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middleagedenragedmama · 8 days ago

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AITA Harry Potter Fandom Edition

Or an etiquette guide I wish I'd have had when I started reading fanfiction two years ago. Please feel free to add to it, as I'm sure it's missing a few things.

I track the fanfiction I read on goodreads (or other book tracking app). AITA? Sorry, YTA. Fanfiction should not be tracked in the same place as books. It's not professionally published, and you should not treat it as such. Authors do not want this, most fans do not want this. Fanfiction already exists in a sticky legal area, do not put it at risk by treating it as if it were a book.

I rate the fanfiction I read on goodreads or another public site. AITA? Sorry, YTA. Fanfiction is a GIFT. Imagine you go to a picnic where everyone brings a dish. You love potato salad, so you put some on your plate. However, you take a bite, and this is the worst potato salad you've ever had in your life. What do you do? You move on right? You ignore the potato salad and eat the macaroni salad. When folks are discussing the picnic, you say you had a lovely time. You don't bitch about the potato salad, you just say to yourself "hmmm, that wasn't for me, but look, there's a whole buffet of things I do like." This is fanfiction. You try a fic, and you don't like it? Oh well. You move on. No one forced you to read it. You don't review it, you don't rate it. This was a gift to a community, and you are not the intended audience. Move on.

I bought ATYD on etsy or another website. AITA? Yes, YTA. Fanfiction cannot be sold. You can bind it yourself if the author gives permission for this. You can give it to a friend (100% free, no money/trade, a true gift). You can print it out, three hole punch it, and put it in a binder. You cannot sell it, buy it, or bind it if an author asks that it not be bound.

I asked the author if I could bind a fic for personal use, they said no, but I did it anyway. AITA. Yes, YTA. What you do when no one is watching tells a lot about who you are as a person. If an author asks that their fic not be bound, respect their wishes. They wrote the fic as a gift to the community. Don't shit on their gift by not honoring their wishes.

I steal typesets from creators and then sell my binds on Etsy, AITA? Yes, YTA. First, you put fandom at risk by doing this. It's illegal to sell fanfiction. Second, you piss off binders that share their typesets for free, and they pull their typesets which then limits access for people that ethically bind. Just don't.

I steal art from creators because they post it, and I don't give credit. AITA. Yes again, YTA. Most artists are more than happy to give permission for their art to be used in personal binds, but give them the benefit of granting permission for the gift they've given us. If they are ok with their art being used, give them credit in the typeset.

I use AI for writing prompts, help with my outline, character art creation, and help with dialogue. AITA? Yes, YTA. AI does not belong in creative spaces. All AI use involves theft and tremendous ecological burdens. There is absolutely no place for AI in this space.

I put up a patreon to release my fic (or release it early) to paid members only, AITA? YTA. Charging for fanfiction is illegal and puts all of fandom at risk. If you want to do this, write non-fandom works.

I don't read WIPS, AITA? Hmmm, this is a tough one, I guess your NTA, but if no one read WIPs, we would quickly lose all our writers. Writers thrive on engagement. Sure they are writing for themselves, but hearing from readers, knowing that people are excited to read what they've written and want to read what is coming, motivates them. Reading WIPs nutures the fandom and encourages the interaction between writers and readers that leads to amazing fics.

I don't leave comments, AITA? Yes, YTA. If someone took the time to write a fic, and you took the time to read it, you owe them a comment of at least "Thanks for this!". Writers LOVE comments. They are writing for themselves, but they are motivated by your comments. They wrote a whole fic that you devoured, you've told all your friends about, you made a tiktok video about, and you've personally bound. Tell the author how much the fic meant to you!

If an author doesn't update, I send them a message and try to pressure them to update, AITA? Yep, again, YTA. Comment on their WIP how much you love the fic, tell them all the things that made your toes curl when you read it and made your breathing speed up. Tell them what you are hoping happens or dreading what comes next. Tell them you appreciate their gift! Do not bully them. It's never ok.

I fucking hate femme Sirius, and I make a point to bitch about it every time I see him. AITA? In extra bold letters, YTA. Not every fic/art is for you. Scroll on. You want masculine Sirius? He exists, go interact with his writers and artists. Quit engaging with the content you don't like. It might be a little known fact, but the reason you keep seeing it is BECAUSE you keep engaging with it. Quit. It's that easy. Engage with the content you want to see.

I ship shame the fuck out of jegulus because I'm #TeamJilyForever, AITA. Yes, YTA. See above bullet point regarding femme Sirius. Again, quit engaging with content you don't want to see or don't like. It's not for you. I don't particularly like a lot of stuff, but that just means it's not for me. There's no ship shaming in fandom.

I post 2 sentence plot bunnies, personal head canons, or trope ideas and then accuse others of plagiarism when I find a fic with something similar in the wild, AITA. Yes, YTA. First, you did not invent the only one bed trope or the sick fic. Anyone can and should write about any trope they want. You also aren't the only person that posted a plot bunny of "Marauders Coffee Shop AU, and Remus is a chronically ill barista that serves Sirius his morning brew". Unless someone is directly lifting words from your published fic or extremely detailed plot points, let folks write their own spin. If you really have something you don't want to see others write about, don't put it out there for folks to see. (This one might be debatable, but this is my take and mine alone. I definitely do not mean it's ok to plagiarize. Just don't be an asshole on either side of this one, ok?)

Whenever I see a post/video with a personal head canon or plot bunny, I ask the creator for recs, AITA. Yes, YTA. Most of these creators have a whole playlist of recommendation videos or entire spreadsheets of recs. They are just putting out a fun idea, quit flooding the comments with "any recs bestie?"

I see creators/writers/artists as my personal service providers, so I feel entitled to ask for recs whenever I want, AITA. YTA, read the room. These are people with real feelings. There should be a give and take relationship with these people, not a continual take and take on your part. If the video is about recs, fine, ask although honestly, learning to search on your own would be best. We really need to quit burdening these creators with the labor we should be doing. But also, start seeing these creators as people with feelings, not just a service provider at your beck and call. Some of these folks are fighting for their lives daily, being slammed in comments, and are hanging on to this fandom by a thread. If a post is about something completely unrelated to "recommendations," it's probably not the time to ask. Instead really listen to what they are saying and engage with that in an appropriate manner. Show them appreciation, and if you don't enjoy their content, move on.

I don't search for fics on my own, I just ask creators, AITA? Yes. YTA. Ao3 has a robust search engine that is easy to use. Watch a TikTok to learn how to use the search feature. ffn is a lot less search friendly, but if you search reddit or tumblr, you can find what you are looking for. This is a really important skill to have, and I promise if you learn it, it'll only benefit you. I am likely twice your age and have figured this out, I promise you can do it!

I kink shame, AITA. Yes, YTA. Just don't read or engage with the fics you don't like. No one needs to know, it's just between you and your Ao3 history.

I leave public bookmarks where I rate fics and leave reviews, AITA? Yes, YTA. Again, fanfiction is a gift. No one wants your review, least of all the author. This is not a book you paid for. Mark your bookmark private and then you can leave all the info you want.

I like to make posts/videos about the fics/characterizations/art styles I don't like, AITA? Yes, YTA. Make all the videos/posts you want about the fics/characterizations/art styles you LOVE. Tell the world, we want to know! But quit slamming creators that offer their best to us just because it's not for you. You are not the intended audience, so keep it moving

I make videos/posts about fics/art that I didn't create and never encourage folks to go leave comments for the author/artist, AITA? Unfortunately, yeah, YTA. You might not intend to be, but this one is easy to change. You want your videos/posts to succeed, of course you want engagement on what you post. But it's really easy to encourage those that like what you are posting to comment on the original. A lot of authors specifically see engagement about their fic on TikTok but have very few comments on the actual fic. It really shouldn't be this way.

I only read the BIG fics, AITA? You know what, you do you, boo. I guess your NTA, but you aren't supporting fanfiction in a constructive way. Maybe you only have 2 long fics in your for the year and so yeah, you want to read the hot ones, I get that. But if no one reads the undiscovered, the hot ones will never become hot. We have a handful of great authors that get recommended 90% of the time. That recognition is well deserved, I love them too. But we have so many great authors that aren't getting recommended, and those hidden gems are undiscovered. If you have the time, use the search and try to find the next fic that makes you stay up til 3 am to finish. They are out there, and they aren't just the ones you see all the time (although read those too, because they are awesome!).

I went to Universal, did a studio tour, and keep buying official merch. AITA? YTA. There are many videos about this, but you cannot keep putting money in jkr's pocket and expect this fandom to thrive. You cannot "reclaim" something that still financially benefits jkr. Trans rights are human rights, and this fandom, specifically the Marauder's fandom, is supposed to be an inclusive place where ALL are welcomed. When you do these things, you create an unsafe environment for all. The last few months we've seen many writers and creators leave the fandom because of this behavior specifically. Do better. (If you are going to do these things, please take fuck jkr out of your bio because you don't mean it).

There are so many more unspoken etiquette rules that I've missed. This is not meant to be all inclusive, just a random list of the top issues I see and how you can become NTA in this fandom. Some of it isn't intuitive, I admit to being guilty of some of these early on. However, when you know better, you do better.

#fandom etiquette #marauders #marauders fandom #femme sirius #harry potter fanfiction #aita reddit #fanfiction binding #ship shaming #fuck jkr #dead gay wizards

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weirdstuffinthewoods · 2 years ago

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Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

I'm awful at starting niche blogs, so I'm trying to stick to what I know and love. Something I know very well and love very much is this box set right here that I'm still mad at myself for getting rid of (I bought the 3-book treasury it's just not the SAME)

If you're a millennial of any age, you were probably traumatized by one or more of these bad boys. Alvin Schwartz sat down in the late 70s (book 1 was published in 1981!) and said, "you know what? I'm gonna scare the pants off a bunch of kids and they'll thank me for it later." And you know what? I kinda do.

I've spent a lot of time trying to find the root of my horror obsession, and I thought it was seeing the 1990 made-for-TV version of IT at a sleepover in 3rd grade, which resulted in two traumatic years of night terrors, calmed only by...reading the book it was based on? And then all of Stephen King's other works that were definitely not appropriate for a barely 9-10 year old? (For years, I'd skip the adulthood sections of IT when I read it because I found them so boring, so I had a half-finished story in my mind. Go figure.) But that wasn't it. I thought maybe it was finding the Informania: Ghosts and Informania: Vampires books at the Scholastic Book Fair and poring over them obsessively for years (more on this at a later date) but nope.

It was Scary Stories, Alvin Schwartz, and Stephen Gammell.

If you want some of the story surrounding these books, I recommend the Prime/Freevee documentary "Scary Stories". I remember none of it, but that's the ADHD and I can't help it.

From a quick Wikipedia search (they have never steered me wrong and this is a for-fun blog y'all), it looks like Alvin Schwartz is a folklore dude, which I aspire to be. He published multiple other kids' books of folklore aside from the Scary Stories trilogy, including A Twister of Twists, A Tangler of Tongues, but these were illustrated by a dude named Glen Rounds and I mean look:

A little weird, but not nightmare-inducing by any means. Although the amount of hair is concerning. American folklore gets lost in the shuffle a lot so it's cool for kids to see it. Then, a bit before 1981, he meets this fuckin' guy:

Who yes appears harmless but single-handedly molded me as a person with just some watercolor and pencil. Without his illustrations, Scary Stories wouldn't have the legacy they do today. Proof? The books were rereleased in 2011 with different illustrations. From the guy who illustrated the Series of Unfortunate Events books (Brett Helquist). I'm sure those were fine but like come on.

as compared to

Which one is a kid (ie me) going to cover with one hand while desperately trying to read the other page?

Stephen Gammell has a decades-long career which is briefly highlighted in this Bloody Disgusting article, excitingly enough. Before Scary Stories, he actually did another scary book series for kids which has some unsettling illustrations

and he did some historical illustrations for stuff like Thunder at Gettysburg and Terrible Things: An Allegory of the Holocaust which no I will not be looking up because I need to sleep tonight.

The article also goes on to mention how amazing Schwartz's research abilities were considering none of these stories were original- they were just collected from around the US and the world and compiled into a (not kid-friendly, no, but) kid-interesting version. There were also audiobooks (books on cassette? I guess?) for at least one of them so I assume all three, and I distinctly remember (I'll point to the exact stories later):

sitting:

-in broad daylight

-at the reading table in my classroom, probably 3rd grade too

-headphones on, volume up

-sweating absolute buckets because I was listening to this baby which ETSY SOMEHOW HAD

ARE YOU JOKING ETSY??? I'm okay though I don't need the nightmares back.

George S. Irving deserved every penny he got for this work and a whole lot more because that man scared the shit out of me. Also found out as I was reading his Wikipedia article that he played Heat Miser in The Year Without A Santa Claus. Well. The more you know, I guess.

Anyway, going forward, I'm going to go in depth on some of my favorites, and hopefully you come with! Send me questions or suggestions on stuff you want me to talk about or look at :)

Also yes I've seen the movie no I will not talk about it here but maybe later because it's been awhile since I saw it

#alvin schwartz #scary stories #scary stories to tell in the dark #stephen gammell

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kyyykingsley · 8 months ago

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1, 13, 19 😊

1 - What song makes you feel better?

At first I had no fucking clue. Absolutely zero. I was gunna go with Its All About You by McFly because that's been in my life literally since I was born. I love it, it made me a hopeless romantic. But in no way does it make me feel better, it breaks my heart into tiny little bits.

But then! I remembered that Electric Energy from the Argylle soundtrack exists. That shit- i need it in my veins. Give me a lobotomy and put that song in instead. It's amazing. It's nothing but fun dance and that's all I need and want. That's all anyone needs. If that shit ever played in a club? Never seeing me again. I'd get too excited and just combust.

13 - What's your comfort food?

Now that I'm not sure- My go to is steak and it's very comforting to my hunger. It's tough because I do think steak but there was one meal my mom made me as a kid, it's a shit meal and wasn't cooked well but it was something. It was pasta, chopped up hot dog and sweetcorn. I know, sounds disgusting shoving all that in a pot and saying dinner but it was everything I liked as a kid and as a person who eats one thing at a time, it tasted quite nice. She always cooked it when I was off sick from school and yeah. It was shit but it was something. It was the very least and I was happy with that.

19 - Most important thing in your life?

You came in with all the questions I dont have answers to today. Teasing xx

Now this is gunna sound fucking dorky but honestly probably my resident evil necklaces. I have Claire's replica and an etsy made one of Jill's and I wear them constantly. They're my good luck charms. Apart from Claire's, specifically when I'm riding my bike (just a bicycle I'm not that cool yet sadly). Last time I wore it on my bike I smashed my face in the road and got stitches so not happening-

But, those necklaces have connected me with people. I wear them to work and it's how I got talking with my now best friend, it made it easy to find a connection with him that I wouldn't take away for anything in the world. You could give me Jill Valentine and I still wouldn't trade him for her. But her necklace was in part what got me to be friends with him so. And in part, they give me a confidence boost. Let's me take a bit of their spirit into my day and hone the energy I need in certain situations.

If I think of a thing that trumps that I will update but right now, that's it

#sorry for the late reply i kept forgetting what the questions were and had to go back and check #THE WAY I HAD IT DRAFTED AND DIDNT POST IT #put me to bed im tiring myself out #dove chirping #asks rambles

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kelpan · 1 year ago

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Credit for the commissioned Chrysanthemum headshot goes to wwispie on Etsy! Check out their instagram page to see some of their other amazing works!

I'm having so much fun writing this, but I'd be lying if I said this chapter didn't give me a run for my money! Trying to describe shit in the dark is hard lol

As always, enjoy!

Ao3: Petals on a Stream of Stars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act 1, Chapter 6: An Unintended Encounter

Tuesday

12:30 PM

Chrysanthemum

Chrys gasped, startled as a loud popping noise made her jump, followed by every light in the room, both standard and emergency, blinking out in unison, leaving her stranded in a sea of blackness. Even as she strained to maintain her bearings, it quickly became clear that her eyes were absolutely useless, unable to make out even the basic shape of the plastic tub she’d been searching through just seconds ago. Her mind raced through a thousand possibilities, trying to understand what might have happened until, without warning, a shrill, tormented scream ripped its way through the inky blackness, cutting straight through any other possible thought she might have had.

“SCcccrrrreeeeaaAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!”

Her blood ran cold, a sickening dread washing over her. She knew whose voice that was. She knew whose voice that was, without a single doubt.

Sun!

A worried panic overwhelmed her, shifting her priorities from confusion to concern. Was he alright? Was he hurt? He sounded as if he was struggling, fighting, his normally exuberant and cheery tone now replaced by sheer agony. A knot caught in her throat as the wailing continued, each second more drawn out than the last.

Seriously, what the hell happened?!

“Sun?!” She called out, fear evident in her voice, even as she fought to keep it at bay, to keep herself calm and composed. No matter what she may feel, that wasn’t important right now, not if he needed help. “Sun, what’s going on?!”

There was no change within his garbled and distorted cries, her calls going unanswered. Warping between octaves, his voice mingled and meshed with the strange and earsplitting sound of metal grinding, like that of two pieces of coarse steel scraping and twisting against each other. Every instinct urged her to cover her ears, to turn away from such an animalistic, inhumane screech, but she couldn’t. She just…couldn’t. Something about turning away from another’s pain made her feel so unwell that, despite how masochistic it may be, she refused to spare herself from it, even a little bit. If he was suffering, then she’d at least be brave enough to suffer it with him, if only in spirit.

Though that did little to temper the sinking sense of guilt that bubbled forth as silence gradually began to overtake the wailing, his screams growing fainter and fainter until nothing remained but the unsettling and empty echoes left behind.

“S-Sun?” She called out once more, unsure whether getting a response at this point would be a good thing or not. “Sun, can you hear me?!”

Her meek and shaking voice was no match for the gaping nothingness surrounding her, threatening to seep in and suffocate her should she breathe too much of it in. Yet still, she waited, listening for any sign she’d been heard, swallowing thickly against the tension coiling in her gut.

Once again, she was met with nothing, only silence. A heavy, disconcerting, silence.

She trembled as she weighed her options, trying to decide what to do. Continuing to just stand here and call out, staring aimless into the dark served nothing. But what else could she do? Try to stumble and feel her way through the dark? She wanted to help, damn near needed to with the way her chest constricted as anxiety sunk its teeth into her, thinking of what might have happened to make Sun scream like that. And for his sake, she would, the thought of abandoning him now never once crossing her mind.

Taking a deep breath, hoping to find a spot of courage amidst the warning bells going off in her head, she let go of the edge of the shelving unit she’d been clinging to and took a shaky step forward, her equilibrium lurching without the solid anchor to keep her grounded. If she remembered right, she should be between the main rows of shelves now, facing the main aisle.

Breathe, Chrys, it’s alright. You can do this. You can do this.

Her steps echoed throughout the space, battling for dominance against the hum of the HVAC system running overhead, the sound disturbing no matter how light she tried to make them. Her arms acted as a buffer, hands reaching out before her, tingling with the anticipation of what might be out there, what she might accidentally bump into. If she stayed on course, she should be able to just walk straight ahead and reach the same door she’d seen Sun duck into earlier, imagining that he couldn’t have gone far from there since she last saw him. Easy, right? Nothing too difficult. So long as she went slow, and trusted herself to remember where she was in space and time, she should be able to navigate through all this darkness just fine…

A distinct noise further up startled her out of her concentration, causing her heart to leap up into her throat. The heck was that? Eyes wide, she reflexively looked around, despite inherently knowing it was pointless. Straining, she tried instead to quiet her breathing, hoping to catch the sound again. It had been short, but recognizable…like a door latch clicking open. Or shut, really. She couldn’t tell, other than it was close, just ahead, if she had heard it right.

“…..Sun?” She whispered, her mouth going dry. There was no repeat of the sound, but despite the lack of evidence, she knew that something had changed. The atmosphere…shifted, like a dissonant note too high for the ear to detect but still loud enough for the body to feel. It sent a cold chill down her spine, and she froze in place, her base instincts momentarily overruling her compulsion to help.

“….Hello?” She breathed, her voice struggling to remain steady, worsening only still when once again, she was met without an answer, the silence both taunting and unnerving.

“….Sun?”

She repeated, whispering to the open air, though the words tasted wrong the moment they slipped from her lips. The tension intensified as her hands reached ever forward, her arms trembling with the effort as she forced herself to keep going, her gut screaming at her to turn back. But as her fingertips brushed up against something smooth and firm and cold, she gasped, noting with a growing sense of dread how it rhythmically pulsed beneath her touch, almost as if it was breathing…

A sharp, eerie chuckle cut the silence, vibrating with a rumble into her hands. Eyes wide, her chin jerked upward towards the source of the sound, only for her breath to leave her as two large, glowing blood red eyes appeared, gazing down at her with an expression she could only take as predatory. The light radiating from them washed over her features, bathing the world in a sinister hue as she sucked in a breath through her teeth, her every muscle taught as a bowstring.

Whoever the eyes belonged to cast her a wicked smile, revealing a Cheshire grin full of sharp, pointed teeth. Her mind pleaded with her again to run, to move, to get away, but frozen she remained, as if control of her body had fled under the wake of his stare. He chuckled once more, the sound no less unnerving than the first time.

“That’s a good guess, but…no. Not quite.”

His dark and impish voice rumbled with a dry, goading mirth, serving as enough of a catalyst to shake her from her stupor, and before she could think on it any further, her body finally clicked into action, pushing away from him with a cry before turning to bolt, content to be anywhere else so long as it wasn’t here.

But despite her best attempts to flee the same way she came, she failed to account for a wayward tub sticking out of an aisle which caught her foot, sending her careening up and overboard, propelled by the force of her own momentum. Her chin hit the concrete first, the sharp “smack” and surge of pain through her jaw disorienting as the rest of her body continued to tumble overtop, her backside sent sprawling into what felt like one of the metal shelving units, the hard horizontal lines cutting harshly into her lower back before sliding the rest of the way to the floor. Dazed, pain flaring at different degrees throughout her body, she groaned, her focus scattered until a series of odd creaking and cracking noises cut through to her attention, like that of a piece of metal teetering and splintering.

“Oh shit! Look out!!”

Before she could wrap her head around what was happening, her world erupted into a cacophony of crashing and clanging, a waterfall of heavy objects suddenly raining down from above. She flinched, and braced herself, curling into as tight of a ball as she could, to minimize the chances of being hit. Right when she should have felt the beating of a dozen cruel impacts, something—or someone—rushed in, throwing themselves over her to take the brunt of the damage on themselves, the pounding of metal hitting metal creating a hellish symphony that battered her eardrums mercilessly.

As the bangs and clatters finally petered off, her ears still ringing, the air rippling with the memory, only then did she dare to crack her eyes open, astonished to find she wasn’t dead. Aside from the aches of her initial tumble, she didn’t feel anything that made her feel too concerned, though whether that was thanks to the copious amounts of adrenaline now coursing through her system or not remained to be seen. As soon as her vision came into focus, her breath hitched as she recognized those same two glowing eyes from before hovering just an inch or two above her face.

They stared at each other, mutually stunned by the aftershocks, her breathing labored. He was the first to break the tension, bracing as he moved to get up, lifting something from his back before finally shoving it all the way off, resulting in one last, final resounding “crash” before silence filled back in its absence.

Crouching beside her again, she stiffened as those blazing red eyes returned. “Dammit! Why did you have to…I didn’t mean for you to—” He cut himself off with a frustrated growl, his eyes closing for just a moment as his demeanor changed, a solid red line interrupting the darkness and momentarily blinding her, sweeping across her prone form. “Injuries detected. Acute swelling, multiple minor contusions. Can you tell me where it hurts the most?” He insisted, his voice a strange contrast from how menacing he’d sounded before.

Her throat seized, her thoughts too scrambled to form a coherent sentence. His voice lingered in the air, mixing with the sound of her own ragged breathing. With each second of terse silence that passed, the more the subtle details of his countenance stood out to her, even when viewed under such dim, red light. She could tell his frame was slim…long-limbed…with a wide, round face, one half lighter than the other, in a rather familiar crescent shape…

He sighed, low and heavy, his resigned tone snapping her out of her musings. “Staff…unresponsive.” He stated, sliding a paint can that had landed a little too close to her aside. “Just wait here. I’ll go get someone who can actually help with this. You’ll be alright.”

Without waiting for her to reply, he stood, his movements punctuated with the shifting sounds of gears turning and the light tinkling of bells as he took his leave, depriving her of both his light and his company. Whether it was the idea of being by herself in the dark once more that rattled her, or her growing intrigue towards this unknown animatronic— for surely that’s what he was— ultimately, it mattered little. The fear that shot through her at either prospect was undeniable, and without a second thought she shot a hand out, ignoring the throb of pain that pinged in her jaw as she lifted her head.

“Wait!”

His glow turned back to face her, making her feel like she could breathe again, and with a far gentler chuckle than before, his eyes softened, taking on an almost bemused expression.

“Just stay there, starlight. We don’t want to risk you freaking out again while it’s still dark. Who knows how you might get yourself killed next time?”

Though his tone had a teasing lilt, his words left no room for protest, and without waiting for her to respond, he turned and left, the jingles of his bells fading into the empty air.

She didn’t know what to think as she continued to lay there on the floor, aside from how the coolness of the concrete seemed to ease some of the ache from her back and the flush from her skin. Resting her head back down against the floor with a sigh, she tried to settle her racing heart, to get her breathing back under control. She was alive, a fact she should be more grateful for, spared from an uncommonly gruesome and unexpected fate. Everything else could be processed at a later time, preferably when she could see more than an inch past her nose. She’d had more than enough darkness for one day.

As if in fulfillment of her silent wish, the lights chose right then to blaze back to life, harsh and glaring from above, forcing her to recoil from the unforgiving brightness.

“Sunshine? Sunshine!?” Sun’s panicked voice called out to her, bouncing throughout the storeroom. “Sunshi—Oh my stars, Chrys!” Blinking blearily, she spotted him bounding out from around a far corner, rushing straight to her the moment their eyes made contact.

“Oh, Sunshine! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?!” His gaze was stressed and frantic, darting between her and the area around her, as if he didn’t know what to address first. Finally able to take in her surroundings now herself, it was easy to see why. Dozens of paint cans surrounded her, dented, some cracked open and spilling their colorful contents onto the floor. Behind her, the shelf she must have toppled into lay, tipped over haphazardly on its side, its feet jagged and shorn, their matching ends still anchored to the concrete floor.

Holy shit.

Her breathing grew shallow as she realized the possible extent of the damage that could have befallen her. Gods, she really was lucky just to be breathing right now. If any one of those things had landed a direct hit to her head…

A high-pitched hum preceded another laser line washing over her, this time blue rather than red, and her attention returned to the present. “Oh, thank goodness.” Relief instantly colored his features as the scan finished. “Nothing severe.” He reached a hand out and touched her cheek, wiping a thumb across her skin. The gentleness in the action surprised her, but before she could respond he pulled his hand back, the digit coming away smeared with a glaring splotch of blue paint. She must have gotten hit by some of the splatter. Momentarily distracted by the sight of the contrasting color against his natural yellow, she failed to see his gaze hardening as he fully took in her disheveled state. “Come on.” He stated, his tone bringing her back to the present and brokering no argument. “We’re heading to the first aid station immediately.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he knelt to scoop her up into his arms, one arm looping around her back while the other slipped beneath her knees, tucking her securely against his chest.

“Woah, h-hey! What are you doing?!”

“Taking responsibility.” He replied before rising to his full height, lifting her up along with him as if she weighed nothing at all, the sudden seriousness in his voice startling in comparison to his usual chipper tone. “I should have been more careful. I should have been paying closer attention, and you almost got seriously hurt because of it! No, no, no, we are not taking any more chances. You are going to get some proper care and attention, and that’s that.” Without waiting again for her input, he turned and started to march off towards the entrance, his grip on her as unyielding as the determined pace he set.

“Wait—” Chrys struggled, trying to take back a tiny sliver of control, if only for a moment. Something about this didn’t feel right. This was all his fault? That he hadn’t been careful? What the heck was he even talking about? Her getting spooked and running through the dark like a fool was nobody’s fault but her own, and it didn’t sit well with her that he thought otherwise. Besides, with how he had screamed? She still wasn’t convinced she was the higher priority victim in this scenario.

“Sun, wait, hold on. This isn’t on you. You can’t just blame yourself for a mess I got myself into!” Though he glanced down at her, he refused to answer or otherwise acknowledge that she’d spoken, irritating her to be so pointedly ignored, his mouth set in a firm, tense line. “Are you listening to me?” She pressed, pushing up off his chest and forcing him to look her in the eye. “Sun, I heard you screaming bloody murder! How could this be your fault when it sounded like you were in an even worse situation than I was?!”

He stopped then, his fingers tensing where he held her, tilting his neck out to the side in an unnatural way to ensure that she was unable to see him, determined it seemed not to make eye contact. It only served to distress her more, her irritation shifting into something more along the lines of concern.

“I…” He began, the fans in his chest revving, taking a deep breath before continuing, seeming to struggle to find the words. After a second or two, finally she got what she wanted, though for an instant, she almost wished she hadn’t. The look on his face when he finally turned to look at her…she never wanted to see it again. He looked weary, tired, his glowing blue eyes weighed down by shadows she had no way of understanding right then, would never have thought someone with such a literally sunny personality would be capable of harboring. “I’m fine. I made a mistake, and it…well, it forced me off-line for a while. That’s…that’s why I screamed. It…hurts to be forced to shut down like that.”

Well, that explains why he never answered me.

It had taken a lot of effort for him to admit that, his voice low and strained and quiet in a way that made her heart clench, unable to hold her gaze for long before falling away again. To know he was alright was one thing, a good thing, but…she couldn’t help but feel as if there was more to his explanation than he was willing to share. In avoiding answering the heart of her question, he subtly implied that he still felt responsible for what had happened, though she didn’t fully understand why he did. “You know I don’t blame you, right? This was all just an accident.” She stated, quiet yet straightforward, an admission of fact rather than an opinion, and one that she sincerely hoped he’d listen to.

His face softened, though the existential fatigue still marred his features. “Yeah. I know.” He whispered under his breath, quiet enough that it made her question if she had even heard it at all.

“Good.” She murmured, putting on the softest of half-smiles for him, trying to help ease the mood. He didn’t need to punish himself for her sake. In fact, she’d rather he didn’t. It brought her no joy to see him suffer, and the way he was attempting to care for her now, especially when he really didn’t have to, was more than enough for her.

He mirrored her smile, grateful it seemed to follow her lead, accepting the olive branch she offered. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, the heaviness lingering in the air between them drifting like a fall leaf on the wind. “Let’s get back to it. We need to get an ice pack on that chin of yours as soon as possible, and I’m sure you could benefit from a couple of painkillers.”

It was then that her body reinserted itself to the forefront, the aches littering her limbs growing more pronounced as he mentioned it. Even if she hadn’t been smashed to a pulp by hardware supplies, her initial fall hadn’t been a small one. Maybe he was right about needing that first aid.

“Alright.” She mumbled wearily, giving in.

Pleased with her permission, his smile grew, bringing some warmth back to the whole of his face. With a quickened stride, they made their way through the halls backstage of the theater, returning the same way they originally came. As they went, Chrys felt herself begin to calm, her limbs growing dense and heavy, her heartbeat dropping back to a more appropriate rate. The rhythmic sway of his stride rocked her gently, and she rested her cheek against his warm chest, giving her neck a break from holding up her throbbing head, the pain now coming in slow, even waves, radiating up from her jaw and into her temples.

But though her body may be settling, her mind was anything but, itching to overthink everything that had occurred from start to finish. She still had questions, the need to ask them tickling her tongue, but even she could see there was little to be gained by forcing the subject right now. Sun still seemed a little too on-edge to be pressed any farther, and truthfully, she didn’t really want to risk upsetting him, not right now. So, she wouldn’t.

Relaxing against him with a pointed exhale, she tried to quiet her mind, resigning herself to let sleeping dogs lie, for now. One way or another, she’d find out who that was in the dark who’d saved her, a mystery she was still determined to uncover, his glowing red eyes seared into her memory. But for now, she’d be patient, and wait for the right time.

As the silence enveloped them in its comfortable embrace, a new, unexpected thought made its appearance, causing her to chuckle incredulously to herself.

“Hey, Sun?” Chrys asked, a light-hearted humor to her voice.

“Hmm?” He replied, glancing down at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Did you ever find the snacks?”

He skidded to a halt, stopping dead in his tracks in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly out into the middle distance before devolving into an exasperated series of giggles, the sound pleasant as it rumbled from his chest through to her.

“Hope this was all worth it for some goldfish and PBJ sandwiches.”

Together they banished any remaining tension in the air, laughing heartily until the absurdity of why they’d even gone to the storeroom in the first place stopped being so funny. Already she felt lighter, pleasantly surprised to find how at ease she felt around him, especially given her arguably vulnerable state. She’d expected herself to cling to her well-earned defensive mindset, to want to maintain some semblance of distance, especially given the circumstances. But, despite how she knew herself to be, she found her instinct to keep her guard up strangely absent, trusting him right off the bat in a way she had few others, as if her gut knew something she didn’t. That fact alone should make her want to distance herself from him, but at the same time, it was also…intriguing, making her want to see where this might lead. Though she’d taken this job for other, more mundane reasons, the idea of walking out of it today able to genuinely call someone her friend just might officially make this day a good one, near-death experience and all.

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omniliquid · 1 year ago

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OmniLiquid's Church of Discordia: Sermon #666

So, I've been thinking, and drinking, and there's a thing that's been on my mind lately, so it's time for one of OmniLiquid's infamous mostly unnoticed rambly drunken rants about the failures of capitalism on a basic fundamental level that will undoubtedly devolve into a profanity-laden enraged scream into the void, but we'll burn that police station when we get to it.

But the topic for today's sermon in this church of Discordia (all hail Discordia, praise Eris) for which I am the most important pope, naturally, is the fundamental meaning of what it means for something to be a social construct. Listen up folks, this is important shit. This is, in essence, at the core of much magic.

I will begin, as I often do, with a thought experiment, and I will borrow the language (and you may use the voice in your internal reading) of Ben Shapiro, because it is funny to me (I am pretty sure Ben is smart enough to not make this argument, so don't attribute it to him, that would be strawmanning. I am taking the most naive and facetious possible take on economics here, and his voice happens to be my first thought, as a mere coincidence).

"Let's say, for the sake of argument, let's say that there are only two countries, and one of those countries, call it America, is amazing and has a bunch of gold in the ground so they can produce 10 trillion dollars worth of gold or, because the gold makes farming harder, they can produce 1 trillion dollars worth of corn. And let's say the only other country, call it South America, has no minerals in their soil but it's great for growing crops so they can produce 10 trillion dollars worth of crops or they can be lazy and produce only 1 trillion dollars of, like, crafts and stuff that gets sold on etsy. Wouldn't it be best if America focused their efforts on gold and produced 10 trillion dollars worth of gold and South America focused their efforts and produced 10 trillion dollars worth of food and they traded 5 trillion of each so both countries had way more than they could have had otherwise?"

And, yes, I am going to very much take down this strawman, but bear with me, because I am not aiming for the strawman. Like Batman, I am going to aim past the scarecrow and pull the wall down on it from behind. Save your questions to the end, folks, I can't hear them until after I post this anyway because that is how time works (maybe make a note of them, though).

So the first obvious question is, hey Mr. Strawman, what happens when something restricts trade, like if there's a blockade by the trade federation, the Evergreen gets stuck in a canal, or orcas declare war on shipping routes? Won't America just starve if all they have is gold and won't South America's food surplus go to waste and wouldn't this trade arrangement be dumb anyway because without Discordian and witchcraft-related crafts on Etsy the market is just a bland deluge of corporate excess? And yes, that is a very good point and that's where you might expect Batman's grapnel shot to connect and your expecting the absolute shock of Batman just straight up shooting the strawman with one o his tools and breaking his first rule, but no, it goes deeper, and the bards among you are overpowered indeed for seeing this coming and keep that up. Because the real question is, who decided that the 10 trillion dollars worth of gold and the 10 trillion dollars worth of food were equivalent (aside from me in coming up with the dumb argument).

Now we start to hit upon the thesis of this sermon: money is a social construct: what does that mean? I will now use another hypothetical. Suppose we only have two currencies, call US dollars and spicybucks. And suppose the exchange rate is a bit wonky so 1 dollar can be traded for 1 spicybuck and vice-versa for a negligible fee (if done in volume) but because of differences in regulations between countries, the work required to create a dollar worth of products in the US costs 0.95 dollars but the cost to create a dollar's worth of goods and ship it to the US in spicyland is 0.94 spicybucks and through the magic of hypotheticals this happens across every industry for every product and every service. What will be the result? This would be a short-circuit of the dollar, and every corporation would either buy all of their products and services in spiceland or they will be outcompeted by those who do, meaning workers in the US will be completely unable to find jobs , unable to buy anything, complete economic collapse, 100% deathrate in the US.

But this is FUCKING RIDICULOUS. Because if Spiceland didn't exist, the US would just create the products and services it needed and distribute them as normal. Spiceland is a kind of destructive spell that drains the economy, somehow. How? Why? We'll get to that. Maybe. Maybe we already did. Maybe we can only describe the features but not the thing itself. Maybe there's an amorphousness to magick and to experience and to everything, maybe the whole issue is that we are trying to get to the cores of things but there are no cores, just wibbly wobbly things. ALL IS LIQUID.

Quick aside, in Final Fantasy Tactics there is a stat called faith, which varies from 0 to 100, representing lore-wise the amount of belief the character has in the gods, but mechanically the effectiveness of any magical ability is multiplied as a percentage by the faith of the performer AND THE RECIEVER of the magick.

So getting back to the point, money is a social construct. It is a system of exchange rates that is agreed upon by some sort of consensus of the people we interact with and we just kind of agree that a loaf of bread is about a dollar and a two liter bottle of off brand soda is about half that and a modest house is about 50 to 100 thousand and a big mac is two but a double cheeseburger is 1 and rent for a studio or a 1-bedroom is about 350 *whispers from non-existent producer*....

...

And wages have gone up by an equal ratio, right?

[insert the Anakin and Pade meme if you aren't as lazy as me]

right?

...

Ok. How's civil unrest looking? High and growing? Goddessfuckingdamnedright it's high and growing, and it needs to be!

Don't people FUCKING GET IT! MONEY IS A FUCKING ILLUSION! GENDER IS A FUCKING ILLUSION! SURE, SEX HAS SOME REAL FUCKING IMPLICATIONS FOR REPRODUCTION BUT THAT ISN'T A FUCKING PROBLEM RIGHT NOW! PEOPLE SAY ELON MUSK HAS ENOUGH MONEY TO END WORLD HUNGER BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER IF HE TRANSFERS A BILLION DOLLARS TO A STARVING KID IN AFRICA'S BANK ACCOUNT THAT DOESN'T DO SHIT IF THE KID CAN'T GET FUCKING FOOD AND PROBABLY MEDICAL ATTENTION!

People act like money is this thing that can transmute itself into anything and it's sure easy to think that when your experience is driving to the store or ordering shit on Amazon with next day shipping, but money is not the philosopher's stone, it is a false stone, it has limitations, and excessive use degrades the soul. What matters is FUCKING MATERIAL CONDITIONS.

I think if you meditate on these truths and consult your pineal gland, you will gain deep knowledge, but I will add a few further remarks to aid in you meditation before expanding further and bringing in today's scripture.

There is no such thing as an illegal strike, only an unsuccessful one.

I don't recall the exact quote or who said it and I wish I could find it, but I saw someone quote it in a post once, and it was to the effect of: "When we go on strike, they will villainize us and lament that it came to such a terrible place, but don't let them fool you. When we go on strike, we are showing them grandmotherly kindness by not showing up on their doorstep with the guillotines at the ready."

Today's scripture comes from Illuminatus, near the beginning of the fourth trip, between Illuminati memo #16 and Illuminati memo #16 (not a typo) (extra-relevent passages (afaik) in pink, and shit that just resonates with me by syncronicity or otherwise in purple):

""They were using Mace now, and I saw one photographer snapping a picture of a cop while the cop was still Macing him (Heisenberg rides again! From out of the west come the thundering hooves of the great hearse, Joint Phenomenon! Except that I was on acid; if I'd been on weed, then it would really, royally, be a Joint Phenomenon). And I heard later that the photographer got an award for that shot. Right then, he didn't look like he was getting an award. He looked like they had just taken off his skin and touched each raw nerve with a dentist's drill. "Christ," I said to Hagbard, "look at that poor bastard. I hope I come out of this with just another teargassing or two. I don't want any of that Mace." But acid is placid, you know, and a minute later I was on Joyce's juices again and thinking of a drama called 'Their Mace and My Gripes." I made the first line fruity, in honor of Padre Pederastia: "What a botch of a pair to plumb this hour's gripes."

"Bism'allah," Hagbard said. "Our karma is made by our deeds, not by our prayers. You're on the set, so you take the action as it comes."

"Oh, cut out that Holy Man craperoo and stop reading

my mind," I protested. "You don't have to go on impressing me." But I was off on another tangent, which went something like this: If this set is Mayor Daley's circus, then Mayor Daley is the ringmaster. If the things below are the things above, as Hermes hermetically hinted, then this set is the bigger set. Mr. Microcosm, meet Mr. Macrocosm. "Hi, Mike!" "Hi, Mac." Conclusion: Mayor Daley, in a small way, is what Krishna is, in a large way. QED.

Just then some SDS kids who'd been teargassed across the street came running our way, and Hagbard got busy handing out wet handkerchiefs. They needed them: they were half-blind, like Joyce splitting his Adam into wise hopes. And I wasn't much help, because I was tod busy crying myself.

"Hagbard," I gasped in ecstasy. "Mayor Daley is Krishna."

"Worse luck for him," he said curtly, distributing the handkerchiefs. "He doesn't suspect it."

I thought, suddenly:

Hubert the Hump has coughed and hawked And spat on the streets that Lincoln walked

The water turned to blood (Hagbard was a joking jolting Jesus: you expected wine maybe?) and I remembered my mother's story about Dillinger at the Biograph. We all sit there, like him, in the Biograph Theatre, dreaming the drama of our lives, then walk outside to the grandmotherly kindness of the lead kisses that wake us back to our slipping beatitude. Except that he found a way to come back. What was it Charley Mordecai said: "First as tragedy, then as farce?" Marxism-Lennonism: Ed Sanders of the Fugs, the night before, talking about fucking in the streets as if he had read my mind (or had I read his?) and Lennon's "Why Don't We Do It in the Road" was recorded a year in the future. The Marx and our groupies. The bloody handkerchiefs dipped into water, or wine, and the mass rite went on, the mass went Right On, the Mace they rowed. Capone set it up for the Feds, but John was fed up and left the set, so an extra named Frank Sullivan got the bullets. The Autobiograph Theatre, a drama house and a trauma, yes. I maybe should have taken only half a

tab instead of the full 500 mikes, because at that point the SDS kids, all of them siding with RYM-I at the split next year, looked like they had altarboy robes on and I thought Hagbard was distributing communion wafers, not handkerchiefs. He looked at me, suddenly, with that hawk-faced Egyptian glare, and I observed that he had observed, Hopalong Horus Heisenberg, just where I was at You don't have to be a waterman, I thought, to know which way my mind is blowing.

There was a sound from the crowd, like a subway opening all its doors with a suck of air, and I saw the police coming, crossing the street to clear the park.

"Here we go again," I said. "All hail Discordia,"

"Snafu ueber alles," Hagbard grinned, starting to trot beside me.

We headed North, figuring that the ones who retreated eastward would get trapped against the wall and creamed. "Democracy in action," I said, panting along.

'There thou might'st behold the very image of Authority," he quoted, shifting his water bucket to keep it in balance. I caught the Shakespearean reference and looked back: my mind had already: each policeman indeed looked like Shakespeare's dog. I remembered the frantic semantics at the LBJ anti-birthday party, when Burroughs insisted Chicago Cops were more like dogs than pigs, in contradiction to the SDS rhetoric. Terry Southern, taking his usual maniacal middle course, claimed they were more akin to the purple-assed mandrill, most surly of the baboon family. But most of them hadn't discovered writing yet.

"Authority?" I asked, realizing I'd lost something along the way. We were slowing to a walk, the action was behind us.

"A is not A," Hagbard explained with that tiresome patience of his. "Once you accept A is A, you're hooked. Literally hooked, addicted to the System."

I caught the references to Aristotle, the old man of the tribe with his unfortunate epistemological paresis, and also to that feisty little lady I always imagine is really the lost Anastasia, but I still didn't grok. "What do you mean?" I asked, grabbing a wet handkerchief as some of the teargas started to drift to our end of the park.

"Chairman Mao didn't say half of it," Hagbard replied

holding a handkerchief to his own face. His words came through muffled: "It isn't only political power that grows out of the barrel of a gun. So does a whole definition of reality. A set. And the action that has to happen on that particular set and on none other."

"Don't be so bloody patronizing," I objected, looking around a corner in time and realizing this was the night I would be Maced. "That's just Marx: the ideology of the ruling class becomes the ideology of the whole society."

"Not the ideology. The Reality." He lowered his handkerchief. "This was a public park until they changed the definition. Now, the guns have changed the Reality. It isn't a public park. There's more than one kind of magic."

"Just like the Enclosure Acts," I said hollowly. "One day the land belonged to the people. The next day it belonged to the landlords."

"And like the Narcotics Acts," he added. "A hundred thousand harmless junkies became criminals overnight, by Act of Congress, in nineteen twenty-seven. Ten years later, in thirty-seven, all the pot-heads in the country became criminals overnight, by Act of Congress. And they really were criminals, when the papers were signed. The guns prove it. Walk away from those guns, waving a joint, and refuse to halt when they tell you. Their Imagination will become your Reality in a second."

And I had my answer to Dad, finally, just as a cop jumped out of the darkness screaming something about freaking motherfucking fag commies and Maced me, as was certain to happen (I knew it as I crumbled in pain) on that set.""

In case you missed it, and I am not throwing shade, I first read this passage in 2003 and somehow missed it because let's be honest, it is a fucking huge shock to the system to realize the importance that a law passed by congress is in physical reality a few soundwaves and scribbles of graphite and ink on some paper and some electronic shit nowadays but it changes the reality of the lives of people far and wide, but the deeper implication of this, that A IS NOT A, that is FUCKING HUGE.

Because here's the thing. In a world without magick, in a world where people don't have conflicting interests or neurodivergences or imperfect communication or a sense of playfulness or all the other shit that makes us lie to each other and encode messages and make up stories and create false narratives, ok, there is a "possible world*" where A would be A, where every dragon would be a dragon, every spade would be a spade, and where every lost person's journey of self discovery would consist of them uttering I am [a short description]. And that world would be bleak and boring and all of the interesting stories about it have been told and it's called The Giver. But that isn't this world. This world has magick, in fact it has a lot of magick, and you see it everywhere, but maybe you don't recognise it as magick because all the fantasy novels have you sold on this idea that magick is wrapped up in this aesthetic of pointy hats and medieval shit and low science and alchemy is a bit more scientific but got superceded by chemistry, etc.

But, no! LET THE RABBITS WEAR GLASSES (I've just had an urge to shout that recently)! MAGICK IS STRONGER THAN EVER AND THE UNIONS PROVE IT! Magick, in some sense, is the ability to distort reality, and to see reality beyond the distortions. And some magicks stretch thin when the presented reality differs so greatly from actual reality as to breed incredulity. And there are a lot of magicks, I'll bring up housing/ret prices, and point ominously towards the idea of land ownership as a concept, are starting to get pretty fucking thin. And when a longstanding spell breaks, that shit cascades. My advice is for all y'all to be prepared to capture that lightning, and don't just bottle it, Goddess knows we got plenty of bottled lightning, chain that fucking shit, channel it towards good and away from destruction as much as possible.

Anyway, I suck at conclusions, but I hope this shit has been informative. Keep fighting the good fight, confuse the enemy, do your things, and make sure to disobey every authority at least once, especially me.

This message is highly conversational. Dictate it to a reporter while exclaiming that you could have deconversationalised it while in office, but you didn't. If they point out that you're still in office, act like you had forgotten and issue a papal edict of your choice.

Praise Eris, All Hail Discordia.

#Discordian Sermon #Actual number 001 #discordianism #illuminatus #anarchism #anti capitalism #drunkposting #long post

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bylightofdawn · 2 years ago

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Alright, I got about 3K written and the next part is gonna be a doozy Jaster's about to get some not happy fun news...hell it's not like it's a HUGE SURPRISE but he's going to find out Montross betrayed him and it's gonna be a s h i t s h o w.

And absolutely no one but Jaster was surprised, especially with the less than subtle hints I've been laying down. So that's going to take a while to write and since it's 12:30 I'm going to be a good girl and call it quits even though I high key cannot wait to write this terrible confrontation.

EDIT: Also, I'm gonna take a sec to edit and interrupt myself. I WROTE 3K WORDS IN ONE NIGHT. HOW FUCKING AWESOME IS THAT? And I've been regularly pumping out that word count which is how I've written like prolly 70K words in like 3 months. Maybe more I need to go back and look and see how much I'd written a few years ago when I started Seeds before my writing urge ran away from me.

Just did the calculation and it's rough but I'd written 11K of Seeds. With chapter 21 (not including 22 since I'm not adding stuff to the master doc until I'm done with a chapter) I'm at 103,000 words. I've written 92,000 words SINCE JANUARY. I can't even comprehend that. Like my brain cannot wrap itself around that large of a number. I get PANICKY thinking of a number that large and wondering how the fuck that happened. I wrote that? Me? It does not compute.

I am allowing myself to pat myself on the back for that accomplishment. I set out with an unofficial New Year's resolution (which I studiously never make because I feel like I always fail) to try and write a little bit a day. Well jokes on me because I've exceeded that expectation and resolution with flying colors. So this is me giving myself some well-deserved back pats and acknowledgment that I am awesome.

I'm not the greatest author out there, I have a lot of room for improvement but I am working on honing those skills, and that deserves to be acknowledged.

OKAY back to blathering on about Hot Toy's displays and diorama shit.

Instead I will write it tomorrow and try to get to bed at a reasonable hour. I want to take a second to blather on about something totally different. I've got three Star Wars Hot Toy's figures, my favorite boys Rex, Obi-Wan and Cody that I've picked up over the past few years. They live in an Ikea display case at the top and I love looking inside and seeing them but man I get so bummed at how shitty my display skills are.

I legit watched a Tested video today and Norm did this amazing customer display of like the new Bo-Katan hot toys figure displayed hanging from the ceiling seemingly in mid-flight descending on Mando. He apparently did it BEFORE he saw Mando S3 and he like a lot of us thought there'd be this huge confrontation between them. Anyway it looks amazing and I know I could never do anything that cool because 1) I lack the skill or experience. 2) I'm not backed by fucking Tested and have access to a $4,000 glowforge laser cutter to make custom acrylic cuts etc. Or a high end 3D printer etc. Suffice it to say that shit is an EXPENSIVE barrier to entry.

I have debated off and on spending a couple hundred dollars on a 3D printer and teaching myself how to do 3D modeling. I think it would be hard but I think I could teach myself how to do it. But it's justifying the price to even start. I have no interest in teaching myself how to do this and flipping shit on etsy with dozens of other people selling diorama pieces or turning it into a business. I don't think there's a lot of money to be had that way to be brutally honest and there's again dozens of sellers already doing that.

So I'd be literally investing a couple hundred dollars just to creatively challenge myself which isn't a bad thing. There's the satisfaction of learning a new skill and in learning. I just cannot justify the price just to satisfy my curiosity. I HAVE debated starting smaller. Like trying to do custom diorama bases all old-school and such. But I feel like there's still prolly a lot of up front money for supplies, prolly need more tools than the simple dremel I have. I don't even own a drill LOL I've been using my poor dremel as a drill for projects around my apartment and that has a very limited size of bits it can fit. Hell I wrestled with justifying buying that years ago, it was like 90 bucks and I've prolly realistically used it less than 10 times in like 5+ years.

I might still try it. I think I'd like to do a sort of desert /Utapau-inspired base for Cody and Obi-Wan.

Cody's figure actually came with a sandy textured base but Obi-Wan's was smooth. I ended up getting some 'action posable' stand off of Amazon which are hexagonal shaped and click together so I could display them together. Rex I'm just using the stand he came with which already has the bendable 'action' pose so he looks like he's flying. In a very lame and totally uninspired way. But we make due with the skills we have until we are willing to put for the effort to sharpen them and improve.

So really, I feel silly even whining about hating my display skills when I haven't managed to even move past the want and thinking stage of trying to improve it. I could buy a premade stand prolly for 50 to 100 bucks but that's a lot of money. Shit people are nuts, they are charging 50 bucks for what is essentially a full color vinyl sticker. Ya'l are joking, I know what that shit costs thanks to my years as being a printer so I could 100% get that made up for like 20-25 bucks at my local sign shop. Maybe less, I'll be honest I've been out of the game for a few years so it could be less or more.

People are charging stupid prices for those cool looking 3D printed ubiquitous Empire-inspired star destroyer panels. Like to the tune of 70 bucks for one panel like 4x12 panel. Which I'm sure is ALSO way overpriced. So technically I guess BUYING a 3D printer and making my own might end up being cheaper in the long run but....bro.

I think I could prolly get my hands on chipboard and maybe glue together a couple of layers and hand cut out the design though I suspect it wouldn't be as neat or clean. But it's cheaper than the shit they sell on etsy. Pffft I could prolly go by a print shop and see if they have some larger sheets. I do have some sintra left over from years ago when I attempted to make my set of Tobirama armor which is way stiffer but I nearly cut my finger off with the cut off wheel on my dremel soooooooooooo I'm very nervy around using the cut off wheel. LOL

I might find a thinner version online the stuff I used was like 1/4 thickness or something meant to be used for signs. Coroplast would be an excellent choice if it didn't have the visible ribbing where the expanded foam channels weren't so obvious. But that easily cuts with an exacto knife. Hmmmn I wonder if there would be a way of covering it maybe with plastic dip or something they use for foam sealant on foam armor? You can apparently sand that down.

That might not be a bad choice for like flat surfaces. And I'd be covering it with a sandy texture anyway. Just don't know if it can be heat formed. I might have to hit up Juan and see if he'd be willing to sell me a couple sheets of coroplast to experiment with. There are also things like paper mache, but ugh that shit is messy and I've had limited success making props with it in the past. Same for foam clay though I think with a couple of layers of plastidip it might not look as bad as the stuff I've done in the past.

And hell that's prolly less than 20 bucks in materials to just play around and find out. I love I've spent 30 minutes just typing up this long, meandering flow of thought. This is totally the quality content I'm sure people have followed my tumblr for.

But again it's post midnight and post midnight Gremlin brian!El is not responsible for the shit she posts. Maybe I should put that as a disclaimer on my blog. :P

Look it's Star Wara tangential. at least.

Of course, the problem with a small town is the only hobby store in town is Hobby Lobby and I REFUSE to give them any of my money so I might have to drive into San Antonio to Michaels to get some hobby crap. Or continue to support Daddy Bezos which I'm also not super hot on though it's become a sort of necessary evil at this point.

Man I wish I could go back to 10 years ago me when I didn't have to debate ethical consumerism cause it kinda sucks and I miss that obliviousness.

#el's random thoughts and hobby talk #what do you mean you didn't sign up for this shit #post-midnight El is unhinged and a Gremlin who was fed after midnight #it is star wars adjacent #and fandom related sorta #now with some much needed self-affirmation #and acknowledgment I have written my ass off these past 3 months.

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christabel127 · 2 years ago

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Seriously though, there's a lot of amazing fan artwork I have been putting it on my TV so it plays as a screensaver. Y'all are the best and really PUT THAT SHIT ON ETSY. People like me who haven't been to a comic con since CV-19 still love original artwork and that's where we're getting it. Go get you some.

This is one of my very absolute favorites. I could see it on stained glass, "like a church window."

Image credit: https://at.tumblr.com/scarihannadelioncourt/

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #nycc #art #artists on tumblr #etsy #fanart #loustat #Loustat art

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rosescovenwrites · 3 years ago

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Disney Trip Head Canons

Dad! Adrian Chase x Reader

A/N: This is inspired by the conversation from the lovely Discord server and this Tik Tok https://vm.tiktok.com/TTPdSbJnJr/ & I am specifically writing about Disney Land because of how silly Adrian would be about the Avengers Campus. Also Adrian wanted to name your son you have together Chase but you couldn’t handle the fact that his name would literally be “Chase Chase” so his name is Din (like from Star Wars). Like you can’t tell me y’all wouldn’t give your kid a nerdy ass name. It was Adrian’s idea though!

So Adrian and your son have never been to Disney so you surprise them with a trip for Adrian's birthday

You feel like Adrian is far more excited than your actual child is about going to Disney Land

“Yay, we can all have matching ears, baby!” He claims excitedly while jumping up and down.

You order some different ears on Etsy for each different park, you really want their time to be special

You even get ones commissioned special for Adrian that look like his Vigilante suit

Adrian literally wears them around the house and to meetings with the team for like a week prior to the trip (any digital artists out there PLEASE draw this I would cry)

You have to tell Adrian countless times that he can’t bring his suit with him

“Adrian, we’re going to Disneyland. Aside from costumed adults not being allowed, why the hell do you think there would be terrible crime in Disneyland?” You tell him.

“Ugh, fine. I just wanted to piss off some Avengers by wearing it” He whines back.

You have to tell him that they are literally actors and they would probably not know who he was anyway

When it is finally time for your family trip Adrian is up at the crack of dawn to wake up you and Din

He has all your bags already in the car and Chris takes you all to the airport

Chris definitely gives Adrian shit for wearing his Vigilante themed ears throughout the car ride too

You reassure him and tell him how adorable he looks in them

Once you get there Adrian scoops up his son and runs into the resort hotel you are staying in

You end up carrying all the bags in but you love him too much to care, he is like a damn child again

Adrian looks so adorable holding his little mini me; your son has his smile and your eyes

You get checked in, drop off your bags, and head into the parks

Adrian’s favorite rides end up being Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Ride, the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, & of course Smuggler’s Run

I have a feeling that the second you step foot in the Galaxy’s Edge park Adrian would probably cry happy tears

He jumped up and down when he got to pilot THE Millenium Falcon

He insisted on buying a whole Jedi outfit to match with your kiddo

“Babe, we need, need, need to dress up like Han & Leia again for the Disney Halloween Party” He says, “And Din can be the cutest little Kylo ever.”

Adrian would be absolutely losing his mind when he meets Ariel

The picture of them would be so adorable, he would have little Ariel themed ears on and a huge smile on his face

There are so many darling pictures on your phone of you and your family

Adrian literally takes a selfie on every damn ride

Adrian would also definitely make that Tik Tok from above with the caption “Taking my pet sperm for a walk” and you’d laugh

You both love your son so much, sure he wasn’t planned but Adrian is actually an amazing father

You better believe Adrian razzes the cast members at the Avengers Campus

“Y’all know of Peacemaker & Vigilante?” He questions, “They’re so badass. Cooler than some of you guys for sure”

Also Adrian obesses over Groot so you buy him one of those cute little Baby Groot shoulder magnet things which he wears the remainder of the day

On the way to the airport you have to buy a whole other suitcase because you bought so much merch/souvenirs between the 3 of you

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #dc comics #peacemaker

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chaos-event-horizon · 3 years ago

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OKAY SO!

I bought an amazing bundle from @fictional-others that was being sold on her ETSY SHOP and it was just. THE BEST.

It included a hoodie which I am now wearing and refuse to take off that smells like my boyfriend and also heaven, and a WONDERFUL letter from Toshi that made me cry, and body spray called "Most Wanted" and not only is it hilariously appropriate but it also smells great and exactly how I'd expect Toshinori to smell. AND THERE WERE GUMMI BEARS! GUMMI BEARS!!!

Here's the letter and the body spray. No picture of the hoodie because I'm too busy snorting it like a drug. I'm the happiest asshole on the planet right now guys like I can't convey how excited I was when I realized that the package had gotten here already. Like this was put together SO SUPER FAST and so much care was put into it. I'm absolutely going to be buying something like this again.

GOOD SHIT!

#darkened daydreams #smitespace

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ferret-not-microwave · 4 years ago

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Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 2).

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with. ]

Jehan:

• They get weirded out when people always expect them to present femme, wear flower crowns, flowing ponchos and skirts. They do love these, especially flowers. But they barely get time to slip on a T shirt over a pair of shorts and tie up their hair in a messy knot before going out for last minute groceries. Some days, they actually like wearing plaid shirts, hoodies, berets and jackets. And they did have a "I'M BORED WITH MY LONG HAIR LEMME CHOP IT OFF" phase. Or multiple such phases. They look amazing, both ways.

• They wish people stop perceiving them as tiny and fragile. They are actually pretty regular sized. They are actually taller than R and Joly, as tall as Marius and Courf, and can give a mean right hook to anyone who threatens to assault them and people around them. They get slightly miffed when people don't expect them to pack in a punch to defend themself.

• They really wish that people didn't assume that they have the solution to all their emotional problems. They are a mess too, yannow? With lots of tea, a few potted plants and a decorative skull. And they really wish that they could have a meltdown in front of some people in turn.

• They aren't always all calm and zen. Woe betide anyone who interrupts Jehan in a writing session. Or a proof-reading session. Or catches them hitting their head on the corner of the table while trying to clean the dust under it. And woe especially betide anyone who interrupts these activities of Jehan to pine for the umpteenth time.

• They don't always entertain valentine poetry requests just because they specialise in Romanticism. "Romanticism with a CAPITAL R", they yell, "ALSO includes poems like the Masque of Anarchy, and novels like Frankenstein! I'm NOT reading hours of Schlegel for this!" Some of their slam poems are fierce af , and rip the establishment a new one. Also, they don't write poems on every available surface (because they usually hide the more private and sweet poems).

• They wish that people wouldn't hover around them like helicopter parents when their date is edgy ( *Montparnasse*). They can take care of themselves, and will definitely come to people for help if shit hits the fan (that never really happened though). They want to let people know that toxic people can also materialise without leather jackets and piercings.

• They also want to let people know that their relationship dynamics with 'Parnasse is regular af, and not any chewed-out Sinner and Saint trope.

Feuilly:

• Is impatient. Anyone would be impatient if they are working their arse off in three part-time jobs, an Etsy business, classes and assignments. AND Les Amis work. He's tries not be rude, but is often blunt and brusque and has no time for the wounded sentiments of those he calls out for their privilege. Feuilly is hardly the quiet, angelic figure people initially think he is, and can be quite fiery in meetings. He feels frustrated when people don't quite get it.

• He goes out of his way to help his friends. That doesn't mean that he is a handyman for free. He does not have time to fix every article of machinery or furniture his friends happen to damage, definitely not for free. And his friends know that, and never stress him out. He does give them a lot of discounts, though, and is always there for any emergency.

• He finds a lot of rich-people-food tasteless. Lavender tea blends? Perfumed water. Champagne? Meh. Caviar? Nevermind. Canapes? Why?

• He's always afraid that his friendships will fall apart. He cannot hope to attend all meetings, let alone movie nights. He's terrified of dinners and parties, because he's worried about expenses. He cannot trust simple acts of service from his friends because he hates charity. He's also a little self-conscious about his old thrift-shop clothes. He's always terrified of losing his jobs. It takes a lot of time for the Amis to convince him to trust them, and they try their level best to make sure that they don't hurt him in any way, and help him as much as he permits (sometimes even more).

• He is learning how not to judge people for their apparent privilege without knowing their life-stories, and, whenever not tired, takes an active role in trying to know people's histories.

• Education is rough for him, because most professors insist on standards of work presentation which are usually learned by really privileged people. Even if he is low-key a genius who learns really fast and gives tons of content in his paper, he gets mediocre grades because of vague things like "colloquialism usage", "cluttered style" and "unacademic presentation".

• Sometimes has meltdowns and panic attacks, particularly at the end of the month. Feuilly knows what homelessness is like, and does not want to repeat it again, even though he's financially in a better place than before. He wakes up with nightmares about being passed out at the back of a subway train.

• Feuilly is an old soul. He knows when an Ami is sad, or in trouble. But he'll wait till he knows they are ready to tell him what's wrong. It can sometimes seem bordering on tough love. He hopes that no one thinks him to be insensitive because of that.

Bahorel:

• Likes bar brawls only when it involves kicking someone's ass for being creepy, homophobic, sexist, racist and similarly-ist assholes. He absolutely does not like gratuitous violence for its own sake. And FFS, he doesn't really like Tarantino.

• Wishes people don't look at him weirdly when he is doing regular stuff like groceries, parking his motorbike, playing with Gavroche or Azelma, or going plant-shopping with Jehan. He knows that people stare as though he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off in a reassuring display of toxic, hypermasculine machismo. He hates that. -_-

• Similarly, he hates it when people assume that he's all brawn and no brain, particularly after knowing him to be a law school dropout. He has a grim satisfaction in seeing a newcomer to the Musain look at him agape, expecting him to be some kind of tropey backbencher only there for brawling, but finding him actively engaged in articulate brainstorming while the others nod enthusiastically.

• He likes bar crawls. That doesn't mean he encourages R to drink. He's done a LOT of work helping R to work on his drinking problem and was one of the happiest when R got his first bronze sobriety chip.

• In fact, Bahorel is notoriously good at dancing in a bar, and often goes for the dancing only. In bars, he takes care of everyone - including the DD who lingers in the corner with a beer and their phone, uncomfortably anxious, and desperately needing company (looking at you, Ferre).

• Dropping out of law school has made him really uncertain about life. For the first few months after dropping out, he regretted every bit of it, cried himself to sleep after feuding with his anxious family over the phone, and had quite a few suicidal thoughts. It's not that he's completely certain that life is okay now, but he's much happier studying journalism.

• As a kid, he hated his height and build because he was considered too big for a certain really cute boat ride in an amusement park. He also had eating disorders in high school.

#les amis #modern au #jehan prouvaire #bahorel #feuilly #undo stereotypes #les mis #les miz #les miserables #feuilly is tired okay #non binary #ferret's freshly microwaved post

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cricketnationrise · 4 years ago

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so formal!

full fic on AO3 here

for @zimbitsweddingofficial

day 1: pre-wedding

_X_ _ _X_

Bitty’s in MooMaw’s kitchen, helping her with the last batch of pies for the Fourth of July. Jack is helping his parents set up outside, putting his height and muscles to good use. Deep breaths, you can do this. Right as he gets ready to ask, MooMaw breaks the silence.

“Now, Dicky, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you. You’ve been tenser than a mouse in a cat parade this afternoon.”

“Sorry, MooMaw, I didn’t mean to be. It’s just, uh – I was wondering, um,” he exhales sharply before just blurting out, “Iwaswonderin’ifIcouldhavePopPaw’sringtoproposetoJack.”

“One more time love, these ol’ ears didn’t quite catch that.”

“I was wonderin’, well, hoping, I could maybe – if you don’t mind – and if you do that’s totally fine I won’t be mad or anything – if I could have PopPaw’s wedding ring.”

“PopPaw’s wedding ring?”

“Uh-huh. To propose to Jack.”

“Now Dicky, I know I’m a little out of the loop, but I could have sworn I got a very excited phone call from your mother the day you graduated sayin’ you were engaged to the tall glass of water out there.”

“MooMaw.”

“What? It’s not like I’m dead! He’s a very attractive fellow,” she says, a wicked grin lighting her features. “But aren’t I right, y’all are engaged aren’t ya?”

“Yes MooMaw, he proposed to me and I said yes,” he says, kneading the pie crust dough a touch too hard. “I just – I wanted to propose to him as well.” He looks up from the dough to look her dead in the eyes.

“I want him to feel as amazing and wanted and loved as I did when he proposed. It was one of the best days of my life, MooMaw, and I love him. Why wouldn’t I want him to get to have that feeling too?”

“Oh, Dicky,” she cries, throwing her floury arms around him, “you’ve grown into such a wonderful man. I know PopPaw would have been proud to see who you’ve become.” She pulls back to wipe her eyes.

“Of course you can have the ring. It’s mean to be worn, after all, does no good to anyone just sittin’ in my jewelry box.”

“Thank you, MooMaw.” Bitty’s not crying. He’s not. Oh who is he kidding, he’s totally crying.

“I just – I thought it might be a sort of good luck charm. Y’all were married so long and you loved each other so much I just thought – “

“I already said yes, Dicky, there’s no need to make me sob young man,” she says thickly, “you stop being so emotional right now, we have pies to make.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, kissing her on the cheek before turning back to the dough.

Step one: complete.

_X_ _ _X_

“BITTY!!!!!”

“YOU’RE HERE!”

Bitty can’t help but beam as he walks up the sidewalk toward the front door of Haus 2.0.

“Hi you two, I—” He’s cut off with a noise that doesn’t sound human as he’s scooped up by Ransom and thrown into Holster’s arms. These boys.

They’re all laughing by the time Bitty’s feet are on the ground again.

“It’s a good thing I’m not making a pie 'till later, I wouldn’t want to try and hold onto one while flying through the air.”

“Bro, we would never endanger a pie!” Bitty’s never seen the two of them look so offended.

“Glad you’re here, Bitty. It hasn’t been just us since we lived in the Haus!” Holster says.

They get inside and start on a six pack and get down to business.

“Alright so – it came? And neither Shitty or Lardo saw it?” Bitty asks.

“Got it right here, bro.” Holster hands him a small box pulled from the highest cabinet behind a collection of ugly vases.

“Do we get to know what this secret package is?” says Ransom.

“Yeah, plus I need your help with the second part,” Bitty says as he carefully opens the box. He gasps. Thank god for Etsy, it looks perfect. They even managed to get his cowlick to stand up.

“Uhhh, Bitty?”

“Hmmm?”

“Not that it isn’t stupidly adorable – look at the little C on your jersey – but why do you have a Lego version of yourself? No, better question, why was it secret?”

“Both excellent points, Holtzy.”

“This is how I’m going to counter propose to Jack.”

There’s a beat of absolute silence and then—

“HOLY SHIT BITTY!”

“That’s GENIUS, bro!”

The congratulatory screaming only dies down when they hear a door slam down the hall. Oops I guess we were being a tad loud for the other roommate.

“You said you needed our help for the second part?” asks Holster.

“Yeah, I want to make a Lego-sized version of the “yo marry me” sign but I couldn’t remember the colors or layout well enough and I know Shitty has it in his closet.”

“Bitty, bro, your brain is so big. Our little frog, all grown up—”

“—And savin’ China!” Ransom finishes, giggling.

“Oh hush you two,” he says, swatting them playfully, “Now then. I don’t think it has to be Lego-sized because Jack will never be able to read it, but I think if we scale it down to about postcard size that’ll work as a nice backdrop.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

It’s a nice afternoon, and it’s hilarious watching two huge and broad-shouldered men hunch over a tiny piece of cardboard, arguing about font size while he makes a pie.

Well two pies. But one is mini pie as an apology to the random roommate. They may not be “down to motherfucking clown” but Bitty knows his friends (and himself) can be a lot to deal with.

Bitty’s just put the full size one in the oven when Ransom and Holster finish.

“Y’all… It looks great. Thank you so much.” Bitty didn’t think a sign that ridiculous would make him cry but there’s definitely some tears.

“Got your back, Bitty,” Ransom says.

“Mama Mia while we wait for the pie?” He laughs a little as Holster pumps his fist in triumph, “I’ll just nip this stuff out to the car for safekeeping while y’all set it up.”

Step two: complete.

_X_ _ _X_

Everything’s finally ready.

He’s got the Lego-Bitty, with Ransom and Holster's sign as the backdrop. He made a pie for later (and about three kinds of cookies - so sue him he was nervous). Señor Bun is probably tired of having to listen to Bitty rehearse his speech by now. PopPaw's ring is nestled oh-so-carefully in Lego-Bitty's hands. Now he just needs Jack to get back from practice.

He hears the key turn in the door.

#zimbitsweddingofficial #zimbits #omgcp #bitty's proposal #moomaw #ransom #holster #day 1: pre-wedding #cricket writes

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