me as she hides behind my back.

"The fuck." I question.

Zara just stands there with her mouth wide open.

"Ayo princessa close your mouth before a fly goes in there." I say.

"You're scared that bear almost ate your bird so you are hiding it with a joke aren't you?"

"...Would you believe me if I said no?"

"No." Both Nick and Zara said at the same time.

"Well damn."

Fluffy walks up to Zara and licks her hand, and Zara pets his head,"Awwwwww, he's so cute." Zara says and plays with Fluffy.

"Ya know what I'm not even gonna question anything...but, THAT BITCH ALMOST MADE MY BIRD INTO A HAPPY MEAL!!!" I shout.

"Emphasis on almost." Nick states.

"I want to fight the bear...but also its a bear..and it just roared a moose through a shack."

"Yeah maybe don't do that." Nick advises as he hooks up Fluffy to the cart.

"So the bear pulls the cart?"

"Faster then three horses, can swim, and has the endurance of five of them on a bad day, so yeah he'll be good."

We load up the rest of the belongings and head off into the forest...where were going, I don't fucking know, but we are too far gone to turn back now so. I'll ask more later, like where, why, and of course, what the fuck, but I've had a long day, and I just want to sleep.

[ottercakesart]

I cannot visualize imagery in my mind, nor can I visually remember any imagery from past events. I can think of what I want to draw as words, I know what it looks like, however I simply cannot see it in my head at all. It's empty nothingness to me. This is why I struggle to draw without an aide, reference of some sort. Apparently this type of thing is called Aphantasia and is actually a common thing.

I cannot remember a time when I was ever able to see things visually in my head. It’s always been the norm for me to be this way, so I struggled in freehand drawing when I studied visual arts. I struggled when I had to draw, paint or make sculptures or prints freehand on the spot without my laptop to go look for references.

Within my head I can think of concepts, feelings and auditory thoughts, but I cannot see it appear in my mind. I could think of something to draw, maybe I want to draw a handsome young man, he might have long blue hair and beautiful blue eyes, perhaps he has certain features as well but when I think of this, I cannot see it. I cannot imagine in my head what he looks like even though I might have the perfect thoroughly thought out description of him. I know what the colour looks like if it makes sense, but it still does not show up in my head when I think of the colour blue. I do not have issues with my visual memory bank, I can memorise things fine but I cannot see them when I think of them which is such an odd sensation when I try. I know what it looks like but nothing comes to mind. Its like how sometimes you know that word at the back of your mind but cannot recall it in the moment, but for me its my visual imagery in my head all the time.

When I was younger, around the time I studied visual arts, I used to panic and feel inadequate or incompetent as an artist. I have cried so much over the feelings I felt due to not being able to use my "Imagination." I would stress out quite alot and quite easily when I would try to force myself to think and try to visualise it. I would sit there for the entire class unable to see what I want to draw in my head and if I was stuck there without reference I would simply have to draw shapes to work off of. Sometimes my teachers would give us a scenario to draw and it would have a great description but I was never able to see it in my head so I had to do multiple storyboards and conceptual work and work with what I was able to see with my eyes rather than my mind.

My spatial imagery is fine, I can tell the difference and know the size, location, and position of objects without issues as long as I can see it with my eyes via my art, I simply cannot see it in my head. This is the main issue which can cause me a tremendous amount of stress sometimes as I want to freehand draw something without reference but when I try I get upset with myself being unable to get things right first go because my proportions might seem whack cause I was unable to put my mind on the paper from thinking of my words or concepts without a visual or I cannot visualize where the creases would go and how many depending on the thickness of the clothing. It’s a real struggle.

Another way of explaining would also be reading. I like reading books, but the novels I read, I still cannot imagine the characters, the scenes, what's happening and put an image to the words in my head, what they look like etc. If they had pictures, that often helps me to “make sense" of what they look like but even so, I am unable to see in my head what the words describe, so I very much prefer visual novels, webcomics and movies. Reading is fun if there are alot of images to see, without images I cannot get into the book and It feels almost bland to me.

It's frustrating because sometimes I might be drawing, I really want to make nice art and I kick myself in the foot over not being able to express myself easier than what I am doing. Why can I not see what I want to draw in my head, I know some anatomy, enough to draw but I cannot see the character in my head at all. I also have trouble visualizing numbers in my head, so I am quite bad at mental math. My memory is trash so I struggled with memorising things at times too. I can imagine smells, tastes, and sounds fine, but I cannot see anything visually in my head. The more I pondered on this while I was studying, the more stressed and scared it felt to me. Others would excel in certain areas compared to me whereas I would be slower without an aide of some sort.

I tried hypnosis once, it was nice and calming to listen to someone talk but it felt like a drag because I could not imagine for the life of me whatever it was they were trying to get me to visualize. Probably not for me.

I rely heavily on reference images unfortunately. Like I cannot draw from a single reference alone for one piece of my art. I have to have maybe 10-20 pieces of reference material before me otherwise I am unable to make something unique to me and it would simply be a copy. I am great at drawing from life and great with detail if I have something right in front of me. However despite enjoying life drawing, I want to be able to design characters and draw these characters with ease- It would be perfect if I didn't have to rely on reference material for this, it would make it so much easier to transfer my concepts onto my canvas but alas life is not easy. It’s also another reason why my art when I start something, is quite messy in the initial stages of design.

I am able to dream and see imagery in my dreams but a majority of the time it is not vivid, I usually would not recall images in my head from dreams despite knowing or understanding how the dream went and 99% of the time I do not fully remember my dreams.

Just as I am unable to visualize events of the past, I also cannot visualize or imagine the future as images in my head. When I try, its nothing. I just know I am thinking of a concept, situation or event and its usually thought of as words in my head and not imagery.

I wonder if anyone here can relate at all.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary189

3/22-23/2024

friday - saturday

need to sleep soon.

so here's a picture of some horses...

i took these forever ago, from the old place, wish they weren't so blurry and stuff but i guess i didn't want anyone to get mad at me for taking pictures of the horses.

views from the old place. i really miss it, still. to be able to see that, i think it changes your life a little bit i guess. now it is gone. sad.

because of foucault i've been thinking abt the construction of teleologies, or the teleology of history, as constructed, reproduced, and the implements of its teaching and presentation, and then the way disciplines, and being disciplined, in say armies, schools, wherever, but armies offer immediate access to this, being accepted into the teleology of history. it is then not false, or a fantasy, but because of its use that we are subsumed into, so totally important, we are made to be functional for this vision to continue to elaborate itself. we are not the enablers, we are not forced to enable, but we are frequently coaxed into collaboration, it enables itself, it is in our surroundings. i have reached the part of docile bodies where he gets to signals, as in, messages which do not explain themselves, but instead, put us into reactive articulation, we respond, in tiny measures. we have these at work, draw attention, look here, go there, when you get there, you think, what do i need to do, when you look up, what am i looking up at, these things. why, is of course, not important. there are no satisfying whys for much, i find, since childhood i've found this, because of this nature i suppose, of much of the world, we are kept at a base point, kept in reaction/response to much of the world. my dad would often only be able to offer a because, or because it is useful, and to ask, why do i care about being useful, is a sin in america.

there's other thoughts, apparently some bad movie about like, i dunno, fetishists of trans women came out recently, either about them or trans women who can't pass or something. this coincides with a video i can only describe as 'the worst video ever made' and maybe a step beyond that poor elaboration, put it in terms of being 'nostalgia driven terf-lolcow-ist propaganda.' these two things appearing so near eachother, i think, is rather funny i guess. i don't need to watch the bad movie, it's only 20 minutes long and the people who made it are those reactionary new yorkers, and they just don't mean anything ultimately, i think. people right now are doomed to fade and are scrambling to not.

today i saw a man say that he's given up on treating women as equals because he's tried so hard in the past, and been burned, for sharing himself with them. now, he says, he is only there to fuck, he doesn't want to love anyone, and not even participate in their life as anything other than a machinic point which fucks. he does not understand our lives are sacrifices, and that to lose yourself and then collect it to lose it again is what is important. he is instead submitting himself to other pulsions, the need to accrue, that sort of thing i think. it is terrible how awful people are, is what i feel a lot.

much of my life, feels pointed towards self defense and opacity for these sacrificial parts of my life, to waste myself, spend it, exceed my bounds to fail and fall back in, and to try again. it is why i scream in songs partially, it feels important to hurt a little maybe. and to write a lot, to become quiet and expel and become mute again.

i simply also, hate his sexism. but it is so obvious, and he seems so ready to accept it. after a certain point, some people do not want to be reached. he is a contrarian not because he is so mentally active but because he is out to lunch, perpetually. it's easier to see something in front of you, and say the opposite, than say anything actually.

anyway, i am tired. maybe too much bad stuff, here, but idk. not a bad day ultimately, just an unpleasant world.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!