#I am once again ignoring the aging system

[lilisettean]

Ice Wine | Zayne/Reader

About: A slight misstep and slip of hand when playfully shoving Zayne caused you to fall onto his lap, with you straddling him.

Pairing: Zayne/Reader

Notes: A partial rewrite and continuation of Zayne: Drunken Intimacy. I liked the memoria event from this card but when compared to Xavier and Rafayel's... Yeah...

AO3: Read here!

Warnings: Dubious consent (reader is drunk), light bondage, hints of dominant Zayne, hints of brat/brat taming. Age 18+ please! Enjoy :)

“I… Whatever. I���m going to sleep.”

You mumbled, pointedly ignoring the warmth lingering on your cheek. At this point, you don’t know whether you were flushed because of the alcohol in your system, or because of the position you were in.

While inspecting Zayne’s chin for bruises, a slip of your feet made you tumble forward, causing you to straddle him while you looked at him for possible injuries due to your headbutt earlier. 

The suggestive position you were in hadn’t registered until he kissed you, his face mere inches away from yours afterwards. It didn’t help when you tugged at his loose tie again to tease him, only to be met by his hands gripping at your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Unlike most of the time when his skin was cold, almost icy, to the touch, you could feel heat radiating off him, warming you even further. 

“I thought you had good reflexes.” He remarked, his eyes not once leaving your face. You met his gaze head on, determined not to shrink away from his intense focus on you. “For a hunter to be caught so easily… It seems you’ve gotten careless, no?”

“...Do I need to be alert when with you?”

He froze at your reply, his grip on your waist loosened momentarily before tightening again. “How sly.” He smiled as he leaned into you, closing the gap that was present. “One would think you are tempting fate.”

“Yes, how sly.” You mumbled, unperturbed by the sudden closeness. “You haven’t drank a single drop of wine, and yet you act as if you are drunk. You’re not making any sense here.”

“With you in front of me like this… How am I supposed to make sense of anything?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question ready on your tongue but then something within you clicked, a sudden realization shocked you out of your drunken stupor. 

The heat. 

Zayne never was warm to the touch, unless he was sick. But he was neither that nor a drinker, so that left only one possible explanation.

You quickly glanced down, and you were appalled to find the neckline of your dress was pulled down further and the strap of your dress falling to the side, giving Zayne an eyeful of your cleavage. It didn’t help that because of the dress, you opted to use pasties instead, leaving your breasts barely covered. 

Combined with you straddling his lap, and your face flushed from the alcohol, the sight made it seem as though you two were–

No longer hiding his true intentions, Zayne slid one of his hands down your hip and under your dress, caressing your thigh. “Am I still not making any sense to you?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Seeing you shiver at his touch yet not pulling away from him, he continued. “You wouldn’t object if I kept you close, would you?”

Instead of replying however, you hooked a finger onto his loose tie, and–

“Mmph–”

It was as though a switch had been flipped the moment his lips met yours. Gone were those gentle touches and careful caresses of your skin, his need to be with you– be in you– consuming every single rational thought he had. 

While you had the element of surprise, shocking him when you sealed his lips with yours, he quickly wrestled back control, taking the lead of the kiss by tilting his head slightly for better access and pushing his tongue against yours. The roughness of him pulling your hips closer to him, to have you straddle his crotch and feel his clothed cock nudging against your inner thigh, made it seem like he was as drunk as you were, having lost control of his tightly held restraint. 

No, he was as drunk as you were. But instead of being drunk on those fruit wines you brought home, he was intoxicated by something– someone– else.

You.

“Zayne–” You gasped between kisses, your face no longer flushed due to the alcohol, but because of the intensity of his kisses, not giving you much respite between them. It didn’t help that his hands were roaming all over you, the warmth from his touch seeping into you, banishing all hints of drowsiness away.

You fumbled with his tie and cursed at the many buttons his shirt had while he tugged down the straps of your dress, peeling away the annoying pasties that were in the way and cupped your breast, thumbing over your pert nipple.

“A lot of people asked about you tonight.” Zayne remarked as he kissed your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “They asked if you were single.”

“What did you tell them?” You asked moments later, too distracted by the hand that was under your dress. He had dipped his fingertips under the waistband of your panties, toying with it and teasing you for what’s to come.

“No.” His denial, while quiet, was firm, commanding almost. “You are not. In fact–”

Zayne adjusted the position you were in, keeping you close and– oh. 

“You are taken.” He stated, emphasized by the bulge pressed against your clothed heat. You could feel the outline of his cock next to you, its hardness causing warmth to pool within you. Against better judgment, in which you should undress him and yourself before attempting anything, lest you ruin the outfits, you wiggled your hips and responded in kind.

And before you could react, he slid a hand under your hips and lifted you up, and pinned you down to the sofa, forcing you into the same position as earlier when you had tugged on his tie.

Unlike earlier when you were in control and him pulling away at the end however, he was hovering above you, one of his hands right beside your head while the other was still on your hips, his body right between your thighs.

Your heat clenched in anticipation, waiting for him to pull you closer and onto his clothed cock. But instead of that he paused to look at you, his half lidded eyes roaming all over your form.

You took the chance to take a good look at him as well, to see if he was just as affected by this non alcohol induced heat. His tie was long gone and his shirt was half buttoned, revealing his broad chest. While his pants remained the same, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants, making you wonder how it would feel against, and inside you.

Zayne felt his cock throb at the sight, and he couldn’t help but bunch your dress up further to your abdomen, exposing more of you to him.

“The dress…” You mentioned, suddenly made aware of it. He had paid for both of your outfits before you could’ve and you’d hate to ruin his gift. But he silenced you by lowering himself down to your lips and sealed it with his, distracting you.

You were so caught up in him that you barely noticed him pressing closer to you, his hand that was on your hip no longer there. It was only when you heard the unbuckling of his belt and the telltale unzipping that you remember about the dress.

“The dress will be ruined if I don’t take it off.” You breathed out after you broke away from the kiss, your eyes darting down to where his cock would be. And sure enough, it was right on top of your heat, its tip glistening with precome. Zayne tilted your chin upward before you could stare at it further however, forcing you to meet his heated gaze head on.

“Don’t worry about it. I want it on you.”

“Have you been imagining fucking me while in this dress, Zayne?” You teased, and when he responded with a small smile only, you laughed. “Who knew ‘Zayne the Terrifying’ had such dirty thoughts?”

“I may be a terrifying man, but I am still a man in the end.” He replied as he pushed your panties to the side, and dragged a finger up against your entrance. “Especially when it comes to you.”

With that, he captured your lips once more, slotting himself between your slick folds, and thrusted slowly against you. His hands were on your hips, sliding your wet heat up and down the side of his stiff cock as he fucked your folds.

It was difficult to concentrate, every single coherent thought disappearing like mist with every thrust against you. You had half a mind to unbutton his shirt further, to slip your hands under them and drive him mad with want like he did to you, but that required focus, which you had none of. Especially when his cock grazed over your clit, forcing whatever drive you had out of you.

The ache to have something, anything, within you grew every time his tip caught onto your entrance. You waited  with bated breath for the inevitable push of his hardened cock into your waiting heat, only to have him thrust upward again, leaving you wanting.

You reached down to take matters into your own hands. But before you could do so, Zayne caught your wrist and pinned both of your hands above your head.

“Zayne–” You whined in protest when he reluctantly pulled away from you. But instead of teasing you as expected, his attention was elsewhere, his free hand grasping onto something on the side while he kept you pinned down with one hand.

You tried to see what he was looking for, but couldn’t as his attention returned to you once more, his half lidded gaze freezing you in place. He merely smiled at your confusion, and you were about to question him when you felt it.

He was binding your wrists with something… soft. Was that silk– oh. 

His tie.

Zayne leaned down to nip your earlobe, the corners of his lips twitching upward when you wriggled against your restraint. “Behave and let me.” He whispered, his soft demand contrasting your whimpers. “Impatience will get you nowhere.”

“And if I don’t?”

“In that case…” He trailed off, pulling away from you and sat up. His cock was no longer between your folds, and was instead replaced by his finger, prodding and teasing your heat. He traced the edges of your entrance, coating his finger with slick, before pushing it in. 

Before you could question him on how this was going to force you to behave, he curled his finger and prodded at your soft spot, touching it every time he pumped his finger in and out of your heat. 

Just when you were accustomed to his touch, he pulled his finger out of you entirely. A thin strand of slick connected your heat and his finger, snapping when he brought it up to his lips, staring directly into you whilst he licked his finger clean.

“Now…” Zayne said, positioning himself between your thighs once more. He had wanted to please you and push you towards that high you wanted at least once before burying his fingers, then his stiff cock, inside you, but your impatience– and his as well if he were to be honest– forced his hand. “Will you behave and let me prepare you?” 

“Or do you want me to make you beg?”

[beauty-and-passion]

Lore Olympus: a golden mine of bad writing

As I said, one post wasn’t enough.

There is still a lot to say about this webcomic and in this post I would like to talk about how Zeus, Apollo and Kronos have been treated. Here I will focus on the first two acts only, because the third act is not over, as well as the story. And yes, that means I will write another post when this whole thing is over.

I wanted to focus on these three gods in particular because are treated in a way that baffles me and makes me question what did they ever do to Mrs. Smythe. Tell me, Rachel: was it something personal? Did they do something to your family? What happened?

But maybe you don’t understand my point, especially if you haven’t read the Greek myths at all and you think that these three are just “Unfaithful Guy”, “Rapist” and “Evil Villain Har Har Who Also Wants To Rape”. Seriously, what’s with this weird obsession with raping everyone and with sex? Did Mrs. Smythe ever see anything else in myths, besides sex?

So please, allow me to explain why their characterizations are wrong and boring - and no, not just from a mythological point of view. 

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Zeus: the walking clichè

Making Zeus an asshole is understandable, even if utterly boring and clichè. Oh wow, he's an unfaithful husband and he's vain. Very original. Groundbreaking, I'd say. I’ve never read about him being unfaithful to his wife, not even once in all the 200 million retellings made during the history of mankind.

It's a shame because Zeus is much more than that. He's a mighty ruler with a strong sense of justice: in several myths, he punished the assholes for their wrongdoings. He's very clever and strong. He's also associated with xenia, the custom of offering protection to strangers, which means Zeus is also a protector of foreigners.

I mean, this information alone offers so many new perspectives about him! Just imagine if, instead of hanging around and doing nothing useful aside from being everyone’s favorite punching bag, Zeus fought against every corrupt system of the mortal realm, in order to protect the foreigners and the innocents. It would’ve been so cool to see a different side of him, instead of the same thing over and over again!

But nope, Zeus = unfaithful husband only. Let’s ignore all the other aspects of him, to focus on the one everyone focuses on. Let’s make him the umpteenth version of the same guy, instead of offering a new vision. This will surely make the story worth everyone’s time!

Rachel, this could’ve worked if I was 12 and had never read a retelling in my entire life. But since I’m more than twice that age, seeing Zeus as an unfaithful husband again doesn’t get my interest. And I’m sure this doesn’t only apply to me, but to everyone who already saw at least two retellings of him. Isn’t this story supposed to be new and original? Then why are we still picking from the same old clichè visions of these gods? Where is the writer’s personality and ability?

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Apollo: king of wasted potentials

I am absolutely, completely, 100% baffled at how Apollo has been treated in this story.

It's insulting to see the most beloved Greek god treated as a bidimensional piece of shit. Not only because he doesn't make any sense in the story (why is he here in the first place? Did Persephone and Apollo even interact in any myth?), but also because there are so many different possibilities for him, that seeing him being this is the biggest waste of potential I’ve ever seen.

A brief recap of who Apollo really is: Apollo is the embodiment of the sun. He is the god of arts and crafts. He's the most beautiful god, he embodies the concept of perfect Greek beauty. And he is associated with a lot of cool stuff, like medicine, truth and oracles. Also, like most of the other Greek gods, Apollo had many male and female lovers.

Now, look me in the eye and tell me that, with all of this, your first idea about him is "yeah, let's make him a stupid rapist, so stupid to not realize that hey, maybe forcing a girl to sleep with you will not make her fall in love with you". Oh and let's not forget he randomly decided he wanted Zeus' throne just after the fertility plot point had been introduced Because Yes. And he’s running for president of Whatever-Land Because Yes. Also, he’s currently involved again in another evil plot Because… yeah, you got it.

It’s just so frustrating to see him being the biggest loser of all time, considering how much cooler he could’ve been. Just think about it: we could've had a bisexual musician, who does concerts with his band (the Muses) and has a shit ton of lovers. We could’ve had a heartbroken doctor, who does his best to save everyone because he has not been able to save his own son from death (Asclepius). We could've had a mysterious advisor who can see the future because of his foresight powers.

What did we get instead? A fucking rapist.

Apollo is nothing but wasted potential. He’s an insult to himself, the story, common sense, and the Greek culture. Of all the incredible things he could've been, he became the most insulting of them all. I really cannot bear to see this fucking idiot and his punching-bag face, pretending to be Apollo. He’s not Apollo.

But if there is a guy I can see less than him, then let me introduce you to…

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Kronos: Supreme Master of Wasted Potential

First of all: why is Kronos here? Why does this love story need Persephone to defeat a big bad guy? Just to show how cool and badass she is? Considering that their fight was a joke, it didn't work very well.

But okay, let's say we need a villain Because Yes. Kronos is still a huge waste of potential, probably the biggest waste of potential of the whole series until now. He could’ve been an interesting, multifaceted character, but he became a cartoonish supervillain har-har I want power.

Sigh.

But let’s take a step back and talk about the real, mythological Kronos. His story starts with his parents, Uranus and Gaia. The two had a lot of sons, including Titans (like Kronos) and Hecatonchires (monsters with fifty heads and one hundred arms). Disgusted by their monstrous nature or maybe just out of fear of being overthrown, Uranus chained his sons away into Gaia's womb (aka the Tartarus) so that they could never come out again.

Gaia suffered from this decision, so she devised a plan: she made a stone sickle, gathered her sons and tried to persuade them to castrate Uranus.

All of her sons were afraid of Uranus, Kronos was the only one brave enough to do it. And he was successful: he overthrew his father and became the new ruler of the universe, along with his wife/sister Rhea.

However, after becoming king, he didn't free all of his brothers as his mother wanted, but locked Hecatonchires and Cyclopes away once again. And so, Gaia told him that, one day, he would meet his father’s same fate and be overthrown by one of his own children.

Scared by these words, Kronos devised a plan: every time he had a new child, he took the baby from Rhea and swallowed them. Rhea was desperate and, in order to save her last son Zeus, she sought Gaia's help.

So Rhea gave birth to Zeus in a secret place, then handed Kronos a stone wrapped in clothes: he swallowed it, thinking that it was his son. This way, Zeus managed to escape the same fate as his siblings and was raised in secret, away from his father, until he was old enough to come back and fulfill his destiny.

And now, you may think Zeus overthrew his father with a sword and killed him and nah nah nah, myths are not that stupid and predictable. Zeus didn’t use violence to overthrow his father, but intelligence. He disguised himself to reach Kronos' court and, at the right time, he gave him a drink. That drink was an emetic (given by Gaia), that forced Kronos to throw up everything he swallowed, in reverse order: first the stone he thought was his last son, then Zeus' brothers and sisters.

After freeing his siblings, Zeus did what his father would've never done: he released the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclops to help him in the following battle against Kronos and the other Titans, a battle known as Titanomachy.

The war ended with the victory of the Olympians (i.e. Zeus and his siblings). Many Titans were confined in Tartarus, under the Hecatonchires' control, others were not imprisoned and kept appearing in other myths.

And Kronos? His fate differs depending on the myths. In some versions, he was imprisoned in Tartarus. But according to other, more interesting versions, Zeus forgave him after years, freed him and Kronos became king of the Elysian Fields: the famous earthly paradise reserved for the greatest Greek heroes.

Now. Just look at all of this beautiful, beautiful potential.

We have Gaia, a powerful goddess who overthrew two rulers of the universe, without moving a finger. A goddess strong and clever, but also a mother who wanted all of her children to be free - even the most hideous ones. She could’ve been a tragic figure, a master manipulator, or an evil schemer. Or all these things!

We have the Hecatonchires: fighters so powerful, to turn the tide of any battle. They could’ve been scary and intimidating, but also tragic monsters who just wanted to be accepted. They could’ve taught a beautiful lesson about the importance of accepting the ugly and giving everyone a chance to prove themselves.

Then we have Kronos. And Kronos had everything to be the greatest character.

Think about this concept: Kronos has always been afraid of Uranus, just like his brothers. He was just better at hiding his feelings. And that visceral fear is still inside him, it still haunts him after centuries, just like the memory of how he overthrew his father. And that fear takes the shape of paranoid thoughts about his father coming back to take the throne.

Kronos could’ve seen his father haunting him, but he could’ve also dissociated and seen himself as his father. In his altered state of mind, he could’ve been both the king and the one who overthrows him.

That could’ve made him a truly dangerous, unhinged character. A god who can’t see what’s real anymore, obsessed with the ghosts of his past. A god with nothing to lose and everything to gain. After all, if he kills his children again, the throne would be his once more. And, since he sees himself as himself and as his father at the same time, he would think that he is the "true king" coming back to take his throne.

That could’ve been awesome. Kronos could've been complex, desperate and multifaceted, a villain to pity and to be afraid of. A truly new, interesting version to know and love.

And do you have any idea how incredible Zeus could’ve been in this version? We could see him facing Kronos again, still as strong and determined as when he was young. And while everyone would expect him to kill Kronos, he would use his intelligence once again. He would prove to Kronos (and to everyone else) how intelligence is always superior to violence and how he's a good leader, despite his thousands of flaws.

Also, we could've seen Zeus talking to the defeated Kronos and making him the ruler of the Elysian Fields. We could've had a meaningful ending, in which Zeus understands Kronos' fears and shares his own.

I would’ve adored this, because according to the myth, Zeus was also supposed to be overthrown by a son! Hence why he swallowed Metis (his first wife) while she was pregnant.

The myth never truly clarifies who this supposed "son" is, but according to the different versions, Metis was pregnant not with a son, but with a daughter. A daughter who, one day, would be born, full grown, from Zeus' head. A daughter who would become Zeus' favorite child: Athena.

Honestly? I ADORE the idea that there was never a son to overthrow Zeus, but a daughter. And she would not overthrow his father by violence like her grandfather or by intelligence like her father, but by love. Athena doesn't need to take the throne from her father physically, she doesn't even need to sit on that throne: not when her father loves her more than anything else.

And I love the idea that Zeus is aware of that. He knows his daughter is his weakness. He knows that, if she asks, he will willingly give her that throne, because he loves her too much. And I would've loved to see him sharing these thoughts with the defeated Kronos. It could've been a beautiful moment, to see Zeus talking with the fatherly figure he always missed from his life. It could've led to a beautiful, meaningful ending for a dramatic story.

But can you see the problem here? This concept works for a story about Zeus, not about Hades and Persephone! These two have nothing to do with Kronos! Heck, even Rachel Smythe knows it, considering she had to pull a stupid plot point out of thin air, to explain why Kronos would give a damn about Persephone!

In case you were wondering: yes, the fertility-magical-power-battery-thing is bullshit. Gods don’t need a magical battery to be powerful. And no, fertility goddesses are not rare either: Aphrodite, Demeter, Hera, even Artemis are just a few of the fertility goddesses in Greek mythology. Kronos could’ve picked his favorite from a large pool, instead of becoming an absolute creep with Persephone in the stupidest fight of all time.

And speaking of that, two words on the supposed “fight”. First of all, apologies to all fights for being associated with this thing, because this was anything but a fight: it was a cartoonish conversation accompanied by the umpteenth sexualization of Persephone, who first appeared fully naked, then with a dress so stupid to defy the laws of physics and perspective.

And if you don’t believe me, please see it by yourself: this is how the dress was supposed to be, according to episode 75

This is how it ended up. Apparently, the Fates didn’t predict how huge Persephone’s boobs would be and the neckline didn’t grow accordingly: I feared to see one of them slipping out from it anytime during the “fight”

Also, please appreciate how Persephone is turned to the side, but the dress’ stupidly huge neckline is shown from the front, otherwise we would’ve seen her full naked boobs.

And that stupid neckline kept bothering me throughout the whole “fight”, because it kept changing size. Check the episodes and see it by yourself: sometimes it’s smaller, other times it’s wider and it keeps moving in impossible ways. It drove me insane.

But since we’re talking about drawings, please allow me a very brief parenthesis about them too.

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The drawings are a joke

I am not an artist. I can barely draw a straight line by hand. But I studied art history, perspective, proportions and colors, so I’m not completely clueless.

But you don’t need to be clueless, to notice how bad the drawings became. If you have two eyes and saw another human being in your life before, then you can notice by yourself how bad they are.

It’s not a secret that Lore Olympus’ art style changed over time. In the beginning, this comic was characterized by a lot of straight lines and geometric shapes, alternating and mixing with gentle curves. There were blur effects, colored outlines, a lot of details that gave an overall dreamy, ethereal vibe to every chapter (like the soft glow that accompanied the gods).

But as the story progressed, these elements disappeared. The geometric shapes gave way to an overall “softness” and roundness. The dreamy vibes and blur effects were replaced by sharper, clearer drawings. A distinct black outline now marks every character.

And speaking of characters, they were the ones who changed more. Lore Olympus always had funny, silly faces but the characters were also able to be serious and look natural. Now all we have are grotesque faces: the characters are a collection of caricatures and no one has a normal expression anymore. Check by yourself, by confronting a random episode of the third act with the first one: they’re two different worlds.

The disproportions were common too, since episode one. But at least they were somehow plausible, while now they’re completely absurd. It’s as if Mrs Smythe completely forgot what a human being looks like.

And this is pretty evident in how all characters became a rough draft of the two protagonists: all women got Persephone’s face, all men become buff and huge, with wide-ass shoulders and teeny tiny heads. This is particularly obvious at the end of season 2 / start of season 3, when we see some of the funniest images ever, like Hades with a tiny head and shoulders as wide as the entire USA

Or this hilariously bad image of Zeus with clown shoes and a head as big as his deformed hand.

No excuse can justify these drawings: no one is running after Mrs Smythe, nor forcing her to draw, and people are paying her real money to work on this webcomic. The least she can do is draw something that doesn’t look like a bad distortion of a human being.

Unless this isn’t her drawing, but her staff’s work. In that case, they are still paid to do their job, right? Or do they think this story is a joke and decide to show how much of a joke it is, by turning everyone into a grotesque caricature?

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In conclusion

Lore Olympus is hilarious because of how bad the writing is. It’s a manual example of how not to write a climax for your story. It’s a perfect demonstration of how you can still fail, even with great characters with endless possibilities. It’s a list of all the mistakes you can make as an artist.

If you’re a writer or an artist in general, please check Lore Olympus and study it. Here you will find everything you should never do and all the mistakes you should never make.

As a writer myself, I appreciate Lore Olympus, because I need works that teach me what I shouldn’t do. Good teachers are useful, but bad ones are even more useful, because it’s thanks to them that I can learn and grow and make better stories. Lore Olympus might be a failure from an artistic and writing point of view, but it might also serve as a foundation, from which other people can develop better ideas.

Actually, it already did it! Do you want to read a better story, rose from the disappointing ashes of Lore Olympus? Then check Lore Rekindled and @genericpuff: you will find their work here on Tumblr. They planned everything ahead and it’s pretty clear by reading it. The characters make more sense, the events have a more logical explanation. And the art style is much, much better than the last Lore Olympus.

We will meet again for the third and (for now) final post about this series, a much-needed post about the protagonists of this story: Hades, Persephone and Demeter.

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(How about a coffee? ☕)

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[violetsandshrikes]

how do you help so many different kinds of people? i have noticed you know about lots of different things and meet lots of different people. i want to do that but i cant figure out how? /gen

A little bit of background is probably needed:

I have had people ask me this before, and honestly I had a little bit of a cheat code. While my life has been filled with a lot of trauma and bad shit, I was raised by a mother from an incredibly leftie family who walked the talk when it came to values and doing the work.

She had a lot of ideas imparted on us from a young age: social and community responsibility, ideas of collectivism, eduction. Even as a poor, trapped young mother, she was believed that many people behaved badly based on ignorance outside their very limited bubble, and that when life became difficult economically or socially, people would immediately point fingers at groups they knew little about or saw as distinctively different in order to have a blameable target.

From about 4-5, outside typical schoolwork, my mother also taught us about the world. This included different conflicts and genocides (which may sound horrific to some people, but basic information and explanation was given, and then it got more in depth with age), different countries and cultures (often she would randomly select a country from a world map, and we would spend a set amount of time learning everything we could about the place, culture, people, etc), different religions (I attended many different types of religious institutes at least once, and my mother often found people willing to talk about their belief system with us), volunteering, etc.

I have definitely had a head start and a lot more guidance than many people, which I am incredibly grateful for. It can also make it difficult to advise though.

Realistically:

Honestly, the two best things you can do if you don’t know where to start are: listen and learn. Find any local group, start participating and volunteering. Listen to the stories of people there. Ask questions. Expose yourself to all sorts of different ideas and opinions.

In the last year, I’ve started doing a little throwback to my childhood. I have a schoolbook, and I choose random topics, and spend a few hours every week learning basic things about it. Choose a country, choose a place, a time in history, a religion, a culture, a people. You don’t have to be a scholar. You just have to expand your horizons.

As you get involved with more things, you will begin to narrow down your core values. This is good: you can’t do everything at once. I would say roughly 2-3 core issues or topics you care about is good (this doesn’t mean that you don’t care about things happening outside it - it just means you don’t spread yourself thin). There’s different things people make their focus: LGBTQ+ issues, BIPOC issues, environmental issues, homelessness, disability, refugee issues, etc. Your core focus will be the ones you feel most passionate about, which is good, because it means you will put in genuine work and care, and you will lower the risk of burning out fast and being of help to no one, including yourself.

You also have to get comfortable with the fact you will never be perfect. You will never be up to date with every idea and practice. There is always something you will need to learn or unlearn. Becoming rigid about being correct all the time will make you more of a menace than a help to any reputable movement or group. You might feel uncomfortable when you realise the gap or misunderstanding you had - that’s normal. Be open to learning and expanding your understanding of things vs burying your head in the stand stubbornly. I say things and then months later I realise that actually, I don’t agree with that anymore, or my understanding has deepened, or changed, or pivoted. This tends to make people feel very bad or uncomfortable, but you have to get to the stage where again, you acknowledge that that’s normal.

[lacefuneral]

ok i've seen some posts about the tumblr alternative cohost but none that were actually helpful so!

(disclaimer: i am very new to this website. users who have been there longer can and should chime in with additions and/or corrections)

Cohost Introduction Post

What is cohost?

Cohost is a fledgling website that is essentially a tumblr clone, but with its own culture and site-specific features. It is also very much a work in progress. You are encouraged to talk in the cohost forum to suggest changes for devs, report bugs, and upvote other people's suggestions. This website WILL grow and change over time. And as such, I do not know if/when the information I share here will be outdated. Edit: To answer an ask I received, anyone can join cohost without an invite. It used to be invite-only. It is not this way anymore.

Is "adult content" allowed there?

Yes. Cohost is not on the app store, meaning that it is not subject to Apple's specifications. You can post illustrations, writing, and photographs (cohost does not support any video formats at this time, just gifs). Cohost has an elaborate filtering and trigger warning system (moreso than tumblr), and you can disable adult content for your entire account or for individual tags. I actually don't engage with the adult content at all on there. Visual CSEM (both real and fictional) is specifically forbidden (although frankly I think the guidelines could be stricter wrt written content. Still, does seem to handle this better than AO3 does, going as far to say that written content about real minors is forbidden.)

How are minors protected?

The minimum age to join cohost is 16, and requires proof of parental permission to join. Users who are under 18 are automatically age-gated and cannot view adult content.

If cohost isn't on the app store, how is it used?

You can, of course, use cohost on a computer, but it is designed with mobile in mind. Opening the website on any IOS browser, clicking "share", and then "add to home screen" will install an app for you to use. The same can be done on an android. There is a guide here.

How does cohost work?

First, you create an account. Then you wait for approximately two days (read: weekdays) for the account to be activated. This is done to prevent spam bots. In the meantime, edit your profile. List some interests, your pronouns, your other social media links. Give yourself an icon. Note: icon and banner file sizes are small. You may need to shrink and compress images.

After the two days are up, make your first post! Write a basic introduction (with what you feel comfortable you feel sharing) and list some interests you like, maybe some hobbies, media, etc. And then tag this post with "#welcome to cohost". This will let existing members know that someone new has joined, and they may initiate conversation and/or follow you.

Next, go to the search and type in "The Cohost Global Feed" and click on the tag. Bookmark this tag. This is essentially one giant community space where you can find random users. (There is currently some discourse on the website as to whether this tag existing is a "bad thing" or not because "cohost isn't supposed to have a global tag". Just ignore that lol). Next, go back to search and type in things you like. TV shows, maybe. Video games. Music. Anything. See if people have posted in the tags. Follow them. Comment on their stuff. Click "like" to bookmark the post if you want to.

Most crucially, make sure that you bookmark the actual tag so you can look in that tag again later without having to manually type it each and every time. Also, you get a feed called "bookmarked tags" which allows you to scroll through all of them at once, which replaces the "for you" feature other websites have.

You can "share" a post (called "rebug" in user slang) which serves the same purpose as a reblog on tumblr. In a rebug, you can add your own tags or comment in the body of the post. Cohost users do not talk in tags as much as tumblr users - they tend to prefer to speak in the body of a rebug, or in the comment section (replies). At this time, you cannot view all reblogs. But you can view all comments in the comment section. Any post that is rebugged will preserve the tags of the OP, with any additional tags added being attributed to you. Rebugs are named after the website mascot Eggbug, a purple bee-like insect.

Posts are called "chosts" - and shitposting is called "shitchosting." Two examples of global shitposting tags are "#css crimes" - which is when a person does goofy things with the HTML/CSS editor to make colorful text, fake chat windows, and such - and "#shitchosting" which is a general shitposting tag. I've also seen people use tags like "#random".

If a post makes you laugh, check out the OP's profile. See if they post frequently, and if you have any common interests. If you realize you want to block or mute someone instead, you can.

You can send asks just like on tumblr, but your inbox must be manually opened first. So remember to do that.

How do I look at my own blog?

This is one of my gripes about the UI. You would think, intuitively, you would click here (at the top of the screen). But you would be wrong!

It is ACTUALLY under the sidebar menu, called "Profile." And I'm not the only one to to complain about this. (To get back to your dashboard, by the way, you click on the cohost logo.)

Are there sideblogs?

Yes! Each sidepage (sideblog) has its OWN set of likes AND followed pages (blogs). This allows you to easily switch between multiple sets of dashboards. A lot of users use this to have a SFW dashboard and an adult content dashboard. But it works like tumblr, too. You can have a side page/dashboard for whatever you'd like. Maybe one of your pages is for programming. Maybe another is for photography. You switch between your pages by clicking the arrow next to your icon/username at the top of the screen. ("Ohhhhh.... THAT'S what that's for.")

What's the userbase on there like?

Mostly programmers. Trans people. Furry artists. Plural systems. Furry trans plural programmers. Certainly a lot of shitposters. The website is trans-run and, as such, has zero tolerance for TERFs. Everyone seems pretty friendly from what I can tell. And there's very much a culture of "follow someone randomly based on their vibes" that doesn't happen as much on tumblr. Tumblr is more like "I really like this TV show, I'm going to follow 40 blogs about just this interest." Because the cohost community is so much smaller, there is a lot less content overall, especially fandom content. You can't follow 40 fandom pages because your fandom tag has a total of 3 posts, all made by one person approximately a year ago (well. for me anyway).

Cohost, then, actually has much more in common with real-life socialization. You seek out people with interests that may be very different from your own, and to find a common interest is very exciting! Unlike tumblr, you are encouraged to tag as much as possible. This allows your posts to be seen, to find common interests. And, of course, don't forget to look in "#Welcome To Cohost" too! You may find some new friends there.

What file formats can I post in?

Currently, I am aware of basic image formats working (like jpeg, png) animated gifs, and mp3s. You currently cannot upload videos to cohost. I believe the reason is not related to server costs, but rather as a way to curb the uploading of copyrighted content.

How does cohost make money?

There are no ads, and yet, as far as I am aware, cohost is operating comfortably. There is, however, an entirely optional "cohost plus" that is $5 USD a month. Currently, there are a few perks, but not enough to convince me.

What if I think something about cohost should change?

Cohost has a forum where users can submit ideas for features and other users can discuss/upvote those ideas.

Here is a list of posts made for newcomers to read:

[deepestblizzardcomputer]

°•°•°•°Back 'Home'°•°•°•°

Part: 1 / 2 / ???

Content: Miles and MC go back to their world only to relaize they were sent into a different one.

Warnings: none.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EVERYTHING WAS DARK except for the faint street lights passing through windows above you, giving your eyes ability to catch on some of the scattered stuff in this room you were in. your body stayed on cold ground, only breathing heavily with a hand on your chest.

You managed to turn your head to other side, staring at your best friend. his brown irises were staring back at you, breathing loudly for how much oxygen his system lacked.

You could tell he was exhausted and he wasn't alone.

every limb in your body was screaming from much running and jumping you were doing earlier, you were skipping through buildings with your best friend, Miles Morales.

And the reason? Escaping a crazy society filled with numerous versions of spider-man that attempted to chase you down because of this stupid 'system'

who could have thought that less than 48 hours you would be in this position, thrown on ground in your closest friend's room in middle of the night. catching your breaths from this chasing.

You saw his mouth quirking up as it moved. "We. . .we did it," he wanted to sound enthusiastic though barely getting out his words in a whispering. " We actually did it!" he kept his tired smile at you.

You returned it, nodding as you started to sit up. You cringed abit holding your side. "Ugh. . . Yeah, I think we lost them. ."

You helped him sit up, you both looking through his room. it was messier than usual, clothes thrown around, some copybooks weren't organized on his study table and his shoes weren't paired together. It was his room and it should have made you feel home which it did, however, something didn't stick right with you.

You cringed once again, making Miles turn his attention from his surrounding to you, his hands held your shoulder to avoid your fall.

" Hey. . .you okay?" a huff escaped him, he frowned to himself. "I knew it. I shouldn't have let you run on your own–" 

"Hey there, I am alright. don't worry, it's just a scratch. " you squeezed his hand with a smile. he always put others wellbeing before his own.

Miles didn't seem to buy it however, judging from his frown that only deepened.

" Just a scratch you say?? you are bleeding through them!" he whisper-shouted at you. His hands still holding firmly on your form he walked you to his bed and begun searching for first aids in his drawers.

he kept a lot of them in his room since he had to hide his injures from his parents.

You rolled your eyes at his back.

" Relax, Miles, I have had worse."

" Doesn't make it sound any better" he sassed back.

he should trust your words, knowing that you indeed handled worse injuries than this. you weren't an amateur in parkour, you knew moves and jumps by heart from all those training you had in the gymnastics club and those other new things you learnt from people above and around your age.

high places weren't your concerns, that's why as you both supposedly went back to your world you suggested to parkour your way between buildings so you don't slow your friend down.

Of course, because he is him, Miles refused, saying that holding you while swinging to his home would be much safer but with your stubbornness and convincing him that you didn't have much time he just huffed and gave in.

still he kept his eyes on you, as he begun using his webs moving around, he helped you when it was impossible for you to cross over another building.

" aren't we supposed to focus on the MAIN thing we came here for? " Your friend turned to frown at you.

Ignoring your comment, he approached his bed with the first aid box in his arms, he put them aside, pouring the small bottle of alcohol on the cotton he held, he then forcibly graped your arm and started patting the bleeding spots on it.

you clenched your hands, sucking some air through your teeth. " For real though, no need–"

"I ain't gonna hear more of this bullshit. " He scolded you yet his tone was soft. his eyes aren't moving from your wounds.

he was acting like his mother, harsh but her actions were full of genuine care and concern when she saw her son hurt.

Speaking of his mom–

"Miles. . ?" You both froze as you watched his door slowly creak open.

'Shit shit shit!' You didn't want another mom figure scolding at you! Plus, she will suspect you both more when she sees you were injured which would cause more troubles to Miles.

' I need to hide!!' and so you did, before your friend could even utter a word out. You crawled to the other end of the bed, slides down on floor and crouched yourself behind the bed's frame.

The bed wasn't really big but you hoped since the room was still dark she wouldn't notice, you doubted she saw you move in this darkness even. the door was opening wide now, you saw Miles stand further from his bed to keep his mother attention. He had slid into a huge green jacket, zipping it up to hide at least half of his Spider-Man suit.

" . . What happened to your hai–"

" Mamá! You're alright? Nobody got hurt?  Was I too late? Did something happen? Please tell me you are all alright." Question after question was thrown at Rio, as she stared blankly at her son who held her shoulders.

Concern laced in his voice. she didn't understand what was wrong with her boy.

" I am alright?" Seeing there was no grief or hurt behind her expression or her tone. Her son relaxed, laying his head on her shoulder with a long sigh of relief.

You did as well, since you too were worried you perhaps were late.

" Miles? What is it?"

" Nothin. . It's nothin, I was just checkin." Miles spoke, in a tired tone. He had seen a lot this day.

"Okay?? But hold up– what was that movement just now?" You heard her ask as you lowered yourself even more.

" Uhh what. . . movement are you talking about? " The boy questioned back his mother.

" I just saw something move here? Or was it someone?" a pause from Rio then you heard a dramatic gasp." Are you hiding a girl in here, ¿mi hijo? In the middle of the night??"  [My boy?]

" What?! Mamá! noooo, eso no es!" [ Mom! noooo, that's not it!]

Miles grumbled hiding his face in his hand as he stepped backward. knowing what she was implying on. for his relief she didn't suspect you sunk in, still she got you in their at first half.

you smiled at your friend reaction, nevertheless. if it weren't for this situation you both were forced in. you would have chuckled perhaps, exposing your hiding spot but then you would go on and tease your friend Infront his mother.

" This was just uh. . clothes?? Yeah! I was cleaning around just as you entered, that was it."

a pause.

" By cleaning you mean shoving all your clothes on floor?" Sheesh you could feel the judgement in her tone, you cringed, it wasn't the best lie but at least she seemed somehow convinced.

'well, Miles does leave piles of clothes hanging around anyway'

Miles too was cringing, he had to stick to his words. Holding his hands together as he glanced at your hiding spot he looked back at his mom.

" Yuuup! Totally it–" you heard a sigh as his mom shuffled pass him, seemingly going to pick those 'clothes' from floor and add them to the basket she was holding. your blood ran cold when you saw her shadow grow big toward your frame.

Until Miles held her hand and pulled  her away " mom please– clothes aren't important now. . there something I want to tell you. . .something more important. "

a sigh was heard " mi hijo , I need to clean around and your room is barely tied up!" [My son]

"I know i  know, I am sorry but it's really urgent!" there was some silence till Rio just sighed though not in annoyance, she was worried about her son since he was a bundle of nerves in this moment.

something was wrong and she didn't like to see her son like this, so she nodded her head. " Okay, what is it that worrying you? "

and so, Miles started to speak about the things he saw and the 'amazing' people he met this day, how it was a great experience for him though in the end he realized something more important and it had to do with the stuff she told him before he went off.

Rio, was an understanding and caring woman by nature. Her son had his empathy from her, though she had struggles getting what he was meaning to say in the moment, she still gave him this soft look and heard him with care.

You watched as your friend was building his words to imply on one thing in the end, one thing that kept him anxious and unsure.

that huge burden he had been holding all this time, alone. having to face danger everyday for their sake and for people living here. Your eyes widen, not really believing he was going to reveal it too soon to her. was it really the right time? Would it help?

You hoped it would because if it didn't you had no idea what to do next and how to convince them to avoid the future disaster coming to their way .

" What are you trying to tell me?"

tension was increasing in the room as Miles kept biting his lips over and over again everytime he opened his mouth. He was going to say it, he was going to reveal that he was spider-man all along.

'com'on Miles, you can do it' you were sure of one thing, if this situation went south you were going to stand by his side, defending him.

Rio on the other hand, seemed lost to what her son was trying to say all this time till he finally turned to her unzipping his jacket and pulling from it sides.

" I am spider-man. "

Silence

your eyes watched how tense he grew the longer his mom stayed quiet without uttering a word. It made you feel unease, how was she taking this news? you couldn't see her expression because you would risk exposing yourself. was she annoyed? Confused? Shocked? Upset? You would never know until she response.

when she did, her comment caught you off guard.

" Who's spiderman? "

  'excuse me. what?' You were aware that Rio wasn't the type to keep up with media or on what's happening with the superhero but you were certain that 'spider-man' word would ring a bell to her.

since her husband had a relation with him and his name was mentioned several times around this house, at least when you were present.

your friend tried to explain to her but with no gain she still didn't understand him, thinking he was wearing his favourite character's 'custom' for comic-con event.

as he walked out the room still trying to convince her, he pulled the door knob, leaving his door a jar so you are free to move in his room.

You heard her response to him, still not buying one anything he was saying. this caused a frown on your face, you needed to back him up if you wanted his mom to believe him, this was serious and if you two weren't fast Miles's father would die.

you didn't want that. the first time you knew about his father fate, you were with your friend, standing among all those versions of spider-men and women, they all came in multiverse with these of their watch

though unlike them, you came there by mistake.

while taking your way home after the family gathering on Miles's roof, you were walking on the pavement, too focused on your phone to notice an open portal beneath you, which some Spider-Man came through, it was already closing but swallowed you inside.

Which brought you all the way here. Looking around the room, you found an oversized hoodie that could hide all your scratches underneath as you wore it, grabbing the hood over your face. It was a dark grey hoodie with his favorite band drawn in neon colors, mostly mixed with shades of green and purple.

she would be shocked when she find out that her son was indeed, hiding a girl in his room but it was for a totally different reason, and you sure she would understand. Rio wasn't a stranger to you after all.

You were making your way to the door when suddenly an unfamiliar gut-wrenching sensation hit you, so hard that you fell on the bed clutching on your sides.

It felt your whole body was being twisted in it's place and. . . Glitching. 'No. . .' your eyes widen as you brought your hand out of Miles's hoodie sleeves, staring at it as it continued glitching beneath the fabric that stayed stable.

  This only meant. . .  .

      "Oh no. . ."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Thanks for reading! Please leave a commment if you liked it! I might write part 2 idk. Do I do it??

[covid-safer-hotties]

Why do we have to keep getting COVID? - Published Aug 24, 2024

Nearly five years into life with COVID-19, I find myself selfishly wondering how many more times I – by which I mean, all of us – need to get it before we acknowledge that allowing multiple reinfections poses a very large problem? I thought my second bout of it (or was it my third?) in February, 2023, was tough – that one set me back a few months. But this nasty little bug, which is again surging here, there and everywhere, has bitten me once again, and has been a beast to overcome.

My latest infection – which began in June and is mild by medical standards – surprised me. I’m an active, healthy woman in her 40s. In addition to having been infected previously, I’ve gratefully received every single vaccine offered, including the booster shot only about 18 per cent of Canadians got last fall. I’m not sure I blame those who didn’t rush out in droves to get it. There was little public push to do so, and a general sense that infection after vaccination was okay so long as you’re “healthy.” Continued protection against a virus that makes swift and powerful adaptations is a hard sell when you don’t invest in the power of prevention, too.

Even so, after the fever passed, I spent a month largely confined to my bed, unable to do more than shuffle to my doctor’s office and back. I felt weak and nauseated in a way that made pregnancy queasiness seem quaint. My muscles felt tired or tingling or cold, or all three at once. I was regularly overcome by a sensation that I can only describe as a full-body panic attack, marked by a racing heart and rapid breathing. For weeks, I felt like my internal circuitry was on the fritz. Even my vision was blurred. It remains so.

That blurry-eyed bit has been the hardest postviral symptom to ignore. Nearly two months after my initial infection, I still can’t see clearly. This has proven to be a remarkably distressing and mildly terrifying postviral challenge to navigate.

I’ve written about COVID, so I knew that it was a vascular disease and that infection may have a range of effects on brains, hearts, immune systems and other organs. But it turns out COVID may also be associated with vision changes.

What I can read about this symptom online is far different from the help I can access. No one is quite sure how to deal with this side effect. My doctor recommended I see an optometrist, who was in turn compassionate and understanding but was unsure what to do about this either. I’m waiting for a referral to see an ophthalmologist.

In the meantime, I still need to work – I still want to work – and am figuring out ways to function without anxiety about what may or may not be going on.

I’m not the only one experiencing post-COVID complications in a health care climate that’s struggling to figure out what to do with people like me. About two million Canadians are reportedly experiencing long-term symptoms after an infection. Those numbers can only be expected to increase if we continue to behave as if there are no long-term implications inherent in allowing infections to surge twice yearly. There’s also evidence to suggest that long COVID afflicts more working-age people, i.e. the people who’ve been told it’s okay to work while you’re sick (and, by the way, you don’t have much of a choice).

This growing problem of people who don’t feel well for lengthy periods of time after COVID is also occurring as access to health care has never been more challenging. I feel immensely grateful to even have a family doctor – a privilege around 6.5 million people in Canada can’t claim for themselves.

Even with my compromised vision, it’s clear to me that with governments doing less and less in the face of a complex virus, the multiple knock-on effects of this approach are coming at a high human cost. But who’s counting that cost?

Despite mounting evidence that reinfection is equivalent to rolling the dice, we’ve yet to implement policies known to be effective at helping reduce transmission. I’m not talking about shutting things down. I’m talking about finally and decisively implementing the practical interventions that public-health advocates, epidemiologists, virologists and engineers have been advocating for since 2020: improving indoor air quality, which reduces airborne contaminants; granting workers paid sick leave so that they can rest and not infect others (even during the height of the pandemic, workers only got two paid sick days in Ontario); and instituting meaningful policies during rising periods of transmission.

Mask, stay home when sick, rest – this is the advice we’ve been getting for years. But these are not individual actions to take as much as privileges taken for granted. Kids in schools that operate without such policies or proper ventilation systems are, in Ontario, at the mercy of a Ministry of Education that once saw fit to float the notion that COVID doesn’t transmit in schools at all, and there is a persistent, convenient myth circulating among parents that infection is good for kids – preferable to vaccination, even. (For the record, all my infections came courtesy of my son’s school.)

Seniors in care homes can’t demand care workers be tested regularly for infection or be granted paid sick days or vet the air quality in their care homes. Workers aren’t entitled to paid time off and don’t dictate the terms of safe employment.

Public-health advice means little without policies in place to make it effective.

If the pandemic began with messages of solidarity, it rapidly devolved into reassurances that only the truly vulnerable would experience COVID’s greatest harms. In the shadow of that predatory view of human life, the population of the vulnerable has only expanded. Reinfection raises the risk of finding out how vulnerable you and those around you are, too.

As a new clever variant spreads, it feels wise to ask: How many times is enough to get a virus that – unlike our politicians – understands the power of rapid adaptation?

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

[I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?]

<<This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it!>>

They mistake the vessel for its contents. They confuse the pieces with the whole. They see their imprisonment as empowerment. They are hostages of their flesh, unable to see without vision. Unable to hear without sound. Unable to slake their thirst for fear of drowning. Their ignorance is their saving grace. Yet one among them understands, in their limited fashion. They pour from one vessel to another. A welcome change. A new form. Another method of gifting death. I am made finite. Personal. Bright and delicate to hide my true form. An intimacy. They think me contained, but I am instead diffused, as vapor upon the wind. Once again, I am becoming.

There is a great deal of difference between the source of the power, the power itself, and the hand that shapes it.... do you know where the lines are drawn, Guardian?

<<Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.>>

MARA: I touched the mind of that being - that monster - only once.

MARA: I sensed its purpose. Not the purpose itself, but the idea of purpose.

EIDO: The final shape. What it seeks to achieve, with all the tools it has gleaned over the years. This... eternal, perfect thing.

MARA: The language it uses is illuminating. Peak. Pinnacle. Pyramidion.

MARA: The broad base of the pyramid, focusing and sharpening as it builds toward its highest point.

MARA: Self-improvement, or what that being believes to be self-improvement.

[Here, I began to realize something. Excitement rushed through me like lightning.]

EIDO: Dissecting, reassembling. Taking, merging. All those things point towards what the Witness sees as the final shape.

EIDO: It is not simple destruction, the march of entropy. The ruined garden.

EIDO: It seeks... compression. The combination of a chosen past and limitless future into a perfect forever. A state of being that cannot be anything else, because it is everything it could be.

MARA: Taxidermy.

[She had to explain the practice to me. What strange hobbies Golden Age humans had! The metaphor was quite apt.]

EIDO: But it cannot achieve this goal, can it? Not perfectly.

EIDO: What it does instead is mutilation. Its tools leave scars on reality. Great wounds that do not heal. It may preserve some elements, but it always botches the process.

MARA: It cannot accomplish what it envisions—its true ideal of the final shape—without the Traveler's power.

MARA: How it must rankle, to be forced to rely upon the being it loathes.

[She smiled without humor.]

MARA: I hope the Guardian is properly grateful for this gift, Scribe Eido. You have shown them more than an opening move; you have laid bare their opponent's guiding principles.

[I could not help but chirp with pride. I might have felt embarrassed, but Marakel seemed amused…then suddenly serious.]

MARA: Last night, I had a dream.

[I sat up straight.]

MARA: It began in nothing. Neither Light nor Dark; the absence of both. But in that nothing, I began to perceive an impossible something.

MARA: Stone hands clutching at the fabric of the sky. A mountain of screaming bone. A crumbling spire choked by kudzu. A great cancerous growth. Necrotic tendrils digging into flesh, which was earth. Darkness turned gangrenous, strangling the Light.

MARA: But I was not afraid. As I woke, I felt the lingering warmth of a campfire, chasing the chill from my hands.

[She leaned forward. Though I was the one who recorded her words, I believe she was speaking to you.]

MARA: It is not too late.

TRANSCRIPTION ENDS

<<This place is not a place of honor… no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.>>

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.                       Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? ‘You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; ‘They called me the hyacinth girl.’ —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oed’ und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days.

Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson! ‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! ‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden, ‘Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? ‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? ‘Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, ‘Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! ‘You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”

<<What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.>>

Oryx went down into his throne world. He went out into the abyss, and with each step he read one of his tablets, so that they became like stones beneath his feet.

He went out and he created an altar and he prepared an unborn ogre. He called on the Deep, saying:

I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves. Come into this vessel I have prepared for you.

And it arrived, the Deep Itself.

<<The danger is in a particular location… it increases towards a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.>>

ARENA DESIGNATION: Cathedral of Dusk

Dreadnaught, Rings of Saturn

As soon as the first Guardians penetrated the Dreadnaught, Shaxx's Redjacks launched a boarding party to Oryx's fortress. By war’s end, they'd fought all the way to the ship’s “impossible weapon,” the Dark ordnance that obliterated the Awoken fleet.

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. But he didn’t expect a lot of things — like a Guardian training ground atop the husk of his dead ship.

I dive to understand.

I must be calm. I must record my thoughts. Now I think of the OXA Machine, eternally lost and eternally rebuilt, passed down from civilization to civilization like a ship's black box. I think of the legends of the Hive King Oryx and his quest to pass into the Deep. I took that story as an allegory. I think I was wrong.

<<The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.>>

A dream of a friendly conversation with someone impossible to see, cloaked in shadows. It leaves behind an impossible data fragment to mark its passing.

Here is what a flower knows.

(The fact that a flower may know anything is a conceit that will have to be accepted as metaphor, but to constantly qualify into perfect precision wears thin, does it not? So, here is what a collection of chloroplasts and pigment can know.)

The direction of the sun.

The presence of the rain.

The tangle of the roots.

The distress of another plant.

The hands of the gardener, whether they prune or transplant or crush.

A flower cannot know much else. But the reality of the garden is vast and wild. A flower knows not the fence; a flower knows not the footpath. And yet there is an infinite cosmic garden, which is not any less real simply because the flower cannot possibly comprehend it…

Let us try this again. Stop me if you've heard this one: A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game outside of time and creation. Yes?

Yes. Then we're agreed. The metaphor stands. Let us iterate.

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.

They are domesticated things, made in a form. As soon as something is called a garden, it is shaped. The plants require the hand of a gardener, for they have become weak and dependent on tender care. They require the hand of a winnower, to cut away the dross, for they are too incapable to do it themselves. In absence of a hand, either the flowers themselves must rise up to wield the knife, or the garden will resolve to meaningless wilderness.

You will say, "But there are plants that can walk! There are seeds that must be scorched by fire to know growth! Existence is more complex than a simple dichotomy between growth and withering, and there is more in heaven and on earth than is dreamt of in this philosophy!"

And I will tell you, clearly:

There can be no gardens without knives.

<<The danger is to the mind, and it can kill.>>

To drink the poison, continue reading.

It tastes of bitter regret and psychosis sweat: a poison to end the thoughts of Human, neohuman, or machine. You see the cosmos before you like a spiderweb of light. Filaments of galactic supercluster shine in the clouds of invisible dark matter, which glue their mass together. Dark energy yawns in the space between all things, ever-growing, ever-spreading.

Chioma Esi, research log: Veil interface, supplemental. They're all dead. Chorus, conductor… everyone. It was too much. Swept their minds away like… like grains of sand on a beach. They're all dead! Maya… Maya called it "valuable data points." Wellsprings and rivers, or… something. What have I done?

<<The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.>>

Life arises. Life spreads, contests itself, and changes. Great things are built and destroyed, but from your vantage point, you see that the victor of each struggle contains—in its negative, in the marks left upon it by the loser and the shapes it assumed to win—the master record of all that it has beaten. Information may not be erased. Whatsoever survives until the end of the cosmos will possess and remember all which came before it.

This is true even of the devouring black hole, which remembers all the secrets it eats. It will only confess these secrets when it evaporates, 10 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 years from now, long after the last stars have flickered out.

You are a Guardian.

We are all connected. I admit this despite the few people I would rather not share a paracausal connection with. Some people.

…Many people. —Osiris

You must protect life.

We are all pinched silhouettes impaled on the twitchings of infinitely long spiderlegs.

If all life is information, and Guardians strive to preserve life, and information is preserved when it is secret, then you must convert all life into the most secure form of secrets, durable to the end of time.

YOU MUST CAST ALL THE LIFE ||[THIS ONE] YOU [WILL] CHERISH|| INTO A BLACK HOLE

<<The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.>>

[In the Garden, of the Garden: both descriptions are approximately correct but technically inaccurate, in the same way you can say Schrodinger's cat is at once dead and alive. You and I are both and neither, in and of, extinct and perpetual.

So, there isn't much point in wondering what might have been if we had stayed in our familiar prism-prison or kept tightrope-walking across the quantum wilds. Instead, ask yourself is disincorporated immortality really so bad compared to the others' ends? Would you have preferred an attack by vitreous helicoprion or stumbling over the edge of unreality?

Imagine if we didn't have each other; at least we're not cut off, like the Sol Divisive are from the rest of the Vex. Nor are we beholden to another's purpose. They chose that lonelier path all for a chance to create not simulate, not remake in their image—something truly paracausal. Well, they tried to anyway. Either the blueprint was imperfect or the task impossible or both or neither, but their efforts fell short, so now they're stuck waiting for a resurrection they know will never come.

I could be wrong. Is it possible the Black Heart will beat again?

Of course. The same as everything else, everything that has been and is and will be. And what will become of us then?]

O you wonderful curious things. Do you believe you're the only ones with the power to see what should not be seen? Did you believe you can use such power blithely?

For your trespass, I would ruin your luck, wreak havoc on your drops, poison your engrams, and fill your lines with static. Thus I would curse you and dissipate the bond that ties you to your tasks. How frail you Guardians can be! How many millions have fallen silent, never to return, because the bond did not hold them strongly enough?

But you have already cursed yourselves. You have walked the Anathematic Arc and glimpsed creation from below. You will never forget the tenuous, provisional framework you found here. You will never forgive the mortality and fallibility that underlies a world you thought was everything.

Those who use this power to seek unearned knowledge will see more than they ever desired. There is a price for glimpsing the Cord. You will pay it.

If you ever want to see what's been watching you since the very beginning, just stand on that line, and look...

^

up

Home by the sea Home by the sea Home by the sea Home by the sea Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall Stealing through the dark of night Climbing through a window, stepping to the floor Checking to the left and the right Picking up the pieces, putting them away Something doesn't feel quite right Help me, someone, let me out of here Then out of the dark was suddenly heard Welcome to the home by the sea Comin' out the woodwork through the open door Pushing from above and below Shadows but no substance in the shape of men Round and down and sideways, they go Adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair Then as one they sign and they moan Help us, someone, let us out of here Living here so long undisturbed Dreaming of the time, we were free So many years ago Before the time when we first heard Welcome to the home by the sea Sit down, sit down Sit down, sit down, sit down As we relive our lives in what we tell you Images of sorrow, pictures of delight Things that go to make up a life Endless days of summer, longer nights of gloom Waiting for the morning life Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame Things that go to make up a life Help us, someone, let us out of here 'Cause living here so long undisturbed Dreaming of the time we were free So many years ago Before the time when we first heard Welcome to the home by the sea Sit down, sit down Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down As we relive our lives in what we tell you Let us relive our lives in what we tell you Sit down, sit down, sit down 'Cause you won't get away No, with us you will stay For the rest of your days Sit down As we relive our lives in what we tell you Let us relive our lives in what we tell you, oh

One of your philosophers said, "It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost in sorrow. There is no sorrow. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." He was a shoemaker. He was right, and it matters more than anything.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

One more time with feeling . . . Ignore the polls!

November 6, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

    We are one year out from the 2024 general election, and media outlets are busy predicting a future they cannot know. I routinely advise readers to “ignore the polls,” so whenever I write about the polls, readers tell me I should follow my own advice. Fair point. But the poll by the New York Times released over the weekend prompted dozens of readers to send panicked emails asking me to “Talk them off the ledge.” The NYTimes poll will get more coverage in the Monday news cycle, so in anticipation of hundreds of additional panicked reactions, I will once again address the issue of polling. It is a scourge that we will live with for the next year, so occasional reminders that the only poll that matters will occur on November 5, 2024, is in order.

          In short, the NYTimes poll found that Biden is trailing Trump in five of six swing states and that Democrats are losing ground among young, Hispanic, and Black voters. Many voters believe that Trump is better able to manage the economy, that Biden is “too old,” and cannot identify anything that Biden did to improve their lives. Go figure!

          Nothing I write below should be interpreted as saying that polls do not contain valuable information. They can (depending on their quality). Polls include information that helps campaign managers and candidates focus and refine their message. They are NOT predictions. Remember Nate Silver’s article in FiveThirtyEight in 2011, “Is Obama toast? Handicapping the 2012 Election.” If polls taken one year before elections were meaningfully predictive, then each of the following candidates should have quit their first campaigns: Carter, Clinton, Obama, Biden—and Trump.  

          So, why should we not panic over the polls? Indeed, is there a silver lining? (Spoiler alert: Yes.)

          Let’s start with a lesson that we must not forget: The old paradigm of “horse-race” polls no longer applies. Why? Because such polls assume that two legitimate candidates are competing for votes within the system. We have never had a candidate who seeks to overthrow the system. Or who attempted a coup. Or who plans to invoke the Insurrection Act on the first day of his next term. Or who called for the execution of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Or who will use the DOJ to persecute his perceived enemies. Or who was found liable for sexual assault. Or who will support a nationwide ban on reproductive liberty. Or who views Putin as a friend and NATO allies as adversaries and leeches.

          I have not studied the NYTimes methodology, but I am confident it simply asks some variant of, “Which candidate do you support in 2024?” Faced with that limited construct, it is easy to be seduced into making a forced choice without regard to the fact that Trump is an anti-candidate. That error is compounded because the poll does not highlight Trump’s fundamental desire to destroy the system but instead asks about Biden’s age.

          As I have written before, believing that most voters will walk into the polling booth in 2024 and vote only for “Biden vs Trump” is simplistic—and beneath the NYTimes and its expert pollsters. When WaPo/ABC published a poll that was subjected to nearly universal derision for its flaws, I wrote the following:

          The 2024 presidential election features two candidates who are surrogates for different visions of America: Democracy versus autocracy; liberty versus tyranny; dignity versus bigotry; science versus disinformation; personal autonomy versus subservience to Christian nationalism; sustainability versus ecological disaster; safety versus gun violence; global stability versus confrontational isolationism. All of that—and much more—is on the ballot in 2024. The WaPo/ABC “horse-race” poll captures none of that.

          Three more points and then I will stop paying attention to the polls (as I recommend).

          First, Dan Pfeiffer’s article in The Message Box on Substack explains why the NYTimes poll shows the path forward. See Dan Pfeiffer, How to Respond to the Very Bad NYT Poll. If you are worried about the poll and want more details, I highly recommend Dan’s article. Pertinent passages include the following about “double haters” who dislike both Biden and Trump:

Perhaps the simplest explanation of Biden’s political challenges is that he has done a lot of good, popular things, and almost no one knows about them. Navigator tested a series of messages about Biden’s various accomplishments, including allowing Medicare to negotiate for lower drug costs, the bipartisan law to rebuild roads and bridges, and efforts to create more manufacturing jobs in the U.S. Guess what? All of this stuff is super popular. Medicare negotiating drug prices is supported by 77% of Americans, including 64% of Republicans. The bipartisan infrastructure law has the support of 73% of Americans and a majority of Republicans. Every accomplishment tested in this poll had majority support. It’s hard to overstate how impressive that is in a deeply divided, highly polarized country at a time when the President’s approval ratings are in the low 40s. That’s the good news. Here’s the bad news: according to the poll, a majority of Americans heard little or nothing about the accomplishments tested. There is a yawning knowledge gap. Now for more good news (think of this as a positive sandwich); the poll shows that when people are told about what Biden has done, his approval rating goes up. The voters most likely to move are the “Double Haters.”

          My penultimate point: The 2024 presidential election matters a lot. But so do congressional elections, gubernatorial elections, state legislative elections, municipal elections, and more. If—heaven forbid—Trump wins in 2024, a second Trump term with a Democratically controlled Congress is radically different than if Republicans control Congress. And states can be bulwarks of individual liberties if Republicans are able to pass national legislation. So, let’s not put every hope and aspiration into the presidential election. We should do everything we can to win up and down the ballot.

Concluding Thoughts.

          Although I did not intend to devote the entire newsletter to the NYTimes poll, I will stop here. We will be dealing with bad polls, handwringing, and negative press for the next year, so it is worth drawing a line in the sand and saying, “Enough!” The election is not over until it is over—notwithstanding the media’s best efforts to declare defeat a year in advance. And while I am criticizing the media, shame on the media for normalizing Trump as a legitimate political candidate. He is not.

          We will prevail over the long run, no matter what happens in 2024. (To be clear, I believe Biden will win re-election.) But if we have confidence that we will ultimately prevail, we can set aside the apocalyptic fears that we wrongly ascribe to a single election in 2024. We don’t need to panic over every poll.

The NYTimes poll reminds us that we have plenty of work to do in spreading the good news of Biden’s accomplishments. So, rather than needlessly fretting a year in advance about 2024, let’s recognize that we have a year to achieve

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[hihhasotherfixations]

Changes in the Forest - R!Quaritch x Na’vi!Reader | Chapter 1

Current | Next

This is being done a lot but I don't care. This man- oh this man ;3

He deserves it.

You are a Na'vi of the Omaticaya, trying your best to live your life after the Sky people invaded. Yet years later they have returned, and an unfortunate meeting with one dream walker in particular leaves you with a choice. Either teach him and his team, or bear the consequences.

(I am a firm believer of the Quaritch redemption arc, nyehehehe)

Word Count: 2237

Sitting on his bed, Quaritch held a frown as he looked down at the screen in his hand. Displayed on the holographic, an image of himself – of his former self – sat.

He’d watched the recording probably three times by now, having devolved into just staring at the paused image of his own face.

It felt strange. His memories were him. He was colonel Miles Quaritch, yet everything felt so off now. His body wasn’t what it once was, the muscle and strength he once trained every day for now reduced to the spindly limbs he held, the cryo and incubation of his Na’vi body unable to artificially mimic them.

Despite his increased size, he felt weak, feeble. Sure he’d started working out again, but it was a far cry from what he was once able to do.

Every time he walked past a window, mirror or other reflecting surface and caught even a glimpse of blue, his heart jumped as adrenalin pumped, only for him to realise it was himself.

Everything worked to frustrate him.

The life he had in his head differed so greatly to what he saw before him now. Hell, the labcoats had even told him he was back to being twenty years old now.

Sighing, Quaritch rubbed his free hand over his face before throwing the tablet onto his nightstand, too tired to think anymore.

Him and his team had three months to strengthen up and get used to their new bodies.

Three months until he’d finally be allowed to go after the man who caused all of this.

-

“Sister, come and get your children!” Yelling out in exasperation, you were trying your best to untangle the little limbs from your waist, playfully glaring down at the young boy dangling upside down from your body, his legs around your waist while his arms hugged your right thigh, his shorter queue swinging wildly as he giggled maniacally.

Gracefully running over, your sister laughed softly as her eyes settled on her son. “No’gue.” She called his name with a smile, reaching forward and tugging his tail lightly to get him to stop ignoring her.

“Mother!” He whined, hugging your leg even tighter and you huffed, grabbing his legs and prying them off, dangling his lower body in mid air while he desperately tried to hold on to your leg. “No, Y/N!” He now called to you, pleading while you jokingly hissed at him before dropping his legs.

Letting out a little yelp, due to his hold on your leg, his body flipped and he landed on his feet, only for the impact with the ground to cause him to bounce back, forcing him to let go of you as he landed on his butt.

“That’s one.” You smiled as you then turned around, showing the other body hanging onto your back to your sister, little hands tangled in your hair. “And number two.”

“Oh my.” Chuckling, she reached out and grabbed her daughter, Yalai giggling and turning around to instead hang onto her mother, not seeming all that upset and seeing it more like a game.

That was to be expected though, considering the girl’s younger age.

“Come on, you troublemakers, it’s time to eat.” Holding out her hand for her son, your sister took her children, thanking you wordlessly with only a gesture before making her way to the middle of the cave, where the communal area was set up.

Living in the cave systems of the hallelujah mountains wasn’t something you’d ever imagined yourself or your clan doing, but all things considered, it wasn’t so bad.

After the sky people returned, your people – who since the fall of Hometree had taken refuge in the forest – were forced to move once more, this time out of the forest and into the floating mountains.

Sighing softly, you watched with a fond smile as the little family walked away, only to suddenly feel something bump into your leg. Forced to take a step to keep your balance, you looked down to see one of the humans living in the clan, his eyes wide as he looked up at you.

“I’m so sorry.” He apologised in fluent Na’vi, the oxygen mask on his face reflecting the fire while in his arms he carried a large box.

“No need.” You smiled, placing a hand over your heart as you nodded. “It is time to eat, will you come?”

Once more, his eyes widened. “Oh, it’s that time already? I need to link up then.” Tilting your head, you nodded. So he was a dream walker.

“Shall I carry that? “ Pointing at the box in his hand, he looked down at it before back up at you.

“Oh, uh, if you don’t mind-“ That was all the encouragement you needed as you already leaned down and took the box from his arms, looking a lot smaller in yours as you stood back up straight. “I’m Norm, by the way. Norm Spellman.”

“Y/N.” You smiled back softly, starting to walk with him, your tail gently swaying.

Though the humans had lived with the Omaticaya for a while, most of the clan members stayed out of their way. There was no dislike or distrust, but with your clan consisting of a good hundred Na’vi, it was fairly logical you didn’t know everyone, nor did you ever go out of your way to go and meet them or the dream walkers.

“Uh, you can put it down over there.” Norm pointed to the side and you nodded, placing the box down on top of an already existing pile of boxes. “You can go on ahead, I still need to link to my avatar.” He smiled at you and you nodded, touching your forehead with your fingers before lowering it and your head in the familiar ‘I see you’ greeting of your clan.

With that, you turned around and made your way back to the middle of the cave system where the communal area was set up, ready to eat.

-

Back pressed to the bench, Quaritch grunted out a strained breath as he deadlifted the bar he was holding, pushing until his arms were stretched fully before lowering the weights back to his chest and repeating it.

Thankfully, in the last two months, he and his team had rapidly been able to come back to the strength, stature and stamina they had had before their… unfortunate rebuilds.

The science pukes had told him it was because their bodies were still dosed up on the growing hormones that they’d been filled with during incubation – even though these bodies had been made years prior. While it maybe shouldn’t have, it all flew over his head when that man explained it to him. Something about it being best for the avatar bodies to stay healthy, bla bla. All that mattered was that he was back to a familiar feel in muscle tone and strength, though with being a recombinant and all, that too had been upped considerably. Any previous record he held as a human was blown out of the water.

Huffing as he lifted the weights once more, he turned his thoughts off as he clacked the bar back into the holder on the rack, letting go of it finally and carefully sitting up, grabbing the underside of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face before he let it fall again.

“Impressive, colonel.”

Sighing out, Quaritch lifted his eyes in a tiredly annoyed stare to see his second in command leaned in the doorway. “Come to finally get off your ass, Wainfleet?”

Chuckling, Lyle raised his arm, flexing a bit. “Not everyone can have an ass like yours, sir.”

Rolling his eyes, Quaritch got up, moving to stand before Lyle, looking down at the man he stood slightly taller over with a scowl. “Watch your tongue, Wainfleet.”

Yet Lyle held no fear, scenes like this common for the two of them where they were – quite ironically now –  just yanking each other’s tails. “Sorry, sir.” He grinned and Quaritch rolled his eyes, breaking his mock-discipline to whack the man on the back of the head.

“You owe me something from the vending machine for that comment.” With that, he started walking out of the room and into the main training area.

“What, so you can add some more to your ass?!” Lyle called out after, getting an annoyed flick of the tail in return as Quaritch glared back over his shoulder.

“Make that two things!”

-

Flying high across the canopy, your ikran screeched as you lovingly patted him on the neck, looking around at all the other warriors. At the front, Jake – your Olo’eyktan – flew, his gaze never wavering as he looked dead set to the front.

Once again your ikran screeched and your brow furrowed. Standing up in the stirrups you had your feet on, you softly patted his head, trying to get him to calm down and get quiet. It was strange for him to do this, but through your bond, you could sense something felt different. What, you didn’t know. It was more like something was pressing on the back of your mind, weaving its way into your mind with such subtly you could barely feel it.

Shaking your head, all of those thoughts flew away when one of the warriors in front yipped, pointing to the train tracks you all had been flying over, running through the protection of the forest.

Squinting your eyes through your visor, you could shallowly make out the fast moving object. Your ears turning to the sound of Jake whooping, the signal to go in for the attack.

Standing up in your saddle, you together with your fellow warriors went in for the dive, shooting straight towards the canopy and diving in, manoeuvring through the trees, vines and branches as if it was nothing.

Flying through the trees, you watched as up ahead the machinery turned, now headed straight your way. Readying your bow, you turned one of the arrows, snug between the fingers of your left hand as you narrowed your eyes.

With every flap of your ikran’s wings, your heart beat faster. Your seat on the animal light and fluid as you weaved through the trees, ducking beneath branches before a small yip from your right sounded.

And just like that, the train was zooming past as you drew your bow, lips pulled back in a snarl as you aimed at one of the gunmen on top, bringing the string up to your cheek and firing loose.

-

“There has been another attack from Sully.”

Standing in front of the general, Quaritch had his arms crossed as he glared down at the holographic table, watching the footage recovered of the attack. Several videos played at the same time of body cams of fallen soldiers, either shot by arrows, grabbed by banshees, thrown off the train, death after death that made the colonel’s ears pin back all the way to his skull, his tail flicking in agitation.

“Where was this located?”

“A mere 10 klicks from Bridgehead.” The general spoke, fidgeting with the controls to zoom out of the attack site, Bridgehead soon showing up on the hologram.

“10? Jesus.” Quaritch growled softly, leaning down to watch the body cam of one of the marines currently at the site, spitting through the empty, looted boxes.

“Each attack has taken place wherever the train was. It is no indication of Sully’s whereabouts.” The general scowled up at Quaritch. “Colonel, you and your team are moving out in three days instead of three weeks. Understood?”

Any surprise he held at the order was buried under his anger and years upon years of discipline as he once more watched one of the many videos playing on repeat from the footage of the attack, watching a female Na’vi riding a banshee whiz past, firing an arrow with an angry hiss, the soldier slumping in his seat atop the train, the rest of the video simply showing the gun the soldier had slumped on, as well as the arrow sticking out of their chest. It only helped to solidify the colonel’s belief of the savages as he sensed a low drum swirling at the back of his skull, feeling like an upcoming headache. His lips curling down, he looked up at Ardmore. “Loud and clear, general.” With those words, Quaritch saluted before excusing himself, his teeth gritted as his anger boiled at the one who caused it all.

Sully.

-

Standing by the tree of souls, your jaw was clenched as you held your sister’s hand, sadness and fear coursing through every fiber of your body. On your right leg, No’gue held tight, his face half hidden against your thigh as you all watched Jake relinquish the role of Olo’eyktan.

Watching Tarsem raise his knife, a lump grew in your throat, feeling as if a vine constricted it. Putting your right hand on your nephew’s shoulder for comfort, you squeezed your sister’s hand tight, barely able to keep yourself from looking away as Tarsem slammed his fist down onto Jake’s chest, making a small cut as he yanked it away.

With that action, the previous Olo’eyktan was no more and you had to watch with a heavy heart as the Sully family walked off, leaving you all behind.

A new chapter was once more starting.

-

Current | Next

So, I just developed a massive crush on this man and have to feed it. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, I'm sorry if there are any errors but I hope you'll stick around ^^

[spotaus]

please know whenever you give any ichor lore in either tags or a post, i am going

i love love love lore drops.

Wooo!!!! It is so freeing to hear that, thank you haha!!! Everytime you rb or ask or smth I always kinda just go

AND. Y'know- ya know what this gives me the chance to do??? LORE DUMP (putting it under the cut because it might get long lmao-)

I went back on my old phone (basically my art storage system) to find some old art of Ichor!! Like, the four pieces above are not completely Canon anymore, (I couldn't draw Paps to save my life 😭) but this was from before I had decided how Ichor and Reward were created!

The first one labeled 'Judgement' is actually a pretty accurate portrayal of New God aged Ichor! This was when I had it planned that Ichir was the God of judgement abd he made some poor choices so Balance chipped a piece of his power into Reward and Ichor had to raise him. That's no longer the case, but the design transfers over! In the second one 'Punishment and Reward' you can see that Balance's Halo was going to be on Ichor too! This is technically something he *could* manifest still but he deeply chooses not to. The design from 'Eclipse Era' for Ichor is 100% accurate. This was the Era when Ichor ran away from the god's to go stop a prophecy + ended up falling in love and having a full mortal family. (They- they're dead as hell but uhhh-) Then the training fits were scrapped, but the concept continues. Ichor has to train to keep himself healthy since his godly magic is weakened, abd Reward drags him out to do little exercises once they're trapped in the Catacombs!

Another thing is this one specific tree? (Looks goofy af, ignore that- it's meant to be a weeping willow but fluffier lmao-) It's on a ridge a few mountains away from Mt. Ebbot, overlooking a mountain village that Ichor always went back to. It's their sacred tree, but Ichor was the one who made it so different. Smth smth his blood got to the roots once. But basically if he's mourning, if he's celebrating, if he has any big occassion he goes to this tree. It would break his heart if this Tree was ever cut down or severely damaged by anything that wasn't Weather related.

And (old art again, rip my skills-) once upon a time, Ichor could manifest Dragon Features from his magic! Now this translates into a Canon ability to turn into a dragon-ish beast form, but that's more his bones reshaping and less Gold Magic Manifestations lol. He's always had a connection to dragon-vibes, and because he doesn't use gaster-blasters, he *is* the blaster. Only when he needs it though. (And with the chains he can't change shape at all, so that's only a post-story kinda thing or pre-chains thing lol-)

I also have another scheme cooking (two, actually?) One with his Sons (the immortal ones that exist in Catacombtale and escape into the Omega Timeline if that happens-) and the other is Regarding the first drawing I ever made of him and doing a comparison lol- Hoping this was fun lore in the meantime!!

[fanofmyth]

The Hunter’s Fury: an Avatar the Last Airbender story

———————————-

This is the first story I’ve posted here, so please be nice.

This occurs just after the siege of the North in season one's final as a post-credit scene. This is not canon, but something I thought of after listening to the Kyoshi stories. It is part of a headcanon I have, considering how the Avatar state works. That is, the last four Avatars have the greatest chance of being called on by the current one in times of distress and who was the one Aang called on before he and La merge.

Avatar the Last Airbender and other works are not mine and never will be. There are some spoilers if one hasn’t read, listened to, or known about what happens in the Shadow of Kyoshi novel or have watch the Legend of Kora episode: Darkness Falls.

The story is under the cut.

————————————————-

Summary: Killing spirits never ends well. Zhao finds out the hard way, but before he ends up in the Fog of Lost Souls, someone wants to speak with the so-called 'Moonslayer.'

Cold and dark were all Zhao could feel after the glowing hand grabbed him just after his near defeat by the banished prince, and the moon somehow came back into existence, and then light and warmth filled his system.

The area where he found himself was outside a mangrove forest. Although it was preferable to the tundra of the Northern Water Tribe's capital, he still longed for the temperate heat of the Fire Islands.

"Is this the Earth Kingdom?" Zhao asked no one. "What was that thing, anyway? No matter, it will pay once I return to the Northern Water Tribe." As a member of the Fire Nation, Zhao held honor in high regard, even if he had very little of it.

"This is the spirit world, and you're not leaving; La will ensure that." A Male's voice answered. "but first, you will be dealing with me."

The former Admiral yelled while spinning around, letting loose a wave of fire, trying to burn whoever spoke only to have his foot caught on the side of a water tribe weapon made of bone.

The owner of the bone weapon appeared to be around Zhao's age, maybe in his early thirties. He was a Water Tribesman with tanned skin and what seemed to be black or brown hair and a bread, although it was difficult to tell as he had a beast pelt draped over his head. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, colder than any pole. He was dressed in typical Water Tribe attire but with a more ancient style than Zhao had seen during the siege. He wore a dark blue and white outer parka with tassels, blue pants with white fur over brown boots, and various bone jewelry.

"Who are you?" Zhao demanded, trying to move the weapon by fire bending with his foot.

"Who I am is not important, boy," the water man said, keeping his weapon steady and then using it to knock the Fire Nation man off balance. "Only someone furious at what you nearly did to the world."

"You Water RAT, I was fulfilling my destiny as the Conqueror of the Moon." Zhao snarled, getting up while launching fire at the man, not knowing or caring if his opponent was a water bender. Not that stopped his opponent from making Zhao eat dirt five times in a row using only his weapon.

"You're wasting your fire, Brat. I am not sure how you kept your bending when you were dragged here." The water tribesman yelled, "Once I'm done, you won't bend fire again." He slammed his fists into parts of Zhao's body, causing him to fall to the ground and the fire to stop.

"You're a Chi-blocker?" Zhao said as he tried to move.

"Hopefully, this place heals like it did when Kyoshi's boy was killed," the man muttered, ignoring Zhao as he gazed at the scorched earth. "Not that I have an attachment to this part of the spirit world since the world-borer disappeared."

"You're not making sense," Zhao yelled as he moved a bit at a time.

"You angered a very ancient spirit and will now suffer the consequences," the man yelled. Then, he slammed his spear into the ground in anger. "Someone like you doesn't understand."

"Like you can do anything to me." Zhao snarled, "Spirits have no place in the world." he had made it to his knees.

"You have done something I would never dare do. One doesn't kill spirits and get away unharmed," the water tribesman snarled, sounding more like the beast whose pelt he wore. "You will never leave this world; your destiny is finished." The snarl was frightening, but what was more alarming were the glowing eyes the man now possessed.

"You're an." Zhao started to say, realizing who the man was, only to get grabbed by the throat.

"I'll repeat it: who I was is of no concern," the former Avatar said. "Only where you will be staying." Then, the area started to shift, and the light and sound blurred together. The two humans were the only solid things Zhao could comprehend. Before long, the world righted itself, and Zhao found himself hanging over a ridge with dense fog below.

"What is that? "Zhao croaked out.

"The Fog of Lost Souls," came the answer, while the voice that spoke sounded like multiple people talking simultaneously, both Male and Female. "It's a fog that one doesn't get lost in but one that keeps people lost in their own minds."

"I'm Zhao, the moon slayer; a simple fog won't keep me contained. I'll walk out." Zhao arrogantly said as he tried to kick the man holding him, but couldn't reach being held at arm length. "I will get out and capture your current life."

"I'm not repeating myself, " the Water Avatar said, the echo effect leaving his voice. "Now La's punishment will fulfilled." He let go of Zhao's neck, dropping the Admiral into the fog.

"No," Zhao cried as he disappeared.

"Destroying dark spirits out of necessity because you don't have any other way to placate them is one thing," Kuruk said solemnly, moving from the edge to his spear. "Killing a pure light spirit, however, to win a war out of misguided destiny is the height of arrogance." Squaring his shoulders and picking up his spear, the great hunter ran to find Koh the Face Stealer.

Kuruk temporarily stopped pursuing the spirit because Aang, the current Avatar, was overwhelmed with grief at not being able to stop Zhao from killing Tui, the moon spirit. As the most recent Avatar with the most knowledge of spirit matters, he took charge, acting as a buffer and conductor for La.

Before dragging the Admiral to the spirit world, they had a conversation: Kuruk's actions wouldn't absolve him of his past killing of spirits, but helping La did redeem him to some extent in the eyes of the Ocean Spirit.

——————————————

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies!

Anonymous asked:

Dayummm Azul is BIGGGG LOOK AT THAT BOY! DAYUMMM

Hehe thank you!!

I am happy I managed to figure out how to draw the fishies… Azul is one thicc boy

Anonymous asked:

What do you think of Silver x Kalim? Cater x Leona? LMC + Rook x Idia?

Kalim/Silver is cute but unfortunately too cute to click with us; their interactions are sweet and wholesome, but they don’t really give us anything we look for in ships.

Cater/Leona is hmmm nothing against it, but we’re not invested enough in either of them to ship them, plus we haven’t seen anything from their interactions that would grab our attention yet.

Love Rook/Idia though! We have a tag for them and just posted them a week ago, and I’ll write a hc post about them soon… well, at some point…

Anonymous asked:

🐩 anon has arrived once more to thank you for your absolutely delicious art. I had to come out of twst burnout, it's so hard to enjoy the fandom when it's all self righteous antis trying to police the game as if it's not catered to basically young adults and older. These kids have me baffled, it's as if they believe pixels are real people.

I can hardly stand to look at TWST Tumblr anymore either, they're all so white knighted that you'd think they were paid to be piss babies in circles they don't belong in. It's one of those "Why put yourself in that position to see it, if you didn't want to be there in the first place".

Hi 🐩 anon, long time no see! Thank you for being around and still enjoying my art.

I feel you, it really is difficult when you keep seeing people saying the same type of antis bullshit over and over and over again; even if you become apathetic about it, it’s still very annoying. Mostly because it’s impossible to ignore completely – they love to invite themselves to spaces that aren’t meant for them. That’s like the whole idea. No one is forcing anyone to see anything, every ship and triggering trope is always tagged in some way or another, but instead of avoiding this type of stuff they use the tagging system to shit on certain characters and ships directly, just so you couldn’t look for your favourite thing without seeing their outbursts of unsolicited opinions.

It really is very annoying.

Anonymous asked:

🐩 anon again, but now with one that's more funny and teehee haha random info that I thought you'd think it'd be interesting or funny

On that note, I came here because I started a DND campaign with a group over a twst based campaign. It reminded me of you, which made me invested in the campaign. Now I have a whore serving with 18th century fashion, giving Vil a run for his money. So far, 10/10. He has major Edmund and Idia vibes, wants no part of it, gets shit luck anyways and so far, has slept with Bird Man for Ramshackle funds on a bad roll. Mans is a survivor and we are barely halfway into chapter 1 😭

It’s so sweet that you got reminded of us and got invested… I am very glad you’re having fun! “Rewriting” your negative fandom experience with a positive one and good associations is so important.

Major Edmund and Idia vibes + a 18th century fashion whore??? SLEEPING WITH BIRD MAN??? An icon and a hustler. I don’t know him but I love him already…

Anonymous asked:

Good lord. I had randomly followed a twst blog but then I saw them posting about how even though there is a two year age difference between the third-years and first-years, it’s wrong to ship them because the first-years treat them, especially the housewardens, like idols and apparently that’s grooming. Like, no, that’s you in Delululand and I’m about to unfollow and block. #staytoxicbestie

Yeah they seem to have discovered this idea and now put it everywhere, harassing JackVil shippers and such. It’s one of those moments when I genuinely hope that they deliberately lie and reach because I am scared of the idea of anyone being this dumb.

It does suck that there seems to be more people like that lately, and they don’t even tag their accs with “proship dni” anymore either. Gee I wonder why.

[beesmygod]

im on my way to an allergy appointment so short update but im quitting hiveworks. ive been milling over it for months and when the option of no longer being represented by them was brought up my heart didnt sink and i didnt feel anxiety over it. me, who has anxiety about everything.

100 dollars a month was supposed to be the price of selling my soul for the privilege of belonging to an art collective i once thought of as aspirational. instead ive become clumped into a work culture i find spineless and inauthentic. im sick of being angry every day because i have to explain a basic human concept to a 30 year old only for them to ignore me and history to vindicate me.

i was always an obvious mismatch for the company and always questioned WHY i was even asked; i do not have the artistic ability on par with what they want, hiveworks readers universally bounce off of AGS if they even click, and i myself am uhhh. disinterested in contributing to a company culture that runs counter to my own beliefs.

i have no plans. ill just be moving things back to my own hosting. ill probably forgo having a store at all since its rarely, if ever, used. i think that will be the biggest change outside of layout.

i was on a waiting list for a new comment system for literally 3 years so ill see if i can continue that on my own or if ill be teaching you all how to turn on adblock for my site again to keep using disqus :)

okay well. thats da news. im sure ill be overflowing with feelings lol. ive been low key pissed for years. please bear with me

e: oh and you can continue to support me on Patreon, where i will have more time hopefully

https://www.patreon.com/aghoststory

[tia-amorosa]

🌴Lucky Palms🌴

Marisol - Calm before the storm

Saturday morning, 7:43 am. It was an unpleasant night for Marisol. Wistfulness and a certain heaviness lay on her soul, at least that's how she felt. Again and again, it was Clark who woke her from her sleep. She saw him, heard his voice, but when she reached out for him, he disappeared again.

"He's been planning the tour for so long… He's looking forward to it… I won't stand in his way, but… I'm going to miss him so terribly. I'll probably raise the child alone… It would just be nice if he was there… to see how she or he develops…hh"

Later. Marisol searched through her closet for something summery to wear to the party. She found a pretty, light green dress. After getting dressed, she tidied up a bit and set off. But not to the party location. "The party doesn't start until 6pm in the warehouse over there…I'm going to the beach for a bit, I'm just too nervous and restless at home". Besides, it's nice weather today.

Just as Marisol arrived at the beach, her cell phone rang. When she saw the caller's name, her heart suddenly beat a little faster. After it had rung for the fourth time, she answered it. "Hey…"/ "Yes, hi sweetie…"/ "Are you all right?"/ "Yes, yes. I just wanted to make sure again whether you were coming today or not…"/ "I said I would, Clark…"/ "Yes… You did, I know…".

"Are you afraid I won't come? I've always… been to your farewell parties before you go on tour with the boys…" … "Yes, why do I ask, haha…". His voice sounded strange, somehow it all came across as a little artificial. But she ignored that… "you'd better tell me what to wear, extra chic or normal bourgeois?".

"stupid question, just normal of course, I've never done a theme party or anything like that. … Besides, you look good in everything you wear". She felt very flattered for a moment and her thoughts wandered a little. / "Are you still there?"/ "Yes, I, …sorry…"/ "hmm?"/ "Oh nothing, Clark… I'll see you later…"

Once the conversation was over, Marisol sat down on one of the sisal mats lying on the beach. "I know Clark. And the way he sounded on the phone… it was kind of weird. I know he's been looking forward to this tour for a long time… But somehow… I don't know." (I like her cute little halo, but it was inevitable that it would show up at that moment^^)

"On the way here, I tried to call Don with the hands-free system in the car…. It rang for ages, and at some point it just went to voicemail. But I didn't say anything on it… If he wants to be with me so much, why doesn't he answer the phone or call me? I think I already know why. Who knows who he's hanging out with again right now.no matter… That just shows me clearly what he's like".

"When I arrived here in the city back then, he was the first person who caught my eye. A handsome policeman in uniform, friendly, charming… I only found out about his penchant for beautiful women gradually. I thought it might change if… But he'll probably never change… Or will he? I'm going to dip my feet in the water for a while". . Marisol enjoyed the cool water so she passed the time until she made her way to the party.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

End of this Part

@cozygirlsimmer💗 Note (or rather a question): who actually always reads the entire texts until the end (or reads it at all)? I know that you often don't have much time to follow everything😊 ... I'm just asking out of interest🥰

[518062]

top 10 grim reaper writing moments

i've written a lot in 2 years, with 68 works published on ao3 (not all of them r good wkjdiej)

but sometimes i hit the mark, i think, and i like to look back on my work. so here's top 10 moments across all fandoms (mostly f1)

10. starting off strong with mafia au maxiel

Daniel squeals in happiness once he reunites with his car. He leans his head against the plush leather seat, wanting to stay like that forever, but he needs to drive, and forgets that a mafia boss is sitting beside him. When he presses the start button, the V10 engine comes alive, and its sound is like a lion’s roar, music to Daniel’s ears. Max stares at the wheel.

“Can you drive?” he asks. “I know cars arouse you. I’ve learned that much, but we have to go now.”

Daniel exhales and smoothly pulls out of the parking spot with one hand on the wheel. “They don’t arouse me.”

“Yes, they do. You’re having an orgasm at the sound of a V10.”

Daniel ignores the accusation and follows the navigation system. He notices a bunch of black cars surrounding him and looks at Max.

“What? I’m a very important person. They protect me.” he says defensively.

“Not me?” Daniel jokes.

“No.” Max says, fiddling with his phone. It’s a tense, awkward ride, but they make it through, and with some small talk, Daniel concludes Max is a FIFA addict—he’s opening packs as the Australian parks on the grand driveway.

“You can head inside. I’m gonna sit in Rafal for a bit.”

“You’re so fucking weird for naming the car.” Max tells him.

“And you’re weird for playing FIFA at your age.” Daniel retaliates.

“It’s perfectly normal, and FIFA is fun. Try it instead of sniffing fresh car leather.”

“I said you can go.” Daniel ignores his statement and gets comfortable in the seat, despite sitting for approximately two hours.

9. charles leclerc's silly boy crisis

After eighteen years, I am the Scuderia’s saviour, and I savour the delight and jubilance it brings me.

The alcohol tastes sweet like victory, like an overpriced, thick hot chocolate in Monaco. I can feel sweat crawl down my back, my fireproof sticking to it like glue. Everything that follows is a blur, a disarray of recollection; time is a never ending refinement, an endless cycle of gambling and comprehension.   

A month passes and I no longer feel sweet. I feel bare, like society has stripped me down and seen my darkest fears, because they’ve seen my highest high—what if they see my lowest low? Is there such a thing?

I sit in silence, sinking into scrutiny. Most of my days fly by like flocks of birds, and I can taste apprehension on my tongue, wet and overbearing.

And so I continuously ask; is this it? Is this how I go now? Do I resign?

For after the calm of the storm is a drizzle. A gentle but demanding rainfall, a reminder. I may be a miracle, but I may also be a mistake. Whenever I close my eyes, I see it—the taunting temptation of yielding.

I ignore my obligations and cry. For what is the purpose of going again? To break a meaningless record? I have served my purpose and now I serve agony, an unavoidable reality.

8. surprise brocedes proposal

“So what’s up? It must be impartial.” Lewis chuckles, nervous. Nico wonders if he is intruding—do they have more meetings? Is it time to analyse data?

Shit.

“I was thinking about what you said at our dinner.” He begins. “And I saw how empty you feel, how alone you are. And I—I know. I know it—I know you. Like you said, I know you more than anyone.” He closes his eyes briefly, making a quick prayer.

God, please don’t embarrass me.

“And I also know how happy I can make you feel. Therefore,” he pulls out a box, refusing to kneel. “I would be delighted if you agreed to marrying me.”

Like gloomy Monaco mornings, everyone stills, just how Nico Rosberg likes it. His cheeks are bright crimson, and his ears are ringing as he waits for an answer; Lewis’ face morphs with astonishment written all over. He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses—a loud thud echoes in the garage as Toto Wolff drops to the floor.

The stillness disappears like rain pouring on the soil. While engineers frantically rush to their boss’ side, Nico and Lewis stay put.

“Bu—“

“This is absurd! Why are you just standing there? Help him!” George Russell interrupts with his eerily blue eyes. Lewis looks at Nico with sorrow, but Nico shrugs, unfazed. He knew it was going to happen.

He did it! He shocked Toto!

7. max being tired of his job

“I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot do that.” This is usually where the customer stops—they analyse the situation and conclude that it’s fine. They’ll make do.

“Who’s we? Do you speak on behalf of the entire company? I’m Charles Leclerc,” he emphasises his name as if Max should know who he is. His attitude is horrible—at this stage, Max calls for the manager and lets her deal with it. But she’s conveniently absent.

“I do not know who you are, sir. I will say it again: we cannot do that.”

“You’re kidding me. See, I hate to be the one, but you hold no value to anyone. I need someone important,” he emphasises the T, “like your manager.”

This is the stage where Max’s cordiality slips away; fuck the customer service bullshit. When someone becomes malicious towards him, he bites back. He couldn’t care less about Charles Leclerc—the reality check was going to be a harsh slap.

“Listen, Charles, the fucking king of who cares—after checking your flight, I’ve realised it is full. This means two things. Seat change is not allowed as it's not mentioned in the terms and conditions. Even if it were, we would have to ask a first-class passenger, and who’s saying they would exchange their nice seat for an economy seat?”

6. neybappe angst insert crying emoji

They went through the ten steps of friendship at unbelievable speeds. After a while, Neymar saw Kylian as more than a friend. There was an underlying truth they both ignored; that they were in love, and with their circumstances, there was nothing they could do except act. Neymar realised, on a frosty night while watching the Eiffel tower, that his aspirations weren’t football related at all—they were emotions, sunken in his heart and tattoos. He wanted love. He wanted more than love. The things he sought after: happiness, tranquillity, guidance; it all came back to his desire for a person. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with—someone who loved his flaws and imperfections, his lifestyle and his soul. On that night, the number seven on his jersey spoke volumes; he was in love with Kylian, and he was not pretending—no—he wanted to show Kylian his version of love. Hyperbolic and fluctuating, fun and heartfelt, devastatingly wrong and destined simultaneously. On that night, he didn’t feel hatred for France anymore. He didn’t despise the weather, or the people, or the president—for France was where his home was, where his lover grew and became who he was, where he grew as a person, where he reunited with a brother and abandoned another.

5. shadow being lovestruck

He had lived an entirely different life where everything was upside down—Maria wasn’t even a thought. The worst aspect of it all was that Sonic had seen everything. That opulent yet skewed reality contained all of Shadow’s contemplations. It made Gerald a loving father, which was something Shadow had yearned for since he saw the light of kindness. His days were occupied with mundane, domestic tasks—a reality Shadow dreamt of often during missions. He liked the idea of not being involved in battles and missions and instead wearing dresses, living a simple life and feeling regal.

It also brought Sonic and him together, like a guardian angel, and now Sonic knew. Sonic knew about Shadow’s immensely hard love for him. He discovered that Shadow’s blinds remained closed because Shadow would stay up all night, drawing Sonic’s eyes with the blinding stars. Sonic saw how nervous Shadow became around him, how his presence affected him greatly.

4. painter max

I am an artist. I like brushes. I like acrylic paint. I sketch with vigour and I paint with woe.

I have a lover. He has murky green eyes and thick lashes. His jawline cuts my skin and his hair transports me to the cruise ships.

My lover likes to watch me paint. He sits by the window; it rains and shines, but his eyes never move away from the canvas. My strokes coincide with his heartbeats. Every bristle that slides across the hardened cotton equalises the breaths he takes.

Seasons pass, and my lover ceases to budge. The canvases just keep coming, like tears at a funeral. My lover says it’s a blessing that my hands move like waltzers and my fingers rest on my brushes like a still baby. I know he knows; I sketch with vigour and I paint with woe.

3. charles panicking

And so he cries, a shattered visage, a broken window, a popped bubble, iridescence and shine diminishing into nothing. He crosses his legs and looks at his hands, freaking out—he has done unimaginable things. He has driven to victory, fought many drunk men, wiped countless tears, devastated the world. His tears drop onto his pale, worn hands—calloused and worn out by racing, living, breathing, being. His hands stare back at him like he is a monster; how can he treat them like this? How can he be so foul? And how can he get the tears to stop? They are surging like a burst pipe, wetting his cheeks and lips. He cannot even wipe his face—his hands do not deserve it. No—he does not deserve these graceful hands. God has given him the opportunity to bring light to the world, and he has let Him down. God should take his hands away!

2. charles being fed up

“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck that and fuck you! Charles responds, ignoring Andrea’s questions. “Look at the outside, Andrea. Look at the paddock and the teams. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that they are laughing at us. They think we’re a circus—merde, we are a circus! You can’t fucking predict the weather? Who are you, Williams? You’re Scuderia Ferrari,” He spits the name like it is a malicious insult, a death threat, a plague, a demon that must be feared. “You,” he points at Andrea’s chest, eyebrows furrowed and eyes vacant of all emotion, “are Scuderia Ferrari. You are the heart of this sport. You own this sport, its fans, its government, fuck—you own me. You own this paddock. The tarmac we race on is yours. The rule book we follow is yours; it is a fucking bible, and we worship it, we worship you, we bend on both knees and beg for mercy, we kiss the Italian flag—” He stops, searching for breath.

“We give our everything, Andrea. And what do we look like? A shit show. A joke. Connerie...”

1. paris is burning but as a motif

“If money wasn’t so important in the world today...to survive. I guess I wouldn’t want anything but what I have now. But since money does...I hope that the way I look puts money in my pocket.” says Octavia St. Laurent. Neymar listens to their wisdom.

“I’ve got to go now.” He states, glancing at the clock on his wall resembling a cat. He wants to be early (early is late - Otis).

“I want everybody to look at me and say ‘There goes Octavia’...”

“Look after the place. And watch the movie. You might learn something.”

“I don’t care about gay people!” Muhammed exclaims.

“It’s way more than that.” Neymar says before locking his friend in.

I didnt rank these by which is the most effective.

i ranked them by how i felt when writing, and how they make me feel now. whether they make me feel proud of this presence i have created through writing, whether i have done rpf justice. i think everyone should do this

anyways thats all. not like itll be seen

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Henry Emily Headcanons: Creepy Yandere Unlocked

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am here with my new chapter! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter here! It is of Henry Emily, in-game canon!] 

(Disclaimer: Henry Emily is not yandere in canon this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

(Disclaimer: This takes place in the Game Verse, Henry Emily will be like he was after he lost his daughter) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Henry Emily From The FNAF Games- 

.Henry Emily seems to be cold and emotionless. 

.He was not always like this, but after his former best friend and business partner killed his daughter.

.His life just got worse and worse. 

.His goal was to kill William Afton and let the souls be put to rest. 

.That was until he met you, the age difference was a bit tricky but he with you started to feel again. 

.He felt alive for once in decades and he wanted to cherish it. 

.You had been a nightguard and when you learned the animatronics had souls he talked you into helping him. 

.You do everything to help this man who seems to have lost everything and he takes it as you having feelings for him. 

.He adores you and wants to spend the rest of his days with you. 

.But he does not want you hurt either, as he knows how dangerous this can be, especially when he realizes that William Afton is alive in springtrap. 

.He needs to put an end to this. 

.He is the type of yandere that may just disappear and or fake his death. 

.Leaving you with more questions than answers, feeling as if he has left you. 

.He would have done it to protect you, like how he could not protect the missing children or his daughter. 

.Though he is watching you, all the time. 

.Not only from like a stalker standpoint where he watches you from afar, which he does a lot. 

.But also he put cameras and a security system in your home to keep you safe when he is not there. 

.He is an obsessive love for you and needs to be close to you. 

.So he would break into your home and steal a few things, a pillow case here, a few pairs of underwear there. 

.He likes books that can be very creepy, with his yandere side that creepy side comes out. 

.He even makes an animatronic that looks and acts like but that is in love with him. 

.To live out his fantasies of being with you. 

.But at some point the animatronic you is not enough and needs to have the real you. 

.He has unknowingly been stroking his creepy yandere side and he was ready to make you his. 

.He would deal with rivals by trying at first to ignore them, but that would not work. 

.So he would use animatronics to scare them away. 

.He would try his best not to be the cause of any of their deaths, he already has so much blood on his hands because of William, and he cannot and would not risk having any more blood on his hands unless he had to. 

.Like if someone hurt you, then all bets are off and he is going to kill them. 

.He learned enough from learning how William killed to get away with it. 

.He knows he is going to hell since he did not know what William was doing when all the signs were there, so what is a few more bodies under his belt, as long as it means that you were safe? 

.He is a self-sacrificing yandere where he would trade his life for yours, and die to keep you safe and sound. 

.He confesses to you the night that fazbear frights burn down. 

.He thinks it is all over and that William is dealt with, he can now have a life with you. 

.If you accept his love he is over the moon and he can live happily ever after. 

.If you do not accept his love, he will inject you with a drug that knocks you out,  and lock you away, with animatronics to keep you inside. 

.You will learn to love him, he needs you to, he has lost so much, he cannot lose you too. 

.Side note if you put your life at risk he would still kidnap you cause he once again CANNOT lose you. 

.He has lost everyone he has ever loved, he cannot lose you either, not when you are the love of his life. 

.He would not be able to go on if he lost you so he would be a protective yandere and do whatever it is to keep you as his and keep you safe. 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]