#apart from like its humans etc? but that's different!

[scificrows]

Thinking about Murderbot and ART again and how Murderbot is so adamant that ART is not its friend and that they can't be friends and okay fine it'll tell the stupid space ship about its traumatic past but only because it keeps pestering it! And alright, maybe ART can help Murderbot and do a little surgery on it and assist with uncovering the Dark Secrets™ of Murderbot's past but it's and asshole and NOT Murderbot's friend!!!

And then when Murderbot mentions ART to its clients on RaviHyral it just immediately goes for the word "friend"??? And I understand that it couldn't exactly say "there's this giant research transport AI in my feed that helps me pretend to be a human" but like. Murderbot, darling, you could have used anything. You're cosplaying as pretending to be a professional human security consultant, you could have said something like "associate" or "assistant" or whatEVER but "friend" just rolled right off the tongue there, didn't it?

Bonus from Network Effect:

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[dietcokegirly12]

Hey!

Im sorry to disturb you, but can you do a horny PM (18) Dazai, like even though he’s crule and cold he still has a soft spot for reader.

HIHIHI OMG i’m so sorry this has taken soso long i’ve been busy with kinktober stuff, but i hope you like thiss, it was fun to write!!

“PM Dazai”

featuring pm dazai osamu 18 ૮₍⇀‸↼‶₎ა

─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿

(found on pinterest :)

─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿⌖☠︎︎ ─── /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿

tags: slight mention of murder, violence, torture, blowjob, lots of cum ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝), boot humping, degrading, daddy kink, unprotected sex, etc etc

word count: 1.8k

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ┈⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺┈ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅┈⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺┈ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅┈⁺

Osamu Dazai, Port Mafia executive at eighteen, and one of the coldest men to ever exist, stood in front of a cowering, mangled heap of a human, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood and sweat.

They were in the infamous Port Mafia torture chamber, known for its innumerable amount of uses over the years to make its victims talk, whether it be for enemy information, or what they knew about the Mafia's plans.

Today was no different, as the heavily mutilated man that was chained and spread for Dazai to play with, let out loud sobs that wracked his beaten body.

"Please, sir! Have mercy!"

Dazai scoffed, examining a glinting dagger before pressing it to the man's neck. "Mercy? You knew what you were doing when you came here to steal information. So tell me, what exactly was it that you were looking for?"

His sobs grow louder, choking and dry-heaving pathetically as Dazai presses harder on the dagger, enough to draw out a steady stream of scarlett blood, the thick scent cloying the stale air.

"We were looking for classified information! Just.. please no more!"

Dazai cocks his head at that, before putting down the weapon he had been brandishing across his neck, the man exhaling with relief, thinking he was getting off the hook.

But his respite is short-lived as Dazai trades the dagger for a loaded gun, cocking and reloading it to point it at him directly.

"You know, you should consider yourself lucky. I'm going to have to cut our session short, because I have places I'd rather be than to waste any more time on useless scum like you."

Bang!

Not sparing a second glance back, Dazai rinses his hands of the blood staining them in the small, rusty sink before shouldering his long, black overcoat on again, and leaving the room, the door closing with a soft click.

His footsteps echo down the quiet of the Mafia's hallway, shadows covering every corner as the darkness of the night outside peeks in.

He looks down at his watch. Shit. He's late.

Increasing his pace, he makes it out of the Mafia building, and a couple blocks down to a small apartment building. You.

Unlocking the door, he comes inside, and begins to shrug off his coat, noticing you, prettily laid out for him on the couch.

"You're late, 'samu," you whine, watching as he carefully removes the bandage covering his eye, before coming over to his favorite armchair and sinking down into it with a sigh.

"I know sweetie. Had to work long hours today."

You come closer, to take your place between his spread legs, nuzzling your way between them to gaze up at him adoringly.

He widens them further for you, his head falling back as he breathes deeply, exhausted from a long day of dirty work.

You inch yourself closer, tugging the black tie hanging around his neck to loosen it, before tossing it to the side. Your hands come to his thighs as you knead them softly, whispering a soft, "Let me help you relax," to which he nods, eyes closing with a soft exhale as your hands begin to slide up further, exploring him eagerly.

Expertly, your nimble fingers work and rub over aching muscles, trying to give him any form of relief you can, for his day's stress, hands venturing dangerously close to the apex of his thighs, but never quite reaching it.

And as your touches grow more and more bold, but always retracting before you can give him what he truly wants, he starts to get impatient.

"Darling..." His voice holds a bit of warning as his cock fills with life, beginning to strain against his black trousers, heavier and heavier, and just begging for any amount of attention you're willing to give. "Don't tease."

It fills you with pride then, the control you held over one of the deadliest mafia executives, the fact he so clearly needed you, and your touch.

"Be good for daddy, he just had a hard day at work." He spreads his thighs further apart as his hips lift slightly, the tent in his pants impossibly large now.

Your cheeks flush at his words, finally giving in and burying your face between his legs, pressing your face right against the bulge in his pants, making him practically sigh with relief as he melts into your touch, cock twitching erratically.

You nuzzle against him, tongue flicking out to trace over the outline of his cock through his pants, leaving a wet trail along him, his breathing becoming heavier as he tries to arch his hips further into you.

You quickly unzip his pants to reveal his long, throbbing cock, slightly curved, and leaking pre-cum, velvety soft to the touch.

You finally take him into your hand, pumping gently and making his head fall back, hips thrusting into your hand eagerly.

You shift into a more comfortable position, bending to suck on his tip gently, enough to taste the salty-sweet of him on your tongue.

He moans softly, large hands coming to tangle into your hair and push you down, a small choked sputter leaving you.

"That's it... be a good girl, and take every inch for daddy."

Encouraged by his praise, you allow him to push your head down further, until your nose is bumping his pelvis, small gags and whines leaving you as drool seeps out of your mouth. He pauses, tilting his head back with a moan as he just holds you there, for what feels like minutes, every muscle in your jaw strained and jumping with tears streaming down your face from his sheer length.

But you can't deny how unbelievably turned on you were, arousal seeping into the lace of your panties and soaking through to glide down your thighs, cunt throbbing as he finally lets you go with a small pop!

But your reprieve doesn't last long as he immediately begins to fuck your mouth at a steady pace, your jaw slack and sore as his tip bruises the back of your throat, choked sobs spilling out of you.

You shift, trying to press your thighs together for any form of friction to relieve the throbbing, and Dazai instantly takes notice, nosing the tip of his boot between your legs to rub it gently over your needy pussy.

"Fuck... is this turning you on, darling? Sucking my cock like the good little girl you are?"

You whimper in reply, rutting against his foot desperately as you continue to suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks out and bobbing your head with renewed vigor.

He grunts, hips thrusting sloppily as he gets closer, the squelching of your cunt dragging along his boot almost obscene in the quietness of the room.

"You like when I use you like this, hm?"

You nod in agreement, movements becoming even faster and more erratic as he moans, fingers weaving tighter through your mussed hair.

Dazai's stomach is beginning to scrunch into tight knots, contracting and shuddering, as he barely holds back from the tips of white-hot pleasure clawing into him.

Desperate to push him over, you trace the underside of his cock head gently, running your tongue all around the outline of him, and as you brush a particularly sensitive vein, something almost resembling a whine leaves the throat of the cold executive, before he's forcing substantial ropes of warm, salty cum down your throat, hips shallowly thrusting in and out.

Pulling yourself up, you're unable to wait any longer as you clamber over his lap, clumsily pressing your mouth to his, his hands coming to pull you closer, closer, until you're straddling him, sopping cunt pressed against his already hardening cock.

You're only wearing one of Dazai's baggy shirts, so all you have to do is lift it up before you're almost bare in front of him, your perky breasts in his face.

He groans at the lewd display, instantly surging forward to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly as you arch upward at the feeling, moaning.

He pushes you back onto the couch, and quickly tugs off your panties in one harsh motion, revealing you fully, his hands roaming and exploring as if this is his first time seeing you, rough yet eager in his quest for more of your warm skin.

He quickly lines up his long cock to your entrance, unable to wait another second, as he pushes into you, wedging himself in inch by inch.

You mewl, gripping onto his shirt tightly as he stretches you out impossibly on his length, the tip prodding your cervix just barely.

"My baby has such a pretty, tight pussy f'me, doesn't she?" He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he finally manages to bury himself all the way into you, your soft moans being your only response aside from your squirms of pleasure.

He immediately begins a brutal pace, holding you down firmly as his hips piston in and out ruthlessly, showing his rougher side as he pants above you, sweat covering his forehead in a glistening sheen.

You whimper, cunt gripping tightly around him as you feel him prodding all the way to your stomach, his hands coming to grip roughly onto your breasts, squeezing slightly.

As he shows no sign of slowing, only going rougher, your whole body moving with the force of his thrusts, you feel your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, the warmth of your release fast-approaching.

"S-samu.." you cry out, burying your face into his neck and breathing him in deeply as you feel yourself clamping tighter around him.

" 'S okay baby, you can come. Wanna feel you gush around my cock. Can you do that for me? Can you come all over daddy's cock?"

As he speaks, you can't hold back anymore, stomach finally snapping as your vision turns white, your thighs clamping tightly around him as wave after wave of your pleasure crashes through you, warmth soaking him.

He follows close behind, moaning softly as his grip on you tightens, cock shooting spurts of cum into your velvety walls, so much of it that it seems to never end, filling up your abused cunt so completely that it drips onto the couch under you, staining it with white.

As you both pant, coming down from your highs, he nuzzles into your cheek softly. "Did so good for me, doll." He plants a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, making a warm blush creep across your cheeks at the praise, arms wrapped tightly around him.

Cheekily, his hands come to cup your breasts, and you feel him smile against you, his still hard cock beginning to glide up and down against your stomach. "But I'm still horny."

[splinterclan]

what is the clan's relationship with the warrior code. Because they don't really seem too strict about it.

I just went and copy pasted the Warrior code from the WC Website and I'll put what percent they follow that rule after each one (never actually read the warrior code so this is fun jsjs)

1. Defend your Clan, even with your life. You may have friendships with cats from the other Clans, but your loyalty must remain to your Clan, as one day you may meet them in battle. - 100%

2. Do not hunt or trespass on another Clan’s territory. - 100%

3. Elders and kits must be fed before apprentices and warriors. Unless they have permission, apprentices may not eat until they have hunted to feed the elders. - 100%

4. Prey is killed only to be eaten. Give thanks to StarClan for its life. - 100%

5. A kit must be at least six moons old to become an apprentice. - 100%

6. Newly appointed warriors will keep a silent vigil for one night after receiving their warrior name. - 100%

7. A cat cannot be made deputy without having mentored at least one apprentice. - 90% Was lax for Moor since the clan started without any apprentice age kids, but will be 100% for every deputy after her

8. The deputy will become Clan leader when the leader dies or retires. - 100%

9. After the death or retirement of the deputy, the new deputy must be chosen before moonhigh. - 100%

10. A gathering of all four Clans is held at the full moon during a truce that lasts for the night. There shall be no fighting among Clans at this time. - 0% There's 5 clans total around, but their territories are so massively far apart it's really not feasible for them to visit each other at all (like, miles apart - Oakclan is a 2-3 day journey from Splinter's camp). Every clan interaction in the game I interpret as happening with wandering rogue groups instead

11. Boundaries must be checked and marked daily. Challenge all trespassing cats. - 100%

12. No warrior may neglect a kit in pain or in danger, even if that kit is from a different Clan. - 100%

13. The word of the Clan leader is the warrior code. - 80% ish? the clan is just way too small for there to be the separation that is required for dictatorship effect. It's more like a family where your dad "sets rules" but you know he won't beat your ass if you disobey them, but you mostly obey them anyways bc you love him (Whorlstar is their dad)

14. An honorable warrior does not need to kill other cats to win his battles, unless they are outside the warrior code or it is necessary for self-defense. - 100%

15. A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet. - 100% They won't go near or take food from humans - even when Cedar lived near one for a bit, he never took food from them.

So apparently they follow it pretty well? There seems to be a lot of unspoken rules in WC (like don't have kits with outsiders etc. Med cats can't have kits) That aren't on this list, so I guess they're not official? Idk xD I've said this before, but I have only read the first series of books so I don't have the fullest knowledge, but I do feel like with WC-based stories stuff like having the Med Cat get in trouble for having kits or half-clan relationships being persecuted are dumb rules anyways so I'd just rather write about something else

Plus clangen itself has no internal code for punishing that kind of stuff so it's all free game there too luckily ^^

[scalefeathers]

Thinking once again about how Nobuo Uematsu and Masayoshi Soken are both completely amazing composers but in completely opposite directions let me explain

Disclaimer I am not a music theorist; most of music theory is black fucking magic to me. I barely know what a chord is and the circle of fifths makes me quake as though before an Elder God. I just really like both of their works and sometimes I have thoughts about things. Also this is all just my opinion, it's fine if you don't agree, etc.

So: Uematsu is first and foremost, in my opinion, an absolute master of melody. I believe it's what makes his work so iconic and makes so many of his pieces so instantly recognizable. The Final Fantasy theme, the chocobo theme, Dancing Mad, Vamo'alla Flamenco, fucking One-Winged Angel--Just from seeing those names, you've probably got one playing in your head already. You could start humming it right now. Maybe you are already.

And it makes perfect sense when you consider the era he was working in, because back in the 8-bit and 16-bit era, the melody was all you had. When you have such a tiny amount of storage space to work with, you can really play only one, maybe two notes at a time. You can't do anything that's layered, because you only have one layer to work with. I think that's why so much video game music from that era is so memorable and iconic. It's not just because you played so much Street Fighter II when you were a kid that the music is indelibly seared into your brain (though that probably doesn't hurt); it's also because Yoko Shimomura wrote really solid melodies that had nothing else competing for your aural attention (apart from the in-game sound effects, which are probably also seared into your memory). (Yoko Shimomura, btw, also composed the music for Final Fantasy XV, the entire Kingdom Hearts series, and like 50 other games over the past 40 years, another fucking icon).

But back to Uematsu: like I said, melodic genius. Even when his work is upscaled into full orchestral arrangements, that core melody is always front and center. And his affinity for melody makes even more sense when you consider that before he got into video game composing, he was writing commercial jingles. (Younger folks may not be aware, but there was a time when practically every product had to have its own theme song, and the best ones were short, snappy, and instantly memorable--and for that, again, you need a strong, simple melody. Ba da ba ba ba, I'm lovin' it.)

Compare: Soken. Soken only started at Square 12 years after Uematsu, which isn't that long in human terms (to me at least, cos I'm old), but it is a long fuckin' time in video game years. By the time he started composing for games, there was so much more you could do with game music in terms of layering, complexity, and sound, and you can tell from his work that he takes full advantage of that. His work is complex and dense, a rich layer cake of themes and motifs, all beautifully merging and weaving together, often to extraordinary effect.

And again, if you look at his pre-music career, it makes a lot of sense that he'd have that approach to music, because he first got into the games industry as a sound designer; I believe that he is the sound director for all the FFXIV expansions, as well as being the composer. So of course he'd be very aware of not just how a sound (or piece of music) works on its own, but of how it fits into the greater whole, and of how to layer and balance lots of different sounds to create something greater than the sum of its parts. And of course it makes sense that he'd bring that approach to his compositions as well.

As a consequence of this approach, though, his music often lacks the memorable melodies that characterize Uematsu's work. Like, I ground (grinded?) Dun Scaith a lot the last time it was on the Mogstone rotation, I know all the boss themes extremely well and can recognize each of them instantly. But if you asked me right now to hum one? I don't think I could. (This isn't a deficiency, to be clear; music doesn't need a prominent core melody in order to be good.)

And that's also not to say that all his music lacks iconic melodies. His vocal tracks, pretty much by definition, have to put a single melody front and center; and then on top of that (or rather, behind it), you have all that trademark Soken richness and depth. Which is probably also why his vocal tracks go so fucking hard.

I think that's also why, out of all the expansions, I like Heavensward's music the best. Most of Heavensward's score is written by Soken, but the main theme is Uematsu's, and you may notice it's basically a tasting menu of like 5 or 6 excellent, very recognizable melodies, one right after the other. And basically every piece on the Heavensward soundtrack incorporates one or more of these melodies. So it really does give you the best of both worlds, and gives the overall score a cohesion that I don't see as much with the other expansions.

TL;DR, Uematsu and Soken are both amazing composers with very different and complimentary styles that reflect their differing backgrounds and the different eras of games in which they have worked and I just think that's neat.

[ranticore]

so ive been meaning to explain more about ironwall than the lil hints u get from that one story i posted a while back but essentially it's a city that grew out of the necessity of making a place for people with monstrous or non-standard anatomy. it grew from a few alehouses with double-high doors into an industrial city in the 1700s, one which remained largely independent of the nation around it by virtue of being essentially "worthless" to the kingdom. it was ruled by a self-appointed Protector who was supposedly chosen by council vote at regular intervals but we'll get into that

So due to being the only place with accessible infrastructure for centaurs (of all animal types), it became a major population centre and, of course, with no alternatives and a rapidly depleting countryside due to population growth and farmers/peasants being unable to support themselves on their land anymore, Ironwall became something of a prison, too. Where else could anyone go? Ironwall in the 1800s was known to be a deeply corrupt cesspit built on the exploitation of citizens who had nowhere else to go. The council did not allow non-landowners to vote in elections resulting in a ruling class of landlords only voting in their own interests and a strongly stratified society. All because the majority-human settlements elsewhere were not obligated to build suitable housing or accommodations, and some would actively work to avoid such accommodations, like entire streets of houses where access is by steep flights of stairs, or houses on stilts in smaller villages etc. They had heard stories of how awful it was to live in Ironwall and wanted none of it in their backyard thank you very much.

The structure of Ironwall in the early 20th century took the form of a huge wheel-shaped city with accessory satellite towns at each spoke. Centaurs being able to comfortably travel long distances, they kind of invented the commuter town before anyone else out of necessity, as there was a well-developed housing crisis within the city with citizens crushed between sky high rents and few if any places to live. It took until the 70s before motor vehicles were legalised and they were not popular, mainly used by the wealthy who could afford to modify them.

The culture of Ironwall was extremely conservative for most of its existence due to the religious leanings of its founders and landlord class, with strict modesty laws for all centaurs (specifically banning the display of the juncture between human torso and animal body) and a "hard work shapes character" attitude.

When the steel industry finally collapsed, the centre of Ironwall saw an exodus of businesses and people until suddenly, low-quality housing was readily available and super cheap - and the regular humans began to move in. This was matched by similar economic pressures elsewhere, and the different populations finally starting to truly mix; factory workers from Ironwall had gone anywhere that was still hiring and centaur accommodation was being built outside Ironwall and its satellite towns by unscrupulous business owners seizing upon this new supply of cheap labour.

With Ironwall's historic heart starting to rot, there was a big push towards making the city welcoming to tourists and rehabilitating its shabby image. This was largely successful and the first wave of poor human arrivals was quickly drowned out by a second wave of gentrifiers. The historical city centre was preserved as high rise apartments (inhospitable to centaurs) went up around the outskirts, and many of the people whose families had lived in Ironwall for generations, who'd stuck around through the recession, found themselves in the tourism industry, in a very different place than the one they'd grown up in.

And that's why ironwall au Pascal was a taxi driver miserably trying to go viral on the internet in the hopes he'd finally be able to quit ferrying tourists around his ancestral home

[cece693]

The Better Brother (Damon Salvatore x M! Reader)

A small pet peeve of mine regarding Damon Salvatore fics is how people sometimes gloss over the wave of self loathing this man possesses. Since childhood he's had to bear constant comparisons with Stefan—how he wasn't enough, not as kind, etc.—so in my mind, if he does find someone he would absolutely push them away. That gave rise to this fic!

Summary: Damon finally found the one, however, thoughts of self-hatred and the constant comparison to his 'better' brother had him doubting if he even was deserving of such future.

tags: sad, in my feelings, break up, Damon thinking he's underserving, self hatred

Damon leaned against the bar of the Mystic Grill, the amber liquid in his glass catching the dim light. He swirled the bourbon absently, his mind not on the drink but on the man standing at the dartboard, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he teased Stefan for his missed throw.

M/N had come into Damon’s life like a hurricane—wild, passionate, and with a kindness that made him feel human for the first time in decades. He wasn’t supposed to fall this hard. But now that he had, every insecurity Damon carried weighed heavier on him.

He drained the glass and set it down with a little too much force, drawing a glance from M/N. Damon met his eyes and forced a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his own. M/N tilted his head, his expression softening with concern, and made his way back over. “What’s got you brooding over here?” he teased, bumping Damon’s shoulder as he slid onto the stool beside him.

Damon shrugged, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. “Just thinking about how life is unfairly cruel to us handsome, brooding types.”

M/N didn’t laugh. He didn’t fall for Damon’s deflections anymore.

“You’ve been distant all week,” he noted, his voice quieter now. “What’s really going on?”

Damon’s grip on the glass tightened. He hated how easily M/N saw through him, hated how good he was for him. And most of all, he hated himself for ruining what they had before it could even bloom. But Damon knew how this story ended. It was always the same. Stefan was the hero, the savior, the one who got the happy ending. Damon was the shadow lurking behind, destined to lose.

“You should go back to your darts game,” Damon said, his voice cold now, deliberately so. “I’m fine.”

M/N stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “I know you don’t believe this, but you don’t have to push me away every time you get scared, Damon.”

Scared.

The word stung because it was true.

Later that night, Damon found himself alone in the Salvatore boarding house. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room, but its warmth didn’t reach him. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, a photograph clutched in his hand.

In the photo, they were both smiling—genuine, unguarded. Damon hardly recognized himself in that moment, caught off guard by M/N’s infectious energy. The picture had been taken at the Mystic Falls Winter Festival, a day Damon had reluctantly agreed to attend. M/N had dragged him to the Ferris wheel, teasing him about being afraid of heights.

Damon hadn’t been afraid—not of the heights, at least. But the way M/N had looked at him at the top, with so much trust and warmth, had sent a different kind of fear coursing through him. For a brief moment, suspended in the sky with M/N’s laughter ringing in his ears, it felt like the world wasn’t so bleak.

He clenched his jaw and stared at the photograph for a long time, his fingers trembling slightly. “You don’t deserve this,” he muttered to himself. “You don’t deserve him.”

With a sharp breath, he shoved the picture into the drawer of the side table and slammed it shut. This was the right thing to do. Even if it hurt. Even if it tore him apart.

The next day, Stefan found Damon in the parlor. The sunlight streaming through the windows only emphasized how wrecked the oldest Salvatore looked. He was slouched in the armchair, a near-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he had been staring into nothingness for hours.

“What did you do?” Stefan’s voice cut through the oppressive silence of the room, sharp and demanding.

Damon let out a low chuckle, the sound bitter and hollow. “Relax, Saint Stefan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I did you a favor.”

Stefan’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his tone tightening with frustration. “What the hell does that mean?”

Damon finally lifted his gaze, his trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “He’s all yours now,” he said, the words carrying a mix of resignation and self-loathing.

He didn’t need to ask to know what Damon meant. “You broke up with him,” Stefan said, his tone flat, more a statement than a question.

Damon shrugged, his nonchalance forced and brittle. “Better for everyone that way,” he muttered, grabbing the bottle and taking another swig.

Stefan wasn’t having it. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the bottle from Damon’s hand, setting it firmly on the table out of reach. “Better for everyone or better for you?” he snapped, his voice cutting through Damon’s feigned indifference.

Damon’s smirk flickered. He slouched further into the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t get all noble on me, brother. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A clean slate? No more complications? No more me standing in the way?”

Stefan stared at him, incredulous. “You really think I wanted this? That I wanted you to destroy the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“Spare me the lecture, Stefan,” Damon said, his tone sharp, though it lacked its usual bite. “He’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll probably thank me someday.”

Stefan shook his head, his frustration mounting. “You don’t get it, do you? M/N doesn’t want me. He never has. He chose you, Damon. And instead of fighting for him, you pushed him away because you’re too much of a coward to believe you deserve him.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists on the armrests of the chair. “Coward? Is that what you think I am?”

“Yes,” Stefan shot back without hesitation. “You’re so scared of being happy, of someone actually loving you for who you are, that you’d rather sabotage it before they can leave you. You think that’s noble? It’s not. It’s pathetic.”

Damon stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he loomed over Stefan. “Don’t you dare lecture me about love, Stefan. You’ve been handed every happy ending on a silver platter while I’ve had to fight for scraps.”

“And this time, you didn’t even fight,” Stefan countered, his voice soft but firm. “You just gave up. And you hurt him in the process.”

Damon’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He turned away, staring into the dying embers of the fireplace. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “He deserves better. Better than me.”

“Maybe that’s not your choice to make, Damon. Maybe he already decided that you’re what he wants. And maybe…just maybe, you should let yourself believe it.”

Damon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words sat heavy in his chest, pressing against the fragile walls he’d built around his heart. He clenched his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into the fire, willing the tears to stay where they were. Stefan sighed, his frustration softening into something closer to pity. “You’re going to regret this,” he said quietly. “And when you do, I just hope it’s not too late.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Damon alone once again.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Damon sank back into his chair, staring at the empty spot on the table where the bourbon bottle had been.

Deep down, he knew Stefan was right.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

And that was the curse of being Damon Salvatore.

[temporalhiccup]

In an effort to ease out of burn out and try to feel real and human again I'm digging around old games and seeing what would be fun to tinker with. For most of my games they get to at least an Alpha Build/Playtestable stage, but Never Break The Chain is one of the few that didn't quite manage to get that far (though it honestly wouldn't take that much more I think!)

Never Break The Chain mechanically and emotionally is a response to The Eventide Club, which was @jdragsky's response to Apocalypse Keys.

It's clear that this game is partly a love letter to jay dragon's design and how it makes me feel, and I wrote this during a time when I was insecure about my design. I was reeling from the idea that my games were too emotional to be enjoyable, that strangers were never going to like the games I create. (Typical Capricorn, even the way I work through my shit has to be productive in some way)

Every player character is made up of two components: a Musician Playbook and a God Playbook. It's my take on the very popular idea of fallen gods feeding off divine worship as musicians. I wanted to create a really fun and emotionally intense game (inspired by how famously messy Fleetwood Mac and other bands can be, definitely The Wicked + The Divine too).

It's been three years since I took a look at this stuff and it's fun remembering the mechanical shenanigans I was up to: tightening chains, breaking them, creating halos, shattering them, etc. I'll tinker a bit with these mechanics and see what comes of it.

The more complex of the playbooks are the Musician ones. What remains of the divine is raw and simple, ever fading and barely there. In comparison, the Musician playbooks are a chance for me to explore some truly messy human stuff.

Here's the Musician playbook, The Mask, it's mostly intact from the last time I touched it years ago. I just tightened a few options here and there.

I'll spell out the inspiration for this playbook: David Bowie, specifically the maddened Bowie interviewed by Cameron Crowe in 1975.

Bowie was famous for his different personas, and you can see some of them represented in the masks below: Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke, Halloween Jack, the Goblin King, and the Minotaur.

This playbook is an exploration of what it could have been like for Bowie exploring these different personas, based on various events written about or talked about in later years, offering points of tension and intensity (deconstructed and awaiting creative input, like always) and hopefully creating explosive moments of playable drama.

I do think this playbook leans most into Bowie's contentious phase as the Thin White Duke. This was a man who was clearly breaking apart on stage, underneath the thinnest veneer of a persona that was holding itself together with a white-knuckled grip. Other personas were haunting him, discarded or never worn. Station to Station is my favorite Bowie album on most days, and his live performances of its music are almost painful to watch (while impossible to look away from).

I think, if we ever get this to playtest, I'll probably leave this playbook mostly as is (barring some mechanical tweaks that will be applied to all playbooks maybe) and just see where things go.

The Mask

You understand better than anyone that music is a story, and that performance is a mask well worn. You have created several Masks and stories over the years, and the Masks have recreated you. But as you seek fame and fortune, will the Mask become more real than you ever could be? One day you'll wake up and there won't be anything of you left, just a blank face both empty and signifying nothing.

Your Name

(Choose 1): A completely made up name that is never questioned, an appropriately dramatic name, a single initial that no one pronounces properly, I change my name every few months, a series of letters and numbers that only makes sense to my fans, a name that is as enigmatic as it is beautiful.

Your Look

(Choose 3-4): A painfully sharp and pale business suit with splatters of paint and blood on it, shades that almost no one has ever seen me take off, hair dyed into every imaginable color, the cruelest smile, the kindest eyes, an intoxicating scent, small and delicate tattoos that tell all my secrets, the body language of a predator, an unexpected scar, something else that betrays my mortality and weakness.

Your Role in the Band:

(Choose 1-3): Lead vocalist, lead guitar, muse, song writer, fuck buddy, everybody's ex, the face of the band, I'm here to look pretty baby

Choose the Mask you currently wear, one Mask you discarded, and one Mask that threatens to consume you.

I am an alien from a dying planet and harbinger of an inescapable apocalypse, my music is wild and haunting

I am royalty from a fictional past and deride the love I desperately need, my music is rhythmic and romantic

I am a rebel leader from a dark future and I shall orchestrate a dystopia of our own making, my music is hypnotic and delirious

I am the fae king who grants ill-cast wishes and offers dark bargains, my music is ethereal and manipulative

I am a serial killer who turns willing victims into impossible art pieces, my music is violent and eerie

I am a fallen angel, on the run from divine hunters and mortal lovers and only you can save me, my music is soft and beautiful

I am a broken doll mimicking life, perfect and made to fulfill your every desire, my music is naive and inviting

I am a warrior from another time and place, only you can heal my wounds and recreate my fate, my music is loud and lustful

As The Mask I gain 2-4 tokens when I:

Hide my true feelings behind a Mask

Ask someone to wear one of my Masks, for now

Give a part of myself to a Mask

When you gain your fifth token:

The divine music swells within you and seeks release. You cannot gain new tokens until you choose one:

Go to another band member and take off your Mask, reveal something vulnerable and raw about yourself. If they reach out to touch your real face, they break a chain. If they do anything else, break one of your chains.

Reflect on the god you once where, and create a new Mask to contain that memory. Your power wanes, crack one halo.

The Mask's Chains:

A whisper that comes from my mouth but doesn't sound like me at all

An embrace that promises more than it should

A kiss that comes dangerously close to unmasking me

One of my Masks on someone else's face

A song I wrote that will weaken a single Mask

A Mask I created that takes a life of its own

A Mask someone else creates to imprison me

Someone I love wearing my true face

The Mask's Move:

When you put on one of your Masks to tell its story, describe how you embody it and how you draw others into your spell. Spend tokens and roll.

On an 8-10 You are in control of the Mask, choose one:

A part of your Mask becomes more real than real, create a new Chain that reflects this.

A part of your true self gives way to the Mask, one Halo becomes whole again.

Someone is inexplicably drawn to you, you have them wrapped around your finger, for now. Say who they are and place a chain on them. If they're a band member, they place a chain on you as well.

On an 11+ The Mask begins to consume you, and you cannot tell the difference between art and reality. Choose one:

Another band member must become a part of your story, both of you place a chain on the other. For now, you are obsessed with crafting a Mask for them to match your own.

One of your fans is convinced the Mask is your true self, you cannot outrun them. For the rest of the scene you are at your fan's mercy. Describe how their obsession for you draws out something painful and real from you. When you return in a future scene gain the chain: an obsessed and dangerous fan

On a 7- your sense of self shatters and the Mask bleeds through. Until you regain your sense of self and remember you are not your Mask, you cannot perform. The Audience will tell you what happens next.

At the start of every session:

Spend a moment with your Masks and consider who they are and what story they have to tell. Choose one:

Put down the Mask you're currently wearing and pick up another, why does this one call out to you?

Change something essential about one of your Masks, what part of you refuses to bend or break?

Create a new Mask, based on someone you're obsessed with and yearn for. What does it feel like when you pretend to be them?

[writingwithcolor]

Creatures of Folklore Who Represent Cultures Preventing Wars Throughout History

Anonyomous asked:

Hi! I’m writing a story which is set in a fantasy version of our world. The main difference between our real world and my fictional version is that the spirits and fairies of each culture and folklore exist, and that the majority of them basically stop war from happening because they react very badly (and potentially violently) when invading forces etc try to start battles. 

I’m doing a lot of research into the histories of the various cultures that will be featured in the books set in this world so I can hypothesise how they might have developed without, for example, violent colonialism, and where trade and so on might have flourished in its place. However, it’s possible for colonialism to happen through more insidious ways, such as assimilation. In one of my books, I’m intending to use this as part of the plot, where Japan will try to colonise the Ryukyuan Kingdom through assimilation, but will be stopped by the Ryukyuan Kingdom making allies with other nations (amongst other tactics), but I was wondering if you had any advice for respectfully handling the colonialism that very much did happen in real life in a fantasy setting where it didn’t manage to occur, without erasing the history and ramifications etc of what actually happened?

Do fox spirits have citizenship? 

You mean well with this concept, but there are multiple key problems. 

One major issue with cordoning off spirits and folklore creatures by “patron” culture and have them fight said patrons’ battles is that there’s a lot of overlap. It’d be hard for there not to be a conflict of interest. 

For example, everyone knows about the kitsune fox spirit from Japan. But the story of the fox spirit was introduced to Japan and Korea by China, where they are called húlijīng. These foxes are remarkably similar, with their characteristics and stories almost borrowed wholesale. Are they all the same “species?” If so, when small differences emerge in the countries’ folktales, how do you resolve this? Do these spirits also morph and specialize, or does one interpretation win out? How about when kingdoms are unified, like the Korean Three Kingdoms–do separate versions of the kumiho reverse-evolve into a single variant? What side do they pick when these kingdoms and empires try to battle? If they live apart from humans or aren’t very friendly with them, why would they have a reason to care about invasions when they have no reason to be allegiant to said borders, or whatever name they’re called in whichever country whose land they live on?

Folkloric beings are never static, and are influenced over time by cultural shifts and exchanges, including shifting borders. Human history is stuffed cover-to-cover with events of what we called “conquest” then and “occupation” or “colonization” now. And through these changes, cultures diverged and came together, creating new stories. In other words: not even fairy tales are immune to colonization. 

Leigh can explain the rest. 

~ Rina

The Problem with Retconning War

A very simple question for you:

How are you going to rectify every single historical war that’s ever existed?

Like, the whole plot of the Trojan War as we know it is that the gods of the same culture were on different sides! And the gods made the war last as long as it did. Alexander the Great was a colonizer. Romans were definitely colonizers. Ottomans and Mongols, also colonizers. It wasn’t to the scale of modern colonialism, but it happened. If you look at census records from the 1800s of Indigenous populations in North America, you’ll find that the men 20+ have way lower numbers because they died in war! 

I’m not of the opinion that the basic state of humanity is war and we are barely contained by base instincts. But I’m also not so far in the other direction that I believe humans lack any sort of warring instincts. It shows up in chimps and other primates, so it shows up in humans.

In a way, it sounds like you’ve taken a very Christian-fundamentalist-centric view of things, which is: humans need religion to be “contained”. That humans are amoral without some sort of religion or folklore or spirits telling them to not do a “bad thing.”

This is ignoring how people have been using religion to justify wars since religion was invented. As Rina said, there can be overlap in groups’ beliefs and deities so there’s the side-picking issue, which as I mentioned is the whole plot of the Trojan War. Even when humans write about gods meddling in war, they have the gods not all be on the same side.

Humans have war. Humans try to take over other groups because they want the resources that group has. Alliances shift. Territories shift.

This is also treating humans as a monolith—there are populations within the colonized groups that agree with the colonizers because they get benefits. Claiming that all colonized groups hate all aspects of their colonialism all of the time is deeply ahistorical and flattened. Sometimes the benefits were only for a small group, but sometimes the benefits were far-reaching. It’s in the India tag on WWC, varying views of the Mughals. 

Also, how will you handle the Christianization of Europe? How will you handle all of this folklore that only got written down via monks and nuns making notes and modifying beliefs to fit the Bible? Will any area with only Christianity’s records written down not have folklore? 

And how will you handle folklore drift? Religions are not static. If you look at Greek myths, there are ten to thirty versions of each story and those are just the ones that survived. Each city-state had its own mythology, using the same gods, modified to fit the local needs.

And what about folklore that deals with war and thrives in war? What about the gods of war and destruction? I know Norse mythology is Christianized beyond recognition, but even in its Christianized form half of it is about war. Would the Valkyries, whose whole purpose is to find valiant soldiers slain in battle, not want war? Their whole purpose is war.

Also, on top of it—how will you handle revolution?

You say yourself, colonialism could still happen subtly. Colonialism and injustice can still happen. Will these subjugated spirits force an already disadvantaged group to exclusively use a rigged system to try and politely ask for their rights back? Or would these spirits want to be free and support the means necessary to take it back?

War has happened to upend the divine right of kings. War has happened to free slaves (Haiti). War has happened for basic workers’ rights (some union strikes have resulted in war). 

You’re basically removing a whole toolbox in the fight for a better world. Yes, not being able to colonize because of fantasy AU sounds fine, until you realize that pretty much all of human history from the Romans has been created via war to some degree.

You’re basically just saying “violence is bad and humans need fantasy babysitters to not dive into it”, which really doesn’t sound that great once you sit with it. It removes human agency, removes human nature, and ignores the entire history of the planet.

-Leigh (Lesya)

Marika interjecting here:

We had an ask (Linked here) envisioning a story set in a de-colonized Hawai’i and the socio-political issues with that. Same problem.

[pinkyplushiemaker]

New 2025 Commission Information

Commission Information and Terms of Service

Information on Artist.

I started my plush work in 2013. I have worked hard on developing my style and process over the years. I create my embroidery and patterns from scratch, so everything I make is one of a kind. I do not sell my patterns because they are not normal and only I can understand how they come together. I live in West Virginia, USA. I can ship all over the country and internationally. I live in a dog, bird, and reptile friendly home. I love anime/manga, superhero movies/tv/comics, horror movies, animals, art, and making plushies.

My Plush Work

I work with minky fabric since it’s the highest quality I can use to make my work the best quality possible. I can also use faux furs, long pile minky, mochi fabric, fleece, and cotton if needed (or requested). I use upholstery thread when sewing my plush together. The thread is incredibly strong and the chances of pieces coming apart are very low. If they do come apart (very uncommon), just message me and I will fix and reinforce the piece.

My work is considered “art”, not factory produced for the general public. This means that they are unique and special, but it also means they are not really meant to be handled roughly, crushed, and/or given to very small children. They are pretty durable since they are plush, but any material can wear over time when they are over “loved” (lol). Taking them on adventures, and carrying them around is totally welcomed, just please go easy on the tug and pull <3

Ordering a Plush

Please feel free to reach out to me through Twitter (X), Tumblr, Instagram, or Facebook. I do my best to answer as soon as possible, but you are welcome to message again in case I have not replied after a few days. (I can get busy with the Plush Business, my full-time job, and taking care of my pets.)

Let me know what you are looking to have made. (I can make humans, animals, creatures, cars, robots etc.) Let me know what size and style you are thinking of and if there is a certain time you would like to have it made by. (It normally takes about 2-4 weeks, it depends on if I need to order anything specific.) Please provide images if possible (if you want something unique and only have a description, I can do a rough concept of the character for you, or if you would like to commission me to do art of the character, please feel free to request it). Once I have this information, I will give you a price quote. The quote will only be for the plush, this will not include the shipping or taxes. If you agree to the price, I will request an email from you and will send an invoice. It will list all the details for the transaction, including shipping and tax. The invoice is through PayPal Goods and Services, so we are both protected.

Once the payment is made, you are added to the queue. Before I start on the plush, I will create a concept for it. In this stage (and only in this stage) you are welcome to make any updates to the design. (For example: preferring a different color, wanting the eyes to be bigger, not wanting a certain part included etc.) I will do my best to get as close to the concept as possible. It will never be exact, but I do normally get really close. After the concept is finished, I will share fabric colors to ensure they are right.

Once everything is approved, I will create the pattern and embroidery files. Next, I will embroider the fabric and cut out the pattern. Finally, I will sew the plush together and share the final plush in our communication. I will need you to share the preferred name and address for the shipment. Once this information is provided, I will pack up the plush and send it out. I will provide the tracking when it is on its way.

Shipping the Plush

My standard shipping is first-class and using a waterproof bubble mailer envelope. This keeps the shipping as low as possible. ($7 within the US, $25 International)

For 2025, I am offering priority and over-night shipping (overnight only available in US). I am also offering the option to ship within a box instead of a bubble mailer. These options will be much higher prices and can be discussed while setting up the commission.

Please note, once I ship a plush and provide a tracking number. It is out of my hands.

Canceling a Commission

You have 1 week after ordering to cancel a commission. If I ordered materials for the project, it will be deducted from the total.

If a plush is not correct (and it is due to my mistake), I can grant a full refund. Unless I am able to fix the issue. The mistake would be due to me not using the correct color fabric, missing an important detail from the concept etc. Just not liking a plush or deciding you don’t want to pay for a plush once it is made are not valid reasons. I have various examples of my work and before commissioning me, please review my pages to make sure you like my style and quality.

Final Note

I am more than happy to work with someone to make a plush they can afford and love. Since all of my plush are custom and I make all the patterns and embroidery, I can make adjustments easily. For example, I can make the plush smaller and contain less details. I will be happy to explain what parts are causing the higher price and we can work out other options. I believe PayPal has options to make multiple payments too, so I can still get full payment and you wont need to pay in full right away.

Thank you for reading!! I hope I can bring your favorite characters to life 😊

[parisoonic]

I'm in love with how you draw characters (especially when you draw sniperscout and demoman in general), I'm unsure if you've answered a question like this before, but how do you figure out what to do with face shapes? It's hard to explain but the way you over-exaggerate certain features to make their design pop is so cool to me and I've never been able to do it for myself. That, and making faces look like.. well, faces.

thank you so much!!! hopefully i'm understanding you right...

Regarding the face shapes in TF2...we're all standing on the shoulders of the (excellent) design work already done and laid out. The characters have really nice distinct face shapes with some general overlap before you even consider that a lot of them have facial accessories which you can pick and choose from to help push facial silhouettes and peel apart characters that are a little similar.

Naff threshold filter heads to show silhouettes lol In order to exaggerate them - it's mainly about pushing and pulling the existing proportions and ratios of their faces IE: Making Medic's/Soldier's/Heavy's stupid large-chins even longer but sacrificing some of their forehead or eye-region. Varied proportions have a lot of 'rhythm' or 'appeal' and typically the human face can break down into the forehead (+ hair), eyes (I like to do a Batman style mask but people will often use the nose to form a triangle too) and then....everything else (chin, cheek etc).

Soldier, Heavy and Sniper all have REALLY similar proportional ratios but their silhouettes are really different (in both the x and z). When you add in that the 'default' way to view Soldier and Sniper is with their accessories they're all really nice and different. Funnily enough Sniper's 'eye mask' is teeny tiny with his visors off but this relationship changes with his sunglasses on. Kinda interesting... I sometimes like to think of visual vibe-based 'archetypes' when i'm drawing the tf2 guys. I don't have one for everyone yet but Heavy is sort of like 'handsome caveman' to me. Archetypally, cavemen are drawn with thick brows, small low foreheads and big chins. The 'handsome'-ness comes in when you apply a delicate approach to eyes, cheekbones, lips and with careful posing. Having this kind of visual-archetype in mind informs how I view the character as a whole and thus how i depict them! HOPEFULLY even if I drift away from how they actually look because the vibes are right...it feels right you know? There's also a sliding scale to me as to HOW you represent them. If the character is doing something goofy/stupid, drawing them less handsome and toonier can add levity. Obviouslyyyy you can have your handsome depictions making a dick joke (and that's its own sort of visual gag) but you'll notice in a lot of my images the straight-man gets drawn a little more...realistic? on-model? than the butt of the joke. It just feels more appropriate to me haha I'm using 'toonier' here to mean not only am I drawing fewer details but also exaggerating those ratios between areas of the face away from their 'default' ratio. like with most drawing-y things it's practice AND experimentation! i draw these guys differently depending on my mood and how generous i'm feeling towards their looks lol if you wanted tips on the construction of faces I really recommend checking out Griz and Norm's 'Tuesday Tips'. They're incredibly clear, concise and very approachable (and cover a variety of subjects!) Hopefully this link works? but if you search them on Pinterest and grab a cuppa, there's some AMAZING tips to be had here: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/search/pins/?q=griz%20and%20norm&rs=typed

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some hybrid ghoul thoughts, and Swiss and Dew. Let's go.

-Hybrid ghouls are ghouls that are at least partially human, however, the term is not used to refer to ghouls inhabiting human vessels, as the two can be pulled apart and made into separate entities if need be; Hybrid ghouls are genetically both, and usually have a biological parent or grandparent that was human.

In the pit, this distinction is not typically made since very few human-ghoul hybrids reside in the pit, and those that do typically refer to themselves under the umbrella term of being a multi-ghoul.

In terms of preference, Dew refers to himself as a hybrid ghoul, whereas Swiss likes calling himself a multi-ghoul.

-Both Swiss and Dew were raised on the surface, but they had different upbringings in terms of their awareness of their demonic heritage; Neither of them found out they were a ghoul until they were adults, but Swiss was informed by his parents, while Dew found out the hard way... accidentally taking a quick trip to the pit and getting effectively respawned in the abbey's woods.

Swiss was given more time to come to terms with and embrace his identity with his parents to guide him and teach him about himself, but Dew had to kind of dive into things on his own/with the help of his seniors at the abbey, with mixed results.

Swiss actually knows more about being a ghoul than Dew does... not that he'll ever admit to that.

-The lifespan of hybrid ghouls isn't exactly clear, and since there's so few of them (at least in regards to the ones the church knows about) it's hard to say how things will play out for them.

Swiss gets a bit more existential about the whole thing than Dew does, but that's because Dew already died once and he hasn't wholly unpacked that even though he's been a ghoul for ten plus years now.

Most ghouls are effectively immortal in the grand scheme of things, at least by human standards, but humans are definitely not long lived creatures in the eyes of the ghouls, so it's hard to say if they'll live forever, or if they're doomed to die -relatively- young in comparison to their peers.

It all really comes down to fate.

-Swiss and Dew both have trouble glamouring themselves for long periods of time unaided, because their magic reserves are smaller, so they both have markings -tattoos really- that have to be reinked every six months or so in order to grant them the ability to do so without wearing themselves out.

However, this also makes it difficult for them to dispel their glamours, which makes them easier targets from attacks by other ghouls or even other humans, because they can't whip out their horns or claws to defend themselves.

And lastly;

-On the topic of glamours... Swiss and Dew don't look much different unglamoured than they do glamoured, and Swiss is secretly disappointed that he didn't turn out more, well, cool looking.

Dew on the other hand... okay, he's also bummed out he doesn't look cooler.

However, not being overtly demonic has its benefits; Getting to go to the store half glamoured, your clothes and shoes don't magically stop fitting because you grew in size or have hooves now, etc...

Also makes for an easy Halloween costume... which will make your fellow ghouls roll their eyes and find you a better one.

So, free costumes.

Yeah.

[fanfictionsworld]

what if reader is having a very bad day and when they goes back home, Undertaker/Sebastian greets them and maybe tease them like usual but their s/o burst out crying? what would they react?

Sad reader/gender natural which i hope i wrote well/Undertaker x reader/Sebastian x reader/some fluff/just emotions that are beaing expressed in a strange way or is just me not knowing how to express my emotions/if this comes out weird pleas forgive me i am not good at telling people that i am sad/

Today was just not one of your happy days.

Its like that no matter what you try to do,you just could not cheer your self up.

Even some happy music could not change it.

Some thing in the back of your head just keeps putting you on the edge.

You can seem to stop it and its irritating you very much.

You are usually in check with your emotions and you proud your self on that.

I mean if everybody knew that you would feeling sad that would draw attention to you and you really do not want that.

Especialy with Sebastian who would literally trap you in his embrace until you tell him whats wrong.

But today was different you just could control your self,you just wanted to cry nothing else.

Its not like anything was wrong you just felt empty thats all.

Sebastian would make a big deal out of it if he saw you sad,which you did not want.

So as soon as you heard the front door of you apartment open,you pulled your self together,came out of your room and faced him.

You were smiling,saying hello and how was his day,etc.

Sebastian sensed something was wrong,but for now just chose to ignore it.

His focuse was now on a children's coloring book at the table.

You paint when something is bothering you,but he does not know that.

,,Darling,why is there a childrens coloring book at your table?

,,Are not perhaps too old for that,or maybe i am am falling for a baby,hm?"

That was it even though you knew he was just joking something about that seem to upset you,but you just do not no why.

And in the middle of the kitchen you brust out crying and you can seem to stop.

Your breath is heavier and you just can not stop your self,you feel like passing out,but strong arms catch you.

Sebastian lifts you up carring you to the room.

Upon entering he sets you down on your bed and his kises seems to calm you down.

You can not look at him you turn to the other side of the bed.

zou can hear a deep sigh from him and a large weight pulling you.

He has hugged you and know you cry even more.

,,You know i sensed something is wrong from the moment i walked in,but i thought nothing of it choosing to talk to you about it later,but if my teasing about the colouring book made cry you have my deepest apology my dear."

You wipe your tears take a deep breath and try to gather some strength to speak to him.

,,Its not your fault i do not care if you made fun of me for the colouring book i just had a really tough day its not like anything happened its just...its like..there something but there is not...i just i do not know how to explain it you know and i did not want you to worry because its nothing its just that its something and thats something is nothing and it would be stupied of me to say hey i am upset,sad and on the average of bearking down beacuse of something,but that something is nothing."

,,Darling if you are upset,sad or on the average of breaking down you should tell me,you should trust me about your feelings,whatever it is i will help you even if it is nothing and never say that your feelings are a problem to me beacuse they are not your feelings make you human a and love you for them.I know that you try to be strong hold them in check but you must understand that you can not keep them in dark for long and repressed them they will come and when they do this will happen and i do not want to see this happen to you,so pleas whenever you feel like this do not be afraid to tell me,i will help you in any way i can."

,,Thank you i am glad and i am sorry,from now on i will try my best to tell you my fellings,but now could you just hold me i could really use a good cuddle."

,,Of course anything for you my dear."

Some times your overthinking tendencies took better of you and to day was one of those days.

Working as a assistant to the undertaker was not a bad thing.I mean you were a nurse you know people die,but ever since your hospital put you on this part time job with him you just got hit with a realization of how people die every singel day.

Existential crises were not your style really and you try to avoid them as much as you can.

But it seems this one could not let you go.

So here you were in your bed in a spear room your boss made you just lying and looking at the celing questioning everything in your life.

As you were questioning your life away you did not heard a knock on your door and a tall dark figure approaching your bed and till you felt a heavy presence on the egde of you bed looking straight at you.

You set up next to him and he spoke.

,,Deary why are your eyes full of tears,are you crying for the life of the lost soul we just fixed,come now death is a natural thing it will come for you to you should laugh while you stil can,hihihihi."

Something about that just did sit rigth with you and you found your self slaping him,but his arm stoped you before it go to his cheek.

,,How can you say that does it not bother you that someday it will all just pass,how can you be so calm,there familys there loved ones,how can you say such things!"

,,I know that my dear,but still you have to realize that its just how it goes in life,pople die i know as a human its sad thinking about death,but if you worked as long as i have in this field of work you would get use to it.I am sorry if i have upset you but its just like that i know how you feel i also wish people would not die,but that is sipmle out of our power,you just have to come to terms with it."

,,I mean yes i get that,but stil."

,,Just know that death is a natural part of life,but remember that before you die do things that make you happy so that you never ever regret your life,okey?"

,,Yes,thank you for cheering me up i needed that,um i know its stupide but could you stay with me in bed for a while if its not too much of a problem?"

,,No of course not i will be happy to."

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Rogue Rook, Harding, Neve and Varric in Minrathous. A party of four temporarily, though the third non-Rook person is automatic and quest-related. Do you think this is Docktown (in Minrathous. the cranes or wooden pulleys give it that kind of impression) from another angle, or is Docktown in this image across the water from this point? Either way it's cool to see the same general location, in this case a city, both at night and during the day. It's raining and that makes me excited to experience different weather and environmental effects in different locations. :> Also the contrast of Minrathous in the rain here vs Minrathous when it's dry in the Docktown image. :> Maybe there is day/night cycles...?

Are the NPCs on the ground members of Tevinter society who live on the streets (there was an interactable NPC at the start of the gameplay reveal video whom it looked like Rook had the option of speaking to and giving a coin), or were they impacted during the attack of demons recently on this part of Minrathous and that's why they are on the ground? this scene looks to be from the same segment of gameplay as was shown in the gameplay reveal video, around the 10 minute mark. they have just 'recruited' Neve and are about to go and check out Solas' hideout beneath the statue on the right, Our Lady of Victory. the statue is of Andraste; one of her titles in the Chant of Light is Lady of Perpetual Victory. she has her arm outstretched as if hearing or beseeching the Maker. I'm interested to see more of Imperial/Tevene Andrastian belief and how it compares to the southern form of Andrastianism.

the magical 'neon' street lights and signs, rain, night-time, streets, etc remind me of this DA4 concept art, which we also know shows Minrathous. It's cool to see concept art realized as in-game art like this. in the center is a large tear in the Veil, like a gaping wound, which we know is caused as a result of Solas' ritual and which demons are coming through at this point. overhead is the floating building with its spotlights. I hope we can visit the floating building in the game. :D

is the long bridge a magic monorail or something, or just a bridge?

In this image we see a bar or tavern-type place. from the filename where this was originally posted, we know this to be situated in Docktown, Minrathous. Could this be the bar where the game starts off in Minrathous (where Rook has the choice of intimidating a bartender or not), the bar in which Varric and Harding are taking part in a bar fight in in the character trailer? or maybe this is the Swan, the tavern Corinne mentioned as being in Minrathous which has good tavern music? an article also mentioned a pub in the streets of Minrathous which has a dozen NPCs in it and which is reached via a wide, winding pathway. probably at least two of these various bar/pubs are actually the same one being described/shown in a different way hh. :D the screenshot has Tevene-y touches in places, like the vases with snakes and snakey patterns on them and the pointy chairs.

now that we know that every NPC in the world apart from main characters like party members was made using the same CC as we will use to create Rook, I'm looking extra-hard with interest at NPCs in images of the game like these to try and see e.g. some of the hairstyles that there are. in this image for example it looks like multiple different hairstyles can be seen. there are human and elven NPCs present, and a bouncer or guard at the steps. a cat sits by the fire. near the middle on the table it looks like a hookah, which we've seen before in northern Thedas, like in Antiva. only, this one has snakes in its design. which, yeah, we're in Tevinter. ^^ (this also makes me think of the Viper and the Shadow Dragon faction snake symbol, and wonder where their base of operations is.. Docktown is Neve's home, and she's affiliated with the Shadow Dragons.)

Necropolis Halls [known from a file name], Nevarra. a flock of bats or birds flies overhead. Is the ceiling here a ginormous rib-cage in design or am I just seeing things? :D I'm amazed by the scale, grandiosity, and verticality in the design here. in the foreground, the party is made up of mage qunari Rook holding a really cool staff, Lucanis and Emmrich. I feel like, of course taking Emmrich with you when you explore the Necropolis is a good idea!! from behind, Lucanis' cape getup look like folded corvid wings. qunari Rook has a cool robe or cape, and is that his kneeguard/boot or does Lucanis has a knife or dagger strapped to his lower leg? btw, how many knives does this guy have. :D he already fights with two swords/daggers, and it looks like he has a knife strapped to his chest in this image too. I wonder also if this is the same qunari Rook as here? their staff and horns look similar, but the hair color isn't right.

on the right, we can see urns which look like they have the top halves of skulls as their lids. the bottom row of teeth are present on the non-lid part of the urn. the same asset can be seen on the right and left of the foreground here, which going by that and the tall skeletons in the background like we can see in this image, is also a picture in the Necropolis. the giant skeleton/undead statues (not unlike here), dressed in tatters (maybe they are designed to evoke bandages, like the Nevarran mummification death practises?) look like they are maybe holding torches or lights at their chests, as they are lit from around there in sickly-green 'undead vibes' light. the way their arms and hands are placed look like a person who is resting in a coffin. and if you look at the texture of their chest/ribcages, it's the same as the texture on the pillars they are fixed to, as if the pillars are rows of bones/ribcage shapes from the ground to the ceiling.

especially after Down Among The Dead Men in TN, I've been itching to explore the Necropolis!! lets goo.

Necropolis Halls again [known from a file name], Nevarra. the lighting here is different - it's darker, and the green necromancy-vibe lighting has increased. perhaps the previous Necropolis Halls image is from closer to the entrance of the place, and this one is deeper inside? the Necropolis has public open-air gardens and then lower crypts, to which access is restricted, deeper inside. it's eerie, like the vibe here, like that dragon dissection could be taking place just out of view through the green-lit doorway in this image. even the trees look dead and grasping.

maybe the green fire-torches here are Veilfire? and there are all kinds of vases and stuff - it gives the sense of canopic jars, like ancient Egyptians used to store viscera in during the mummification process, and of urns (Nevarrans prefer mummification to cremation ofc, but yea irl in the 'aesthetic vibes sense of a crypt full of undead', way, it reminds me of urns filled with peoples' ashes). when they said we would go to "to grim and gothic areas", one of the gothic-type ones was surely the Necropolis, right? ^^

this time the party looks to be human Rook, Harding and Neve. again the skeleton statues have the coffin-resting type pose, and the sense of bandages hanging from them and wound round their arms. and again the scale, verticality etc is amazing! the designs on the giant skull in the center interest me - is this just aesthetic design/Nevarran art, or is there an arcane aspect/function to it? lastly, from these two images it seems like maybe hexagons are an aspect of Nevarran art/design?

[itgomyway]

what the human condition is and how it involves the ego 🪐

who are you?

hi! my name is calypso :) the one who usually talks about non dualism. the one who just answered you is the ego. the ego is the FALSE sense of self. the idea that i am a girl teaching others about nd is false. the idea that i have a job is false. my name, age, religion, gender, financial status, beliefs, all of these are a part of the false sense of self. aka the ego. the ego is apart of you but since all of the aforementioned had to come to your awareness, its not actually real. its apart of the human condition.

my version of the human condition (this stems away from the general teachings of nd and go with how i decide the universe works) : we are “born” or land on this planet as beings of consciousness inhabiting human bodies. idk why we are here that doesnt really matter but the gag is, the more we identify with the false sense of self given when we land the less control we gain over our surroundings. also don’t know why this occurs but some of us are lucky to break free, most with the help of guides (astrology, tarot, loa, etc).

unfortunately growing up, a lot of us were taught by those who never broke free and are still under the human condition. i consider it the ego’s perception of life personified. example, if you hold the belief that you’re unlovable and you identify with this belief this is what youll experience in the human condition. this is also the 3d and 4d stuff with manifestation. manifestation is just consciousness identifying as the ego so it can understand its version of events. no events actually take place however.

so what now?

by default, our brains are more comfortable identifying as human. we could use conscious affirmations and repetition to change beliefs about being human. this makes ego identification easier. you could also just… not participate and exist as consciousness.

whats the difference?

ego identification means you are going to be human you want to manifest better jobs and relationships with others and connect meaningfully. you want to pursue passions and have an abundance of wealth. all beautiful things possible with loa 🫶

or you can do what i usually like to do which is remove the ego attachment from all of that. like sometimes i just want things not necessarily to improve my “life” but bc i just do. i have no plans for a future that doesnt exist. i live presently and accept what comes. i play the game of life but not as the victim as the maker and i create as it comes consciously all the time.

which one is right or wrong? which one is easier or harder? im not sure. thats entirely up to you. all you really need to know is that whether or not you decide to play the game, the game is gonna keep running. do what best suits you

© itgomyway

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

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