#Shout out to the psych discord

[elleniemae]

On my way home from PsychCon, I whipped this MASTERPIECE out in like, less than 4 hours. Seriously, this turned out better than I thought it would lol. Enjoy

[that-nefarious-song]

I'm a Shawn Spencer's long sleeve blue polo shirt hater first and a person second

[someverygaymoth]

*°•MASTER POST•°*

Welcome to The Moth Den; Asks are open!

This blog is home to KD!AU, DFT!AU, The Retriver Institute, The Horrors in the Wilde, CFK!AU, The living castle, Bugged!Cross(Bug), and plenty of other AUs. Also check out @mofts-evil-reblogs for my evil reblogs!

(check out my AU details list here)

✨We're Proship✨ Well, what does that mean? No one deserves harassment over writing/drawing taboo topics in a completely fictional fandom with completely fictional characters!

✨ We're comship✨ Well what does that mean? We ship some ⚠️CW⚠️ worthy ships! All are fictional and tagged appropriately. Instructions on how to use the keyword blocker are in this YouTube link! (More about what I draw/discuss below the cut so you can block disliked tags)

Two quick rules!

We're a SFW blog here, I will say we've got some suggestive themes, so I'd say please keep our asks appropriate for a 15+ audience, alright?

I'm being so serious when I tell you do NOT come on my page with anti rhetoric, I use the block button as the Tumblr devs intended,

Links↓↓ and about me↓↓

And a quick note, I do not currently take drawing or writing requests, but I do take suggestions. If you would like to suggest something to draw, I do not guarantee that even if I respond I will do said suggestion or finish it if I do start it.

Please feel free to ask questions about my AUs and the characters within them!

Also my DMs are always open to new writers and new friends! I am literally never bothered by messages, please ask me questions, please write new things, and please have fun! I'm not as awesome as some of you think I am, I'm just another silly person, and I love meeting other silly people.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Here's the link to our SFW Discord, make sure to be kind and pay attention to the rules!

You can find me on AO3 at Some_Very_GayMoth, although not everything on there is SFW, so navigate with care!

And on Twitter, where I never post, @TgayMoth

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

As I mentioned before It's important to note that I do write ✨Comship/dead dove✨ content, and as a psych enthusiast, I believe exploring darkness through fiction can be a positive and safe experience! So, hopefully there's no confusion there. There's a list of what I am comfortable writing about vs not below. (That is why I focus heavily on tagging all of my works adequately, and all of my posts! So that you can block keywords you don't want popping up on your timeline, and you —hopefully— never have to run into anything you don't want to see on my page!)

Please make sure to take care of yourself and pay attention to tags on any of my writing, or any writing in general. If you see something you do not want to see, don't click on it. Tumblr does indeed have a keyword filter, and I will always do my best to use keywords in my posts, so if you do not know how to set up your keyword filter with the things you don't want to see on your timeline, I would highly recommend you check out this link on YouTube that will show you exactly how to do that!

Now that I've mentioned keyword filters— here's what I write/talk about frequently so you can block the tags you don't want to hear about! As well as what tags I have blocked because I don't enjoy them personally, because everybody has boundaries and it's okay to have yours. (Just remember you're responsible for enforcing your boundaries by blocking people and tags you don't agree with/enjoy)

I write angst, violence, hurt/comfort, gore, all that good stuff.

I've written twincest(shout-out to Dreammare)

I've written stuff about anxiety, depression, schizophrenia, disability, all sorts of trauma, lots of that.

I've written Major character death, violence, and some mild gore too! A lot of that is for The Horrors in the Wilde, so keep that in mind, lmao.

Also, cannibalism because vampires! Thanks for that one Moon, Snow, and Stars.

You can block all of those, or block #Comship content to get rid of any mentions of that on my page!

Honestly I think that's all I have, which is kinda L, maybe I need to step up my dark fiction game if this is all I've got. (It can get so much worse and istg I will write worse stuff to spite anyone who's tossing around hate like it's confetti. And I'll tag it properly so they don't have to see it if it makes them uncomfortable. I'm just cool like that.)

Oh btw if you're not tagging your stuff properly or make a fuss about tagging things when someone tells you that you didn't tag something properly, you and me aren't cool. Nothing about that is okay. I will never fuss about someone asking me to add a tag, if I EVER miss something please tell me, I will happily add tags for you and keep them in mind for next time.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

As for my good normal tags, I'd recommend checking out the following on my page:

#bad sans poly

#moft asks

#moft reblogs (stuff important enough to make it onto the main or rambles!)

#moft mootland (my silly rambles with moots)

#moft updates (for series updates and stuff about the blog)

#the retriever institute

#dft!au

#the horrors in the wilde

#kd!au

#cfk!au

#fgp!au

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

About me↓↓

I have been writing for about five years now for the fandom, and I've been here since about the very beginning. Like when we were still figuring out that undertale had a genocide route, lmao. I actually got into UMTV through CPAU and never managed to make it out, lmao. I started posting my writing back in early 2020. It's been so wonderful to see this fandom grow and change, blossoming with many fun aus and beautiful ideas, and I hope I can contribute to many more beautiful ideas on my little corner of the internet.

I have some physical health problems that may make it difficult for me to post more regularly, but I will do my best!

Disclaimer; we are a OSDD system, I've known since about 2022, but it's not something we particularly enjoy discussing online unless it's relevant to a topic at hand. But, to my fellow systems, you're always welcome here. If you have questions, we're comfortable answering them, so feel free to ask.

[redroomroaving]

They asked for no pickles (T, Geraldus x He Who Was modern AU one shot)

Geraldus is having a bad night of service working as a waiter under the terrifying glare of the former 'Raven of Camden Lock', now 'He Who Was', disgraced rising star of the London culinary scene; and he's got an order wrong.

Geraldus x He Who Was, modern restaurant AU one shot fic

(from the Harper Prince Hamlet discord sprint event, thank you to @tickitytockityrattityrottity. for the prompt. If you want to join us on discord to talk about Geraldus, come say hi.)

Geraldus placed the plate down on the pass with a gentle clink, and took a breath, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.

This is ridiculous, it’s just your job. Come on. Everyone makes mistakes.

He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he spoke up, immediately coming out less confident than he had hoped.

Almost immediately, he was met with a pair of dark, almost black eyes, sharp and withering, clouded like a tempest, and felt all of his confidence melt right out through his shoes.

“Yes?” The chef’s hand poised, mid-plating of some delicate micro-greenery, his cold expression speaking the volumes and volumes of irritation contained within that one word reply.

“It’s… uh-”

Geraldus was stumbling, immediately; feeling suddenly very hot in his cheeks in this already unbearably hot kitchen. All around him, the clattering of knives, of sizzling and frying, oil hissing and calls across the crowded space.

“Behind!” A voice called from beyond in the kitchen, and Geraldus’ eyes flitted up quickly, spotting as the sous-chef, Donnick, hurried past him, carrying a pan that was very much on fire.

The chef let out a hiss under his breath, watching him go.

“That is a very expensive Hestan,” he called after him, not quite raising his voice, but not really needing to.

Their Head Chef, who the rest of the kitchen had taken to calling ‘He Who Was’ for reasons that Geraldus thought were rather mean spirited - carried a certain level of menace with even a lowered tone that he rarely needed to.

His work now doubly disrupted, the chef straightened up a bit; letting his tweezers drop now to one side of the plate, and looked at Geraldus once more, fixing him with that disdainful stare that would have made anyone feel like shrinking into the floor.

“‘It’s’ what?” He asked, words sharp and clipped.

It didn’t help that the Chef had almost no interest in fitting into this place; making him stand out impossibly against the surroundings, with his bleached white hair, ridiculous smeared charcoal eyeliner and his numerous tattoos, looking every bit the cool ‘I used to be a real, Michelin star Big Deal, did you know I trained under Michel Roux Jr before I got stuck here with all of you’ hipster he was.

Geraldus steeled himself, standing a little taller now.

“They asked for no pickles,” he said.

The chef looked up at him, and raised a slow, bleached brow.

“They did not,” he said firmly.

Geraldus glanced back towards the restaurant floor, thinking about the irate couple back there, and their specific, scathing fury. He was used to picky customers, and to being treated like he was little more than a floating tray to be shouted at, but this evening had been particularly full of them.

This, of course, being partly why he’d had to psych himself up every step of his path back here to the pass, to face up to Chef Evas and his reckoning with ‘The Raven of Camden Lock’.

“I … they did,” Geraldus said equally as firmly, trying to hold his ground.

The chef held his gaze, his eyes on him the entire time, burning holes right through him as he reached across, ripping the pinned order from its clip in one swift movement and holding it up.

“Harper,” he said bluntly, “read this order.”

Geraldus winced; ‘Harper’ was no kind term, a reference to the old restaurant he had worked at before he’d ended up here, which he knew fully well Evas meant as every bit the unsavoury insult his tone had suggested.

Geraldus took a breath, and looked over it.

“Evas,” he said, gently, and pointed to the scribbled addition in the corner, in bright, sparkling red and circled, ‘NP’, “see?”

Evas’ eyes narrowed further, now looking almost black, and he turned the note over.

“Klaus,” he called out.

As if summoned by magic, Geraldus heard the little, familiar click of metal and jewellery as the maître de appeared beside him, shooting Evas a big, warm grin.

“Fearless leader,” Klaus greeted brightly, and, leaning against the pass, gave Geraldus a quick wink, “tall, dark and handsome.”

Geraldus shifted a little, feeling himself blush a bit, and quickly trying to compose himself.

“Klaus,” Evas said, with a low sigh, “your last minute scribbles do not count as instructions. In future, you will come here, and you will speak to me. Understood?”

Klaus grinned, shooting him a finger gun.

“You got it, sir.”

Evas took the plate from the pass, a deep, world weary sigh as he grabbed the order and returned back to the kitchen in a furious, determined whirl.

Geraldus sighed, feeling all of the tight wired anxiety in him releasing, and slumping against the pass a moment, relieved.

“There there,” Klaus rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little smile, “you survived.”

Geraldus looked up at him, despondent.

“He hates me,” he said.

Klaus shrugged.

“He hates everyone,” he said with a little shrug, “wouldn’t you? One bad review and you go from being ‘The Raven of Camden Lock’ to ‘He Who Was’.”

Geraldus looked up now, watching Evas’ quick form as he cleared through, grabbing another fillet from the prep trays and casting it into the pan artfully, a quick flourish with his fingers as swirled the pan in his particular, unique way, his specific form of artistry the sort of secret Geraldus couldn’t hope to understand.

Ruined reputation or not, he was still the best Chef in London, Geraldus thought.

Klaus and the others didn’t realise how lucky they were to be able to work with someone like that, the kind of person they might never get the chance to otherwise if he hadn’t been kicked out of The Raven Queen.

Klaus was watching him a moment longer, a needling sort of smile growing.

“Is that why all the orders have been wrong tonight, Geraldus?” He asked, wryly, “well well well.”

Geraldus felt himself flushing again.

“I don’t - it’s not…”

A moment later there was a sharp clack, the plate replaced in front of him.

“Without pickles,” Evas said, and waved his fingers across it with a little, sarcastic flourish.

“Thanks,” Geraldus smiled, giving him a quick nod.

He turned, hurrying back to the table as quickly as possible.

–

She looked up at him, expression of disgust growing, eyes widening.

“No,” she said, pushing the plate back towards him, “no we didn’t ask for this.”

Geraldus hesitated, feeling his stomach turning miserably. Not again, he thought; not the third course, now, not to their liking.

“You asked for the panna cotta with-”

“No,” she said, “this is dairy. I said I can’t eat dairy.”

What do you think a panna cotta is? Geraldus thought, frustrated.

“This is the third time you’ve gotten our order wrong,” her husband said, beside her, voice terse and frustrated, face reddening, “I thought this place was supposed to have a reputation - we’d like to speak with him.”

Ah, Geraldus thought miserably. This is what this was really about.

“I can’t - I…”

“He’s here, isn’t he? ‘The Raven of Camden Lock?’”

Geraldus looked between them, hesitant. They’d been hideous all night; the last thing he wanted to do was inflict these two on Evas, too, not after a night like this one.

“Yes, but-”

“Then get him,” the husband demanded, sitting back in his chair with arms folded, “or can’t you even understand an instruction that simple?”

Geraldus sighed. He wasn’t going to have much choice at this rate; these two were that particular kind of trouble that couldn’t be just bargained away. Maybe if he was like Klaus, who seemed to have a way with these things.

He nodded, feeling himself flush with shame, and turned, ready to head back to the kitchen, but, to his surprise, found himself walking straight into the solid wall of another.

He met dark, sharp eyes, looking up at him, expression of subtle exasperation on Evas’ impassive features.

His hand, very briefly, catching Geraldus’ arm. Geraldus felt the sudden shock of his unexpected contact; his fingers surprisingly cool, and his grip surprisingly gentle, but firm.

He swallowed; he’d never actually been this close to him, and now that he was, he was uncomfortably aware of his own speeding pulse. Oh, no, he thought, realising exactly what it was Klaus had been teasing him about earlier.

“He understood you perfectly well,” he turned to look at them, “and has understood you perfectly all fucking evening.”

He turned now, releasing Geraldus as he folded his arms, looking at the couple and tilting his head, just a little, to one side.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He said, “are you satisfied, now you’ve seen me?”

The couple exchanged a look, the husband, in particular, looking a particularly boiling shade of red.

“I can quite see why they got sick of you at The Raven Queen,” the husband started, “with that sort of attitude…”

Evas gave them a small, creeping sort of grin, a little invited menace to it.

“If you are not a fan of our service,” he said, “you’re quite welcome to find better elsewhere. We will not miss you.”

–

Geraldus sucked in a deep breath of cool air, pressing himself back against the wall, looking up at the night. He quickly reached up, finally able to loosen his stifling collar, and pulled his hair free of its tight ponytail, letting it fall across his shoulders - immediately releasing the tension in his scalp.

Gods but that had been the longest night since he’d started at this place.

In the dark, across the alley, he heard a shift, and nearly startled right out of his skin.

Emerging from the shadow, leaning against the wall, Evas held out a lit cigarette to him across the space with a small, inscrutable smile.

Geraldus caught the familiar whiff of it; not a cigarette, he realised, a joint.

“Oh, uh…”

Evas raised a light brow.

“You need it,” he said, “almost as much as I do.”

Geraldus took another breath in. Probably, he thought. He nodded, taking it from him, a quick brush against his fingers.

Shit, he thought, realising he really did have a stupid crush on him.

“I’m sorry about…” Geraldus hesitated, sighing, “everything, tonight.”

Evas’ small smile grew. He took in a step closer as Geraldus took in a deep inhale, feeling the smoke filling up his lungs, a welcome wave of lightness hitting his mind almost immediately.

He tried to hold it in, but found it catching his throat immediately, and couldn’t help but cough, spluttering smoke into the air.

Evas let out a small, sharp, delighted sort of laugh. He’d never heard him laugh; not once, in the entire time he’d worked with him.

“You’ve not done this before, have you?” He asked.

Geraldus shot him a sheepish look, smiling and handing it back to him.

“No,” he admitted, “it’s that obvious, huh?”

“Hmm,” he let out a small, low murmur, “here.”

He took in a breath himself, a deep inhalation, and then stepped forward; reaching for him. His hand circling suddenly around Geraldus’ neck, pulling him towards him.

Geraldus gasped in surprise as Evas brought his lips to his own, parting them with his tongue and exhaling, gently, into his mouth; smoke spilling into his throat, wisping around and between them both in the cold air in tendrils.

Geraldus froze solid, his heart racing into a sudden flurry as he felt Evas’ tongue graze against his own, a sudden spark running through him.

The heady hit of the smoke, the sudden taste of his tongue, salt and peppermint; a kiss, now, gently exploring, as Evas’ fingers about his neck circled just a little tighter.

Evas broke back; a little smoke still curling from his lips, holding his gaze for just a moment there in the dark, before stepping back.

“Good work tonight,” he said, that small smile growing just a little, and flicked the end of the joint to the floor, crushing it under his shoe.

Geraldus held his breath. The smoke in his lungs burning, his heart pounding furiously now as he watched the chef turn and head for the back door, throwing up a hand as he went.

“See you tomorrow, Geraldus,” he said.

Geraldus finally exhaled as the door clicked closed behind him.

Oh, no, he thought, again, standing there helplessly in the dark, listening to the distant sounds of the city and his own furiously beating heart, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now.

[kingofangst]

Wip Thursday (let’s pretend it’s not Saturday)

Tagged by @ksbbb 😎😎 (but pssst ksbbb...it is Saturday🤣)

This is a draft of Chapter 8 of my Teen Wolf AU series: The Wings Of An Enigmatic

The relentless ticking of the clock echoed like a haunting drumbeat, each tick amplifying the weight of the moment.

The sharp scratch of pencils against paper seemed to carve into the tense atmosphere, along with the scribbling sounds of the eraser being too loud and disturbing, mirroring the turmoil within Scott McCall.

Seraph, with his acute supernatural sense of detail, couldn't pretend to not feel and notice the subtle yet painful nuances that painted the canvas of Scott's emotional upheaval.

The audible rustling of pages turning and the steady thump of heartbeats blended into a dissonant symphony. But amidst the cacophony, Seraph discerned the discordant rhythm of Scott's own heart, a thunderous percussion of despair and heartbreak.

Seraph's heightened sensitivity allowed him a visceral experience of Scott's emotional struggle. It isn't just the rise of the full moon that will descend it's supernatural rays on the werewolf, which is his second full moon to be exact, but the emotional hormones of negativity that transpired on that dreadful Friday night between Scott, Allison, Stilinski, Lydia and Whittemore.

It wasn't just a break-up between Scott and Allison, it was a psychological unraveling, an emotional maelstrom that echoed not only in Scott's human psyche but reverberated in the primal depths of his inner wolf.

He also sensed Allison's heartbreak and confusion. While Seraph was exact that she decided to break up with Scott, he noticed that she wasn't faring well either. It was a poignant blend of conflicting emotions: sadness, confusion, hurt and doubt. This wasn't a normal kind of boyfriend and girlfriend relationship.

He realizes Scott and Allison were in love with each other. It makes logical sense as to the ranging and dreadful emotions that are spreading the room. For some odd reason, guilt began to swirl inside of Seraph's stomach, making him nauseated and holding him caged in a vice grip.

Was the guilt that he was suddenly feeling born from the consequences of the events from Friday that he tried to prevent such outcomes like this? Or was it because ever since his fallout with Isaac, he is starting to loose his touch of being cold and neutral?

His perplexed thoughts were interrupted quickly by the loud screeching of a chair, eliciting a wince from Seraph due to his heightened sensitivity before a familiar presence rushes by him and he glances up just in time to see Scott run out the classroom, his heavy panting and intense heart rate echoing in Seraph's ears.

"Mr. McCall!" Harris calls out in surprise, yet he went unacknowledged as the teen wolf never returned back inside. Not long after, Stilinski runs out to follow his best friend, earning a frustrated shout and name call from Mr. Harris.

The guilt that was cursing Seraph's soul and mind started to deepen within his psyche. Part of him is questioning why should he demonstrate care to this situation when he isn't even apart of it? Scott doesn't even know that Seraph is aware of his werewolf status.

Yet the other part of him...wants to remain on the sidelines. He may not want to help, but Scott's innocence and turmoil is what is making Seraph want to aid him as secretly as possible.

Okay so this was long a long draft. I know I was supposed to post chapter 5 on January 24th but I ended up having to take care of an emergency and then this weekend has been hectic. But I will post chapter 5 tomorrow and chapter 6 on February 2nd. Chapter 7 is a filler chapter so I decided to give you guys the canon au chapter.

No pressure tags: @rhyslahey @mmoosen @unsanedes @phantomraeken @scisac @hemlocksandfoxgloves @thiamsxbitch @arewordsenough @chasing-chimeras

[fr3shm3at]

２０２４年０６月１３日

Hello my fellow beans who recently found me, i been attempting to fix my sleep schedule (its 5:30am) but goddamn it i was able to buy a recent corpse party game for $10 and a really niche pinkiepie psych ward visual novel. Shout out to mah bronies for $5. Going to be dropping gameplay on youtube and drop game caps here or gifs :3.

I was able to get my lunch 50% off with the doordash thing. Got a large cappuccino and still paid with tipping $2 less than my meal combo. I got panera which is forever my go to. Sandwich soup combo: Ciabatta Cheesesteak without caramelized onions bc those things are SWEET and mac n cheese with bacon bc it was in deal. SSSSssssssOOOOOOOOOOOooooo goood.

Let me crawl into bed real quick and message my friend before i seal everything up—

TLDR

Ohkay comfy shork. Hiding in my room and the end of the incel dscord era i was promoted “Employee” or Discord Mod.”what an honor . Anywho the Reddit Boy War has not ended and i have infiltrated my way into the Vincel’s Server. I think the weirdos there are trying to set me up with a European 19 year old for whatever ungodly reason (¬`‸´¬). It was very sus.

I been watching this youtuber off and on since 2017. I remember bc i made a discord the same year and i had a crush on this japanese ameriboo that lived in japan using Line💬. Anyway the youtuber’s channel name is Hiding In My Room and the first suggested video was about his first ever japanese girlfriend. I was 7 months in learning Japanese and i picked up a lot of casual speech talking to my friends. So it was RELATABLE. Anyway the next video after was how he got Chlamydia, this is no way hate or shame. Fg. Its just funny content, he’s 35 years old now and found him visiting japan randomly in recommended.

One thing that scares me is— Daniel has TROLLS and I thought he just had a couple of haters. I ended up dm’ing Daniel after stream to join his secret discord bc i thought that was the safe place¿ Compared to chat, I was slightly wrong at first. L8r on the cool people chat and i would try to be nice and only join in using reaction emoji’s and a single reply every 10 minutes. Eventually i was promoted during the end of incel trend as “Employee” or in other words: discord mod in Daniel’s secret server.

Now the finale to explain my montitor

That on the left is my Twitter notifications, the right is “Vincent’s” Server. I only gaslight everyone who fights in Daniel’s server, and Vincent declared war against the RedditBoys. I’m playing neutral to enjoy the show.

How did i get myself here (>XwX< ). But NOT ONLY THAT BUT I FEEL THAT THEY ARE PLOTTING. They’re trying to set me up with “Vincent”. Im not trying to tomoko schizo mode, its just he is not above 21 xD. Anywho i can lay down more secret files i have of this situation l8r. Im ready to CRASH.

[septembersghost]

You’re right, when the Priscilla trailer dropped I spent all day going back and forth with people on Twitter and Instagram, reading hateful comments, etc. By the time I was finished it was the evening. I wasted the whole day doing that and it’s terrible for the psyche. It’s also not worth it. These people carry so much hatred and cruelty in their hearts, and they all sound like a broken record. They may outnumber us, but I’m glad there’s a notable community of fans here filled with love and compassion.

i genuinely don't believe they outnumber us at all either - please remind yourself that social media is a tiny fragment of society, and those of us who use it to engage in fandom or commentary are a smaller fraction still, and people who use it specifically for toxicity and discord are always a minority, albeit a very loud one. hateful comments about anything seem way more powerful online than they actually are, but it's due to that volume and insistence on being nasty, not a reflection of reality. it's part of why the internet can be difficult to navigate - there's such overwhelming negativity and bleakness, because people who want to behave that way are a lot more likely to shout about it than people who are positive and just want to enjoy things. stan twitter is super imbalanced. fans who love something are less likely to draw a lot of attention to themselves because theyre content and having fun just enjoying that interest.

elvis has millions of fans and has for nearly seven decades. most of them are not online arguing, they just love him, and that's the beginning and end of it. there's a reason why his music is still streamed in remarkable numbers. there's a reason why thousands and thousands of people still make pilgrimages to graceland. nothing any hateful remark online says changes that, nothing takes away from it. the use of elvis to project judgements and criticisms onto has also existed since the 50s and seems to change form and shape shift to reflect whatever the times require, and yet none of that is ultimately reflective of him. it's so rarely about his artistry or his humanity, his talent or generosity. it's fans who love him, who understand that depth in him, that have kept his spirit alive. nothing drowns that out. nothing alters it. we don't need negative people who have no empathy for him to tell us who he was, and they're never going to get it, and that's fine. his voice and the heart of him was always given to the people who were willing to listen, to cherish that, and that's still us. he's still ours. the love and compassion we have for him, for each other, for his family, for his legacy and memory, is the most valuable gift and such a beautiful thing we can share together, and i'm so glad for that. that's what's lasting, and it rises above everything else. it's kept him shining all this time, and that isn't going anywhere.

[faunastanza]

TALwire's Egg Change Dream Exchange

TALwire's Egg Change Dream Exchange, by TALwire, Decateranomy, Maya, Art, Stolas, Phesund, Levee, Kain, and others

Been a while, huh? About six months went between the last update and this one, if you're keeping track. The Althar RP ended in the meantime, so we got some closure on all those characters and plot threads that have been introduced over the past year PSYCHE YOU GET NOTHING!!! Just another new parade of inexplicable badly designed characters with no context or continuity that I have to catalogue because a cruel and unfeeling God (my brain) has made this my eternal task.

In terms of real-life drama that may or may not work its way into the comic, the most recent one is Glip being upset about people using or drawing their characters in ways they don't like. Which is an understandable sentiment, except that Floraverse is under the  Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 License and states this prominently in several places. This license specifically says that any thing you submit to this 'verse can be used by someone else writing/drawing in the 'verse for whatever purposes they want. I assume Glip intended to use this to use characters people submitted however they wanted (as their rage meltdown in Circlet of the Sun implies) and didn't expect people to use their characters in the same way. Anyway they're real mad about it.

They've also talked recently about how someone kept drawing porn of Andre a while back, as mystifying a concept as that sounds, and they got so upset and disgusted by this that they decided to revamp Andre into Phesund, which is why he sucks now. Given how Lily and Neon also got killed off out of spite, I suspected something like that was the case for Andre/Phesund/Stolas. I'm pretty sure Amdusias/Orobas/Cress/Min also got shuffled off-stage for similar reasons and Glip doesn't have the guts to kill them off. Funny how it's always the only likeable characters that keep getting replaced...

This update is focused on an RP event in the discord where you had to make a dream for someone else's character. For this, Glip made a dream for Sunbe, who is the player for a character named Maya. They say that the VN features some things that happened in RPs and some that didn't, so not only is this about a dream in an RP, it's a dream about things that maybe didn't even happen and there's no way to know the difference since I wasn't in the RP. This comic was made to torture me personally.

The opening shot has what looks like a Deca/TAL amalgam with a stupid heart chest and a cat that looks a lot like Papaya (this is Maya).

 maya, papaya, this should be easy to keep straight

We start on Rath 1/1, traversing Chlorospace. There's a shot of a five-petaled flower in blue. Two white points appear on it where the petals touch the bud, and then we get a shot of Maya's crying face under it. Stolas in his stupid crown outfit asks "Why is that stupid dog in here? Get out. You. White dog." which really sounds like an upcoming Undertale reference but it's not. He's actually talking to an extremely tired looking white uniqorn thing which we saw a LONG time ago in the Stolas First Speech VN. I actually wondered if maybe everyone just forgot those guys existed because they were never even mentioned until this point. I have no idea what any of them were doing this whole time.

do i LOOK like a dog

Stolas has one of his trademark baby fits and screams for them to get out over and over. We get a shot of Stolas holding that one rabbit from earlier, Clement, in one of his tentacles. Clement shouts at him to "Leave him alone" while Stolas says "Okay", looking kind of red and ominous. It cuts to a shot of Maya tearily shouting at someone to Stop.

We cut to YET ANOTHER variant of Phesund, they seem endless, that has a more Andre-shape to his neck and seems to be dripping paint from the end of his "nose". This Phesund says that if he'd known, he wouldn't- and then cuts himself off, and then says he would have wanted to ask "you" first. Maya, now looking rather happy, asks him to tell her about it if he'd like to.

Phesund then says that it felt kind of creepy to "paint a child" without them knowing. He says it wasn't on purpose and he didn't know either (know what, exactly?) and that it wasn't ill-intentioned, it was just "adventures", and that he liked that. That he didn't get to do a lot of that as a child, and couldn't have a pet either.

This is very weird coming from a Glipsert, given the sheer amount of times Glip has been accused of showing porn to minors, or of turning a blind eye when minors get abused around them. Given how often children getting exposed to things they shouldn't shows up in this comic, this just reads very suspiciously.

maybe this is supposed to be meta with andre as artist and maya as a drawing, but i think that's overly generous

Phesund says he's sorry that it made Maya "uncomfortable to learn" (that he did this, one assumes), and that he'd understand. Maya asks if it's okay to ask some things, and then asks when Phesund found out she was "somebody". Phesund says that it was shortly before his students left the Art Pyramid, but he doesn't remember how he learned.

Maya asks if Phesund knows if the things he made were things that happened to her, then if it made things happen to her. Phesund says he doesn't know. He thought it was a window into something that already existed, but now that she's said that, he doesn't know for sure.

Maya starts crying, saying she has a really big feeling but it's "all messy". Phesund says that's fine. Weeping, Maya says that she feels like Phesund used her.

For some background context on this, there's a VN that someone (let's call them, "Woz") wrote that Glip hosts on their porn sidesite that features child-on-child sexual abuse that was inspired by a girl that Woz was grooming who had the same cocsa experience in real life. Said girl has asked for the VN to be taken down since she feels like it's about her sexual assault but Glip refuses to do so because they say it's actually about them and not her. If this sounds bizarre and complicated I am actually simplifying the entire fracas, you can't go two steps without falling down a rabbit hole with this comic. You can go look up more about it elsewhere if you're really curious, Glip has been posting about it frequently. This whole exchange definitely brings all that to mind at any rate.

Anyway we then cut abruptly to some other thing who asks "which apology this is for". Yet ANOTHER version of Phesund/Andre looks hesitant and says he didn't like the murder attempt dream-that-wasn't-a-dream.

so... a murder attempt then?

Phesund continues saying that he wants to do the opposite of that, which is something that can help save the rabbat's life. Clement, since I think this rabbat is Clement, says "Oh, I was wondering if it was to me," and that was why they felt silly asking. Clement then says they really appreciate this. They say they were struggling to decide if they could forgive Phesund, and now they feel even more conflicted now that they don't know if they can hold Phesund entirely at fault. We get a pull out shot and it turns out Clement is talking to AndrePhesund as painted on the wall.

hey he has the burning wand he used to kill beleth

Phesund says he's also trying to understand what happened, which, join the club!! He's trying to understand that sometimes people don't accept your apology, saying someone named Revere told him that.

Clement says that they don't know if they can accept the apology, because they're still healing. They say something inside of them broke that night, and while they're putting it back together, things aren't the same as they used to be. They say they appreciate what Phesund is doing though. Phesund, looking weepy, asks what healing is like, and if it's okay to ask.

Clement says it feels like finding new pieces of yourself and cutting yourself on them on occasion, and finding out unconscious rules that you follow, but sometimes the pieces are pretty, and so on. Phesund asks what kindness is like in a blatant ploy for pity and attention, given that he's the one who's supposed to be apologizing for hurting Clement. Clement describes it in this odd detached way like most of the people talk on the discord.

and something about being... nice? no, that can't be right

Phesund asks if everyone's connected like that, seemingly puzzled by the thought. He then tentatively asks if Clement is showing kindness to him right now.

We get another shot of the flower from the beginning, with two dots marking the outside of a petal that then form a loop, then TALcat appears. She looks different yet AGAIN.

and THIS iteration of TALcat has RED stripes that go UP

This TALcat has a slightly fluffier tail and is talking to Deca, I think. Deca wonders at how ideas can be intrepreted so vastly, and TAL agrees that they can be. Deca asks how "this" can be worked with, and whether or not it can be changed now that it's already happened, or if it's a guaranteed cycle that must be processed now.

TALcat says that you can modify the cycle but it's already moving, so while you can't stop the movement, you can alter its trajectory and meaning.

i'm thinking of getting some cool lip piercings next, maybe a mohawk

Deca says the good thing about a cycle is that you can see it over and over and figure out how to change it and what it means. TALcat then says that everyone who was in the Art Pyramid while it was sealed (when did this happen and why? oh, right in the RP we never got to see), is a part of "this" cycle currently, even if they aren't in the Pyramid, so their actions can still change the cycle.

Deca asks if that means that everyone who was in contact with Andre in the past is a part of the cycle now, even if they aren't around Andre right now, and TALcat says yes. Deca says this is quite complex, to which TAL agrees. Deca says it sounds like TAL is trying to solve for cycles with unresolved errors as a whole, starting with Andre. TAL confirms this. We get a whole lot of overlays of various TAL shapes, with TAL saying that she's trying to induce free movement in time and space and creation itself.

>:3

One of the shapes kind of looks like Dog on the Floor from the World Egg, so that might have been TAL all along I suppose? Another one kind of looks like that bizarre looking flowery prism thing that showed up in Shizukan's Test last time, and another one kind of looks like Catmoon Andre. So all of those things might have happened in different frequencies? Or TAL is just screwing around with different bodies in this frequency to see what happens. Or maybe this is aLL JUST A DREAM AAAAAAAAAAA

We cut to Phesund and Maya standing on a tree branch. Phesund says he loved the energy that Maya put into her art, and that it could reach him when he felt like nothing else could and he'd forgotten everything else. Maya is crying, again. Phesund says he wants to impart a few things before he goes. He says that who you show your art to and when and why is important, basically.

maya spends a lot of time crying

We cut to some weird pixie thing that says they want to paint Maya. Meanwhile Phesund is on the floor drawing. Phesund goes to show his picture to his mom, who says it's nice. Phesund is upset by this, saying that the picture isn't supposed to be nice. His mom says that he drew a cagroo and a cat, and Phesund protests that it's a FLOWERcat, and that the flowercat's flower means she can feel when her cagroo is hurt, so she bandaged its tail, and it's supposed to be SAD because the cagroo got HURT!! This is the first we've heard of flowers having empathetic powers but it does put Cress's flower in a new light.

Phesund's mom refers to him as Pella and says that she looked at it and thought it was nice, and she doesn't know what more he wants from her. Meanwhile, the pixie thing wearing a TALcat hat is running off while Maya chases after them.

Some weird looking thing I can't parse starts talking about how to re-establish contact with Owel, and that the first thing they need to acknowledge is that it exists. They say it's important to start with the baseline that all life is connected, presumably so no one just starts blasting when they walk in there.

isn't there a neopet that looks like this

The little pixie thing says that it knows about Owel, since that's where its dreamer is. It holds up a picture of Maya, saying that sometimes when it goes to sleep, it talks to her, and it says that Maya is really kind to it. The thing reveals itself a bit more, and I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be TAL in yet another bizarre guise, saying that that's wonderful and that she hopes it'll continue to have nice encounters in its dreams.

now if you'll excuse me, i have to go excavate dirt

And then it just ends. WELL, FINE.

So given this is a dream about things that did or didn't happen in an RP that's over and will never get explained, is there anything to be learned from that? Flowercat flowers connecting people is kind of relevant for Cress. And TAL was apparently meddling with a lot of stuff, but she's kind of always done that. I'm assuming that sequence in Shizukan's Test where Stolas tortured some thing that kind of looked like Clement is what Clement wants an apology for now, but who knows?? None of that was ever explained, and I don't even know if that was Clement anyway.

What was the bit about drawing pictures of Maya being a child, what did that mean?? TAL wants to "solve" for errors in cycles that involve Andre, does that just mean in this frequency or in all frequencies? All of these questions will definitely not be answered in the next update of Floraverse!

[onebadwinter]

Walking out of a fast food place after picking up his lunch, Flash lift his phone up, scrolling through his latest messages, then started posting to his Flashmob discord, taking a selfie of himself and continuing to walk as he texted about his classes, and how psyched he was for summer instead of going to them. When he was run into by someone who just kept running as if a dinosaur or serial killer might have been after them "Hey! What the hell-What's wrong with you!?" The college student shouted before reaching down to pick up the lunch that had been knocked out of his hands, glad the bag didn't break, and started to text his discord again not paying attention to any sort of lawbreaking happening, or monsters really, only speculating about it to his 'friends' on discord "It would be pretty cool if we were attacked by a Kaiju-OH, do you think Spider-Man can lose a fight against a kaiju?!" Typing furiously he asked his discord.

[watercolourferns]

I’ve expressed more than once that we can continue to discuss this through chat. This is because you DO write walls of text without really separating paragraphs and it’s very hard for me to read everything. English is my supposed second language and I have dyslexia.l and I’m neurodivergent, I told you about the chat or discord because of these things. You’ve ignored these accommodations twice now.

I know it’s confusing, this is because I can’t express myself correctly nor fully because reading you is overwhelming with the way you write, your tone is also starting to hop between passive aggressive and neutral, it’s confusing.

Yes it came off as rude. The books you mention don’t have the lore that EA surrounded herself with, though. Therefore it’s not comparable. They’re based on the authors experiences but not insisted on them being 100% factual. Based on the author’s life is very different from autobiographical. One is taken as “this situation’s take inspiration from reality but aren’t reality”, the other is a recount of reality.

The Yellow Wallpaper isn’t even viewed as autobiographical, it’s taken as horror fiction.

There, it says so, horror fiction. It’s based on her experience with the “rest cure” yes, but she never claimed it was autobiographical.

I think thank e who doesn’t know what autobiographical means is you. Go read “Girl, Interrupted” by Susanna Kaysen, that’s an autobiographical memoir from her stay at a mental hospital in the 70’s.

Everything you say about the book revisions makes it not autobiographical, too. Even if there’s a fall out, even if she used Emily with a Y to showcase the violence women suffer in psych wards… the autobiographical part shouldn’t be touched because it’s the real part of the book. It’s how things happened.

And her removing her “friends” from the book shows that once she’s moved on she rewrites her history to fit her narrative better, but yes… let’s agree to disagree.

I’m also done with this topic. We agree on some stuff and disagree on other, that’s just how human interactions are.

But I think that for the sake of both our mental healths I’m gonna block any future interactions with you. You read extremely ambiguous in your intent and I don’t like it. And it could be me? Sure, but it makes me uncomfortable and I don’t think we will have any better interactions. I’m glad we didn’t call each other names nor shouted at each other, tho.

Have a good night/day!

@watercolourferns

sorry, I did delete the post because I realize I was a bit heated. not trying to target anyone, just express my point of view, and maybe have a conversation. I'm mentally ill too, I think probably there aren't many EA fans who aren't, tbh. if other people have access to effective recourse when doctors mistreat them, obviously that's a good thing, that should be the standard in every case. but I still seriously don't understand what the point is of just restating that hospital administration exists, especially in response to someone else on that post sharing their own experience of how ineffective it can be. I will admit, I haven't read the more recent revisions of her book, but I can't imagine she's changed so much as to stray terribly far from the message "mental healthcare is still frequently bad for patients". Again, I don't want to attack you personally, however the original confession IS blatant victim blaming, and I am genuinely confused by your responses. I'm putting this under a read more so you don't feel like I'm putting you on blast or anything, but if it makes you feel any better to know, this is a blog that only has 2 followers anyway

[gentil-minou]

prpr no hug rule 👁👁

i answered this already but i founds the intial discord thread i wrote this in (shout out to @ghostlyhamburger who i talked to about it) and here's another idea i was going to include

So the original idea is the psych tells them to cuddle and share a bed (again i could not find a legitimate reason kjdshfkjds maybe the psych thinks they are just in love but scared idk this is fic leave me alone) and them cuddling is actually the BEST sleep they've ever had and it feels magical and then it's a little bit new and scary but they love it and they get really touchey feely.

And then the next week they aren't allowed to touch at all. And then they are MISERABLE as a result

Mari reaches the point of cranky and horny frustration and wants to break the rules so badly because she needs proper sleep but Adrien is the kind of person who reads a manual three times before unpacking the parts so he's like no mari we gotta listen to the therapist!!! What if we fail therapy!!!!!

Week 2 ends with both of them ambushing the other and attacking for hugs in the apartment. And kissy kiss

There was also meant to be this really angsty moment where Chat has another close call and all mari wants to do is hug him and damn the rules but they're important to him so would he hate her.

Meanwhile Adrien is just desperate for a hug but doesn't know how to ask cause mari was always the hugger and he doesn't know where to start, how to ask for a hug? So the miraculous ladybugs save the day and Chat is back and Ladybug runs to him. But then she stops and he doesn't move any closer, and they just stare at each other across the distance.

Man now that im remembering this prompt it is soooooo delicious hmmm. But again, stupid therapy ethics would never allow this dskjghsd`

[elleniemae]

[Criminals ur Shawn Spencer] oops

[k3rm1e]

heyo!! i was wondering if you would mind writing hc’s for a reader who just had a major accomplishment but their parents don’t really congratulate them or anything, and then philza celebrates with them instead and tells reader how proud he is. i kinda want some dadza comfort rn :’) anyway, thank you sm!! have a great day <3

accomplishments

heyo!! i was wondering if you would mind writing hc’s for a reader who just had a major accomplishment but their parents don’t really congratulate them or anything, and then philza celebrates with them instead and tells reader how proud he is. i kinda want some dadza comfort rn :’) anyway, thank you sm!! have a great day <3

hello anon! i’m sorry i took a while to answer this. i went a bit off track with this and got A LOT more angsty, so i’m really sorry about that. If you want me to make a much more fluffier or mellowed-out version, i’d be happy to. please, read the trigger warnings before reading this.

i don’t plan on writing more angst-y things like this, especially not this angsty, so don’t worry. once again, please, if you would like me to rewrite this into a less emotional version i’d be happy to

cw: swearing

tw: talk of god and the church, slight manipulation, repetition of words

accomplishments:

  holy shit. you were in disbelief. a state of shock. one million twitch followers. one. million. followers. you were silent. shock can have many effects on a person. some scream and laugh out of joy, or a misplaced sense of mania. others cry, because they cannot handle it. some remain confused, because their brains are unable to conceptualize the event. you were silent.

  what should you do? would a “thank you” tweet be good enough or would it come off as insincere? should you wait to stream? or would that make people feel you didn’t care because you took so long? through the anxiety you could feel the true realization that you now had one million followers. like a truck, you were hit with the most excited feeling ever. getting up, you jumped around your room. you spun and jumped and cheered and whooped and yelled and smiled and danced and were overflowing with joy, with the acknowledgement that you had done it, you had really fucking done it. 

  opening the window above your desk, without a single fuck, you screamed. “WHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! FUCK YEAH!!!!!!” let’s just hope your neighbors don’t wake up.

  you stayed up all night, celebrating. tweeting out a thank you, you received congratulations from your fans and friends while you talked with the people in your discord vcs.

  in the morning, your mother and father had woken up. with a newfound determination, you ran downstairs. streaming was your passion and you wanted to tell the world what you had done. but, because of limitations, your mother was your metaphorical world.

  “mom! mom! mom! mother, mother, mumther!!” you shouted, dashing down the stairs, tripping over your feet. stupid wood flooring and slidy socks.

  from your place at the bottom of the stairs, you heard her sigh, “yes, sweetie?”

  you bounded over to her, setting your arms on the kitchen counter. from the hallway you could see your dad, who was sitting on the couch drinking his sunday morning coffee. “mom! guess what?” without giving her time to respond, you shouted, “i hit one million follows on twitch! one freaking million!”.

  your mother didn’t seem as enthusiastic as you. “is that why you were causing such a ruckus last night? and, watch your mouth, even though ‘freaking’ isn’t a ‘true’ curse, i don’t want you swearing. especially not on the lord’s day. i couldn’t fathom going to church everyday, only to allow you to have a mouth like that.” she continued to stare at her work papers.

  “oh, uh, okay mother. dad? did you hear me? i hit one million on twitch.” you awkwardly turned your head over to your father.

  “she’s right, you know that, don’t you sweetie?” your father stood up, and made his way into the kitchen. “language like that, it’s shameful. surely, we don’t need you to have a private session with father paulson, do we?” your dad stood next to your mother, rubbing her back as he stared at you.

  “no, no, of course not. um, i’m gonna go upstairs now.” you turned around, wishing you could simply disappear.

  “without breakfast? are you truly that upset with us? we can’t have you ending up like those people, committing sinful acts and going to hell. god would never forgive you. we’re already taking a risk allowing you to stream, putting yourself out there.”

  both your mother and father stared at you. your blood felt like ice in your veins. the white walls of your house seemed so much brighter, yet duller at the same time. everything felt a white-pure-pink-orange. your breathing got uneasy. choppy. in, out, out, in, in, in, out, in, in, out, out for different increments of time. 5, 3, 2, 7, 10, 9, 6, 4, 1, 6, 8, seconds, over and over and over.

  “we just wanna protect you, dear. we love you, don’t you get that?” your mother stared at you.

  you felt like a scene in those movies. the ones that directly cater to teens who thought their lives were shit when in reality they just hadn’t grown up enough to make sense of something yet. were you one of those teens? or is this actually wrong. you don’t think it is, but you don’t talk to others about this. family matters stay in the family was a common phrase repeated in your household. the church was family, they could know. your mother and father, they could know. others, they must not know, never know.

  “of course, mother, father.” you wanted to force yourself to speak, but syllables were incapable of getting past your lips. your mouth was full of peanut butter from the sandwiches served in your elementary school cafeteria. but, the partly frozen chocolate milk always washed it down. “of course. i love you guys too. love you.” you smiled, a disgusting smile that felt violating to exist on your face, violating, violating, violating.

  you dashed up the stairs, to your room, up, up, up. running in, you wanted to slam the door, scream out the window, puch your pillow, smash your pc, cry, whatever you could do to get out your emotions. but instead, you lightly shut your door and slowly walked over to your desk chair to see who was online. you would go live later. it was only 5 AM, after all. they could wait. at least, you hoped they could.

  opening discord, just to see what everyone was doing, you saw philza minecraft was online. you went over and messaged him, ‘phil. philza. philza minecraft. vc please?’ in response, you received a short, ‘sure m8, gimme a minute’ you waited, until you heard the noise confirming he had joined.

  “good morning phil.” your energy from before had receded back into the confines of your chest. the prior excitement was gone and replaced with a feeling of fatigue.

  “morning mate, how are you? congrats on the one mill!” phil sounded excited, happy for you. you smiled, chuckling a bit.

  “i’m alright man, just tired. how are you? and, thanks for the congrats.” you smiled, feeling the fatigue set in.

  “i’m good. but you, you don’t sound very good. couldn’t sleep, could ya’? that was how i was when i hit one mill. way too excited to sleep.”

  “yeah. yeah, i’m just tired.” you were getting a bit too tired to talk. the day had barely started, and yet the full-body emotional exhaustion had set.

  “‘just tired’? the hell happened kid?” phil’s voice sounded concerned. fuck. the last thing you wanted to do was worry him. he had his own life and you had already caused enough trouble today.

  “it’s nothing big phil, seriously. just my parents.” there, a slight bit of information. family matters still within the family, just a few words.

  “they being shitbirds? or are you lying, and something big did happen?” he was being inquisitive, which was dangerous. questions were dangerous.

  “no, why would i lie?” his inquisitiveness would continue, you knew. so you spilled the metaphorical beans. “they just, just weren’t as supportive as i’d wished they were when i told them. i was really psyched, y’know? and them, just sort of, not giving a shit? i don’t know man, it just feels bad.”

  “i get you. it’s shit, when people don’t care about your accomplishments. my parents never really saw streaming as a true profession in the beginning, which led to shit like you describing. i promise it gets better though, even if it feels like shit now. and, for what it’s worth, i’m proud of you.”

  “it’s fine phil, you don’t need to try to make me feel better. i’m okay, seriously.” you didn’t need or want his pity. accepting it would feel patronizing.

  “no, you need to understand that i’m not fucking around. one million is a big fuckin’ thing, especially for you who hasn’t been streaming all that long to achieve. it’s fucking amazing, mate. be proud of yourself, for christ’s sake.” his fake anger chimed through your headphones. even though you were being berated, you still felt better.

  “thank you, phil. i needed that.”

  “your welcome, mate. and look, anytime your parents are being shit, don’t try to hold it all in. call me, or wil, or someone, okay? don’t hold that shit in.”

  you fake sighed, just to piss him off. “okayyyyyy….”

  “good. now, go take a nap or some shit. i love you, kid.”

  “love you too, dadza.” this time, your words didn’t feel forced. the smile on your face wasn’t violating, but an invitation to better times. it would be alright. okay.

[imaginationfanstar]

She-Ra Greek Mythological Head Canons

The cast of She-Ra as Goddesses and Demigods

- Adora daughter of Hippolyta (Queen of the Amazons) or Ares or as Hyppolyta or Zeus/Hera (Leader of the Goddesses) ⚔️🛡👑

- Catra daughter of Athena or Belona (Roman) or as Athena 💡♟🦉=🐈

- Glimmer daughter of Selene (Angella) or Hecate or as Selene/Artemis, Psyche, or Hecate - the moon 🌙✨🔮

- Bow son of Aphrodite or Apollo or as Eros or Apollo - the sun 💘🏹☀️

- Perfuma daughter of Demeter or as Demeter🌾💐🍀

- Scorpia daughter of Zeus or as Hestia ⚡️☮️🌻

- Mermista daughter of Poseidon or as Poseidon 🐚🐬🔱

- Sea Hawk son of Hermes or Apollo or as Hermes or Apollo (with a Rapier rather than a Bow) - adventure, fire, shanties ⚓️🔥🎶

- Frosta daughter of Khione or as Khione (Snow) 🧣❄️🧤

- Spinnerella daughter of Zephyr or as Zephyr (Wind) 🌬🌪🌀

- Netossa daughter of Nike or as Nike (Victory) 🏆♟🏵

- Huntara daughter of Ares or as Ares 🗡

- Double Trouble child of Eris or Aphrodite or as Eris or Aphrodite - drama and discord 🎭

- Entrapta daughter of Hephaestus or as Hephaestus or Persephone 🛠🔭👸

- Hordak son of Hades or as Hades ☠️⚰️🤴

- Shadow Weaver daughter of Nemesis or Hecate or Apprentice of Circe or as Nemesis (Revenge) or Hecate🥀🩸📿

- Prime as Kronos 🦠🔋

They’d either attend Camp Half Blood or Camp Jupiter as Demigods. As Godesses and Gods the hiarchy from the show would stay the same.

These are some myths and stories I think would fit SPOP stories and character dynamics: Achilles and Patroclus, Meg and Hercules, Eros and Psyche, The Oddessy, Atalanta and Meleager/Hippomenes, Perseus and Andromeda, Hades and Persephone, Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, Wonder Woman, and Barbie and the Diamond Castle.

I’ll post head canons for these later. Please leave comments I want to know what you guys think 💭😉.

*Shout out to @rosegirl6140 for her suggestion about Shadow Weaver 👍🏾

[someonefantastic]

If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad…

More migraine Shawn and roommate stuff! Basically I headcanon that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet all lived in the loft together between s8 and the first movie. Also if you want more fics on Shawn and migraines, then feel free to check out my day 3 or @bijulesspookyohara​'s day 5. Shoutout to the folks of the psych discord, primarily @victoriantrashjohn for coming up with the concept and jackal switch for a lot of these migraine remedies. Oh and also @tonystarksspoopyhouseofkids because she drew this adorable pic of Shawn that inspired a scene in this. And shoutout to @chaosintheavenue for beta reading this! Summary: Shawn has a migraine. It's a good thing his best friend and his girlfriend are there to help. Warnings: migraines, nausea, ambulances ___ Shawn groaned as he snuggled deeper into the couch, barely even able to open his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day- he had spent most of it trying to infiltrate an illegal jewelry ring with little success, just another failure on his quest for Juliet’s engagement ring- and he was in the middle of a full blown migraine. He had seen it coming, recognized that the sharp pains in his brain and the small ripples of nausea could easily lead to later pain, but he had ignored it, instead letting the image of his girlfriend (fiancėe’s) elated face spur him to work harder.

And now he was suffering the consequences. No ring, no joyous girlfriend (fiancėe), just a massive, brain pounding, vision blurring migraine.

He sighed, pulling the fluffy blanket tighter around him. He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over his head, its soft fabric enveloping him. A pair of child-sized kitty earmuffs were placed squarely on his temples while the sounds of 80s heavy metal filled the air. The shades had been drawn keeping the sun from invading- not that there was much on a rainy San Francisco evening- and the room was cast in a red glow, the source being a small red LED candle that Jules had bought him. It was cozy and nice and he could almost forget the incessant pain in his head.

There was a jiggling at the door and Juliet and Gus walked in, their loud joyous laughter causing him to wince. They paused, and he caught Juliet frowning as Gus walked over and collapsed into the armchair besides him.

Juliet’s hair was falling out of her half-ponytail, Gus’ tie was slipping from its knot, they smelled like coffee.

“Headache?” He asked, voice much quieter.

Shawn barely nodded, squeezing his eyes tight as sharp pains radiated through his skull.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Juliet’s soft voice spoke from his side. Warm fingers gently brushed his hair and he relaxed into her touch. “Did you take anything?”

His voice was strained, “Ibuprofen, a few hours ago.”

Gus spoke up, “He could take acetaminophen. It works differently than ibuprofen so it won’t cause any problems.”

“Perfect,” Her lips pressed against his forehead, “I’m going to go get changed and get you some meds.”

“Thank you,” He muttered, sad when she pulled away.

“Can you get me some too?” Gus asked, beginning to undo his tie, “My side is killing me.”

“Sure thing.”

After her small footsteps faded away, Shawn cracked an eye open. “What’s up with you?”

Gus frowned. “I pulled a muscle lifting boxes for that cute girl in marketing.”

His memory flashed back. A woman in blue, long black hair, Gus doing the thing with his nose. “Michelle?”

“Yeah… it was all for nothing, I overheard her talking about some dude named ‘Levi’.”

“Tough luck bud. That’s a solid name.”

“You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed Gus rubbing his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hey, where is the heating pad?”

Shawn jerked his head back, groaning as the motion caused the throbbing to double. That wasn’t his brightest idea. “Under Jules’ side of the bed. Just make sure to put it back when you’re done, she needs it for cramps.”

“Ah,” Gus nodded, standing up, “Sure thing.”

A stain on Gus’ pant leg, the carpet was rumpled, an empty can under the chair.

He shut his eyes tight again, trying to stop himself from noticing, an in vain attempt to ward off his abilities. Instead he flashed backwards, various images and memories jerking to the forefront of his mind, waves of nausea close behind.

His blue bouncy ball in fourth grade, divorce papers being signed, a bright smile on a beautiful blonde.

His jaw clenched, swallowing roughly as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down. He leaned forward, trying to focus on the music around him. The beats moved in and out, giving him something to concentrate on.

“Babe?”

His eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of his girlfriend (fiancėe). Her hair was now all the way down and she had pulled on his Thunderbirds sweatshirt. Even though she was only wearing the hoodie because it smelled like him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride- after all, she usually refused to wear any football team’s merch aside from the Dolphins’.

“Here.” She handed him some pills and water which he promptly took, noting how Gus did the same.

The cool water felt nice but did little to soothe the ache in his head. “Thanks.” He frowned, noticing how her knuckles were bruised, “Did you get into a fight?”

“What?” She glanced at her hand, giving a good natured shake of her head at his abilities. “No- well, kind of. I was sparring with Sam and accidentally punched him square in the jaw.”

He chuckled, “That’s my girlfriend.” Not noticing how she frowned at the term.

Now that his eyes were open, his brain leaped back at the chance to pick up on things.

Small smudge of mascara under her right eye (probably missed it when washing her face), a few crumbs above Gus’ lips, dog hair on the hoodie sleeve.

He groaned as a sharp pain erupted in his head, vision blurring and stomach churning dangerously.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice was worried and he soon found her sitting next to him, guiding his head to her lap. She shushed him, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. “I need you to stop thinking, okay? Just focus on my hands.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed, allowing himself to fixate on her and only her. He felt warm and safe in her arms, her presence always serving to be a beacon in his crazy mind. Honestly he couldn’t imagine life without her, ever since he walked into that dinner nine years ago she had become a permanent staple in his life. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt. Even though the idea of marriage still terrified him, he knew deep down that he didn’t want to marry anyone else but her.

“I love you,” He muttered, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

“I love you too Shawn,” He could hear the soft smile in her voice, “Get some rest.”

He snuggled deeper, a small smile on his lips. Her hands would occasionally drift over to his temples, rubbing where the earmuffs weren’t situated. It was very calming and soon he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

Somewhere between Judas Priest and Holy Driver he heard a groan- and not from the music. It dragged him out of his sleep. Vision blurry and head foggy, he cracked open his eyes. The groan sounded again. He barely registered Juliet’s hand pausing it’s soothing motion and her concerned voice, instead his eyes were on his best friend. Gus was clutching his side, the color draining out of this face.

Jerking upright, he ignored how his head throbbed. “Gus? You okay?”

There was no answer as Gus’ eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Gus!” Shawn and Juliet yelled in unison.

In a flash they were both at his side, Juliet’s fingers on his neck and his hand being held tightly by Shawn. “He’s still alive, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Memories flashed through Shawn while his mind burned.

A large crowd, pain in his side, sweating, collapsing, a white room.

He should have noticed sooner, should have seen the signs. If it wasn’t for his headache-

“I think his appendix burst.” He all but shouted, words tumbling out of his mouth. This was all his fault, he should have noticed, he was trained for this for pete’s sake. The one thing he was good at was picking up on information, little things that most people didn’t notice.

He had failed Gus.

Looking back, he remembered the time between Gus collapsing and the ambulance coming so clearly but in the middle of it all, it frankly felt like a blur of regret and blame and worry.

As he watched Gus’ unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance, his hands shook, tears threatening to fall. Juliet grabbed his hand, beginning to lead him to her car. The paramedics only had room for one person but selfishly he needed Juliet to be his rock. He wasn’t sure if he could hold on without her.

She squeezed his hand, wide, worried eyes gazing up at him. “He’ll be okay.”

Nodding mutely, he followed her to the car. All he could hope was that she would be right.

[dustedmagazine]

Slept Ons: The Best Records of 2020 That We Never Got Around To

Tattoos and shorts! How did we miss the Oily Boys?

It happens pretty much every year.  After much fussing and second-guessing, the year-end list gets finalized, set in stone really, encapsulating 12 months of enthusiastic listening, and surely these are the best ten records anyone could find, right? Right?  And then, a day or a week later, someone else puts up their list or records their year-end radio show, and there it is, the record you could have loved and pushed and written about…if only you’d known about it.  My self-kick in the shins came during Joe Belock’s 2020 round-up on WFMU when he played the Chats.  Others on our staff knew, earlier on, that they weren’t writing about records they loved for whatever reason — work, family, mp3 overload, etc. Except now they are.  Here.  Now. Enjoy.  

Contributors include me (Jennifer Kelly), Eric McDowell, Jonathan Shaw, Justin Cober-Lake, Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell, Michael Rosenstein and Patrick Masterson. 

The Chats — High Risk Behavior (Bargain Bin)

High Risk Behaviour by The Chats

Cartoonishly primitive and gleefully out of luck, The Chats hurl Molotov cocktails of punk, bright and exploding even as they come. They’re from Australia, which totally makes sense; there’s a sunny, health-care-subsidized, devil-may-care vibe to their down-on-their luck stories. Musically, the songs are stripped down like Billy Childish, sped up like the Ramones, brute simple like Eddy Current Suppression Ring. Most of them are about alcohol: drinking, being drunk, getting arrested for being drunk, eating while drunk…etc. etc. But there’s an art to singing about getting hammered, and few manage the butt-headed conviction of “Drunk & Disorderly.” Its jungle rhythms, vicious, saw-toothed bass, quick knife jabs of guitar frame an all-hands drum-shocked chant: “Relaxation, mood alteration, boredom leads to intoxication.” Later singer Eamon Sandwith cuts right to the point about romance with the couplet, “I was cautious, double wrapped, but still I got the clap.” The album’s highlights include the most belligerently glorious song ever about cyber-fraud in “Identity Theft,” whose shout along chorus buoys you up, even as the dark web drains your savings account dry. The album strings together a laundry list of dead-end, unfortunate situations, one after another truly hopeless developments, but nonetheless it explodes with joy. Bandcamp says the guitar player has already left—so you’re too late to see the Chats live—but it must have been fun while it lasted.

Jennifer Kelly

Oliver Coates — skins n slime  (RVNG Intl)

skins n slime by Oliver Coates

2020 was a year of loss, of losing, of feeling lost. Whether weathering the despair of illness and death, the discomfort of displacement or the drift of temporal reverie, English cellist Oliver Coates creates music to reflect all this and more on skins n slime. Using modulators, loops and effects, Coates employs elements from drone, shoegaze and industrial to extend the range of the cello and conjure otherworldly sounds of crushing intensity and great beauty. Beneath the layering, distortion and dissonance, the human element remains strong. The tactility of fingers and bow on strings and the expressive essence of tone form the core of Coates composition and performance. If his experiments seem a willful swipe at the restrictions of the classical world from whence he came, the visceral power of a track like “Reunification 2018”, which hunkers in the same netherworld as anything by Deathprod or Lawrence English, the liminal, static bedecked ache of “Honey” and the unadorned minimalism of “Caretaker Part 1 (Breathing)” are works of a serious talent. skins n slime is an album to sit with and soak in; allow it to percolate and permeate and you’ll find yourself forgetting the outside world, if only for a while.  

Andrew Forell  

Bertrand Denzler / Antonin Gerbal — Sbatax (Umlaut Records)

Sbatax by Denzler - Gerbal

Tenor sax player Bertrand Denzler and drummer Antonin Gerbal released this duo recording last summer which slipped under the radar of many listeners. Denzler is as likely to be heard these days composing and performing pieces by others in the French ensemble ONCEIM, playing solo, or in settings for quiet improvisation. But he’s been burning it up as a free jazz player for years now as well. Gerbal also casts a broad net, as a member of ONCEIM, deconstructing free bop in the group Peeping Tom, or recontextualizing the music of Ahmed Abdul-Malik along with Pat Thomas, Joel Grip and Seymour Wright in the group Ahmed amongst many other projects. The two have worked together in a variety of contexts for a decade now, recording a fantastic duo back in 2014. Sbatax, recorded five years later at a live performance in Berlin is a worthy follow-up.  

Gerbal attacks his kit with ferocity out of the gate, with slashing cymbals and thundering kit, cascading along with drubbing momentum. Denzler charges in with a husky, jagged, repeated motif which he loops and teases apart, matching the caterwauling vigor of his partner straightaway. Over the course of this 40-minute outing, one can hear the two lock in, coursing forward with mounting intensity. Denzler increasingly peppers his playing with trenchant blasts and rasping salvos, riding along on Gerbal’s torrential fusillades. Throughout, one can hear the two dive deep in to free jazz traditions while shaping the arc of the improvisation with an acute ear toward the overall form of the piece. Midway through, Denzler steps back for a torrid drum solo, then jumps back in with renewed dynamism as the two ride waves of commanding potency and focus to a rousing conclusion, goaded on by the cheering audience. Anyone wondering whether there is still life in the tenor/drum duo format should dig this one up.  

Michael Rosenstein

Kaelin Ellis — After Thoughts (self-released)

After Thoughts by KAELIN ELLIS

To be sure, “slept on” hardly characterizes Kaelin Ellis in 2020. After a trickle of lone tracks in the first months of the year, a Twitter video posted by the 23-year-old producer and multi-instrumentalist caught the attention of Lupe Fiasco, quickly precipitating the joint EP House. It’s a catchy story from any number of angles — the star-powered “discovery” of a young talent, the interconnectedness of the digital age, the silver linings of the COVID-19 pandemic — but it risks overshadowing Ellis’s two 2020 solo records: Moments, released in the lead-up to House, and After Thoughts, released in October. It doesn’t help that each album’s dozen tracks scarcely add up to as many minutes, or that the producer’s titles deliberately downplay the results. And some, of course, will judge these jazzy, deeply soulful beats only against their potential as platforms for some other, more extroverted artist. “I’d like to think I’m a jack of all trades,” Ellis told one interviewer, “but in all honesty my specialty is creating a space for others to stand out.”

Yet as with all small, good things, there’s reward in savoring these miniatures on their own terms, and After Thoughts in particular proved an unexpected retreat from last fall’s anxieties. Ellis has a poet’s gift for distillation and juxtaposition, a director’s knack for pathos and dramatic sequencing — powers that combine to somehow render a fully realized world. As fleeting as it is, Ellis’s work communicates a generosity of care and concentration, opening a space for others not just to stand out but also to settle in.

Eric McDowell   

Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry — At the Ends of the World

At the Ends of the World by Lloyd Miller with Ian Camp and Adam Michael Terry

Miller and company fuse the feel of a contemporary classical concert with eastern modalities and instrumentation. The recordings sound live off the floor, and give a welcome sense of space and detail to the sensitive playing. Miller has explored the intersection between Persian and other cultural traditions and jazz through the lens of academic scholarship and recorded output since the 1960s. With this release, the performances linger in a space where vibe is as important as compositional structure. The results revel in the beauty when seemingly unrelated musical ideas emerge together in the same moment, with startling results.

Arthur Krumins

 Oily Boys — Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)

Cro Memory Grin by Oily Boys

The title of this 2020 LP by Australian punks Oily Boys sounds like a pun on “Cro-Magnon,” an outmoded scientific name for early humans. It’s apt: the music is smarter than knuckle-dragger beatdown or run-of-the-mill powerviolence, but still driven by a rancorous, id-bound savagery. The smarts are just perceptible enough to keep things pretty interesting. Some of the noisier, droning and semi-melodic stretches of Cro Memory Grin recall the records made by the Men (especially Leave Home) before they decided to try to make like Uncle Tupelo, or some lesser version of the Hold Steady. Oily Boys inhabit a darker sensibility, and their music is more profoundly bonkers than anything those other bands got up to. Aggro, discordant punk; flagellating hardcore burners; psych-rock-adjacent sonic exorcisms — you get it all, sometimes in a single five-minute passage of Cro Memory Grin (check out the sequence from “Lizard Scheme” to “Heat Harmony” to “Stick Him.” Yikes). A bunch of the tunes spill over into one another, feedback and sustain jumping the gap from one track to the next, which gives the record a live vibe. It feels volatile and sweaty. The ill intent and unmitigated nastiness accumulate into a palpable force, tainting the air and leaving stains on your tee shirt. Oily Boys have been kicking around Sydney’s punk scene since at least 2014, but this is their first full-length record. One hopes they can continue to play with this degree of possessed abandon without completing burning themselves to down to smoldering cinders. At least long enough to record some more music.

Jonathan Shaw

 Dougie Poole — The Freelancer's Blues (Wharf Cat)

The Freelancer's Blues by Dougie Poole

A cursory listen might misconstrue the heart of Dougie Poole's second album, The Freelancer's Blues. When he mixes his wobbly country sound with lyrics like those in “Vaping on the Job,” it sounds like genre play, a smirking look at millennial life through an urban cowboy's vintage sound. Poole does target a particular set of issues, but mapping them with his own slightly psychedelic country comes with very little of the postmodern itch. His characters feel just as troubled as anyone coming out of 1970s Nashville, and as Poole explores these lives with wit and empathy, the songs quickly find their resonance.

The album, though it wouldn't reach for pretentious terms, carries an existential problem at its center. Poole circles around the fundamental void: work deadens, relocation doesn't help, spiritual pursuits falter, intelligence burdens, and even the drugs don't help. When Poole finally gets the title track, the preceding album gives his confession extra weight, a mix of life's strictures and personal limitation combining for a crisis best avoided but wonderfully shared. The Freelancer's Blues comes rich in Nashville tradition but finds an ideal fit in its contemporary place, likely providing a soundtrack for a variety of times and spaces yet to come.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Schlippenbach Quartett — Three Nails Left (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

You might say that this record has been slept on twice. The second recording to be released by the Alexander von Schlippenbach, Evan Parker and Paul Lovens (augmented this time by Peter Kowald) was released in 1975, and didn’t get a second pressing — on vinyl — until 2019. So, Corbett Vs. Dempsey stepped up last summer, it had never been on CD. But this writer was so stumped on how to relate how intense, startling, and unlike any other free improvisation it was and is, that he just… slept on it. Until now. Even if you know this band, if you don’t know this album, well, it’s time you got acquainted.

Bill Meyer 

Stonegrass — Stonegrass (Cosmic Range)

STONEGRASS by Stonegrass

Released on the cusp of a tentative re-opening for the city of Toronto after two months of lock-down, this slab of psychedelic funk-rock was the perfect antidote to the COVID blues when it arrived at the tail end of a Spring spent in near-isolation. The jam sessions that became Stonegrass were also a new beginning for multi-instrumentalist Matthew “Doc” Dunn and drummer Jay Anderson, who reignited a spirit of collaboration after a decade of sonic estrangement following the demise of their Spiritual Sky Blues Band project. Listening to these songs, you’d never know they spent any time apart. The tight, bottom-wagging jams on offer are evidence that these two are joined together at the third eye. Anderson’s grooves run deep, and Dunn — whether he’s traipsing along on guitar, keys or flutes — is right there with him. There’s enough fuzz here to satiate the heads, but the real treat here is the rhythmic interplay. Strap in and prepare to get down. 

Bryon Hayes 

 Bob Vylan — We Live Here EP (Venn Records)

Bob Vylan flew under the radar in 2020 successfully enough that when someone nominated them for the best of 2020 poll in Tom Ewing’s Peoples’ Pop Polls project on Twitter (each month a different year or category gets voted on in World Cup-style brackets, it’s great fun and only occasionally maddening), most of the reaction was “is that one a typo?” Nobody had that response after listening to “We Live Here” — my wife also participates in the poll, so we just play all the candidates in our apartment, and Bob Vylan was the first time both of our jaws dropped in amazement; the song got played about ten times in a row at that point. Bobby (vocals/guitar/production) and Bobbie (drums/“spiritual inspiration”) Vylan’s 18-minute EP lives up to that title track, fireball after fireball aimed directly at the corrupt, crumbling, racist state that seems utterly indifferent to human suffering unless there’s profit in it. Whether it’s the raging catharsis of the title track or the cool, precise hostility of “Lynch Your Leaders,” Bob Vylan have made something vital and essential here, that very much speaks to 2020 but sadly will stay relevant long past it.  

Ian Mathers

 Working Men’s Club — Working Men’s Club (Heavenly Recordings)

It’s been evident these past few years that I’ve retreated from music and committed myself to the slower world of books as a way of giving my mind a break from the accelerating madness outside, but I could never really leave my radio family the same way I could never really leave Dusted. Another great example why: A fellow CHIRP volunteer played “John Cooper Clarke” in a December Zoom social I actually managed to catch, and I’ve been addicted to Working Men’s Club’s debut LP from October ever since. The quartet hails from Todmodren, a market town you won’t be surprised upon listening to discover is roughly equidistant between Leeds and Manchester; the album screams Hacienda vibes in its seamless integration of post-punk signifiers and dancefloor style. It’s easy to bandy about names from Rip It Up and Start Again or even The Velvet Underground in 12-minute closer “Angel,” certainly one of the most arresting tracks of the year, but the thing that struck me immediately is that this was the record I’d always anticipated but never got from Factory Floor — smart, aloof and occasionally calculated, yet still fun enough to play for any crowd itching to move. Until the community of a dance party or Working Men’s Club live set is once again possible, patience and a fully formed first album will have to suffice. You’ll have to imagine the part where I corner you at the party to rave about it, I’m afraid.

Patrick Masterson