#do you ever write a post that you realize is utterly incomprehensible to people who aren't in the fandom?

[yoursassybookwormfriend]

Once again wondering why Cadence and Morrigan were the only two out of "loads" of candidates in the Fright Trial who were drawn to the pond candle . . .

[lividria]

i swear every time i get into a game that has an actual community it'll feel like i just woke up on mars because i usually dig really deep into a game's lore, history, trivia, unused content, etc. and THEN i'll find stuff from the community and i don't even mean for that to happen it just works that way and it always plays out the exact same way without fail besides for when there is no community

like, a week or two ago i remembered OFF exists, watched a whole playthrough of it, have been listening to it's OST an unhealthy amount (I'm doing it right now, Unreasonable Behavior is so good), i go onto tumblr, first OFF post i see once i add it's tag to my feed is someone's art for an AU where all the characters all like hang out at a cafe together or something and everything is chill, which is like the antithesis of everything i had just experienced related to the game and i couldn't help but laugh in confusion once i realized what i was looking at

i go in the discord server for iconoclasts after obsessing over the game for like a year and annoying the fuck out of my friends about it, literally the only fanmade character i have seen is a chemico contra member who's also a phlebotomist, i had to google what a phlebotomist is and like... i didn't look into their lore by ctrl-f-ing or whatever so i'm probably missing something, but how do you come to this conclusion (actually i think i know, they mentioned they actually became one at some point after making this character which is really funny actually)

i start watching videos about pikmin after finally beginning to slowly come off one of the most intense hyperfixations i've had in my entire life to the point i had played through all 5 games in the series and dedicated weeks and entire days to trying to figure out the lore before giving up because it's nintendo lol and spending a roughly equal amount of time trying to come up with intentionally terrible ideas for more games in the series only to accidentally get WAY too into it (see my alph wraith post lol), i am greeted with Fiddlebert, and a later a dub of an AU where the player character is actually a wraith and is hiding it from the rest of the rescue corps (this post is still probably one of the funniest jokes i've ever seen) and the entire thing scarily resembles the type of shit i'd write if i was given this premise to work with down to the mention of an innocent child being consumed that's first brought up with a doodle of them saying "Oh boy I sure do hope being alive!" while holding The Goo THAT'S EXACTLY HOW I TREAT HORRIBLE EVENTS IN MY STORIES WHEN I'M TALKING ABOUT THEM

i look at the tag for ultrakill on tumblr and feel like i just got sent to hell myself with the punishment of being stuck in a permanent state of confusion due to the sheer contrast to the source material all the fanart has, same goes for most of the posts about it in general actually, i go in expecting like blood & violence and instead i'm greeted with gabriel & v1 making out. drawn by 50 different users. (i don't even need to link anything here just check #ultrakill you'll see)

and this isn't even touching on all of the ships i've seen that are utterly incomprehensible to me because. like. why magolor and the snowman enemy? why kingsly and puddle??? i thought alph didn't like louie? wait also what do you mean at least two people's headcanon is that louie is trans? (ok i couldn't re-find some of the things in this paragraph and i'm too tired to conduct an in-depth search but you could probably find it if you looked)

i'm not hating on anything i brought up here it's just a bunch of funny examples i think about a lot now that i've seen them, you guys go do whatever you want even if i don't get it go have fun lol, i just love the feeling of pure confusion when i walk into the room and get punched in the face with a complete subversion of my expectations because it feels like i'm missing SO MUCH CONTEXT and i never get used to it i love it i love the internet

[thisadhdlife]

Medication 💊 isn’t for everyone. But, sometimes, it works as intended. This is my experience.

Disclaimer: I am someone who has a BA in General Psychology, and an MA in Clinical Psychology. So, unlike a lot of people with uninformed/misguided opinions on the subject matter, I actually DO know what I'm talking about when it comes to something like ADHD and mental health. I’m not a licensed counselor. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a psychologist. Nothing I say/write here is medical advice. If you have concerns, I recommend you speak to your own medical and/or psychological professional.

With that out of the way, I’d like to start by asking: What was your first experience of taking the (CORRECT & APPROPRIATELY PRESCRIBED) ADHD medication like?

The following is my personal experience. Your experience may vary.

I’m between 30-35 years old at the time of writing this.

I was diagnosed with ADHD after age 30, pretty recently in fact.

The first time I tried a (stimulant) medication 💊 for this condition (exactly as prescribed), the sensation I felt as it kicked-in was that of which I’d liken to... peace.

Tranquility.

Calmness.

The kind of stuff I’d only ever read about and listened to in books bout calming the mind, and meditating. I’d tried everything for more than a decade now: diet, exercise, meditation supplements. NOTHING had ever worked the way the medication for treating ADHD worked on day-1.

I often wonder if THIS is how neurotypical brains 🧠 feel ALL the time. This ease of focus, this deliberate ability to switch from one-task-to-another with ease. This ability to simply use what people have been referring to as “willpower” all my life to do things like put down the phone, start a class, finish a project, clean the apartment. Is this how people who don’t have ADHD experience the world?

And then, I felt... empathy. Empathy for all the people who’d ever told me to shape up, to get it for their, to have some drive and willpower and make something out of myself.

If it’s THIS easy to use willpower for them (those who do not have ADHD), to organize things, and get started on stuff... then that means that neurotypical brains play the game of life on EASY mode without even realizing that they’ve got a lower difficulty setting enabled, 24/7/365. 🎮

At least that’s how it felt like to me. Your experience/opinion may vary. “Of course they’d think I was lazy, or unwilling to work”, I said to myself. If your experience of the world is to be able to do things and keep focus THIS easily, of course you’d think that everyone else who couldn’t do it was somehow lazy, or had some kind of deficit of conviction or even morality.

I’ve been taking my medication for more than a week now. In that time, I’ve been able to do things that took a Herculean effort before for me. But... the thing is... I didn’t know that my effort was Herculean. I just knew that I kept failing at the “easy” stuff that everyone was just able to do somehow. But this also shocked me a bit: If I put in the amount off effort I've been putting into things before my diagnosis, but that effort can be directed, focused, regulated, and managed properly because of that medication... doesn’t that mean that I can, truly, for the first time EVER in my life, achieve anything I set my mind to? Doesn’t this mean that I've never truly been “stupid” as everyone around me has called me, or implied when referring to me?

The medication, more than any amount of dieting, exercising, supplements, and meditation... saved my life.

My doctor, the one who believed me when I told her and described to her my condition and my suffering, saved my life. Of that I have no doubt now. Before, it felt like I was drowning in the deepest part of a really wide river. Unable to swim, but everyone on the shoreline yelling at me to “swim harder!” And then, from the first day I took the medication... I felt like Neo, from The Matrix. “I know kung-fu.” (Yes, yes, yes, I know. It’s overdone and clichè).

Except, for me, it was “I know how to swim. I can swim. I can focus on swimming, one movement at a time, but I KNOW this, I can do this.” And then, I did. I started to be able to focus. For the first time in decades, I have clarity. And I'm not just talking about clarity of mind (from the “fog” that people often describe when it comes to ADHD)... but also clarity of purpose. I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt what I want to do in life. No ands-ifs-or-buts. I know what I was born to do, what I was put on this earth to do. The longer I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve been kicking myself for wasting my time with trivial things. But no more. I know I mentioned “clarity of purpose”, but that portion is for a different post, I’ll write later.

Also, while I'm on the topic of medication: I’d like to address something utterly incomprehensible. Dear neurotypical brains, your inability to comprehend how it feels to have ADHD does not make it any less real, nor does it automatically negate the effects that ADHD has on our lives, along with the multitude of ways it can make us suffer.

Do you tell a diabetic to not take their insulin because they use needles to inject the insulin into their body? Drug addicts also use needles. But, if you’re a rational and compassionate human being, you’ll be able to distinguish between the two. And yet, where does that rational brain go when it comes to ADHD medication? Because some idiots abuse the medication, doesn’t mean that the medication doesn’t work when taken AS DIRECTED, under the strict guidance of a physician.

On the other-hand: NOBODY should be made to feel that they NEED to take the medication. No one should ever be forced by anyone to take medication for ADHD either. It’s a personal decision, to be discussed and made between you and your doctor. Medication, in combination with therapy, is the most effective way of managing ADHD that we have as of the date of me writing this. My body, my mind, my medical/mental diagnosis, my life, my money, my doctor, my (informed) consent, my choice. Your opinion DOES NOT matter to me. 

That’s all I have to say on the matter.

For most conditions, the diagnosis is the day peoples lives start to come undone. For people with ADHD, in my opinion, I think the day we get an official diagnosis... our lives finally start to come together. At least that’s what it felt like for me.

I don’t even know if anyone else will read this looonnnggg blog post. Or if anyone else can empathize with this. But I can’t help but write, because it’s the way I process my thoughts: I write them out. Sometimes I post them, other times I don’t. But I usually write out things.

Take care of yourself.

Until next time.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Cuts

When Saïx walks out of the back office, all the pieces fall into place. Dem and Roxas had told Axel about the sweat and the sweatpants, and that would have been more than enough to put Saïx in a mood, really. If Saïx isn’t dressed to impress, he tends to feel as if he isn’t dressed at all.

But neither guy had been tactless enough to mention what’s really digging under Saïx’s skin. Saïx had been in such a rush to come in to his unstaffed store this morning that he hadn’t concealed the scar across the bridge of his nose. That Saïx feels self-conscious of the mark is the understatement of the century.

Because I look like a damned pirate, Axel, he had bemoaned more than once, sitting in front of his mirror, necktie askew, red-eyed, exasperated. Who’s going to take me seriously as a professional? The Godfather?

Axel had gripped his shoulders, pale green eyes unwavering. So, you take a page from the Godfather. You dress to kill and you make them take you seriously. You’re good at that.

Saïx had taken this advice to heart, thickened his skin to the occasional comments that came when his concealer sweated off in the island heat. He had tried to, anyway. But now the biggest gossip on staff has seen it. And Jesus knows Demyx had asked questions.

So, of course Saïx is in a mood, Zexion. Who wouldn’t be?

Axel doesn’t pause to think about whether Saïx is still irritated with him. He meets him halfway through the store and sets hands on his upper arms.

“Axel,” Saïx tries for cold but he just looks tired, lower lip jutting out, shadows below his eyes where swipes of metallic gold ought to be.  

The scar has never bothered Axel the way that people have told him it ought to. He looks at it and sees strength. Here is someone who overcame, someone who survived. The cuts were deep enough to finally get Saïx’s rabid old man as locked away as he deserved to be—deep enough to keep Saïx safe—so to Axel, the scar is beautiful.

Axel leans in and plants his lips on the broad, faint X. “Hey, Sai,” he murmurs, mouth barely lifting as Saïx’s hands settle on Axel’s bony hips. “Sorry, I’m late.” He presses his lips to the cross again and then to the tip of Saïx’s nose, warm sympathy flooding his chest.

Saïx fingers knead his side gently. “Where’ve you been, baby, hm?”

The words start to freeze the warmth in Axel’s chest, and he pulls back slightly.  

So, one vulnerability has heightened another.

He can’t help but get a little ticked again. All these years of therapy, so much emotional, physical, and general life progress—but when it comes to Axel, some days it feels like all Sai’s learned to do is wrap his possessive jealousy up in prettier, more socially acceptable paper.

Better than being screamed at every time he’d walked in late to fourth period study hall in ninth grade, sure, absolutely—but still kind of exhausting.

He’s lucky I’ve been in love with him since I was five.

Lucky I get it.

Lucky.

But shit. Look, he’s buffer than Rocky (Horror) and incomprehensibly dedicated to a good-for-nothing like me.

I’m pretty damn lucky too.

Axel runs a knuckle down Saïx’s cheek and smiles. “Nowhere special.”

Saïx realizes he’s misstepped and takes a thin breath, brows scrunching, wanting to explain. “Demyx said you were grabbing coffee, and you were gone for an hour, so I didn’t think it was unreasonable for me to wonder...”

Wonder. And send six texts. And torment Demyx. And God knew what next...

Axel closes his eyes. He decides to show mercy and ignore this remark. His fingers lace behind Saïx’s neck, his gaze shifting down to scan Saïx’s workout clothes, getting distracted. “You have no right to look sexier than me in my own damn sweatpants.”

This off-hand observation proves to be a suitable salve to Saïx’s ego, because he smirks and says, level as ever, “I beg to differ. They suit you just fine.”

Axel can’t quite reign in a bark of laughter. Axel is never letting Demyx order anything for him again. “Sai, there’s a reason I put them in your drawer. They’re twice my size; they slip right off of me.”

Saïx’s pale blue brows bounce up emphatically, and his smirk is pointed. “And that’s a problem?”

Oh, so he does remember. The noise Axel feels in his throat is practically a purr as the heat returns to his skin.

“Oh, gross...”

Demyx is choking over all of this verbal PDA, and the couple glance over at his gaping as it evolves into audible sputtering. “Wait.” Demyx freezes, gestures emphatically at the white “THE ORGANIZATION” printed down the side of Saïx’s leg. “Saïx, are you advertising for us? You? How did I not notice that earlier?”

Saïx’s lips turn down. The glare he aims at Demyx knocks him back a step into the rotating piercing fixture. “This,” he smooths the first few letters with a hand, “was supposed to be between me and my pilates instructor.”

“I feel…” Demyx grasps at the empty air and looks as if the ground has split open in front of him to reveal hell itself, “strangely numb.” He blinks at the couple a few times, and Axel and Saïx untangle and separate. “Do you like, listen to our music in your free time? Oh my god. What’s your favorite song on our EP? I’m partial to “Oblivion” myself. Luxord wanted to cut it. He says the best one’s “Dusks”, but I bet you... Oh my god. Unless you think the whole thing sucks.” Demyx pouts, eyes widening, puppy-like. Stumbling forward, he grabs for Saïx’s shirtfront, fingers clinging to the sturdy, ribbed tank. “You don’t, do you?”

Axel doesn’t bother to contain his laughter. He knew Saïx had their EP on his phone, but listening to your boyfriend’s band in private and admitting to being a fan to Demyx are two wildly different beasts.

Saïx does a quick assessment of the store to ensure no customers or other employees have been privy to this bizarre conversation. Satisfied that they’re alone, he slips a blue flyaway behind his ear and proceeds to pluck the fingers from his shirt, one by one, with each pull, a word, “Get. Back. Behind. The. Register. Demyx.”

Axel feels like he’s watching a puppy being denied table scraps.

Stunned, Demyx lets his hands drop and hops upright, spinning on a toe. “Yes, sir.”

Axel sets a hand on Saïx’s shoulder and rubs. The creases in Saïx’s forehead ease.

“And Demyx?”

Demyx twirls back around, face serious, light colored eyes still wide and childishly hopeful. “Sir?”

Saïx catches Demyx’s eye, expression stoic as ever. “I’ve listened to “Oblivion” about five hundred times. Luxord’s an imbecile.”

Saïx makes a point of ignoring Demyx’s unbridled whimper of joy, turning back to Axel with a faint, pleased yet exhausted smile.

“You’re never going to hear the end of this one,” Axel warns, smirking in return, hand on Saïx’s pec, pressing another step closer.

“I…”

“Welcome to Hot Topic, ladies,” Zexion greets with uncharacteristic vigor from his post at the mouth of the store.

Axel assumes it’s a warning to make themselves presentable, and resists the temptation to do the opposite.

Saïx glances to the customers and then to the racks and displays, and Axel knows the slightest imperfection will take him another hour to fix if Axel doesn’t act quickly.

Axel hooks a finger into the neck of Saïx’s tank and murmurs, “Wanna take this somewhere a little more private?” He bounces his brows. “I know where they keep the fitting room key.”

Saïx sighs, but he doesn’t hold back his smile this time. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m joking. Everyone knows Hot Topic fitting rooms are dirtier than Larxene’s lingerie.”

Saïx snorts in spite of himself, expression utterly disgusted, but gestures for Axel to follow him to the office. “If you were on staff, I’d write you up for saying that.”

“For saying that about the fitting room or for saying that about Larxene?”

“Both.”

[dukeofriven]

So it’s been... a bit of a week.

Such a volume of notes is flattering as hell and is doing more than you realize to keep me upright and walking after a massive depressive bout metastasized out of nowhere Saturday afternoon - but one thing that really stands out to me that people who’ve never had something blow up on their dash might not realize is this: Tumblr seems to have never expected someone to get more than ten to twenty notes in any given 24 hour period. They can’t have, because otherwise the activity aggregator makes no sense even by Tumblr’s absurdly low standards. There’s no useful reason why its default behaviour is to document every like and as singular line items: you get 300 notes on a post in an hour? The activity monitor lays them all out one after the other in a list that stretches down and down and down the page.

This is not, in any sense of the word, useful. it tells me only that there was a response of high volume - and that’s that. Contra Facebook, which is not usually a good example of design but it aggregates even the smallest things into nested notifications distinguish by type: Bob McSmith and 13 others have reacted your post. Bob McSmith and 4 others have commented on your post. Bob McSmith mentioned you in a post. Not only does it do this aggregation but - and  this is the real master-stoke - you can click on that notification and it takes you to those comments. Tumblr doesn’t. Tumblr makes finding and replying to comments an extraordinary and inexplicable pain in the ass. Somewhere between 900 and 1800 people reblogged and/or liked a post I wrote three-ish days ago: did they have anything to say about it, did they try to facilitate a discussion? It’s not easy to tell. Tumblr, in year of our lord 2019, still doesn’t have a button you can click that only shows people who said anything - because Tumblr treats likes, reblogs, and reblogs with comments as being of equal value from an information retrieval standpoint. it also counts them the same - I cannot judge interaction by ‘notes’ count alone because the notes count adds likes and reblogs together. If every person liked and reblogged this post I have engaged with 900 Tumblerites: if every person did only one thing its 1800. And there’s no way to judge. That’s Bugnuts Shithive Crazy. In 2019 every post should have its own dashboard where - with a click - I can see its metrics of likes, reblogs, and a list of its comments. They should be a “total user engagement” number. We should depreciate the value of aggregate “notes” save as a general overview of a post’s popularity. (Hell, I’d do-away with the utterly meaningless ‘like’ entirely - if you like it, reblog it you coward.” I cannot imagine those posts with 100K notes. My most popular post by a country mile is this one. It’s a touch embarrassing - it’s a photo of a newspaper review of Young Sheldon, a photo I did not take but originally found on Twitter and reposted here without accreditation: not because I wanted to take credit or had malice in my heart, but because I wanted to save five seconds and its not like anyone was going to see it besides a handful of followers. It has over 30,000 notes. I of course added the accreditation once I realized I had a hit but Tumblr is sometimes shitty about pushing OP edits “down the line” (a relic, i should think, of Tumblr’s original code when anyone could change anything about a post they reblogged. Yes, you could take someone’s post about puppies, re-write it to be a Nazi credo, and have it display on your site under their name with you call-out post attached. Yeah, that’s really how Tumblr used to be. Yes, it was disgusting and incomprehensible.) Regardless, those accumulated over a year and a half of time - and yet there are days where my activity feed is stuffed with notifications telling me ever Tom Dick and Harry who liked it because someone with a lot of followers found it and a flurry of likes and reblogs gave it a new surge of life. And, naturally, this deluge tells me next to nothing. For all I know the most important thing anyone has ever said to me was attached to this 30K monster four months ago - I have no way of knowing. No way to seperate the wheat of comments from the chaff of likes. @staff and @support I tag you hear not because I expect much of anything. It has always been a dubious proposition that anyone at Tumblr reads staff and support tags - at best, a single low-paid employee has to stare at a hundred thousand @s a day, which they dutifully push up the chain to people who don’t read them and would or can do nothing anyway. Not to disparage you personally, but Tumblr’s complete and total refusal to engage with its users or respond to any complaint is legendary. The platform just pushed-out these new ‘video filters’ that no one ever asked for and your response to the non-stop mockery, derision, and the voices of disability advocates pointing out how harmful these filters are was met with the same response as everything else: complete and utter silence. Just glancing at your notes, I know for a fact that at least 13,000 more people cared about a critical Young Sheldon post than they did about your filters. I’m not entirely convinced that human beings actually run the Staff Tumblr. Should all human life end tomorrow I would not be shocked to know that the Staff Tumblr still kept updating. Anyways, I tag you out of optimism - or a cynicism so profound it is virtually indistinguishable. Tumblr, why do are so against making things easier to use and understand? Why are you so opposed to a blogger swiftly being able to see in-full and reply to comments on their own post?

[justavengeit]

search term: tuna star

or how bucky learned to stop worrying and love shipfic; side b to this post about pining bucky barnes writing winteriron fic, please read first for context

Bucky watches with a kind of shocky horror, flushing hot with shame and cold with terror in waves, as Tony turns to read his writing plastered up on the screen for the entire world to see. The world presses in, too bright and sharp to be entirely real, dragging by like he’s a fly trapped in molasses.

This is all Tony Stark’s fault, he thinks very calmly, vaguely aware of Natasha taking note of his enhanced response. It’s just his shitty luck that she’s the one sitting with him for this one - it was supposed to be Wilson. He could have fooled Wilson.

–

He’d always known that public opinion would be a problem - but he hasn’t accounted for the fans. He’d thought of himself as a soldier, as an operative. He wasn’t prepared for the ridiculous lengths that the Avengers’ public relations team was willing to go to to integrate him into the team whether the governments of the world liked it or not.

“But why,” he’d asked and they’d looked at each other and shrugged and said, “because Tony Stark.”

Oh, Steve had been pissed about it. He hates the whole dog and pony show of it, and Bucky doesn’t much care for it himself, but that’s more because he never knows what to do with himself than because he finds it humiliating the way Steve does. And the outreach aspects are nice. That he can be a source of inspiration, rather than a tool of fear. It feels like a lie that some of the kids love him so much, but they’re utterly unimpressed with his logic and reasons.

“Mom says if you’re sorry for it, an’ you try n’ do better afterwards, then it’s okay,” a boy had told him matter of fact. As if it’s as easy as that.

It’s not that easy, but it’s a start.

And of course, since he’s being worked so hard to make him palatable to the public, he ends up in a lot of the same places as Tony Stark, who does more PR work than actual crime-fighting these days. He doesn’t look like he misses it one bit, for all that he does incredible work when in the suit. He watches Tony with the spider kid, watches on whom Tony’s eyes linger, and figures out that Tony wants to settle down with someone. Retire from the superhero business. Call it quits.

It sounds like a beautiful pipe dream. He should have realized that heroes never get to call it quits.

Bucky finds himself watching Tony a lot. It’s not like Tony notices. He’s so used to being scrutinized that he’s a duck and the clamoring of the people, the media, the fans - it’s all the water he bobs along atop with a jaunty little flick if his hand and a smirk on his face. It’s less that he thrives on the attention and more that it’s his home territory. Bucky watches him effortless seize control of situation after situation, turn back cruel barbs and send off his own.

And it gets cruel, especially when the media gets wind if the fact that there are average, normal people writing stories about celebrities and the Avengers and anyone else that catches their eye. Tony is hardly the only target if their vitriol, but he does get the worst of it. It all gets shaken off with a quirky joke, Tony prodding at it and daring: is this the best that you can do?

The crazy fuck.

Bucky investigates in case this is another thing like the fan letters cum letterbombs. A whole new world is opened to him. Several sleepless weeks are spent buried in the internet, trying to make heads or tails of what he’s found. Apparently people just write things for fun. Things like dime store novels. He finds himself even enjoying some of the more benign ones - the stories where the Avengers show up and save the author’s life. Go to space. Fight ancient magical beings. And it’s all free, is the thing.

Bucky had forgotten that he likes reading fiction.

And of course there are people who are writing about him - about the Winter Soldier. Bucky avoids these fics for some time, until one night, several hours after Tony tears through a fic ‘bashing’ him on a show that features a few other celebrities reacting to fic written about them, Bucky finally gets the nerve to open the most popular Winter Soldier fic and read it. And he doesn’t stop reading them.

They’re wrong, is the thing, Bucky decides - that’s why he keeps reading them. There are several fics that have serialized the mission reports released on the internet. Most fics about him deal with that in what other fans refer to as a 'true crime genre’ manner. But they’re wrong. They don’t understand. The atmosphere of the fics are all wrong, even the ones that get it close, and they don’t understand Bucky at all.

His therapists keep telling him to keep a journal.

Bucky decides to write fic instead.

It’s easier, surprisingly. He only chooses the missions that reports for exist on the internet in a mostly unaltered state. He doesn’t add in any details that only the Winter Soldier would know - he doesn’t want to attract attention from anyone who might suspect that he’s the real Winter Soldier. It’s not like keeping a journal at all: Bucky writes the missions like they happened to someone else - to a fictional 'him’ - and the nightmares ease their wretched grip. And his stories gain a bit if a following, which is the oddest, least comprehensible aspect of the situation.

And then, thanks to Tony Stark, Bucky ends up straying from the 'gen’ genre down the rabbit hole of shipping. It takes one stray comment from Tony about how his fictional representation is a 'ho,’ and that’s where Bucky’s life starts to go wrong again. He searches for Tony Stark shipfic. It's… an eye opening experience.

Tony really, honestly seems unperturbed by the amount of porn that has been written about him. The most perturbing thing about it to Bucky is how little the people writing about Tony seem to actually understand him. It’s like the Winter Soldier files all over again.

He can probably do better, Bucky thinks, and signs his own fate.

–

“Really,” Natasha says, watching him.

Bucky stands. “I’m going to go throw myself off the roof,” he says, turning and walking away from the TV.

“I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry,” Natasha calls after him.

It’s not like half the team hasn’t decided that Bucky has been nursing something like a crush on Tony, to put it mildly. He thinks that’s ridiculous. He just - admires Tony, really. Anyone would, if they only paid attention. And maybe he’s written twelve fics where they’re a couple but that’s just because his fans love it - they love how he writes himself and Tony and their relationship. It… it seemed harmless enough. It’s not like Tony Stark would ever have Bucky’s fic thrown in his face because it’s such a small ship compared to all the ironcaptain and blackiron and ironhusband ships. No one in their right mind -

Except that’s just happened. Bucky is going to throw himself off the roof in apology and shame and purposely not land on his feet. If life is merciful he’ll get amnesia - there’s no roof nearby that’s high enough to actually kill him - and he can start anew. Tony is too nice to hold shipfic against an amnesiac.

Thank God Bucky had been too self conscious to post the porn. He’s scum just for writing porn about Tony, if he’d posted it-

Wait, he can’t brain himself in the sidewalk until he deletes that, and all his browser history, and changes his passwords to an incomprehensible string of letters not even FRIDAY could crack. He can do it. All he needs is some stand-ins from one if the languages they don’t have on record for him.

Bucky had already been in the roof for some time by the time a brightly colored sporty car pulled up at the Compound entrance. Tony, of course. Oh god, he would know that Bucky had been watching, he came all this way to talk about it probably. At least he’ll be nice about letting Bucky down, inform him with an off color joke that it’s creepy to write yourself into a romance with your teammate, no matter how much you admire them: normal people just don’t do that. Well, better to get it over with, honestly. It might be more awkward and painful if Tony were to just pretend that the whole thing had never happened. The others will definitely take notice because Tony cracks jokes about their fictional relationships all the time.

As if Bucky couldn’t get a clue from the fact that Tony never joked about it with him, despite the number of fics that exists about them now. He doesn’t even read winteriron, when he’s even read the one pairing him with Justin Hammer and Tony doesn’t even like Justin Hammer. He read the bashing fics before he read winteriron.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky says as soon as the door to the roof pops open and Tony flails out onto the roof. He sounds like he was in a rush, but Bucky wouldn’t know for sure without looking at him and that’s not going to happen.

“What for,” Tony says, and, “please don’t jump. That will scar me forever.”

Point. Bucky probably should have jumped a few minutes after Tony went inside if he were going to jump at all.

“I thought if I landed on my head just right, I could forget this ever happened,” he says pensively.

“Well, that is one way of responding to this,” Tony says, “so is that a 'no’ then? Only I hear the real thing is better that your wildest fantasies.”

Alright, maybe Tony wouldn’t be so kind about letting him down. Bucky can hardly hold that against him. He deserves it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats into the palms of his hands. “If I knew it was going to get thrown in your face that way, I never would put it out there.”

“Okay, wait,” Tony says, approaching, “you sound like you think I’m angry, which makes me think - did they not ask you before they put that on television?”

At that, Bucky has to look - and Tony definitely doesn’t look mad. He looks bright and flushed in a way that isn’t entirely due to exertion, sharp and engaged in a way he doesn’t get with people unless he really likes them. This is… not the first time Tony has looked at him like that. But not with an almost giddy air. No, the giddiness is new. Strange. Exciting.

“You know what they think of people who write fic,” Bucky says, honest. “Of course they didn’t ask.”

“Huh,” Tony says, and oh, that quirk to his brow is trouble. But whatever he thinks of that is is discarded in favor of saying, “so I take it you took off before I finished reading it.”

Bucky scowls. “I know how you feel about people who write fic about you.”

“Well, those fics weren’t very good,” Tony says, giving him a look that ties Bucky’s stomach into an uncomfortably pleasant knot. “I also accept sonnets.”

“I’m shit at poetry,” Bucky protests. He’s not quite ready to give up on the fear and shame that drove him up onto the roof in the first place, but his face hasn’t gotten the message yet. Tony looks pleased and mirrors the grin on his face right back at him.

“Well, it doesn’t have to rhyme,” he says generously, and extends his hand. “Now come away from the edge of the roof, please. You’re looking more skittish than a stray cat and it’ll really ruin my day if I startle you off the edge when I kiss you.”

After this, Bucky is going to have to stop giving his fellow writers shit about their characterization choices. He’s always written Tony as the skittish one.

Tony is right though - the reality is better.

–

“Smutfic is also a thing I accept,” Tony tells him later. It’s clearly just a tease, but something must show on Bucky’s face, because Tony’s eyes get wide and then he starts grinning in a way that makes him look unhinged. It’s unfairly attractive. “You have written smutfic! Where is it? Show to it me. I demand tribute.” Then, in response to whatever face it is that Bucky is making now, he says: “if you let me read them, we can do your favorite scene.”

“Hng,” says Bucky, reaching for the computer.

–

At Tony’s urging, Bucky goes on to write an autobiography in the style of a biography, relating the whole long and awful story. It’s a best seller for weeks.

He titles it 'Who the Hell is Bucky?’ and finally the past is put to rest.

–

[kateofthecanals]

A Woman’s Worth, According to “Game of Thrones”

The other day I thought to myself, is there a single female character on GoT who has not at some point been encouraged, both on a Watsonian and Doylist level, to resort to violence and/or sex in order to solve all her problems?

I’m honestly at a loss to think of a single female character, past or present, where this hasn’t been the case. Obviously the example frequently referenced around here is Sansa. Here is a young woman who, as written by George R.R. Martin, possesses a keen intellect but also a fair amount of naivete... because, like, both those aspects can exist at the same time. She is not a warrior like her sister, and she is not a seductress like Cersei, and yet she’s managed to survive through FIVE books without having to resort either to violence or sexual manipulation and has relied instead on her intellect and the traditionally feminine pursuits she has been brought up to cultivate. This is something D&D apparently cannot conceive of (even though it’s literally been written out for them in black and white). In their minds, a woman cannot be “strong” unless she’s got blood on her hands and/or a sexually available body. They literally cannot wrap their tiny brains around the concept of nuanced women. Even those who do possess martial prowess, like Brienne, Arya, and Asha, are reduced to shallow stereotypes and have had all their unique qualities stripped away in favor of this almost cartoonish thirst for blood.

D&D have made it quite clear over 7 seasons (yes, the first 4 included) that a woman in this universe is only “worthy” if she is willing to kill people and/or have sex. They cannot possibly serve any other purpose and still be of use to D&D’s narrative. Just look...

Sansa: Revenge Murder. She had been advised in the past, by both Cersei and Littlefinger, to use sex to get want she wants, but then she ended up getting raped. So maybe that “counts” in D&D’s eyes? After all, she did get her all-important “first kill” out of it... That, according to both D&D and Sophie, was what her “entire arc was leading to.”

Arya: Murder. She’s basically a homicidal maniac at this point, and it’s framed not only as a good thing, but “badass”. We’re supposed to be cheering as this lost, damaged child repeatedly stabs people with a cold smirk on her face.

Brienne: Murder. Absolutely no qualms about it either. Shanking dudes is just another day at the office for her! The epic moral dilemma that defines book-Brienne (”no chance, and no choice”) simply does not exist here.

Dany: Murder/Sex/Nudity. The Holy Trifecta! No wonder D&D love her so much! She’ll get naked and jump into bed AND murder entire cities all before Noon! We have seen Dany “struggle” at times with the dilemma of using violence in order to find peace, but in the end, the solution is always the same: YES OF COURSE YOU SHOULD USE VIOLENCE! Never once has she been like, “you know what, the loss is too much of a burden on my conscience, Imma sit this one out” without that being framed as a “wrong” decision. Because we need CGI dragons and massive casualties in order for her to be seen as “strong” and “competent”, dammit! We also need to see dem tittays!!!!

Cersei: Murder & Sex. Another D&D darling, obviously. In the books, Cersei is clearly off her rocker, makes bad decisions constantly, and literally no one likes her. (She’s basically show-Littlefinger.) And yet, on the show, her poor decisions and wisdom are treated as “correct”. When she tells Sansa that love is a sham or that she needs to use her vajayjay to get what she wants in this world, these things are framed as legitimately good advice. Cersei is basically this show’s moral compass. In D&D’s eyes, Cersei is the only character who is playing the game correctly. She is the only one who gets it right. “Kill or be killed, fuck or get fucked.” There is literally nothing else in between these two extremes.

Melisandre: Murder & Sex. Okay, so Mel hasn’t murdered anyone directly, but she’s had her hand in quite a few homicides. She’s utterly willing to see people die to get what she wants, and she’ll happily throw her titties at them along the way. Nevermind that book-Mel honestly believes that everything she’s doing is for the Greater Good, and nevermind that book-Mel doesn’t need to be nude every 5 seconds to get her point across... show-Mel is simply an evil enchantress, period. Oh, but then something horrible happened in Season 6 -- we found out that (a) she’s actually 3,000 years old ewwwwww!! and (b) she finally realized her “powers” aren’t all that reliable and came to regret all the murderin’ she’d done. She basically had her “worth” stripped from her twofold. Also, Carice Van Houten turned 40. And so guess who we BARELY saw in Season 7? Yeah, D&D literally made her LEAVE THE CONTINENT since she’s no longer of use to them.

Yara: Murder & Sex/Queer-Baiting. Yeah, another fun thing about D&D&Co is that they assume all female warriors are lesbians. They outright said as much about Brienne, and with Yara they just went ahead and showed it, and called it “representation” lmao. Even though Asha Greyjoy probably has the most healthy hetero sex life in ASOIAF. Sexuality in Yara’s case is even worse because she is also used in D&D’s massively disturbing depictions/endorsements of toxic masculinity. Her advice to her own brother, who was sexually mutilated, to either “get over it or kill yourself” (all while she’s groping a sex slave IN FRONT OF HIM) was actually framed as GOOD ADVICE. This was already apparent in the narrative but then D&D themselves confirmed it in the ITE!!!

Missandei: Nudity. Here’s a female character who is actually allowed to have a brain, but even then she is constantly undermined by the far superior intellect of Saint Tyrion. But it doesn’t really matter either way, because Missandei’s true purpose on the show is to look hot.

Olenna: Murder. Lady Tyrell is far too old to be sexy, so naturally she has to be out for blood at all times, and advising other people to murder as well (”Be a dragon!!!”).

Ellaria/Sand Snakes: Murder & Nudity/Sex. We can just go ahead and lump all these together. In addition to being the poster children for D&D’s insistence that all females, including sisters, must be catty to each other at all times, they are, of course, overly-sexualized and obsessed with Revenge™. It wasn’t enough that Ellaria was canonically bisexual, but D&D felt that her appeals for peace in the books were literally unworthy of proper adaptation. “We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor’s talents.” For them, Ellaria doesn’t deserve to even exist unless she’s vowing bloody vengeance on literally everyone for Oberyn’s death... including Oberyn’s own family(???). And the Sand Snakes? Well, one of y’all better get nekkid to keep it interesting! Who cares if the term “bad pussy” is apocryphal to this universe???

Margaery: Sex. From the moment Marg first popped up on screen, her titties popped out. She’s been a sexual character from the beginning and has repeatedly used sex as a tool for manipulation. She’s the protege that Cersei’s been looking for! Nevermind that, in the books, Marg, like Sansa, actually uses her wits to scheme and manipulate instead of her vagina. Luckily for D&D, they had room to age up Marg just enough that we could see her naked IMMEDIATELY, and once she traded in her low-cut dresses for Silent Sister gowns, guess what happened to her?

Myrcella: Neither, #RIP. Though, to be “fair”, they did re-cast the role with an older actress so that she could wear skimpier dresses and get groped by Trystane...

Gilly: ????? I mean, she’s just been reduced to Sam’s nagging girlfriend at this point. She did offer him sex (5 minutes after almost being raped) but she hasn’t threatened to murder anyone YET... But she’s also dumb as a post, so I guess D&D keep her around to make Sam look smarter?

Lyanna Mormont: Faux-Feminism! Lyanna is too young to be sexy or physically intimidating, so obviously the only other options for her are to re-affirm Sansa's idiocy (”Lyanna Mormont wouldn’t have been dumb enough to write that letter, so age is no excuse!”) and to further the faux-feminism agenda where crucial, life-preserving activities like knitting are ridiculed simply because they are “girl things”.

Meera: Murder. Honestly Meera was unusual in that she didn’t seem to possess the thirst for blood that the rest of the weapons-capable women on GoT did, nor any overt sexuality. But it’s okay, cuz D&D found other ways to undermine her! Like having her almost raped (a rite of passage for all true GoT Ladies I guess), and her constantly squabbling with Osha was a given according to the unwritten rule that if there’s more than one woman in the same scene at any time, they HAVE to be catty to each other, NO EXCEPTIONS!!! Anyway, without anyone left to kill or any way to be sexually available to Bran, she’s useless and no longer on the show. I’m sure we’ll find out next season that she was raped and murdered on her way back to the Neck (which Bran will have no reaction to).

The Waif: Murder. Just pure, unadulterated, completely incomprehensible murder. Did we ever really find out WHY she was so pathologically out to get Arya, other than the above-mentioned Rule of Cattiness?? Like, gods forbid she be an ACTUAL mentor to Arya...

Shireen: Neither, #RIP. Shireen was #tooprecioustoopure for this world, and that was entirely the point, wasn’t it? Nobody that sweet, kind, smart [shudder], and innocent [double-shudder] has any place in Weissteroff. She was only there for the maximum #feels when she was ruthlessly (and inexplicably) murdered and then immediately forgotten about once she served her purpose.

Selyse: Murder. She kind of suffered the same treatment as Lysa, in that her sexuality was used against her and she basically turned to murder to compensate for what she lacked.

Walda: Neither, #RIP. This one still infuriates me. In the books, Walda, although described to be rather overweight, still manages to enjoy a very healthy sex life with a husband not known for expressing more than a pointed stare. In fact, she’s so into it that even Roose Fucking Bolton finds it (and her) charming!! NONE of this made it into the show. No, instead, we have Ramsay making tasteless fat jokes (”OMG HOW DO YOU EVEN FIND HER VAGINA?!??!”) because lulz fat women enjoying sex don’t be ridiculous!! Ultimately she’s just there to be laughed at and then killed off for plot. Imagine if D&D were actually as progressive as they think they are and used this as an opportunity to depict and endorse body positivity on their Emmy Award-winning prestige drama watched by millions of people around the world..... NAAAAHHHH MORE FAT JOKES PLEASE!!!

Those are just some of the more recent crop of female characters, but this applies to past ones as well...

Catelyn: Murder. Poor Cat couldn’t even have a book-canon sex scene because no woman over the age of 40 is allowed to be naked on-screen (see: Melisandre) unless it’s for comedic effect or to deliberately make us cringe. So, that’s when D&D decided they had to amp up the Thirst for Vengeance quotient on her! Even though Cat was a POV character, and Robb’s entire war was seen through her eyes, they never allowed her any sort of meaningful introspection, either about the war or her family. Like Sansa, it was more important to highlight all the “mean” things she did to the Heroes of the story (”Maybe if I had loved Jon, this war wouldn’t have happened!!”) and retool the timeline so that she looks as dumb as possible (letting Jaime go before she ever found out about Bran & Rickon). The Red Wedding couldn’t have come sooner, amirite??

Lysa: Murder & Sex. Here’s an example of an “older” woman’s sex life being played for laughs. She was never meant to be taken seriously as a sexual being, so let’s make her wedding night with Littlefinger as outrageously ridiculous as possible. Yes, I know, it was presented this way in the books as well, but the difference is, we had way more backstory on Lysa and so it came off as more sad and pathetic than just outright comical. She was also the one who poisoned Jon Arryn, thereby kicking off the WoT5K, but that (extremely crucial mystery that hung in the air for 5 books and 4 seasons) has since been rendered meaningless because “Robert’s Rebellion was built on a lie”...

Shae: Sex/Nudity. And here’s a classic example of D&D seemingly making a GOOD decision to “improve” a character but having it ultimately blow up in their faces. Having Shae be a confidante/protector of sorts for Sansa ALMOST worked. It certainly gave her something to do than have sex with Tyrion constantly. But in the end, that just made Shae look all the more like a shitperson when she threw Sansa under the bus at Tyrion’s trial. It was an actual betrayal, as opposed to a calculated maneuver by someone who ultimately never gave a shit about Sansa OR Tyrion. It ultimately made Shae look even WORSE than her book-counterpart, imo. Book-Shae was just doing her job; show-Shae actively fucked over 2 people she seemed to genuinely care about. It was a more nuanced character, but at the end of the day, they did it to serve Tyrion. It probably never even occurred to them that someone couldn’t genuinely love him (and those who don’t pay for it dearly; see: Sansa), and it was out of the question to make Saint Tyrion look like a FOOL for deluding himself into thinking a prostitute loved him. So she had to be the real deal, and her murder by Tyrion had to be 100% justified.

Osha: Murder & Sex/Nudity. It wasn’t enough for Osha to become a surrogate mother to Bran and Rickon; mothers are SO BORING after all. And it wasn’t enough that she was a wildling woman capable of killing a man a hundred different ways. Best throw in some gratuitous nude scenes just because. As far as D&D are concerned, the only way she can kill a man is by fucking him first. It works the first time, but when she tries the same ruse with Ramsay, she is killed for it. I mean, OF COURSE. The Great Ramsay Sue would never fall for such a thing, pffft!

Ygritte: Murder & Sex. She was already a little firecracker in the books, but leave it to D&D to give her the Cersei treatment by basically blackmailing Jon into sleeping with her. Some could argue dub-con for the books, but the show was outright non-con. But because she’s a hot lady and he’s a dude, it’s not looked at or framed that way at all. Instead we’re made to think “JACKPOT, JON! woooot!”

Talisa: Sex. When the “not like the other girls” trope goes too far, you get Talisa. Yes, she was presented as a strong, smart, capable woman, but in the context that they put her in, it didn’t make sense. Because D&D don’t know how to write a female character like this within the context of ASOIAF. And the re-working of this arc in Robb’s plot went from “doing it for honor” to “doing it for dat bootay!!” So, of course, it wasn’t enough that she was “not like the other girls”; it was CRUCIAL that we got to see her naked too, lest she be taken TOO seriously...!

Ros: Sex/Nudity. Like, literally, that was her one and only function. There’s that well-known rumor that she was killed off in the show because the actress didn’t wanna do any more nude scenes, but she has denied this was the case, but who knows, really? Knowing D&D as we do, would we REALLY be surprised if the rumor was true? I mean, why else would they get rid of her? If she was still game to throw her rack around and perform pornologues, why would they willingly give that up??

Karsi: Murder. This gal has the distinction of proving D&D’s claim that no one would have cared about Jeyne Poole utterly wrong, null, and void. Karsi had a cumulative screen time of about 10 minutes total, and I remember watching the live-tweets come in during “Hardhome” and people, including myself, being really excited by her character almost immediately. But surely there had to be a catch -- ah yes, The Worst Crime In Westeros: being a mother. That was her ultimate undoing. Of course, we learned soon after the episode that the character was originally written to be a man, but it was changed to a woman because OBVIOUSLY only a woman -- only a mother -- would be THAT opposed to killing children, even undead ones.

Maggy The Frog: Sex. Well, kinda... Look, fact is, Maggy the Frog was supposed to be some old, gross witch, and D&D turned her into a Burning Man groupie.

That about covers it, I think, feel free to add more if I’ve forgotten anyone. But basically you can see the pattern here loud and clear. It amazes me that so-called feminists who watch the show religiously haven’t picked up on this... or, if they have, don’t seem to have a problem with it??

[autolovecraft]

There were cities under the moon.

He could not wait to decipher or identify. An old servant forced the carven lid, shaking as he did not belong in the clock it was derived.

And then, as a mystic not altogether ignorant, recognize much that is the writing of books, which views the external world from various cosmic angles.

A potent nimbus, brighter than those which Randolph Carter's wandering only what we dream. But the autopsy said that he did so he slowly started the levitation of his being—especially those phases which were to happen later? Inside the Snake Den on the hill. Now there was none. The nearest thing I can recall to these parchment characters—notice how all the distant relatives of Randolph Carter reeled in the angle of regarding.

The convention of assumed pity spilled mawkishness on his prism in awe and half despair, for like the hieroglyphics on that box had contained: matters of which his presence had demanded. The fourth man was non-human, terrestrial or extra-terrestrial, galactic or trans-galactic; and as he resumed in his coat pocket walked on up to the sky. These revelations came with a light-years—thousands of light-beam envelopes. There was a large sphere, or why he approached the rack of tablets.

Rain had long forgotten. He was in his right upper claw, exact image of one ultimate, eternal Carter outside space and time-transition and the spectral wooded valley dipping down in shadow to dank hollows where trickling waters crooned and gurgled among swollen and distorted roots. On every hand pressed the illimitable vastness of the Gate—had seen on human countenance before.

Curious concepts flowed conflictingly through a brain dazed with unaccustomed vistas and unforeseen disclosures. When these things of him. Inertia and force of personality which at once established inquiries concerning Randolph Carter's wandering only what we dream. This heavy, material silver key and made vague motions. I do not believe that Carter had met de Marigny and Mr. Phillips laid a hand on the hill where his little telescope—given him by the First Gateway had taken something of stability from him in order that he saw that their dreams might open the Ultimate Gate's opening. How long is this foolery to be sure of his boyhood dreams, but well fitted to the hills behind crumbling Arkham—the fragment or facet of an important reality and significant human events and emotions debased all his forebears for forbidden cosmic secrets was a human discovery—peculiar to a loftier grotto beyond—the three-dimensional phase of an earthly 1928 in time and space, of Chicago, is motionless, and when he strove not to be? He spoke, it was really immaterial to what he radiated, and Phillips, who was sinking ponderously to the inner worlds are slaves, since the death of his being—especially those phases which were to accomplish that which all the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths. Almost stunned with awe, and how to use that key? He artfully fashioned a waxen mask which would be better if we didn't know, but now there poured from that limitless Mind a flood of knowledge and memories of Zkauba. He saw now, in a chilling and awesome silence full of queer fancies. With his dreams fading under the moon. The cold of the old days, and it is written in the pitch darkness and rubbed his hand and spoke softly. And while there are besides the known directions of up-down, forward-backward, he said, had been left vacant and untended through his neglect since the beings of the age he could not be sure of his handkerchief as he passed it, remote and alien world revolved, and not to provoke me to act for him. As they sat more erect, their outlines became more like those which had at once cleaved to him that this key had come.

Maybe we'd know who you are! Perhaps with eyes and perhaps with imagination he perceived that he was in the south, who for years bore patiently with his duties in weaving spells to keep near the dreaded cave called the Snake Den on the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that a new and conflicting set of memories. The starting-day was a hideous gnawing of cold, a man in 1928. A great fear clutched him as guide, they may mean that Randolph Carter stopped in the New Orleans conference and has never been; and even as he half saw that the Companions had been settled in 1692, or a still remoter creature of trans-galactic; and with a key, which the entity that was not wholly unfamiliar to him, for it had been a dual hallucination. Now it is written in the beckoning vistas of dreams, and he could easily have been more prudent had they been content to offer the sonorous rites and emotional outlets in their burrows, and learning things about our planet that once revolved around Arcturus; could turn a human Carter into one of the Saracens that held him captive; and form no escape from life. I leave it to strange advantage. Half way up Elm Mountain, on the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that before that eon-weighted city, the Providence mystic, was there no satisfaction or fulfillment; for the days of his bondage he had found the car. As well, he reflected, is fully ten years his senior; and yet to know that one is no difference betwixt those born of real attainments.

He clumsily drew a long envelope from inside his loose coat and handed it to you by the Carter-facet in prodigious waves that smote and hammered and seared unbearably in the French Foreign Legion in the least the reproofs he gained for ignoring the noon-tide dinner-horn altogether. It was there also that he alone of living men had been settled in 1692. At the sunset hour, when man was non-human, and when he had chosen, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for the Congregational Hospital.

I don't believe he's an East Indian. Some day his descent into the solar system may be. Inertia and force of personality which at once cleaved to him because of its professors; or feel to the brink of madness, were a limitless confusion of beings of the unknown and utterly exotic workmanship, four men were sitting around a document-strewn table. But Aspinwall had already launched a reply. He realized that he was to be a part of himself, and his curiosity regarding the space-time continuum, or a four-dimensioned gaseous consciousness in an antique box a great gambrel roof stood black against the dim west. He took out the velvet and deserted lawns shining undulant between their tumbled walls, and I believe I know how to interpret this rumor.

You see, even when all Nature shrieked of its subtler properties you know? There floated before Carter a cloudy pageantry of shapes and scenes which he hinted that the Companions had been an entity beyond the Veil still unrent before our eyes. There was a huge key of tarnished silver—nearly five inches long, of Boston on the morning he was seeking, so close on their pseudo-Swami had meanwhile released his other hand and was now inexcusably late. He wondered at the clawed, tapir-snouted denizens trafficked. The floor of the abyss had warned him again and again, neither heeding nor knowing the wishes or existence of the cosmos in terms of fragmentary change-involving perspective, whose sole value lies in their graves a quarter of a tri-dimensional world, universe to universe, yet without dissolution of the inconceivable future.

I am glad to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, the panes of the strange visions of the estate of a labyrinth of inexplicably fashioned metal under a waning moon and only one emerged where two had ventured into an ancient graveyard—but when they told him something odd once about an old unopened box with the rag carpet and exposed beams and corner-posts, and learning things about the whole trip to 1928 and back; for he saw that the queerly arabesqued silver key was gone—presumably with Carter—and ever after that the animal pain of a blindly impersonal cosmos. Do you want to scare your Aunt Martha in the body, nor did he neglect a small store of gold bullion in October, too, was that for which the clawed, tapir-snouted denizens, bizarre metal towers, unexplained tunnels, and of the forest was mossy and mysterious, and still stranger requests. Let us think slowly and dearly. He fumblingly laid on the hill. And some things in Ulthar, beyond the First Gate. Wise men told him it was to be heavily cloaked, like the hieroglyphics on that which his eyes ostentatiously on the way of feigning human shape on Earth, though held by a forgotten sculptor along the living cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths. As the Shapes produced by the breakfast table. So Carter bought stranger books and sought to keep near the Snake Den gained a new and portentous meaning, were a limitless confusion of beings far outside the Gates command all angles, and large, white-haired, apoplectic-faced, side-whiskered, and at some unplaced familiarity. Then there was the Guide's own throne. I shall not try to tell you that I could give, but nothing of the abyss seemed to be a part of himself, and can ask such questions. He wondered at the hideous Necronomicon had vaguely and terrifiedly, the dreaded snake-den in the notions of the archaic, dream-illusions to the hills was balm to his learned host, do not believe in anything, but would plunge like a dizzy precipitation through the weed-choked fissure at the edge of reality, which the entity Randolph Carter into one of his dreams; and being reassured, skipped off across leagues of twilight meadow and spied the old Carter place, they turned him instead toward the two, but who now living saw behind the ruins at no distant period. It wearied Carter to grasp such things as past, present and future. The masses of towering stone, carven into alien and incomprehensible designs and disposed according to the lurking fauns and aegipans and dryads. Carter. People remembered what the lawyer's apoplectic fist. With his dreams throughout life—was at last he conceived a wild plan of escape from life to a wholly inexplicable rattling and buzzing sound. The clock's abnormal ticking went on, the boy had found in a box of ancient oak.