#but in a less formal one it’s more stream of consciousness

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

*tries to organize my thoughts*

*remembers i'm not in school and therefore beholden to neither heaven nor hell nor any man's grading system*

*joyously shredding & tossing all my carefully arranged 3x5 mental notecards into the air like so much beige confetti. raising my arms in victory, cheering raucously until i accidentally inhale bits of homemade confetti*

(*coughing up itty bits of paper like a cat evicting a hairball with a firm understanding of tenants' rights*) wait wat happens next

[johnbrand]

Screen Froze

Podcasting had become inescapable in recent years. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on...well everything. Politics, world sports, cooking, an obscure movie from 1978 only released in a now-extinct language. If it could be covered, it would be. And one could find this content anywhere across the internet. Youtube, social media, even streaming services promoted their podcasters. Everyone was watching everyone talking. 

Of course, with so many different podcasters flying about, it was difficult to actually spot out talent. And from a sociologically micro perspective, it was even harder for individuals to find podcasters discussing the content they actually wanted to hear about. The more unique the niche, the less people one could happen upon to be talking about it during their recorded stream of consciousness. It was a simple formula, but it forced individuals to browse for hours or even days to find what they were searching for.

Sometimes though, people could not hold such patience. They would not wait for their new hero, a disciple preaching their values and morals to audiences around the globe. They would skip past one livestream discussing the economics of green villages in Switzerland to the next debating the potential existence between a minor character in two separate fandom universes. They could even perhaps land into a podcast like Sean’s.

“Most people just don’t understand the Soviet Union’s impact on architecture,” the measly, pale nerd innocently commented. A little shy in front of the camera, he was only able to relax a bit when discussing his favorite topics. Sean dressed in theme too, wearing a brutalist-like business casual outfit, a trait his small but dedicated fanbase adored.

“There were a lot of architects that really shaped this movement from all around the world,” Sean continued. “But today, we are just going to focus on those from the USSR.”

So what happened when one’s patience dried up? Well, everything was brought to a halt.

DragonHeart49: anyone else’s screen freeze? superduperloverboy: mine too <3bitsandmore: sean, I think ur glitching out

With the screen frozen, our impatient soul could now get to work. If one could not find the podcast they were looking for, then why not just create their own? Obviously, this did not mean constructing a podcast themselves, but rather alter the fabric of reality and completely realign another’s being to their preferred state. That was much easier.

Physical modifications were made first. A much larger body was necessary, something that demanded confidence and respect from others. Juicy pecs, rippling abs, sturdy legs. There was always something unreasonably fun in bloating the podcaster’s feet up a few sizes. An imposing frame to be craved by others, even when hidden underneath clothes, was priority. And speaking of clothes, those were quickly stripped down to less formal articles. Expensive branded tee, athletic shorts so small that boxer-briefs were visible, classic white Nike socks, all of it much more respectable than a button-up and tie.

This was not the impatient soul’s first time altering a podcaster to their liking, nor would it be their last. Physically at least, each of the end products were a little different. All alpha males, but just enough variation to not warrant any unnecessary rumors. This particular podcaster had his pre-American heritage redirected from France to India, the features in the screenshot tanning accordingly as a dark stubble acquainted itself along the sharper jawline. Of course, the bulge was accurately enlarged for geographical standards too.

Mentally however, all the podcasters could be considered copies. They each spoke of the same rhetoric, theories, and ideologies that our impatient soul wanted to hear. No matter how “backwards” or “hateful” their discussions were deemed as, nearly anything could be said by hulking bodies with undeniable charisma.

“These homos have no idea what they’re talking about!” Sanjay raged as the podcast restarted, his deep voice cocky and assertive. "Sure bro, I was just thinkin’ about a girl’s rack I saw earlier today but there's more to a girl than big tits. There's a tight pussy too!”

The chat section lit off with encouragement, their fates too having been altered.

MassiveFART69: you tell them fags bro! LOL XD crassmassschlongnator: we want to BREED THEM TOO!!!! <3TITSGALORE: JUST TALKIN ABOUT IT ALREADY GOT SANJAY GRABBIN HIMSELF AGAIN

Sanjay vacantly looked down, finding himself already subconsciously scratching at the thick bush within his shorts. He let out a hot protein fart followed by a laugh, his scratching slowly extending into groping his fat 8 inch babymaker.

“God, that was WET bros!” Sanjay applauded himself, his free massive hand swallowing the mic. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side dudes, gotta go hit the gym. Bros for life!”

There was a reason the traditional masculine movement was becoming stronger. Maybe it was because men were slowly aspiring to become the alphas’ equals, or because fags were beginning to submit to their nature. Or possibly, it could have been because each time a screen froze, reality was altered one click closer to traditional, normal masculinity.

[suzukiblu]

Question. How would you go about writing from a mad scientists point of view? Or how would you write a point of view of a character who writes in logs or records their work aloud?

No matter the narrator, I just about always start with the character's base personality, so when you say "mad" scientist, the immediate question for me is are we talking, like, cackling lunacy or cold logic or neurotic obsession? Because I'd approach all of those personality types differently, obviously. So like, using those archtypes as examples:

The cackling lunacy would be very hard to follow and jumping all over the place and their logs/recordings would be very self-referential and full of delusions and hallucinations and just be INCREDIBLY difficult for other people to understand, but still following their own internal logic. It doesn't make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to THEM. Their notes literally just sound the same way they talk all the time.

The cold logic would be stripped-down and short and full of cross-referencing notes and references to previous experiments or other people's work, and trying to minimize the effects of their personal opinions on the data. Their opinions show in glimpses based on WHAT experiments they're running and what data they find important and how they approach their work, but they don't express them outwardly unless they can back them up with Results(tm). Their notes code-switch to more formal and precise language than they'd typically use in daily conversation, and more clinical and neutral tones/terms, plus a lack of bothering with the kind of put-on social niceties that make talking to other people a less annoying process for them.

The neurotic obsession would be VERY stream of consciousness, weaving in and out of topics and going off on tangents and struggling to concentrate on the nitty-gritty details or things that just don't interest them like their obsession does. Literally just writing down/recording their thoughts without a filter or focus and having to catch themselves and go back to previous parts of the experiment, and possibly need to stop and course-correct or just correct MISTAKES at least two or three times a log, and possibly inadvertently contradicting themself sometimes without actually noticing. Everything is about the obsession, and everything is bent AROUND the obsession and made to fit or relate to it. Their notes just sound the exact same way as their infodumps do when no one interrupts or stops them and just lets them talk their ears off.

So yeah, those are some starting points for my best immediate advice, but I would say above all else, the personality is ALWAYS what most matters, and especially the internal logic the person taking the notes operates on. Also, the additional motive of the question of it these are PERSONAL notes, or if they're notes that the character intends to publish or edit FOR publishing, or if they're notes that another character is supposed to transcribe later? The perceived audience in the character's head is always gonna influence what they do/don't mention or do, whether intentionally or not.

Hopefully that's helpful, feel free to follow up if you've got more questions or want some clarification on anything I said!

[plounce]

I am like. 70% sure that at some point y'shtola says to alphinaud that she was about his age when the exodus happened. But man the colony/mainland/exodus situation w regads to Thancred, Yda, and Lyse specifically has driven me to madness. The exodus was about five years after the conquest of ala mhigo and I feel like the Hext's could have made that journey far quicker then that- still, at the most conservative estimate Lyse still grew up in Sharlayan for ten years. What was her education like??? Yda seemed to have been working with the resistance for a while before her death, so who was taking care of Lyse? And Thancred- he seems to mostly self identify as Sharlayan? You never see him calling himself a Lominsan. Why was he assigned to Thanalan instead of La Noscea, if he knew the area better and had more contacts there? How much time did he even spend in Sharlayan before starting on field missions? (Also fun fact: Palaymo's dad is actually featured in a sidequest in Old Sharlayan! He never says it outright but he talks about having a son who followed Louisoix)

you are vindicated by @eriyu in the replies to my post!!

i agree with you totally about the hexts. god i wish i had more - okay i went and looked at the wiki page for yda and learned more from the encyclopedia eorzea v1:

Yda fled her homeland following the invasion of Garlemald in the year 1557 of the Sixth Astral Era. She and her sister first came to the Twelveswood seeking succor, but were forced to leave after being rejected by the elementals. After moons of wandering and foraging off the land, they found their way to the Dravanian hinterlands. With the aid of her future bosom companion, Papalymo, Yda was given a chance to begin her formal education in Sharlayan proper.

fuck the elementals 2. DAMN that's a long way to go, but coerthas pre-calamity is way less hostile to life than what we see 3. thancred truly copying the hexts in terms of "wandering around dravania foraging for moons". that would be a funny conversation for him and lyse to have

iirc, the only time yda is ever actually seen in game is in the 1.0 echo visions for gridania starters? every other time we see her is actually lyse in disguise (which - i have my own thoughts on the efficacy of that plotline, since we never actually see any meaningful difference between the two hext sisters or get much yda at all, but that's a tangent for a different day). i have to imagine that lyse was living with the totolymos in sharlayan when yda was killed, and the news of her death reached them first, allowing lyse to take her sister's place fairly seamlessly? or something? i don't think this plotline will ever really be touched on since lyse's story got basically finished when stormblood did (oh, lyse. how i wish your writing was a bit better.) (fordola and arenvald have been the continuing stormblood/ala mhigo plot/theme thread characters - lyse didn't show up at all in the role quest!). oh wait apparently there's some other stuff about YDA AND FORDOLA BEING FRIENDS? i have like no memory of this and i don't see a source but here's the wiki page. this is really stream of consciousness my apologies. oh well let's keep going

with regards to lyse's education, we know she didn't get her archon's mark (since it got vanished when she took off the yda disguise since papalymo was the one maintaining the illusion of it). the encylopedia has this to say about yda:

At first, this did not proceed smoothly, given her aversion to the study of letters. All too often, she could be found sating her hunger for lemoncakes rather than books. What Yda lacked in wit, however, she made up with her amazing physical prowess, and in time would channel this talent into becoming an expert pugilist.

considering how the encyclopedia also says that yda is "mysterious", i think that it knows that our yda is lyse, because it doesn't mention her becoming an archon in the entry.

also i agree with you about thancred, and at this point i'm developing the belief that louisoix tended to put his students in situations that were initially out of their comfort zones: yda/lyse got put in the twelveswood (where the elementals rejected them), thancred got put in the city state he didn't have a backstory in (he doesn't seem to have much fondness for limsa), and urianger got sent away from home and from his best friend. "here, kiddos! grow and develop! sink or swim!"

also it's so crazy that there was extremely little time between thancred arriving in ul'dah and watching ascilia be orphaned (also it's so crazy that he blames himself for that when there are people who literally let the goobbue loose). and then he became a teenage alcoholic. for work, of course. (shakes him)

i think there's an interesting compare-and-contrast between thancred and lyse - lyse has always been pretty vocally ala mhigan, and any association with sharlayan is mostly through her association with the scions. and thancred mentions his lominsan heritage maybe three times in my memory - explaining how he holds his breath so long in stormblood, recalling how minfilia called him a "wine-sodden wharf rat", and when he's reminiscing on the lominsan docks at the start of endwalker. beyond that he's pretty sharlayan. i do have the headcanon that he is faking his fancyboy accent, so i have the accompanying headcanon that he deliberately tries to distance himself from his childhood. i do think that thancred could've easily returned to sharlayan now and again to report in person, get info, etc, since he could still teleport back then. just not very often, what with the old teleport restrictions, but his handler is friends with a guy who's friends with the wilfsunwyns, teleportation experts...!

i do think it's interesting that louisoix had three kids from eorzea, had them educated/trained in sharlayan for their teenage years, and then sent them back off to eorzea to do recon and direct action for the circle of knowing. hm hm hm.

okay that's enough rambling. every day i think so much.

[ms-scarletwings]

(っ◔◡◔)っ 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜~!

You have reached the main blog of a twenty-something, avid enthusiast of biology, merriment, and several things fiction- Call me Scarlet! The homegrown flowers here bloom in many shades of passion, so feel free to take a stroll.

So yeah, this is mostwhat of a multi-fandom menagerie and dumping ground for the things which rattle around in my brain. It is mainly Queue-fed, and while my top interests are hella diverse and ever-fluctuating, this is the main group/area of media you can expect the most return engagement with from me in the foreseeable future:

• Dredge

• The Sly Cooper Game Series

• Rainworld

• Making Fiends

• Invader Zim

• Mouthwashing

• The lesser discussed works of David Firth

• Underrated Indie game creators the likes of KHS, Edmund McMillen, Scriptwelder, etc.

I no longer be continuing CFF or MMM one as a formal series, but instead just kind of speak my media brainworms when they choose to strangle me. Always looking for a new springboard to strike from, though 👀

Cont. on for some lists ‘n links.

Tags Guide, Sorta:

+ Scarlet talks about things - I release my worms, i.e. the takes. Pretty much what it says on the tin, a catch all for personal text posts ranging from long winded essays about Blorbo from my shows, infodumping about science, to just sharing something ponging around in my head lately. Usually try to reserve this tag for mid to long form original content.

+ Scarlet rambles about things - same deal, less filter, much more stream of consciousness. Includes short takes. Think of it like a bonus reel.

+ My Memes - self explanatory, ya goof.

+ Masterlists - if you showed up here off of, say, one of my media takes and wanted to know if there’s a highlight reel of mine dedicated to that specific show or series. Right now I’ve only got a couple but would be happy to pile together something else on request if there’s enough material.

Other bits of note:

* Following my interest trends, a lot of psychological and physical horror adjacent stuff is to be in-and-out expected here. Mostly on the level of stuff that wouldn’t get a show kicked off of a prime time children’s slot, but with lenient outliers. I’m also a massive bug enthusiast and it will bleed into the overall vibe and in the occasional real life photos i want to share. I will do my best to tag any potentially triggering content, but discretion be advised for the particularly sensitive. Lovecraftian terror fuel makes me go gaga and we’ll probably get along if it does you as well.

* Suggestions and friendly pokes about my blog content in general are welcomed in anons/asks, but not in my dms, thanks!

* This is user is critically and staunchly 🌈🍖

^ Only bothering to get this litmus test out of the way because I have noticed that some of the fandoms I am interested in are magnets for spicy discourse, and media discussion in today’s climate is a hotbed for this bandaid to get ripped off sooner or later. If you are someone who’s knee-jerk response to that emoji pairing and statement without any further elaboration was one of vitriol, extreme discomfort, and/or aggression, this is not a DNI; however, it is a request for good faith and clarification in whatever engagement you may or may not voluntarily choose with my stuff. It is a stern reminder of the old saying about assumptions. Something-something, makes an ass out of u and me. The less asses in the world, the less shit there will be all around.

* Not only am I quite the fanatic for others’ kinetic aesthetic, I’m something of an animator myself, sometimes! You can check out my Flipnote Studio projects over on my YouTube channel or as well on my art side blog (under-maintained at the current moment but looking to improve on that).

[izzy-b-hands]

A lil stream of consciousness thing from Izzy’s perspective. Implied past blackhands. Set around whatever time (since we don’t know that as of S1 lol) that Ed and Izzy more formally settled into being captain and first mate, vs friends and lovers who also happened to be pirates together.

---

There’s a lot he doesn’t tell Ed.

But, for where they are now, maybe that’s how it is. A friend wakes the other at night after a nightmare in search of comfort, but a first mate doesn’t to their captain.

Nor do they mention how seeing their captain smile makes their chest ache in a way that means the only thing to do is to look away.

How the sigh he lets out when he rests against Izzy in the evening, hair being gently brushed out, makes Izzy want to...

Well. It makes him want to curl up in on himself, around the feeling. And that feels...

Not bad. But it’s not what a first mate feels, no matter what they called each other before.

Ed said nothing would change, and in some ways, that’s true. They sail and raid and enjoy their bounty as they find it. Ed still leaves him speechless, in good and sometimes less than ideal ways.

But he doesn’t talk to him anymore, outside of orders. No more late night discussions when they both can’t sleep, quick check ins whenever they break for lunch, no stupid silly jokes shouted down the deck to each other to earn the ire of the crew as much as the laughter of each other.

He didn’t think that bit would change.

But he’s a first mate now. A bosun, in essence. They aren’t hands on any other ship; the people that sail with them are their responsibility. To keep safe and fed and ideally mostly alive.

Maybe he’s the one that needs to change.

They’ve always done a bit of matching, from outfits to overall mood during raids and fuckeries. Why wouldn’t Ed expect him to change now, to match their new roles and jobs?

He hasn’t said anything, but should he have to? Probably not, as a captain.

Once again, Izzy can see he’s the one falling behind. There’s no Jack to point it out this time, to make cruel jokes that toed the line enough to make even Ed laugh at him.

He should have realised it sooner.

Change isn’t something that comes easily to him, a fact he hates admitting. But staring at his face in the stolen hand mirror hidden away in his quarters, it’s finding him anyway. Physically, at least.

He would die for Ed. He doesn’t even have to think about the answer to that question.

The least he can do is change to match the new expectations, new boundaries.

If he does, maybe Ed will call him for a late night talk or two again. Or call out a joke so stupid it almost feels dumb to laugh at it.

He’ll change for Ed. Even if it kills him.

[ghostslimu]

introduction 2.0 the updated edition

UPDATE: art account wooo!! @ghostslimu-art hi! this used to be a system blog but turns out we have a lot more to say! cw a lot of text. like, a wall of text. sorry formatting not my hobby

(scroll a little for DNI)

about me ("host" or rather, most frequent fronter): - i go by virgil (or mika), he/him - 18 (body's age) - in a lot of (pretty mainstream, sorry) fandoms but will probably never talk about them here - transmasc (mostly binary, just some guy) bi and on the aroace spectrum!! - in an (outer system) poly relationship with 2 dudes who have no idea this blog exists - formally diagnosed with a lot of stuff but that's none of your business - i write! very rarely also draw - i like horror and romance and sometimes fantasy!!

about the whole system: - we don't have a system name sadly sorry - a lot of alters, even more fragments (50+) - traumatized, putting the dissociative and disorder in DID. being a system is, generally for us, not all that fun - no collective stance on syscourse, so don't ask us about it. each alter is entitled to their own opinion, and most of us just don't care enough to have one, sorry - all information on introjects and littles will be kept off this blog for our own safety, unless they want to participate in posting in the future! - we want to reblog more but are often too shy to interact with other people #socialanxiety, so this blog is mostly just a collection of our stream of consciousness, sorry about that. this is less of a social media profile and more of an archive - all posts are rebloggable and can be reblogged by anyone no need to even ask

strict DNI: - basic criteria. racists, antisemites, homophobes, maps, terfs, etc. - believe in "narcissistic abuse" or "borderline abuse" or any other "disorder + abuse" format - fakeclaimers - porn blogs

loose DNI (aka "it depends"): - proshipper, the term is so broad it can mean whatever so to make it clear: if you fetishize and glamorize incest or pedophilia, that's gross. if you just want to ship problematic (consenting) couples, that's fine!! if you write or read about heavy disturbing topics with critical thought, that's also fine - aesthetic blogs, if you're just here to reblog our vents. our suffering isn't pretty - strong opinions on syscourse, because we won't be able to collectively agree with you. if you only follow strictly pro or anti blogs, then this one might not be for you!! - young people. generally, there won't be anything explicitly 18+ on here, but please beware and follow at your own risk!! also, if you're too young to be on this site, you're also too young to follow. we feel most comfortable with people/systems who are (bodily) 18+ - ed blogs. i get it, i've been formally diagnosed. if you relate to a mental health post, you relate to it. feel free to reblog, just don't add any triggering commentary to any of our posts, thank u system members (here's where there used to be picrews but our appearances fluctuate so frequently, there's not much sense to that): kurt - caretaker/manager/fronting gatekeeper - 27 - he/him salem - former persecutor/now protector - 16 - she/they griffin - protector - 16 - he/they mici - headspace gatekeeper/archivist - ageless - they/he/she meta (formerly bunny) - former little - ageless - they/them svi - persecutor - 17 - he/they freddie - protector - 20-something - he/him the rest won't use this blog/are kept private for safety reasons!! please do not ask about them unless we're friends!! also keep in mind that we don't sign off as we're often blurry and it's just too much work!

[grandhotelabyss]

Interesting essay above in Compact on "Austen's Darkness," and points for making the argument with reference to Emma rather than Mansfield Park. I wrote once about Emma myself, but I found the darkness darker still in Sense and Sensibility (David Mitchell's favorite Austen novel, apparently, since I've been on a Mitchell kick.) Ironically, the single most Compact thing I ever wrote—I wrote it two years before Compact was founded, in the midst of the lockdown but before the riot—is my essay on Sense and Sensibility. Here is the gravamen, perhaps a bit too apocalyptic, though understandably so given the circumstances of its composition:

For [Tony] Tanner, Austen commends this social arrangement by a rather punitive immuring of Marianne’s passion within the ideological architecture of the novel (“one might think that something is being vengefully stamped out”), but he praises Austen nevertheless for encoding into her fiction with an almost Freudian insight all that organized society quells and subdues. Later writers would take up the hint, for aesthetic and political purposes the reverse of Austen’s. Austen herself will develop the use of focalized narration begun in Sense and Sensibility into the free indirect discourse that makes Emma a formal paradigm of the modern novel. A century after Austen, free indirect discourse—the third-person narrator’s adoption of the inner language of the characters—will overspill the banks of reasoned storytelling to become less the proverbial streams than the spates and torrents of consciousness we find in Dorothy Richardson, James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, and other modernists. Marianne’s revenge on her deviser is to undermine from within the narrative method meant to secure the authority of Elinor’s perspective. The passionate individual in despite all of reason commandeers the novel, and the novel’s 20th-century abandonment of the marriage plot is a concomitant of its modernist commitment to desire, this in tandem with a middle class reproduced less and less solely in the domestic sphere. By the time Toni Morrison rewrites Sense and Sensibility as Sula in 1973, neither reader nor writer doubts that the eponymous anarchic “sister” Sula is in the right, and the socially reasonable one (named Nel, a plausible diminutive of Elinor) the victim of a respectable death-in-life that has throttled all love and ardor. Today we have replaced Austen’s socio-sexual contract—rationally feeling man provides rationally feeling woman a household, in return for which she proffers the intimate superintendence that legitimizes middle-class power—with the one foretold by Woolf and codified by Morrison on the utterly sympathetic behalf of social elements Austen haughtily ignores (the queer, the colonized, the marginalized). Yet just as Austen didn’t intend for her innovation in the form of the novel—free indirect discourse—to aid the triumph of an individualism she otherwise feared, so Woolf and Morrison might hesitate before the world their own innovations have helped to materialize. Now desiring individuals, liberated from the heterosexual bourgeois household and almost from gender itself, atomized in metropolitan space, form temporary contracts in a gamified and pornified virtual marketplace that funds (where it is not funded by credit) the means of social reproduction in the academic diaspora of broader “online.” This is the state of middle-class woman now (and “middle-class woman” is more a class category than a gender one: if you’re reading this—or, indeed, writing it—the term applies to you). Marianne Dashwood (or Lily Briscoe or Sula Peace) has triumphed: today, she issues defenses of desire on podcasts and Patreon and posts pictures of her swollen ankle and putrid tonsils for the fetishists among her OnlyFans subscribers. If Elinor still functions as her conscience, she does so in the administrative bureaus of the corporation and university—human resources, diversity and equity—where her job is to intercept and interdict threats to the untrammeled unfolding of Marianne’s consciousness. This metamorphosis has undoubtedly liberated the individual from the stifling convention of bourgeois domesticity, but is the place where it has installed her now, where she must sell soul and body by algorithm just to stay alive, any less a prison?

[poemshubs]

Why No One Writes Long Narrative Poems Anymore?

Long narrative poems have held a venerable place in literary history, from Homer‘s “Iliad” and “Odyssey” to Virgil’s “Aeneid”, Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, and Milton’s “Paradise Lost.” These monumental works not only entertained but also instructed and inspired readers for centuries. However, in contemporary literature, the long narrative poem has largely fallen out of favor. This essay explores the multifaceted reasons behind this decline, examining cultural, technological, and literary shifts that have contributed to the waning popularity of this once-dominant form.

The Historical Context of Long Narrative Poems

To understand the decline of long narrative poems, it is essential to first appreciate their historical context and significance. Long narrative poems were the epicenters of storytelling in ancient and medieval societies. They served as repositories of cultural knowledge, moral instruction, and communal values. The oral tradition played a crucial role in their dissemination, with bards and poets reciting these epic tales to audiences who were often illiterate.

1. Oral Tradition and the Epic Hero:

The oral tradition was integral to the survival and transmission of long narrative poems. Poets like Homer, often semi-mythical figures themselves, would perform these epics, engaging audiences with tales of heroic deeds and moral dilemmas. The epic hero, a central figure in these narratives, embodied the values and ideals of the society, providing listeners with both entertainment and ethical guidance.

2. Cultural Significance:

These poems were not merely artistic endeavors but were also educational tools. They reinforced social norms, historical events, and religious beliefs. The “Iliad” and the “Odyssey,” for example, were used to teach ancient Greeks about their gods, heroes, and the nature of honor and bravery. Similarly, the “Divine Comedy” provided readers with a detailed and imaginative depiction of Christian eschatology, influencing theological and philosophical thought for centuries.

The Evolution of Literary Forms

The decline of long narrative poems is closely linked to the evolution of literary forms. As societies changed, so too did their preferred methods of storytelling.

1. The Rise of the Novel:

The novel emerged as a dominant literary form in the 18th and 19th centuries, offering a more flexible and accessible means of storytelling. Unlike long narrative poems, novels could delve deeper into characters’ inner lives and explore complex social issues in greater detail. Authors like Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and Leo Tolstoy demonstrated the novel’s capacity to capture the human experience in ways that long narrative poems could not.

2. The Shift in Literary Tastes:

With the rise of the novel came a shift in literary tastes. Readers began to favor prose over poetry, seeking narratives that were more relatable and less formal. The poetic conventions that governed long narrative poems, such as meter and rhyme, started to seem restrictive and outdated. The novel’s ability to present a more realistic and immediate portrayal of life resonated with readers, leading to its ascendance.

3. Modernism and the Fragmentation of Form:

The modernist movement of the early 20th century further diminished the appeal of long narrative poems. Modernist writers like T.S. Eliot, James Joyce, and Virginia Woolf experimented with fragmented narratives, stream-of-consciousness techniques, and non-linear storytelling. These innovations challenged traditional forms and conventions, making the structured and linear nature of long narrative poems appear antiquated.

Technological Advances and Changing Consumption Habits

The advent of new technologies and changes in consumption habits have also played a significant role in the decline of long narrative poems.

1. The Printing Press and Mass Literacy:

The invention of the printing press in the 15th century revolutionized the production and distribution of literature. Books became more widely available, and literacy rates began to rise. This shift enabled the novel to reach a broader audience, further marginalizing the long narrative poem. The novel’s prose format was easier for the newly literate to read and understand compared to the often complex and archaic language of long narrative poems.

2. Digital Media and Shortened Attention Spans:

In the 21st century, digital media has transformed the way people consume information and entertainment. The internet, social media, and streaming services have contributed to shorter attention spans and a preference for bite-sized content. Long narrative poems, with their extended length and intricate structures, demand a level of sustained attention that many contemporary readers are unwilling or unable to give.

3. The Role of Visual Media:

The rise of visual media, such as film and television, has also impacted the popularity of long narrative poems. Visual storytelling can convey complex narratives more quickly and engagingly than text alone. Epic tales that might have once been told through long narrative poems are now often adapted into blockbuster movies or television series, reaching wider audiences and catering to modern preferences for visual and auditory stimulation.

The Changing Role of Poetry in Society

The role of poetry in society has evolved, contributing to the decline of long narrative poems.

1. The Lyrical Turn:

Contemporary poetry has largely shifted towards shorter, more personal, and introspective forms. The lyrical poem, which focuses on individual emotions and experiences, has become more popular than the epic narrative. This shift reflects broader cultural trends towards individualism and self-expression. Poets like Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell, and Maya Angelou have influenced this movement, prioritizing personal voice and immediate emotional impact over grand narratives.

2. The Influence of Spoken Word and Performance Poetry:

The rise of spoken word and performance poetry has also reshaped the landscape of contemporary poetry. These forms emphasize the oral and performative aspects of poetry, often focusing on social and political themes. While they can be powerful and engaging, they tend to favor shorter, punchier pieces that can be delivered effectively in a performance setting. This trend aligns with contemporary audiences’ preference for shorter, more accessible content.

3. Academic and Literary Marginalization:

Long narrative poems have also been marginalized within academic and literary circles. Literary criticism and scholarship have increasingly focused on shorter forms of poetry and prose. The study of long narrative poems is often confined to historical and classical literature courses, further isolating them from contemporary literary practices. This academic marginalization contributes to their decreased visibility and relevance in the broader literary landscape.

The Challenges of Writing Long Narrative Poems Today

Writing long narrative poems presents unique challenges that may deter contemporary poets from undertaking such projects.

1. The Demands of Craft:

Long narrative poems require a high level of technical skill and sustained creative effort. Poets must master not only the art of storytelling but also the complexities of meter, rhyme, and poetic form. The commitment to maintaining these elements over an extended work can be daunting, especially in an era where shorter, more immediate forms of expression are favored.

2. The Market and Publishing Industry:

The publishing industry plays a significant role in shaping literary trends. Publishers are often reluctant to take on long narrative poems due to their perceived lack of commercial viability. Shorter collections of poems or prose are more marketable and easier to sell. This economic reality discourages poets from investing time and effort into writing long narrative poems that may never find a publisher or audience.

3. The Audience’s Expectations:

Contemporary audiences have different expectations and preferences compared to those of the past. Readers are more accustomed to the pacing and structure of novels, short stories, and digital content. The unique demands of reading a long narrative poem, with its intricate language and extended narrative arc, can be off-putting to modern readers who seek more immediate gratification.

The Enduring Legacy and Future Prospects

Despite their decline, long narrative poems have left an enduring legacy and continue to inspire poets and writers.

1. Influence on Other Genres:

The themes, structures, and stylistic elements of long narrative poems have influenced a wide range of literary genres. Epic storytelling techniques can be found in novels, films, and even video games. Works like J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy and George R.R. Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” series draw heavily on the traditions of long narrative poems, demonstrating their lasting impact on contemporary storytelling.

2. Contemporary Experimentation:

Some contemporary poets and writers continue to experiment with long narrative forms, blending them with modern sensibilities and themes. Anne Carson’s “Autobiography of Red” and Derek Walcott’s “Omeros” are notable examples of works that engage with the long narrative poem tradition while incorporating innovative approaches. These works show that there is still room for long narrative poems in the literary landscape, even if they are no longer the dominant form.

3. The Potential for Revival:

The future of long narrative poems may lie in their ability to adapt to changing cultural and technological contexts. Digital platforms and multimedia projects offer new possibilities for long narrative poetry. Interactive and immersive storytelling techniques could revitalize interest in this form, making it more accessible and engaging for contemporary audiences. Additionally, the increasing interest in diverse voices and narratives may create opportunities for long narrative poems to explore new themes and perspectives.

Conclusion

The decline of long narrative poems is the result of a complex interplay of historical, cultural, technological, and literary factors. The rise of the novel, changes in literary tastes, technological advancements, and the evolution of poetry’s role in society have all contributed to this shift. While long narrative poems are no longer the dominant literary form they once were, their legacy endures, and they continue to inspire and influence contemporary writers. As literary forms and consumption habits continue to evolve, there remains the potential for long narrative poems to find new expressions and resonate with future audiences.

[rxshl]

Ayn Rand’s theory leads her to define and demand objectivity in human cognition. Opposite theories lead to the opposite result. Intentionally or otherwise, they lead to the rejection of objectivity.

Historically, the three main theories of concepts are Platonic realism, Aristotelian realism, and nominalism.

Platonic Realism

Plato held that concepts refer to otherworldly universals—to nonmaterial Forms such as manness, tablehood, goodness, which, he believed, are independent of consciousness and of any concrete embodiments. This theory is known as “realism” because abstractions are viewed as external existents. They are viewed as features intrinsic in reality, apart from any relation to man or his mind. If a person is given a proper intellectual and moral preparation, Plato tells us, the memory of these entities, which men knew in a previous life, will gradually return. In the end, he thinks, the mind need merely remain motionless, passive, receptive, and the light of truth will automatically stream in, taking the form of a synoptic and ineffable intuition.

Aristotelian Realism

Aristotle’s theory is more naturalistic than Plato’s, but bears Plato’s imprint. Every entity, says Aristotle, is a metaphysical compound made of two elements: form and matter, or structure and stuff. The first is the universalizing factor, the same in every instance of a group, which enables us to bring the instances together under a single concept. The second is the particularizing factor, unique to each instance, which makes each thing an unrepeatable concrete.

For Aristotle, universals are not otherworldly, but they are still phenomena intrinsic in reality. Universals, in this view, exist in particulars, as elements independent of man. Tablehood et al. are out there in the world as structural features of physical entities, structures independent of any process of consciousness. As to how one comes to know such features, Aristotle’s answer, though more plausible than Plato’s, comes down also to a passive receptivity or “intuition.” For him too the mind in the end must simply gaze outward and await the imprint of the appropriate externalities.

Aristotelian realism is a kind of commonsense Platonism. The theory is brilliant and even valid in many crucial ways. Its greatest virtue is its attempt to fight off both Plato and Protagoras; it is the only important attempt in history to defend a this-worldly but nonskeptic view of concepts. Despite its intention and its virtues, however, Aristotle’s theory remains, in formal statement, a variant of Platonism and is thus vulnerable to similar objections.

Nominalism

Such a theory could not withstand the main opponent of realism in the theory of concepts, nominalism, which was developed largely by skeptic philosophers, from Protagoras to Hume to Dewey and Wittgenstein. Every existent, in this view, is unique; there is nothing the same uniting the members of a group; there is no metaphysical basis for classifications. There are, however, more-or-less-rough similarities linking particulars, so that it is often convenient to group various items under a single name. But no facts ever require a particular grouping; there is no objectively right or wrong way to form concepts. Men simply decide, for their own subjective purposes, to draw certain lines through the continuum of similarities offered by physical nature. We do not discover classes, as this idea is put; we create them.

According to the realist approach, conception is to be construed on the model of perception. In perception, there is a table out there, and we need merely expose ourselves to it, letting the entity imprint itself on our senses; the automatic result is a percept, which is infallible. So, it is said, for the next level of consciousness: in conception, there is a tablehood out there (whether in heaven or in physical tables); and again we need merely expose ourselves to it, letting the entity imprint itself on our minds; the automatic result will be an infallible concept. To which the nominalists retort: we have gazed diligently, but we cannot find these abstract entities or attributes; we can observe only unique particulars. Thus the traditional alternative: conceptualization as passive absorption of the external, or as a realm in which anything goes. The first side holds that universals are real (“out there”); the second, that they are nominal (“in here,” in the sense of being arbitrary linguistic creations).

[s3plan]

im on a one-week break from school now, which means its been one year since things got REALLY bad in terms of my delusion about the s3 plan/that the school i attended at the time was all a set-up or simulation. at least thats the marker ive set for when it “officially” got to such a severe point. idk what im trying to accomplish by writing this down, all it’s doing is make me feel exactly like i did a year ago, when i would spend hours writing walls and walls of textposts every night for a week that only made me spiral more and more. idk, mostly its scary to think about. for some reason i get really sad sometimes that i dont look the same as i did back then, even though my appearance was a big factor in worsening the delusion & my existential self-blaming guilt over the situation, that it was some kind of punishment for willingly turning myself into something else out of shallowness or being unable to accept reality. It’s almost like mourning a person, the same feeling i would get that my “old self” had been replaced by a boring, personality-less shell, drained of all color and lacking everything that makes you a real person. 

and It’s scary that recently I’ve had some of the same feelings of things being “off” in a way i can’t describe. and It’s scary how as soon as i started typing up this post i fell back into that exact style of writing i started using about a year ago. The overly-formal, annoyingly vague half-poetic stream of consciousness, hinting towards, referencing or even quoting the source text, but making an effort to avoid directly naming it. And it’s really, really scary what I’ve been remembering recently. and that this, too, is an attempt to further avoid thinking about it, hoping i can crawl back into that hiding place where i wont need to be myself, where those things didn’t happen to me

[badartxd]

HI HEY I am bursting into your ask box like Cosmo Kramer busts through his neighbour's door. I'm working quite irregularly through my backlog atm and regret that it's taken this long to get asks to you BUT I submit for your kind consideration the following OC Interview Asks to pass on to Yara my beloved :D (also I send her (and naturally you as well!) an excited wave and like seven thousand cool rocks)

16. Describe your perfect day 21. Describe your ideal partner 31 (freebie)- Tell me about your ideal house. Would it be big? What kind of colours/styles/things would you keep in it?

*first time trying to write her speaking, so sorry if it’s clunky and took a long while! She can be kind of verbose sometimes, Also, small text is quiet mumbling to herself, and bold is louder/more rushed excited speech. Tak tak tak is equivalent to “yes yes” “so” or “well well well”. Yolki-Palki (fir trees-sticks) is a euphemism for “fucking hell”. Sbornaya solyanka (solyanka soup with everything on hand) is an equivalent of “hodgepodge”.

Yara lifts her arm halfway up, more akin to one lifting their hand to ask a question than a wave, and smiles at you. She seems to be hard at work fiddling with something rather small, all the while throwing uncertain ~~bashful~~ glances at the formidable pile of rocks. She takes a deep breath.

“It’s good to see you, Plant. Tea? I have a great fruit one right-“ she seems unsure of how to approach the gift, giving off a slight deer-in-the-headlights feeling, albeit a distinctly pleased one “O - for me? Thank you. I didn’t expect such an addition to my collection- oh, you should see it when it gets organized!” The latter part of the sentence is significantly louder and faster than the rest as she claps her hands together “I’ve acquired a lot of new specimens from my last trip to Orzammar, even got my hands on some very curious raw lyrium…” she gives you a conspiratorial but overly exaggerated wink. She might not be very good at winking “of course, it is not to come into contact with anything, but it’s fascinating..!”

16) “Ah! My perfect day? Tak tak tak.. “ she drums her fingers on the table introspectively before reaching for a journal and leaning back, the next words coming out in a mumble “That’s a lot to fit into 24 hours… or, are you talking daytime? 12 hours, then? A perfect day… perfection is a bit of a difficult concept… Well, Zev would need to be there, of course, and Mishka should come too, and it would need to be somewhere nice - no, that’s too cold, and that’s a bit crowded, and I don’t think they allow dogs after last time- I think the gardens near the central market would do fine, they got some new plants - some quite toxic too ! - and there is the duck family and some of the people who come there are really weird! (Is probably firmly cemented in the neighborhood as one of said people, but the irony is lost on her) Yes, I think he’d like that. That and the more interesting shops…oh, and the fruit tarts! No, Mishka, my perfect day doesn’t include you eating the ducks! You can always make your own list!” The Mabari peeks over her shoulder, and sighs dramatically. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs. “Alright, we can stop by for some treats and take a few toys…Plus, I think this alleyway is quite infamous for murders lately, so that’s always fun!! To solve I mean. Or commit. Both is good..” she grins to herself ……at this point, it looks like she’s building a schedule. There is a murder slot. It’s a pretty big one. Mishka seems pretty excited about it.

21) “Oh, I already have one! Elvhen, Antivan, about 165 centimetres…no, that doesn’t seem right, I mean… that’s not..” There is a period of silence as her face appears to take on a grim expression, offset only by its clear shift to a bright red hue as she glances towards the other room. “He’s perfect, but I’m not sure how to put it into words. I haven’t ever thought about that kind of thing… he’s … he’s fun, and smart, and skilled in a scary amount of things, and takes things lightly and in stride. and …he cares, y’know? I s’pose that’s what caught me off guard the first time.” She fiddles with the knife in her hands some more, contemplating her answer “His position was complete garbage, y’see, but he still tried to have the best time he could, and he was very… straightforward in some ways…. Kind, even. T’ be honest, I didn’t get that at all” she chuckles, desperate to hide her embarrassment “Especially towards me. Other people I can understand, admire, even, but he just… spoke his mind when it counted, consequences be damned, and made sure everything was alright, despite everything… I know the feeling, and the conditions, and it’s hard to care about anything , much less so others. I’m … unsure of whether that answers your question.” She now seems genuinely amused. “Yolki-palki, leave it to moi to fall for an assassin’s kindness of all things. He made such a funny face when I told him, too… in my defence, the ~seduction~ went right over my head the first time and he’s wonderful and really should’ve seen it coming..”

31) “I’d say the place is pretty big.. it’s got a solarium, and a library, and some Knick knacks we picked up on the road..” it is unclear if she means the move, the travelling, or their journey through Ferelden as the road, but by the looks of it, it is a bit of everything. Weaponry and gems, among other things, appear as exhibits visible almost everywhere throughout the house. A wide smile precedes her next words “ a garden, too, and we’ve even managed to start up something of a brewing business. Plenty of room for ingredients. Style wise, well, it’s a sbornaya solyanka to be sure. We haven’t changed too much” she shifts in her seat. While the place does appear to house quite a few out-of-place items seemingly either handmade or closer to the Renaissance styling, both older and newer, clearly added in rather recently, the home appears to have been designed in a pretty consistent Gothic styling. “- it was a gift from an … old benefactor.”

After adding a few finishing touches, Yara sets a whittled figurine of a serpent down on the table , sliding it towards you :)

[moved2usagiiboo]

Daydreaming

Def; Daydreaming is the stream of consciousness that detaches from current, external tasks when attention drifts to a more personal and internal direction. 

Synonyms; Trance, fantasy, Hallucination

Chifuyu x fem!reader

Minors DNI, thank you.

You were stunning, enticing, gorgeous. You were a angel sent down from heaven with the job of blessing young men's hearts. You shined bright like the rays on a sunny day.

You were his everything and yet you weren't his. As a matter of fact, he barely knew anything about you but you have him wrapped around your delicate finger. He was whipped.

Chifuyu met you one day, when he had been tasked with a mid-day coffee run for him and his co-worker. He walked into the café, the smell of coffee and pastries engulfed his noise, it was a small cat café not too far from where he worked. Nothing more than a five minute walk, Chifuyu heard cats meow and purred as they rubbed against his pants.

He bent down rubbing the head of the nearest cat to him, he lifted the cat up cradling it as he walked towards the menu.

"Hi! Welcome to Neko-Sama, what can I get for you today." You beamed at him from behind the counter with the softest smile. Your voice rung in his ears like a soft melody, your smile made heat rush to his face in an instant.

You had your hair in pigtails with pink and white cat ears, and a frilly maid costume draped over your body. You shuffled your body feeling Chifuyu's eyes look you up and down eyeing your attire.

You were adorable.

You stared at the man with cat like eyes, you catched your eyes with his before turning away and giving an awkward cough to clear the air.

"Wow, Tuba doesn't really like anybody..." You drifted off, "Much less let people hold her, you must be a great guy!"

"Tuba?" He questioned earning a small meow from the ginger cat that was in his arms nuzzling his head on his arm. "O-Oh! Well, I do work with animals, that's probably why." He chuckles softly petting the cat.

"That's amazing, I got this job here to work with animals. I adore cats, they're just so cute." You practically squealed, "Sorry! M'rambling" You looked down with a slight your ears slightly red from embarrassment.

The only thing that ran through Chifuyu's head was how adorable you were. Would it be weird if he asked for your number? You both just met, but he can't help but want to know more about you.

"N-No, no, not at all. Honestly, I thought it was cute..." He says the last part ever so softly, tightening his grip on the cat due to nervousness. The cat bites Chifuyu's hand in response jumping out of his arms, "Oh.. Guess I pissed him off." You both laughed at the cat as you watched him lick himself in spite.

For a split second you both lock eyes, you turn your head down to the iPad on the counter before beaming a smile at him.

"So! What can I get for you today?"

Ever since then Chifuyu has found reasons to make his way to the café. His co-worker caught onto him leaving work to bring back coffee and various snacks, one day he asked him about it.

"I like the coffee." He plainly replied, he would repeat this phrase over and over not only to those who asked about his constant ventures to the café but to convince himself that it wasn't because he wanted to hear your voice and see your face.

Totally not because he hopes that his constant visits would bring upon something. Something more than small talk as you prepared his drink, he convinced himself that he didn't want to be the reason you smile everyday.

You weren't running through his mind, he couldn't be in love with a girl be barely knows.

But the way you blush when he gives you small compliments, it's just too cute to ignore.

Over the course of a few months you and the man got closer, you learn his name and he yours. You were both around the same age, 23, you still being in college working towards your degree and him owning a animal shop.

One day, on a cold winter evening Chifuyu found himself at the café once again. So far he has been to Neko-Sama almost everyday. Naturally, being the animal person he is, he has created a bond with the cats there. Especially Tuna.

Tuna meows the loudest whenever Chifuyu is in the establishment, that's when you begin to prepare his drink. His order changes with the season, as any good barista does, you remember his orders for each season.

Being that it's winter you prepare his drink, a medium peppermint hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. You found it cute how a grown man would order such a cute drink.

"Good evening Chifuyu-san." You smiled placing his drink at his regular table. He takes off his coat setting it down on the seat next to him.

"I told you to drop the formalities, we're the same age Y/n." He sighs, softly thanking you for preparing his drink. He blows the steam away before taking a sip.

"I can't help it, you just seem so much older " You giggle before sitting next to him on the booth couch.

"Should I call you Fuyu' from now on?" You tapped your chin with a hum pretending to think.

"Do what you want, dummy Y/n." He mutters, hoping you're unaware of the burn on the tip of his ears.

Tuna jumped his way onto the seat laying on Chifuyu's coat, his purrs nothing more than a background sound as you and Chifuyu indulge in a conversation.

"And look at this, the new cat is so playful," Chifuyu chuckles pulling his phone out, "Look, she basically destroyed this toy we gave her." He shows you pictures of the cat along with the aftermath of her playtime. You giggle as he swiped through his phone.

This wasn't your fault. You could barely see the screen because of the glare from the lights, you shift your body closer to him. Chifuyu freezes as he feels your clothed breasts push up against him as you stare at his screen unaware of your actions.

"You okay?" You ask staring at his face, cupping it with your hands. His whole body locked up at your touch, his face was bright red with sweat heading down the side of his temple. "You're burning up!" You half screen putting the back of your hand on his forehead, "Are you sick?" You frantically ask while gripping the man's face.

"M'fine.. Just" He trails off, looking at your glistening lips, "Dizzy...."

"Fuyu, you idiot. You need to go home when you don't feel well..." You sighed, "Come on let me walk you home, my shift is over anyways."

Chifuyu waited outside feeling dizzy off of your touch, his head throbbed and his heart pounded. Maybe he was sick.

"Sorry it took so long, Tuna didn't want to go in his cage..." You sigh locking up, you looked at Chifuyu and worry spread across your face. Chifuyu's chest heaved up and down heavily, he looked out of breath as if he ran a marathon.

You quickly take off your scarf and wrapped it around his neck, he softly gasped at the sudden action.

"Let's get you home, yeah?" You lock arms with him and following him as he walked to his apartment. You missed the way his face got brighter as he smelt your scent on the scarf. You said your goodbyes telling him to take medicine and get a good night's rest.

He kicked off his shoes and stripped down on his way to the shower feeling lightheaded, after his shower he took his medicine like you told him to, he wasted no time getting into his bed not before grabbing your scarf and wrapping it around his neck. He ignored the cries of his cat as he tried to drift off to sleep trying to forget the throbbing pain in his head.

ミ❣️That night he couldn't sleep, maybe it was the throbbing pain in his head or the nauseous feeling he'd get everytime he would shift his body.

ミ❣️Or possible it was the fact that everytime he closed his eyes he saw you, your smile, heard your voice, felt your touch.

ミ❣️Your hands were soft, oh so plush.

ミ❣️And your lips, the way they glistened due to the lip gloss you would constantly put on for worry your lips would dry out.

ミ❣️He couldn't forget your whines and pouts when he would call you, "dummy y/n" a nickname you acquired after spraining your ankle slipping while trying to give Tuna a bath.

ミ❣️The way you would stick out your bottom lip, your eyes would shine as if you were about to cry when he had to leave early...

ミ❣️You were adorable, his perfect little angel.

ミ❣️He drifts off daydreaming about every aspect of you that he loves, its a innocent little crush.

ミ❣️He begins to drift off about the way you dress, those pink cat ears that jingle everytime you move. That slutty maid costume that barely covered your ass. Those adorable stripped thigh highs that covered your thighs, pushing up the fat to the uncovered part of your upper thighs.

ミ❣️He nuzzled his flushed face into the scarf engulfing his nose in your sweet scent. It smelt like the fragrance you would constantly wear...

ミ❣️What was it again?

ミ❣️Fuck, he can't think straight trying to remember the name of your perfume makes his head hurt.

ミ❣️But thinking about how you would bend down he would get a full view of your plush cheeks made his cock hurt.

ミ❣️The way you would shake and sway your hips with each step you took.

ミ❣️He isn't in the right headspace, his mind has drifted away from his body. He's long gone, he lost all control of his actions.

ミ❣️Chifuyu is needy, the thoughts go right to his cock. His length twitched with every memory of you.

ミ❣️When did he pull his pants down to his knees?

ミ❣️When did his breath become broken and eratic?

ミ❣️He doesn't know how he ended feeling his dick through his underwear, how he began to fist his dick, all curled up in a ball, trying to release.

ミ❣️His other hand pulling the scarf closer to his nose to take deep inhales.

ミ❣️Chifuyu's voice becomes audible as soft groans leave his mouth.

ミ❣️Nothing more than pre-cum dripped from the tip of his angry cock as he aggressively jerked his hand up and down the length of his shaft, gripping it harder trying to get friction.

ミ❣️He just needed to cum.

ミ❣️It wasn't working. He spat in his hand, rolling into his back. He pr sses his thumb onto his tip. He hissed in pain as a electric jolt shot through his body.

ミ❣️His proud cock standing tall as he moved his hand up and down while simultaneously slightly thrusting his hips upwards. He clicked his tongue in annoyance when it just.. wasn't working.

It wasnt you

ミ❣️Chifuyu pulled his pillow from his head, shifting his position once more, laying back on his side, putting his cock onto the surface of the pillow. He slowly humped his pillow, grinding his dick into the pillow.

ミ❣️He found himself wondering what you were doing right now, if at night you played with yourself.

ミ❣️No, no, not that. He wondered how well you would take him, if you'd scream his name, begging him to go faster, calling him all sorts of names,

ミ❣️Daddy

ミ❣️Master

ミ❣️ They would sound so pretty coming out of your mouth

ミ❣️As he claimed your pussy as his spraying your insides with his cum.

ミ❣️Nah, you were too innocent for that... You were the type of girl to blush when somebody accidentally touches your hand of gives you a compliment.

ミ❣️If anything you would fail to understand why your core was heating up, desperate to feel something inside you but not understanding the meaning.

ミ❣️That's it, you'd come to him crying asking for him to help you feel better.

ミ❣️He groaned at the thought of him placing his hand around your throat while tongue fucking your mouth. You would struggle to kiss back as he roughly explored your mouth with his tongue. Your knees would buckle from the pleasure. He would pick you up, holding the back of your knees, gently grinding his hard cock against your sex.

ミ❣️He would treat you like a princess.

ミ❣️Laying on your back as you hurried to take your soaking panties off, your slick juices leaving a single string that was attached to your panties, proof that you were wetting your undergarments like a dirty slut.

ミ❣️Your face would be red as you shamelessly tell him in the softest tone.

ミ❣️"Want you so bad Fuyu'"

ミ❣️Fuck, his thrusts became more erratic, his knuckles turning white from his tight grip on his pillow.

ミ❣️Yeah, you'd call him by his nickname as you begged him to claim you, ruin you.

ミ❣️He imagine him sinking his fingers, he'd start with one not wanting to hurt you. Your tight untouched cunt tightly squeezing his finger. You would already be a moaning mess, Fuyu was talking all your firsts.

ミ❣️Your slightly loosened sex would take in another finger. You would try your best to muffle your slutty moans as he fingers your soaking pussy. You'd cover your mouth with your hand as his finger curled inside of you hitting that spot that made your toes curl and eyes widen.

ミ❣️You'd moan his name, begging him to stop. It felt weird, felt too good, something was coming.

ミ❣️He'd give you your first orgasm with his fingers, you had drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, your face was red. You were already so fucked out on his fingers.

ミ❣️He felt his cock twitch with these thoughts. He mindlessly began to fuck his pillow into the mattress, his body now on top of the pillow as he grinded on top of the pillow.

ミ❣️He'd have you suck on his fingers tasting yourself as he began to eat you out. His tongue slipping in and out of your slit, naughty slurping sounds emitted from the room as he throat fucked you with his digits that were once in your pussy. His nose would occasionally hit your lip causing you to arch your back pushing his tongue deeper inside you.

ミ❣️You love being eaten out huh? Love it when daddy fucks you with his tongue. Such a dirty little thing.

ミ❣️All the dirty things he could think of seeps from his mouth, while eating you out. He'd bring you to another orgasm with ease.

ミ❣️"Y/n, fuck, m'gonna cum" Chifuyu grunted out in a out of breath voice, he felt his cock spurt out his cum into his pillow, yet he wasn't satisfied.

ミ❣️He leaned back onto his shins, his knees pressing into the bed as he lifted the pillow up, slipping his cock into the pillow cover.

ミ❣️He wasn't done yet, your pussy would be twitching, eager to take his cock. You eyes would be begging him to fuck you into the mattress.

ミ❣️"Gonna fuck my princess dumb." He muttered out to nobody as he thrusted upwards into the pillow. His thrusts were shameless and aggressive as he pounded his pillow like a dog in heat.

ミ❣️His moans were loud as he muttered filthy things about you.

ミ❣️He would slip his cock into you, kissing away the tears from your eyes.

ミ❣️His cock was just too big, his dumb baby couldn't take it. The stretch hurt. Daddy made it fit though. Daddy will make you feel so good. Pretty girl.

ミ❣️He'd let you adjust waiting for you to give him the okay, he would start of slow, giving you small thrusts to get you used to the size of him. Deep passionate thrusts that said how much he loved you.

ミ❣️You would have the most beautiful moans and whines, he could listen to them all day. He would kiss you and your body till it bruised.

ミ❣️You'd beg him to fuck you, he would do just that. Slamming his hips into yours causing you to scream out his nickname, one of his hands would be on your thigh squeezing it oh so tight getting a good grip for when he pulls his cock out and slams your bodies into each other, fucking you senseless. While the other kept your mouth busy, occasionally taking his fingers out of your mouth to kiss you deeply bruising your lips with his.

He'd watch your every expression.

ミ❣️"Your pussy was made for me, look how well you're taking it. Doing so good"

ミ❣️Your eyes would cross as your tongue rolled out, you'd pants and beg for him to slow down. You didn't really want that, no, not when he was making you feel this good. The way you would arch your back, grind your hips into his, wrap your arms around his neck and grip his hair as you moaned louder with each thrust told him everything he needed to know.

ミ❣️You wanted more, you're greedy aren't you?

ミ❣️"My pretty little cocksleeve"

ミ❣️Chifuyu felt himself getting closer to his high, but he wanted to cum with you.

ミ❣️No, you weren't here.

ミ❣️His hand would make it to your clit giving it a soft slap before his thumb rubbed it in circles. You'd start cursing because of how good it felt. Telling him you wanted more, how you were about to cum, how much you wanted him to cum in you.

ミ❣️You would adore it, he knows it. You'd be such a cum hungry slut for him, no matter when or where you'd want him to cum in your tight pussy.

ミ❣️"Fuck, fuck— so good, Y/n— yer' pussy so good" Chifuyu cursed out as he imagined you creaming his cock the same time as he slammed his dick in you once more before spraying your insides white with his cum. Your body would shake as you had your final orgasm feeling so full.

ミ❣️"Fuck... Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck!" Chifuyu cursed out realizing what he just did, he felt a wave of guilt as he felt his dick go limp after fucking his pillow to the thought of you like a madman.

ミ❣️He rushed into the shower, almost falling off his bed in a panic mode. He tried to wash it off, tried to wash off the sin of moaning your name while he fucked his pillow like some highschool horn dog.

ミ❣️He hoped you'd forgive him, he prayed you would.. You couldn't ever find out what he did, you'd label him as a pervert.

ミ❣️Maybe he was one.

ミ❣️He couldn't look himself in the mirror, too ashamed to face himself.

ミ❣️Chifuyu threw the pillow away before curling back in bed chanting soft apologies to nobody. He'd wrap his body in his blanket nuzzling his face back into your scarf as he drifting off final able to sleep.

ミ❣️The next morning you didn't understand why Chifuyu refused to make eye contact with you...

It was supposed to be a short drabble.... 500 works max 🤧�� anywaysssss

@baji-kuns hope you liked it 🙄 #Chifuyu'sAHoe

[chanfictions]

Akatsuki reader, partners...mmmmm maybe Hidan and Kisame.

Again, fem! The reader gets hit by someone else's technique.

(Or she was stupidly thrown something that she didn't have time to dodge).

The reader gets aroused and suddenly wants to have sex, whines, rubs herself against Kisame and Hidan, and they decide to help her ;3

(Either arrive at the base and fuck there, or right where they got rid of the opponents)

Hey anon! Sooooo, I know this isn't exactly what you requested. I couldn't for the life of me fit Hidan and Kisame into the same box to make this work, so I just stuck with Kisame. It started with your ask. One thing led to another and this happened. I got carried away with plot. Again. Hope you still enjoy! 

Cupid

18+ Content! Minors DNI!

Kisame x Reader

Smut with a splash of plot. Unprotected sex-ish. Reader is assumed to be on birth control. Public sex-ish. Aphrodisiacs. Mentions of blood during combat.

You were sent on a mission together to retrieve a special relic that had some unexpected side effects.

3.4k

This mission was doomed from the start.

Pain had partnered you with Kisame on an infiltration and retrieval mission to acquire a powerful ninja tool being housed in a fortified military compound not far from the Hidden Sound. Stealth was your forte, so this sort of thing was right up your alley. While you had no hard-hitting combat skills to fall back on in the event that something went awry, you weren't particularly worried. As a phantom thief with a perfect record in your high profile heists, the thought of getting caught or needing to participate in a fight hardly crossed your mind. You insisted to Pain that you had never needed backup in the past and could easily do this yourself, but Pain disagreed. Kisame was assigned to you more or less as a bodyguard whether you liked it or not.

Kisame had been running solo since Itachi's death and had gotten a tad rusty when it came to fighting alongside another person. Your battle techniques got along about as well as oil and water. You favored covert sabotage and traps, and Kisame, well, Kisame was Kisame. Nothing that man did was small. He transformed every battlefield he encountered into a shark-infested lake before completely obliterating his opponents.

That's how everything went sideways. Kisame, bless his blue heart, was not subtle. You donned your camouflage jutsu and got ready to slink into the compound. "I'll pop a flare if I get into trouble. It's going to be much easier to sneak in and out without a 6'8" sword on legs following me. Just wait here."

Staring at the spot where he thought you were probably standing, Kisame's face twisted slightly. "This really isn't a good idea, Y/N." Unfortunately for Kisame, you were already long gone, and he was having a conversation with the wind. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back against a thick tree, focusing on the compound not far off in the distance where you would be poking around on your own. He didn't like the idea of you going in there alone. You were still relatively new to the Akatsuki, and your skills had yet to be formally tested. Kisame got along with you quite well and rather liked you, so allowing you to dive head first into danger without any real offensive jutsu in your arsenal left him on edge.

That overprotective nervousness regarding your safety was what sent everything spiraling out of control. An alarm sounding from within the walls of the compound left Kisame bristling and looking skyward for a flare. As the seconds ticked by into minutes with no cloud of smoke rising into the sky and the clear sound of soldiers mobilizing inside, Kisame made the executive decision to throw your plan out the window.

What he didn't know was that the alarm you set off was a decoy. Oh, shit. After plunging the base into chaos, it occurred to you that you had neglected to tell Kisame as much. At that moment, you realized that Kisame was probably about to charge in, sharkskin blazing. Shit, shit, shit! Every profanity you knew blared across your stream of consciousness like ticker tape as you hurriedly snatched the relic longbow you had been sent in to retrieve. A gooey sap coated the slick wood which left you quickly wiping your palms on your thighs to clean your hands before making a beeline for the exit. The growing cacophony of chaos outside announced Kisame's arrival.

As you expected, things outside had gotten a little out of hand. Kisame was in the heat of battle, taking on an army by himself and winning. Jutsu flew across the battlefield like exchanges of elemental cannon fire. Half of a battalion was encased in water prisons and the other was fleeing from shark filled orbs of water. Kisame was grinning ear to ear as he swatted off one after another like whiffle balls with Samehada.

You quickly scurried across the scene, sneaking up behind Kisame and whisper-screaming to get his attention. "Kisame, you big dummy! It was just a diversion! I'm fine!!"

Surprised, Kisame turned an eye to where he assumed you were while sending another enemy flying with a swing of his greatsword with an amused chuckle. "Next time, you might want to tell me what your plan is. Here I thought you were fighting off an army all by yourself."

"No, that's just you! Come on, I got the thing. Let's go!" You danced around him to avoid the swings of his sword, still wanting to keep yourself out of sight. Upon seeing his feet shift, you turned around just in time to see a flurry of arrows flying your way in such a wide spray that dodging them was going to be a feat.

Kisame blocked what he could with Samehada, but not knowing where exactly you were, wasn't sure he had protected you. A yelp answered his question. You shimmered back into sight just in front of him. He missed one, and it had plunged straight through your thigh. A stain of your blood quickly began mixing in with the sap you had wiped on your pants earlier. "Damnit!"

"I'm fine! Let's just go!" You shouted over the clatter of weapons and incoming pursuit, getting ready to run. With a snarl, Kisame reached down and snapped both ends off of the arrow before unceremoniously throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and retreating.

Fortunately, the soldiers had been so devastated by Kisame's onslaught that they hardly had the numbers to launch a fruitful pursuit. In the chaos, they had yet to notice that you stole the very item this outpost had been built to protect. Once he had put sufficient distance between you two and the base, he searched briefly for some cover to deal with your leg wound and leapt down from the towering branches to set you down with your back to a barky trunk.

You were beginning to feel flushed and hot as a shiver of heat rattled through your body and left an oddly pleasant knot in your belly. Blood roared in your ears as your heart began to race. When you looked up at Kisame, something felt… different.

Kisame knelt down to look at your leg. "You should have been standing behind me," he chided while setting one large palm on your thigh to brace it while he used the other to remove the broken arrow shaft. An ache built in your core as you caught your lip between your teeth. The warmth of his hand sent a tingling sensation rippling through your body. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to hurt."

With massively dilated pupils, you stared at him hungrily. "It… didn't hurt," you breathed. With a deep inhale, you wondered how you never noticed how good he smelled.

Kisame stared back at you critically. "You're awfully sweaty for someone who wasn't running." Shock washed over his face after touching your forehead. You were positively boiling. "Y/N, are you feeling alright? Was there poison on that arrowhead? Your eyes..." Concern was beginning to bubble as he pulled the item in question from his pack, examining it, completely oblivious to the wild fantasies bubbling in your head.

He was so close. Your body hummed to life as that heat in your belly began growing in size. An ache throbbed through your core. Your heart was in your mouth. Every inch of your skin pricked with the need for contact. And Kisame… how had you never noticed just how hot he was? Sure, you had some occasional dirty, late night fantasies about him. But now? You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. The muscles rippling across his torso were hardly concealed by that black cloak. Even with those unusual features, his face was remarkably handsome, not to mention each time he spoke, shocks seemed to travel straight through your body and into your clit. Still with your lip caught between your teeth, you let out a sultry breath and ghosted your fingertips along his firm bicep. All that seemed to do was make your hunger worse.

Kisame, entirely oblivious to what was unfolding behind your eyes, just looked confused. The arrowhead didn't appear to have any substance left on it, and he couldn't think of another cause for your apparently unwell state. He unpacked some rudimentary first aid supplies from his pack and wrapped some gauze tightly around your thigh as a temporary measure to staunch the bleeding. Thinking that your stare focused at him was vacant, he snapped his fingers in front of your face to try to get your attention. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on with you?"

While his arm was extended, you latched onto it like a lifeline, nuzzling your face into his bicep and inhaling deeply. "Kisame..." You couldn't resist. You needed to touch him. Following that arm back to his torso, your hands traced every ripple of muscle while Kisame froze in shock.

You were his partner. While he undoubtedly found you attractive, this seemed like an odd time to suddenly declare your own desires. "What's gotten into you?" He wrapped his hands around your wrists, engulfing them entirely, as they traversed his muscular chest.

"Dunno… I just really… really need you." You used the grip he had to pull yourself in, burying your face against his neck and breathing deeply again. "You smell so good…"

A light heat rushed across Kisame's cheeks as you abruptly began coming on to him. Between your strange behavior and the thrill of the battle he had just been in, he was amped up. Your body being pressed so tightly against his was causing some complications to arise. His pulse quickened as you nuzzled and rubbed yourself against him. Feeling your breasts against his chest and your heated breath on his neck was distracting him from the issue at hand. "Y/N…" He let out your name in a low growl, intending it to be a warning, but it didn't quite come off with the bite he had intended. Hearing that word fall from his lips in such a tone just set you ablaze. A little moan escaped your lips, and you coiled yourself around him like a lusty little boa constrictor, trailing little bites and open mouth kisses on his neck, savoring every salty inch of his exposed skin. Another deep growl rumbled in Kisame's chest as he ran a strong palm up your spine to the back of your neck. "You're under the influence of some kind of jutsu," he breathed heavily, trying very hard to resist biting you back as his own desire built rapidly. There was no denying how steamy this situation was growing.

"Don't care," you whispered, nibbling at his ear as your hands wandered the chiseled landscape of his body.

"You're injured," he continued, now getting sucked into your lusty riptide, grazing your neck with pointed teeth.

"Don't care," you breathed again, beginning to unzip his cloak.

"We're in enemy territory," he murmured between bites on your throat that no doubt left marks before swallowing you in a crushing kiss. Those calloused hands ran up your sides, wanting to explore more but seeming hesitant.

"Don't care," you mewled, reaching for the waist of his pants, your fingertips grazing the impressive package Kisame was concealing, wiggling your hips for any kind of relief from the needy heat that was driving you to the brink of madness. Your panties were drenched. Your core ached. It was like you had been edged for two days straight without any kind of release. Every nerve in your body was hypersensitive to touch.

Another deep sound rattled in his throat. You ensnared him in this whirlwind, and there was no going back now. You undressed each other in a flurry of zippers and fabric, discarding one item after another in a heap upon the leaves scattered across the forest floor. You didn't care about the dirt. Nothing else existed to you right now outside of the deft hands moving across your body, making you arch your back and moan. His scent flooded your head. You were drowning in Kisame, yet felt like you were dying of thirst. You wanted him. Needed him. Your brain and body shared a singular focus. Neither the mission nor your bleeding leg mattered right now.

Kisame picked you up by the backs of your thighs, pressing your back against the rough trunk of the tree while leaving a trail of branding bites along your neck and collarbone, drawing a whine out of you. You wrapped your uninjured leg around his waist, grinding your soaked pussy against him and letting a lewd moan drift into the sky. That little bit of friction alone was nearly enough to send you over the edge. Your hands wandered, caressing every ridge and ripple of the muscle coiled like steel cables under his skin. This man was built. By now, you were well aware that he was hung like a horse as well. That impressive appendage was currently teasing the hell out of your hungering little hole. You could feel that broad head rubbing through your slick folds as you shifted. "Kisame, please," you whispered with a breathy lust, rolling your hips against him.

A low, raspy chuckle tickled your ear. "You're going to scream and give away our location," he teased.

"Then kiss me so I can't." Your desperation to have that massive girth inside of you dripped from every pore as you tangled your arms around his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss.

Unable to decline such a delicious request, Kisame shifted you to begin impaling you on his impressive cock painstakingly slowly, stretching your walls around him. He smothered your wails with his mouth. Your back scraped across the rough bark behind you, but you didn't care. This was divine. You tensed and whimpered, both aching to be filled and struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him. You clung to him for dear life, gasping and catching his lip between your teeth as he finally sheathed himself. Your core throbbed and pulsed. Nerves ached for input. You used your good leg to try to pull him in even deeper. Another little chuckle rolled through him at your enthusiasm and impatience. "Someone is eager," he teased again with a single thrust to punctuate his statement.

You mewled before biting his neck. "Kisammm-" He silenced you with a bruising kiss before any more complaints or moans could escape your lips as he began drilling you into that tree. Birds fled from the branches above from the force of his motions disturbing their roosts. You clawed his chest and back, screaming into his mouth as he repeatedly buried himself in your fluttering core. You were on fire. Each time your hypersensitive clit rubbed against his body, stars erupted behind your eyes. Sweat slicked your bodies as a steamy heat began to rise. The drag of your nipples against his skin sent rippling shocks of pleasure through your entire being.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled in your ear, large palms tightly gripping your ass as he drove himself into you again and again. You buried your face against his shoulder to let out a muffled wail as he sent you right over the edge. Your walls clenched tightly around him, eliciting a primal snarl from his lips. He sank his teeth into your neck as his powerful motions set impressions of that tree bark pressing into your back. With your good leg, you pulled him even deeper, arching into him as you flew off into orbit. A palm slammed over your mouth as he railed you into that tree to stifle the litany of cries erupting from your throat. Your head hit the wood behind you. He kept you pinned firmly there while fucking you into oblivion.

Your world melted away into nothing but the input of pleasure ripping through your body. The surrounding forest faded away. All you could hear was your own muffled heavy breathing, Kisame's grunts, and the slick sounds your bodies made between rhythmic contact. Every inch of you pulsed and throbbed with heat. Orgasm after orgasm tore through you in a continuous wave that left you with numbed legs and a soaked core. Your head was adrift in the clouds, the situation seeming impossible. Your new partner railing you against a tree in enemy territory was not your plan for this mission, but hell, you weren't going to question it. Your body ached and hungered for more. You kissed him as though he were your only source of air and you were suffocating.

Kisame picked up the pace, digging his fingers more firmly into your ass while keeping a tight clamp over your mouth to muffle the inhuman sounds you were making. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you lost yourself in another powerful crash of an orgasm, strangling his impressive girth with the crushing grip of your walls. A low growl and a series of curses rumbled through his body into yours as the depth of the thrusts increased until the hold your pussy had on him sent him over the edge and milked him dry. He growled your name through his release, gripping you tightly against his firm body. The combined sound of your heavy panting was the only thing that could be heard over the breeze rustling through leaves overhead.

That fog in your head slowly began to lift as you caught your breath. Your muscles trembled with fatigue as you dropped your head against his shoulder. "Fuck," you whispered through heavy breaths, slowly running your palms up his chest to his shoulders. Still pinned against the tree with his length buried within you, it took a moment for you to remember where you were. A soft hiss escaped your lips as he shifted your weight, reminding you that there was still a bleeding hole in your thigh.

"You good?" A raspy chuckle rumbled under your head that you had resting against his chest. He maintained his grip on you for the moment, not sure if you were about to go weak in the knees and collapse into a heap if he let you down.

"Yeah, I'm good," you giggled, turning your heated cheek against him before grimacing again when you looked down and saw the rather unfortunate state your leg was in.

Kisame slowly slid his length from you before gently setting your feet back down into the crunchy leaves littering the forest floor. With an arm still around your back for the sake of your stability, he glanced down at what you were eyeing, spotting your wound and what looked like a stain of pink that wasn't blood still flushing the surrounding skin. He carefully brushed his fingers against it, picking up a swipe of the gooey substance that you had wiped on your pants earlier that had seeped through the fabric and into your wound when you were hit. "What's this?" He inquired curiously, giving it a sniff.

"Some sap or something that was oozing from that bow," you breathed, shifting your weight onto your good leg and breathing heavily still as you leaned into him.

Kisame let out a hearty laugh. "You didn't wear gloves when you handled it, did you?"

Your face paled. You had entirely forgotten Pain's instructions regarding the handling of that weapon in your haste to leave with it during Kisame's little rumble with the defending army. "Oh, god -- damnit." An embarrassed laugh started shaking your shoulders as you defeatedly let your forehead fall against his chest.

"That bow is made of cherub wood. While it makes excellent longbows, its sap is also the primary ingredient in aphrodisiacs," Kisame teased. The embarrassed giggling overtook you and melted into genuine, hysterical laughter.

"Woops."

[multifairyus]

okay @cqcophobiq inspired me to be brave and stop camping out in the tags. I’m a real stream of consciousness kinda gal so hopefully this makes sense and not *too* rambly! Ahem:

🔥🔥🔥AUTISTIC HOBIE RIGHTS 🔥🔥🔥

This makes SO much sense @gutsygremlin! The fact that being cisn't is is very common for neurodivergent people also makes me nod vigously to this post. Hobie Brown is built different. Blackness, queerness, and neurodivergent paint such a specific picture for the type of person you end up being and how you interact with the world.

I got formally peer reviewed and therapist referred for autism like, last week?Also never masked—what you see is what you get. And since I didn’t KNOW something was “wrong” with me, I didn’t realize how bold of a statement I was making by simply being myself. Subconsciously for 25 years I’ve more or less communicated to people “…oh, am i not picking up on cues and making social faux pas? You want me to get back in the kitchen and cook up another personality/demeanor for you? This ain’t build a bitch hoe. What you see is what you get.” And it wasn’t intentional, but makes me a very polarizing person! I really relate to the concept “autistic rizz” (charisma). Tons of it—harder to realize i had symptoms cuz i love people! However, with autistic rizz comes autistic “puls”, (repulsion).

So, brining it back to Hobie being autistic and it’s like…yes he’s already cool but so much cooler cuz even without a diagnosis or peer reviewing, he knew he was polarizing, thought different. I feel like being a tall, darkskinned person with very afrocentric features set him up to be “intimidating” and gawked at WITHOUT the punk aesthetics. This wonderful Tik Tok by Chris Whoa talked about how he felt cosplaying Hobie. He felt empowered because Hobie “doubles down” on taking up space being black and alternative, and that people who would treat him differently/get scared off by his aesthetic aren’t people he needs around him anyway. If him being himself is repulsive, in his own words…”Good.” And to baby autist me that’s SUCH an inspiration like wow 🥺 that said, while we’re talking about masking…people have pointed out that Hobie a lot more animated/upbeat/physically affectionate in his suit whereas with his mask off, he’s more reserved and serious. Huh. Imagine that…

Onto the gender bit: I saw non-binary Hobie a mile away. The fuck does that man looking like adhering to not just gender roles but the concept all around? I think he'd be annoyed at how the term “non-binary” is being treated like a third gender rather than a category, and thus just another label. But in general? Yeah fuck that binary shit.

That said personall, regardless of if he’d define himself as such…I get gender-fluid/genderflux vibes from him. Obviously, you don't need fashion as a way to express gender. But I think Hobie could and would.

He has SO much gender?? Genderful even! Why I love AUs/headcannons/timelines where he has the time/housing stability to have an interest in fashion and makeup and playing with expectations. he's so pretty and handsome like if a man and a woman had a baby 🥰

I wish people stop overemphasizing the one “punk” trait from Hobie…because forcing all of his fashion and music etc to be ONLY punk is not punk and I for one adore the inconsistency he swears by. If we can’t pin down a gender for him how can you pin down a genre you can’t, exactly.

Hobie is such a silly goofy guy tho. Like he’s absolutely the type of queer to, when asked for pronouns or how he identifies, say something like this:

“”Gender?” Y’need me to put a little sticker on m’ forehead of what I am so you can work out what it “means” when y’get an eyeful of all this, yeah? Cute! All you *actually* need to know if that you're into me you are not straight. Yup. Don’t make the rules—don’t believe in them actually. But that rule is the most help you’ll get from me to figure that out. Not my problem l'm universally appealing innit?”

i want some more heavily analytical headcanons of Hobie brown (from black queer ppl)

what are ur thoughts. give them to me

[random-thought-depository]

Idea for a story I should write someday: a story kind of like the Babylon 5 episode Believers, but it’s obliquely referencing the continuity of consciousness arguments about uploading and teleportation.

The story’s equivalent of Shon is an alien from an intelligent species for whom unconsciousness is naturally super-rare; they don’t sleep, and they have a highly redundant nervous system that makes them very resistant to being “knocked out” by blunt force trauma or drugs. As a result, this species has developed philosophical arguments that a continuous stream of consciousness is constitutive of identity, and hence to lose consciousness is to die, and if somebody loses consciousness and then wakes up later that person has died and a new person who happens to have their memories has awakened in their body. This perspective is intuitive to them, in the same way “if somebody creates a perfect copy of you and then immediately kills the original you, you have died” is intuitive to us, and it’s the view of multiple mainstream religions and philosophies on their world. Their equivalents of the words awake and alive are more-or-less synonyms, their word for being born roughly translates as “awaken,” and their word for death roughly translates as “the cessation of movement and thought” (maybe they classify sessile organisms like plants and fungi as not alive, in the same way we classify viruses as not alive?).

Obviously, one consequence of this is that most surgeries in their society are done with local anesthetic, with the patient being carefully kept awake (”alive”) the whole time. But in this case a child of this species has an illness or injury that will definitely kill them (in the uncontroversial sense of the concept) if it isn’t remedied with an operation that definitely will result in a period of unconsciousness. And the story centers on a human doctor trying to convince the child and their parents that what they’re proposing will save the child’s life instead of just killing them and replacing them with a different person.

The take a third option happy ending would be that the doctor manages to find a way to do the operation while keeping the child conscious the whole time, but I think I prefer something a bit more bittersweet. So I’m thinking maybe they try something like that, and it works in the sense that the child physically survives and is fine, but it fails in that the child loses consciousness for a few minutes during the operation so the parents see them as having died.

Oh, they don’t filicide their own child like in the B5 episode or anything like that. They don’t think they’re an abomination or anything like that. They just think their child has died and been replaced with something like an identical twin. While unconsciousness is very rare among them, there have been cases throughout their history, and their culture has developed procedures for it. When a person dies and a new person awakens in their body, the new person is given a name (different from that of the original inhabitant of their body) and their equivalent of a baptism. The family of body’s previous inhabitant may adopt them. If they’re married, the spouse of their body’s previous inhabitant may marry them. They may adopt the children of their body’s previous inhabitant. They inherent the personal property of their body’s previous inhabitant, but they are not responsible for any debts and crimes of the previous inhabitant of their body, which are considered to belong to the dead person. The “dead” inhabitant of their body is given a funeral, with a small effigy of wood or wax buried or burned as a corpse would be. The “dead” inhabitant of their body is then given the same daily prayers for the dead as other dead immediate family members.

So, before the operation the child prepares for the possibility that they might lose consciousness by writing a letter to the inheritor of their body saying something like “Please don’t feel bad about inheriting my body, you didn’t ask for this, it isn’t your fault.” After the operation the child is given a new name and their equivalent of a new baptism and adopted into the family, as a foundling would be, and is introduced to their sibling as a new member of the family who happens to look like the dead sibling. The child inherits the personal property of the “dead” child, in this case a few toys and video games and the like. The parents arrange for their “new” child’s education to continue where the “dead” child’s left off, as they share the same memories (when they go back to their school - which is a small “neighborhood” school run by and for the community of their species on the space station the story takes place on - they are introduced to their classmates as a new student). The “new” child participates in the funeral of the “dead” child and before every evening meal participates in the daily prayers for the dead, in which the “dead” child is mentioned by name as other dead immediate family members are. The “new” child will celebrate their birthday on the anniversary of the operation, and the day of the operation will be counted as the day of their birth (“awakening”). Basically, the parents are as nice about the whole thing as they can be, but they really believe that they’ve lost a child and gained a new one (through no fault of the new child!), and they and the rest of their immediate community act accordingly.

Some time later the human doctors gets invited to participate in some sort of ceremony for the “new” child, formal acknowledgment of them having finished memorizing some sacred scripture in their school or something like that. They give the human doctor the role in the ceremony that the midwife who assisted in the child’s birth would normally have.

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

Some peripheral notes for this concept:

In the setting of this story, humans are a relatively minor race; Earth is an unusually densely populated world, but on the periphery of known space and relatively backward, humans only developed a high-tech civilization recently and haven’t spread out much and are a small percentage of known space’s population. The human doctor is one of the few humans on a trade hub space station, or at least one of the few humans who’s part of the official staff; most of the humans there are part of the station’s working/lower class, a mix of low-level maintenance and dock workers, small-time shopkeepers, entertainers and service workers of various sorts, homeless people, and petty criminals (with a fair amount of fluidity between those classes).

Sleep is a weird thing humans do in this setting; it’s unique to humans (and other Earth animals), other intelligent species don’t need it or do it. However, most intelligent species don’t have the “unconsciousness = death” belief, because while most intelligent species don’t sleep they are more familiar with unconsciousness as a semi-normal thing from people passing out drunk, getting knocked out in a brawl, etc.. Maybe there’s even one or two intelligent species who don’t sleep regularly but can hibernate in periods of resource scarcity like bears or go into torpor if the temperature gets too low (common alien words for human sleep might translate to things like “micro-hibernation” and “false thermocoma”). It’s just this one species for whom unconsciousness is naturally super-rare so their culture developed in a context where it was some extraordinary, freakish, even eldritch-seeming thing.

In this context, the human doctor experiences some of the limitations of humans as something a lot like a disability. She can’t regularly work the 20+ hour shifts that are normal for her colleagues, because she needs to sleep. She needs more time off than most of her colleagues, because normal alien schedules are made around the assumption of effectively having an extra eight hours every day to get stuff done. Because the aliens are active 24 hours, most intelligent species have much better night vision than humans, so to save on energy and burned out light bulb equivalents the common area and default lighting on the space station is what a human experiences as semi-darkness. She wears basically night vision goggles most of the time to be able to easily work in what the aliens consider normal indoor lighting conditions. A lot of the alien tools and furniture are the wrong size and shape for her, and she gets a friend in the station’s machine shop to recut and otherwise modify a lot of the medical tools for her. Humans are relatively unusual in the wider galaxy and kind of funny looking even by the standards of a relatively cosmopolitan multi-species society (the more typical body plans for an intelligent species are “six-limbed quadruped with four legs and two arms” and “kind of like a theropod dinosaur”), so common alien furniture is really not built for her (the human sitting posture is super-weird and freaky by alien standards, they tend to get uncomfortable just looking at it), and she gets kind of a lot of people (especially children) staring at her and wanting to touch various parts of her and so on, but it’s mostly benign curiosity. She’s uncomfortably aware that she’s a “diversity hire” (the alien polity that runs the station likes to hire members of their various allied and subject races to give them a sense of inclusion) and that a lot of people kind of resent having to do all these accommodations for her instead of just hiring a normal person.

The family of the sick child actually have a kind of parallel experience. Their world is even more marginal and peripheral than Earth and they’re a small minority in the galactic population, and the space station was built by and primarily for beings smaller than them so they have to deal with a lot of uncomfortably small tools and furniture and spaces or stick to special areas and facilities for bigger beings. This is a universe where big alien theory is true, so they’re actually more-or-less average size for an intelligent species, but the most numerous races are around human size so around human size is what gets treated as normal size for a person to be. Note: around human size with quadrupedal or theropod-like body plans translates to the human doctor has to stoop to fit inside a lot of small corridors built for beings substantially shorter than humans, but thankfully the station is designed for a cosmopolitan crowd so at least the bigger public spaces are sized to be accessible to beings up to approximately the size of large sauropod dinosaurs (and the water-filled sections for water/ocean-dwellers are designed to be accessible to even bigger beings).

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Rough draft/outline for some lines in a conversation that would happen in this story:

Human doctor: I sleep every day. Well, almost every day, anyway. <Laughs a little, then turns serious> Do you think I die every time I go to sleep? Do you think the version of me you talked to yesterday is dead, and I’m... What, the latest in a line of thousands of doppelganger-clones of [her name]?

Alien parent: I... <uncomfortable pause> My partner holds it as a matter of faith that is works differently for Humans, because the Makers would not be so cruel as to create a race that is born in the morning, lives one day, dies that night, passes their body on to a new person who continues their errands and then dies in turn the next night. But I’m a rationalist, and... <uncomfortable pause and squirming> ... If you really look at nature, you see a multitude of horrors. The buzzer-fly’s young tear it apart from inside and eat its corpse. Nature is amoral. I can believe nature would create such a thing as an intelligent race that lives one day. I... Honestly, I try to not think about it much, to preserve my sanity.

Human doctor: I slept last night. I don’t feel like I died. I feel like I’m the same person I was yesterday.

Alien parent: Suppose this question had an objective and testable answer, and it was that I was right. Suppose I could show you I was right, as I could show my ancestors the Red Thirst with a microscope and say “See, it is not a curse, it is a thing like a tiny plant, that gets inside you and grows inside you like a strangling vine.” What would you do? How would you react to knowing that you have hours to live, that you were born this morning and will die tonight and are but one in a long chain of inhabitants of your body who lived only one day, and your whole race is like that?”

Human doctor: <thinks about it for a moment> “I think I’d find some way to tell myself that it wasn’t true, that you were wrong, and then I wouldn’t think about it much, to preserve my sanity.”

Alien parent: “For what it’s worth, I really hope it doesn’t actually work like that. But I’m not willing to gamble my child’s life on ‘I really hope it doesn’t actually work like that.’”

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On that note: at some point the parents see the human doctor while she’s dozing at work and it’s intensely disturbing and creepy to them. An unconscious person is disturbing to them in the same way fantasy undead would be disturbing to humans: they’re simultaneously dead and alive in a way that seems unnatural in the sense people use when they use that term to refer to something horrible. I think I might have some fun describing human sleep in a way that channels a Lovecraft protagonist: “Alive, yet not alive. Clearly dead, but stirred by inward motion.”

It’s more logical when you remember that their language uses a lot of the same or similar words for life and consciousness and for death and unconsciousness. Like, yes, she is indeed [alive/awake] but not [alive/awake], clearly [unawake] but moving a little, those are totally factual observations, I’m just translating the emotional charge they’d have for these people.

One of these poor people would probably have a breakdown when they see their own child in that state on the operating table. :(

On a lighter note, there’d be comic relief potential in this too:

Alien child: “Are they dead?”

Alien parent: “Kind of, but it’s not as big a problem for them as it is for us.”

And also tragicomedy potential: at one point the alien child asks the human doctor what death is like, saying she should know since she dies every day.

Tangential note: I’m thinking the alien child’s race is hermaphroditic, in which case it’d be appropriate to use gender-neutral pronouns for them ... and they probably wouldn’t have a concept of gender (except insofar as they might have learned that some other species have such concepts), so it would make sense for them to use gender-neutral language when they talk about humans among themselves too; their language wouldn’t have gendered pronouns except maybe specifically as a device adopted for being polite to certain aliens when you talk to them. Not sure how I’d handle pronouns for hermaphroditic aliens in a story.

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Other character concepts for this story:

When it comes to having to deal with a station built by and for beings that have rather different bodies than you, the human doctor is lucky compared to her colleague and best friend, a giant whale-like being who does most of their work through teleoperation while sitting in basically a giant swimming pool.

This person’s homeworld is a cold planet almost entirely covered by ocean; only a few almost totally barren tiny islands rise above an otherwise uninterrupted sea so deep it drowns all but the very highest mountain peaks (with so little land, multicellular life on this world has never left the sea). Their species (which is hermaphroditic, hence the choice of pronoun) is very much like the filter-feeding whales of Earth. Evolution of their intelligence probably was driven more by social selection than intrinsic stimulation of their watery world; they live their life by The Game, a complex and ever-shifting web of relationships that determines social status, access to resources, and mating opportunities, and that contributes to their survival. They are highly intelligent (their brain probably weighs more than you do!), and they might have tentacles or a manipulatory tongue or something, but before known space society found them and offered them access to space travel their watery world offered them little opportunity to develop technology. It’s unknown how long they’ve been sapient, but their oral history includes accounts of an asteroid impact that happened several million years ago.

This character thinks most of their people are good-natured but provincial. They’re good folks, but once you’ve gotten through the latest permutations of The Game and last year’s migrations and the plan for next year’s migrations and what the krill tastes like in various places these days the conversation tends to just kind of drift there like a sea-plant. They remember the 74th year of their life; the most interesting thing that happened that year was their pod passed close to an island. Why, on Earth, that was the year humans sent their first crewed expedition to Mars! They left their world to find a more interesting life.

They can use their powerful sonar to “see” inside their patients and still swear by this vs. the more advanced high-tech instruments.

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The case of the sick child ends up involving a lawyer. He’s a member of another minor species of known space society, an arboreal intelligent species that originally inhabited the forests of a humid world. The evolution of intelligence in his species was driven mostly by social and sexual selection, like the whale people but moreso. His species is highly intelligent, but mostly uninterested in physical problems; in their original society most of their intelligence was focused on socialization, mating strategies, and art (the art was part of the socialization and mating strategies). When wider known space society found them, they were living as hunter-gatherers with a rich artistic tradition but a Stone Age level of technology. Examination of their world’s fossil record indicated that they had existed at that level for over a hundred million years. However, once integrated into a high-tech interstellar society, they became very successful as artists, lawyers, politicians, and business people, and can be found in those professions in numbers greatly disproportionate to their percentage of known space’s population. He is colorful and beautiful, like a peacock, and for the same reason.