#i should practice landscapes more often

[dazzelmethat]

My plant boy oc Ame looking out at a nice landscape.

[headspace-hotel]

I hate a lot of trends in climate-change-aware nature writing, but this is one I particularly detest: works insisting that we live in a "post-natural" world.

The lostness, bewilderment, aching, and searching in this piece is understood by the author to be an all-consuming and universal dysphoria, when it is actually a highly specific predicament that the author put himself into: He tried to understand the universe exclusively through the point of view of white people.

I mean that Purdy takes the colonizer point of view without realizing that it is a colonizer point of view. He thinks the colonizer point of view is a universal document of the authentic, naive encounter of "humanity" with "nature," instead of burning wreckage left over from the apocalyptic destruction of a rainbow of ideas and cultures.

It feels weird to be talking about this as a white person, but it shouldn't, any more than it should feel weird to say (as a white person) that aliens didn't build the pyramids.

Very little of what he's writing about would exist or make sense without European colonization of the world. Purdy constantly says "we" and "our" in reference to things that are very restricted to a particular cultural point of view, as if totally oblivious to the idea that other cultures and other perspectives even exist. When he searches for historical references to chart "human" relationship with nature, history goes like this: Pre-Christian religion in the British Isles->British monarchy-> George Washington-> Industrial Revolution->Thoreau.

He manages to repeatedly stumble over giant hunks of colonialism embedded in every concept he's thinking about, like boulders obstructing a pathway, and pretends so hard that they don't exist that his points are janky and meandering. For example, his discussion of Helen Macdonald's book H for Hawk, touching upon human identification with the landscape and with non-human "nature," blunders into this:

Those who love (certain parts of) nature are often making a point of preferring it to (certain kinds of) human beings. The problem is not only literary. Macdonald describes an encounter with a retired couple who join her in admiring a valley full of deer, then remark how good it is to see “a real bit of Old England still left, despite all these immigrants coming in.” She does not reply, but is miserable afterward. The meaning of landscapes is always someone’s meaning in particular. Confronted with all of this, Macdonald tries to shake off the complicities of her own identification with the terrain: “I wish that we would not fight for landscapes that remind us of who we think we are. I wish we would fight, instead, for landscapes buzzing and glowing with life in all its variousness.” The alternative that Macdonald wishes for is, of course, not an escape from political-cultural projection onto landscape, but another approach to that same practice — really, the only one a 21st-century cosmopolitan is likely to feel comfortable embracing. 

AND THEN HE JUST SEGUES INTO THE NEXT POINT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. Like don't worry about it :) We will simply project onto landscapes in a non-racist way :) because we aren't racist anymore in the 21st century :)

The next book he discusses is Landmarks by Robert MacFarlane, which is basically about how the vocabulary of landscape in English is sterilized and monoculturized, and contrasts that with Scots Gaelic. This is how Purdy explains the thesis of the book:

 Our sense of what lies outside ourselves has been blunted by “capital, apathy, and urbanization” — enemies likely to draw a range of friends, from cultural Marxists to Little Englanders to those who would like to see a bit more effort, please. But behind this scholarly sketch, Macfarlane’s work is testament to a pretheoretical obsession with unfamiliar ways of encountering places. We disenchanted and distracted (post)moderns describe terrain, he complains, in terms of “large, generic units” such as “field,” “hill,” “valley,” and “wood." (...) Many people who have lived intimately with landscapes have had words for nuances of form, texture, and use. Macfarlane’s purpose in Landmarksis to gather these words as proof of how precisely it is possible to name a place, and so, perforce, to know it.

Why is Gaelic endangered? Because of an effort to extinguish its speakers' culture. This article I found on it talks about the history of the language's decline, and it's strikingly similar to what happened to indigenous people in the Americas and Australia, with children being put in schools where they were beaten with sticks for speaking their native language.

This whole essay is about Purdy's general disappointment with nature writing, his craving for an ineffable Something, some sort of magical, primitive identification with the natural world. In the very first paragraph he claims that the pictures of animals on nursery walls are "totemic" and quotes a guy saying that zoos are an "epitaph" to the relationship between people and animals. It's never very clear what he means, but he uses the term "animism" repeatedly, such as when he says this about MacFarlane's goal in writing Landmarks:

His quarry is an animistic sense that Barry Lopez once identified in “the moment when the thing — the hill, the tarn . . . ceases to be a thing, and becomes something that knows we are there."

Given that ambition, Landmarks, which Macfarlane calls a “counter-desecration phrasebook,” can be disappointingly thin as a lexicon. Too many of the terms are simply dialect or Gaelic for some generic form, such as “slope,” “hilltop,” “stream,” or “tuft of grass.” The effect is less pointing out how many things there are to see than cataloguing how many names there are for the same thing.

This is Purdy missing the point, perfectly crystallized as though frozen in amber. He is oblivious to the clear subtext of a language showing a culture's connection to its home, and of the violence against that culture. The Gaelic language doesn't make him feel primal and mystical the way he wants it to, therefore it doesn't mean anything to him. MacFarlane doesn't make him feel a magic animistic connection to nature, therefore his book must have failed at its task.

Who gives a shit? Gaelic isn't FOR you.

He discusses another book about a guy that hikes a bunch of Cherokee trails, but I don't know what to say about that one, observing it through the sludge of the reviewer's unwillingness to recognize that historical context exists. He summarizes his disappointment in a confusing way, using the Gaelic language as a symbol for an obscure and inaccessible place where the answer to your personal emotional cravings lives (???) Then he talks about a kind of epistemicide, or extinction of knowing, of nature, but again, totally oblivious to any relationship to colonization.

Every inhabited continent has been denuded of ecosystems and species. Most North American places have shed wolves, elk, moose, brown bears, panthers, bison, and a variety of fish and wild plants, which were all abundant four hundred years ago. 

Wow, I wonder what happened four hundred years ago?

This writing acts like the dominant Eurocentric attitude towards the world is universal, but the author is haunted by this nameless specter of the possibility of a different way of thinking, which he treats as some kind of mystical, primordial state hidden in the past instead of just a different cultural perspective.

Not only does he not recognize that his own cultural perspective of Nature is dysfunctional and unsatisfying because it was created by exploitation and genocide of other cultures and their symbiotic relationships, he acts like other perspectives don't exist. Take his perspective on forests and the mycorrhizal network:

Wohlleben’s emphasis on interdependence and mutual aid is part of a recent tendency to recast nature in an egalitarian fashion — as cooperative, nonindividualist, and, often enough, hybrid and queer, in contrast to the oaks of generals and kings. Nature does answer faithfully to the imaginative imperatives and limitations of its observers, so it was inevitable that after centuries of viewing forests as kingdoms, then as factories (and, along the way, as cathedrals for Romantic sentiment), the 21st century would discover a networked information system under the leaves and humus, what Wohlleben calls, with an impressive lack of embarrassment, a “wood wide web.”

Listen, I don't think this is accurate to how Europeans thought of forests throughout time, let alone "humanity" in general. The emphasis of power and competition in ecosystems emerged after Darwin, in collusion with capitalism and "race science." Trees have been symbols of life, wisdom and selflessness, and regarded as sacred or even sentient, for centuries before that. But on top of that, this is just blatantly pretending that only white people's ideas count as ideas.

It's the same dreck as all the other "literary" writing about climate change: self-pityingly and unproductively mourning "Nature" and a fantasized "wild" state of the Earth, ignoring colonialism, treating human influence of any kind on other life forms as something that either destroys them or makes them soft and "tame."

I'm tired of reading nature writing from people that obviously do not go outside, or if they do, they do it in such a suffocatingly regimented, goal-oriented way that they can't just sit outside and relax.

Maybe I shouldn't be such a hater if I want to do nature writing. But my love of nature is WHY I am a hater.

[enviedear]

Okay but Billy with an innocent reader>>>>>>>> LIKE HES SO PROTECTIVE OML

billy + innocent!reader

stop i love this. this should be an au hell i may just write more for it

tw— for use of a gun, toothrotting fluff

request

"go ahead, honey. pull the trigger." billy's voice is sweet against your ear.

your face morphs into a coy apprehension, "and you're sure this won't send me flying on my rear?"

he chuckles, straightening your arms a bit, "m'right here, i won't let that happen."

your eyes focus in on the three rusty cans in the distance, set atop a dry rotting log. you know there's no way you're going to hit them all. you'd be lucky to hit one.

but billy is adamant in both that you need to learn how to shoot, and that you’ll be a ‘natural’. his driving objective, however, being that since he can't be with you from sun up to sun down, he'll have to settle with teaching you how to fend for yourself.

it's not unlike him to behave this way. in the months you've known the gunslinger, you've come to find that his urge to protect you is enormous.

his protection isn't reserved just against the infamous wild men of the west, but rather, anything and anyone. if it could possibly do you harm, physically or mentally, he's there to guard and defend.

like a knight out of the princess tales your mother used to tell you.

you let out a harsh breath before your finger begins to press into the trigger. too soft at first, the metal remains in its' spot, you muster up all your courage and pull the trigger. your eyes are screwed shut as the bullet whistles away, and you quickly turn into billy.

his arms ensnare you, wrapping you tight, "what're you hidin' for? you hit it dead center, sweetheart!"

you lift your head, staring unabashedly into his blue eyes, "did i really?"

he hums, using his dominant hand to steer your gaze away from him and toward the target. sure enough, the can on the left side has a small hole right in its middle.

billy chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back, "told you, my girl's a natural."

you can't help but grin, the tension releasing from your shoulders, "or i've got a good teacher." you tease.

he gives you a squeeze before letting go, gesturing toward the cans, "c'mon, let's see if you can do it again."

emboldened by your first success, you square your shoulders and take aim. this time, you focus a bit more, remembering the sensation of the recoil and trying to replicate it. the shot rings out, and you open your eyes to find another can hit.

billy lightly claps you on the back, "see? just like that, sweetheart."

as you reload, you can't help but appreciate the way the afternoon sun plays on his weathered hat, casting thin rays upon his lips, "m’not as hopeless as i thought."

he grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "do i e’ver lie to you?”

you ignore his sly remark, focusing back in on your targets. with newfound confidence, you continue to practice, the rhythmic sound of gunshots filling the air. as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the landscape.

the sounds of gunfire continue, each shot feeling more controlled and confident than the last. with every successful hit, billy's pride in your progress shines through his loving stare. he stands by your side, offering guidance and encouragement, a quiet guardian in the backdrop of your learning.

as the sun dips even lower, casting a dim hue over the landscape, you catch a glimpse of billy watching you with a softness in his eyes. he often got this way, completely lost in you. especially when you're doing things his way— not in the way you'd normally feel inclined. you're rather tame and harmless in comparison to billy, the entire west, really.

growing up away from the fast-growing townships and travelers, when you met billy he completely flipped your world upside down. you gave him all your firsts, shooting his pistol only adds to the expansive list of firsts you've given him.

you go to take aim again, eyes closing as you shoot, still too frightened to keep them open— your bullet flies past your targets, missing entirely. you've grown used to the sound of a hit and when you open your eyes to find the miss, you groan.

billy's safeguarding nature becomes even more apparent as you meet his winsome eyes, his gaze lingers on you, subtle worry etched on his features.

he knows you're inexperienced, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the world he's accustomed to. he knows it isn't, but if this were a shootout, that big of a miss would have cost you your life.

the mere thought of you in that situation is something he's not willing to entertain.

"you're doing mighty fine, sweetheart," he reassures, a tenderness in his voice that speaks volumes, "but remember, there's more to this than cans and targets. gotta keep those pretty eyes of yours open, alright?"

you nod, appreciating his concern and the earnest care he extends. it dawns on you that learning to shoot isn't just a practical skill— it's a testament to the depth of billy's affection. he's arming you with more than just a handgun— he's giving you a piece of his own resilience and determination.

as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the landscape, you take a moment to stand side by side with billy, appreciating the warmth of his presence. the sky paints hues of orange and pink, a picturesque backdrop to the bond that's been forged between you.

"thanks, billy," you say, sincerity lacing your words. "for teaching me, for being patient."

he smiles, a softness in his expression that contrasts with the rugged exterior, "my pleasure, sweetheart. always want you to be able to take care of yourself."

with the last rays of sunlight fading, you holster the gun, feeling a newfound sense of empowerment. billy wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back towards the homestead. as you walk together, the echoes of gunshots in the ears serve as a reminder that you're not just learning to shoot— you're learning to navigate billy's world, and with his protection, you're sure you'll do just fine.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[windvexer]

the Chicken furthermore tries to convince you to practice sorcery in a fun and fulfilling way

There is a difference between practicing goal-oriented practical sorcery, and placing the entire value of your sorcery on whether or not you achieved the goal. One of these things is soul-crushing.

Practicing sorcery should be it's own reward. The actual steps you are performing should be stuff that you like, or thrills you, or captures your fascination. As an activity, practicing sorcery should be satisfying regardless of whether or not the spellwork manifests properly.

If the sorcery on your plate is not satisfying, compost it and return to the endless buffet and try a different type of sorcery.

If you do not have the things you need, your first step to a spell becomes innovation. What is the purpose of the thing in the spell, and how can it be replaced?

A spell can be cast with a length of string, or a paper and pen. Or with a bit of crayon. Or a dead fly. Or with just you.

Sorcerous knowledge tends to reveal itself when the clutter of correspondences is placed aside, so having few things to practice with is not a curse.

You do not need an interpersonal spiritual friendship with every single spirit you want to work with in magic. YOU DO NOT.

Interpersonal friend relationships with spirits should probably be reserved for very special spirits in your "inner court," the beings with which you choose to share your life and that you honor as teachers and guides.

Many spirits are pleased to assist with magic, but have no interest in getting to know us personally.

Imagine if everyone in your askbox wanted to ask you for help on something you're knowledgeable about, but instead of just asking for help, they first wanted to DM you for a few weeks to make sure you're comfortable with being asked for help, meanwhile on your correspondence chart pinned post it says "I can help with [topic]! Just ask!"

Asking spirits for help in magic is a good, valid way to start building a relationship with them.

Repeatedly calling on the same spirit or type of spirit over and over in spellwork is a fantastic way to deepen your relationship with them.

Working with a spirit in magic does not mean you are obligated to build a shrine to it, venerate it, talk to it outside of spellwork, or any of that.

Practicing sorcery is not the same thing as casting a spell. Practicing sorcery also means practicing the composite skills which come together to make a spell.

A spell is like a completed painting. But to make that painting, the artist needed several skills: the ability to sketch the scene, knowledge of how to apply and work with their paint, color theory, an understanding of how to render landscapes, and so forth. As a sorcerer, your skillset might be imbuing intent, raising energy, centering and grounding, practicing trance, practicing psychism or divination, etc. As you gain familiarity with these things, spells become less like an imposing stranger, and more like someone you're sure you've met before.

Practice can be it's own reward, but discipline is often required for progress.

Raising energy once a day, forever? I think not.

Raising energy once a day for seven days? Or, dedicating to doing it a total of ten times this month? Perhaps so.

An artist may not be in love with every single step of the process, and sometimes a sorcerer may have to get good at a skill that's not their favorite. But if no part of the process sparks joy, then something is wrong.

Sucking at something is the first step to being kind of good at something. Be reasonable with yourself: does the beginner artist doodle a landscape, then look at their work and declare that their art "doesn't work"?

Not every witch is talented at every sort of sorcery. Not creating a potent prosperity spell after five tries doesn't mean you're bad at magic. It might mean that your current understanding of prosperity magic precludes good results, or that you are casting on one very intransigent situation, or that your true talents lie in destruction and chaos instead of peaceful growth.

Set practice goals, give it an honest go, and move on when the time is right: "I am going to practice raising Fire energy and putting it into this stone using the Pore Breathing method. I'm going to do it fifteen times." (3 months later): "That sucked and it never worked, but I did it all fifteen times. Next I'm going to do a grounded roots visualization and use it to channel water energy to cleanse my room." (10 days later): "That was awesome, I want to do it more than 15 times."

Play around and be silly with it. Taking your path seriously is not the same thing as taking your path somberly.

Sports teams practice drills to be ready for game day. Sorcerers are wise to take a page from their book, because when real-life game day arrives, it feels much better to deal with it when you know you've been having pretty good success with channeling water energies, so maybe it's best to do something with that, because you can't move fire for dick.

[paperbackribs]

Tags: steddie, getting together, featuring the chaotic friendship of Eddie & Dustin

🤎🌱🤎

Steve's hands are already at his hips, “Eddie, what are you doing down there?”

Eddie glances up from the hole he’d dug in the woods beyond Steve’s backyard. Looking at the dirt nearly up to his shoulders he belatedly realises that he may have become a tad fixed on his big idea.

Dappled sunlight falls through the tapestry of foliage above and the chirping of birds nearby cheerily fill the lush landscape, but none of it seems to distract Steve from his concern as he squints down at Eddie.

“Where’s Dustin?” Eddie counters like he doesn’t currently resemble a cartoon villain digging traps for the native wildlife. He resists twirling an imaginary moustache over his bare upper lip, but Steve must have an idea of his thoughts because he squints suspiciously over his arms as he folds them.

“I don’t know,” Steve says slowly from high above, “should he be here while you create what looks like your own grave?”

Eddie props his arms over the lip, tilting his chin up and aiming for charming. Playful even. “Now, why would I do that, Stevie? Life is a magnificent thing, worthy of delight and whimsy.”

“Whimsy,” Steve repeats sceptically, “like you practically digging up my backyard. You know, someone could fall and sue me, right?” Despite his scolding tone, Steve bends to kneel on the ground, his delicious thighs by Eddie’s folded hands and head hovering over his.

Eddie flutters his eyelashes as Steve waits on him, nearly close enough to kiss if he would just tilt down a fraction. “You could get in here with me, make it so there’s no room for anyone else.”

Steve’s bright hazel eyes flash and Eddie wishes he could get a handle on whether it’s because of Eddie’s suggestive tone or if it’s that Steve is simply annoyed with his antics.

Just when the silences stretches for a second too long, enough that Eddie thinks Steve might lean forward, close the gap and take Eddie’s lips in what would surely be a spectacular first kiss, he instead smirks, slyly pushing a handful of loose dirt into the hole from the high mound above Eddie’s head. It rains over Eddie’s right shoulder, which he shrugs fatalistically — he’s fairly covered at this point anyway.

“Eddie, tell me why you’ve dug a hole near as tall as you by my backyard.”

“Or what, you’ll bury me with all the other bodies out here?”

“Something like that.” Another handful rains down and Eddie sighs, “It’s a compression hole.” Steve’s hand halts, “Like the socks?”

Eddie takes the opportunity to reach out and clasp Steve’s hand, ostensibly to stop it from pushing more dirt over his shoulders but really just taking the opportunity to touch Steve. Hold the warmth of his hand within his own, stroke the silken back of it with his thumb.

Eddie steals many moments like these and Steve always lets him, but he never knows whether it's because of Steve's generous nature or if it's because he wants Eddie touching him, specifically.

“Like the socks,” he agrees, eyes sharp as Steve’s cheeks flush a faint red. Yet he retains a sceptical mien about him so Eddie further explains. “Dustin has this book—”

Steve snorts, “Here we go.”

“Dustin has this book and it says that the Aboriginals from Australia have known for ages how to take care of deadly snake bites.”

“With a hole.”

Eddie is always fascinated to see the evidence of Steve’s smiles in the shine of his eyes, and he delights in being one of the few people who often brings out its brightness. “With a hole,” he agrees with a cheeky grin, happy at Steve’s amusement.

“Bit by a Red-belly then you're in the hole for x amount of days. By a King Brown then for an nth amount of days. Placed in the hole and buried up to your neck, the compression of it all works the venom safely through your system.”

He's sad to see those pretty eyes hidden from him as Steve closes them with a deep, bracing breath. “Eddie,” he begins in a warning tone, drawing his hand away, “is Dustin finding a poisonous snake to bite you with.”

“No, definitely not,” Eddie hedges but at Steve’s stern look he squirms, “because poisonous would mean that I can’t eat them?”

“Venomous then!”

Eddie thinks that maybe he’s losing his capacity to charm Steve if the ire rising in his eyes is anything to go by. He shifts uneasily on the hard dirt below him, feeling particularly trapped as Steve’s frown deepens while looking like he’s considering burying Eddie without the bite and definitely above his head.

The sounds of eager feet crunching over dry leaves and fallen branches sound behind Eddie and he tilts his head in time to see Dustin fly through the trees with a long, wriggling animal in his hands. “Found one!” He calls triumphantly, the curls around his face bobbing in excitement. There's a smudge across his cheek that Eddie suspects was made by crawling through the dirt and bushes to find his captured prey.

About twenty inches long, thin with yellow stripes framing its scales of green and brown, the garter snake wrapped around Dustin’s left arm tastes the air in front of it with its pink forked tongue. Simultaneously looking unhappy at being captured while utterly disinterested in the humans surrounding it.

Dustin’s face crinkles in confusion as Steve starts laughing behind Eddie’s back. “What? What is it?” He asks Steve who, Eddie looks over to see, has fallen back onto his butt, head tilted to the sky as he snorts and chuckles at the harmless animal Dustin has procured for their experiment.

“Never mind,” Steve waves an expansive hand towards the two of them, “carry on. As you were.” Humour dances over his brow and broadens his smile, “Here, I’ll even help. Pass it over, Dustin, I’ll throw the terrible monster at Eddie myself.”

It’s Eddie’s turn for his cheeks to flush now and he might be more embarrassed if it weren’t for Steve catching his eye, sharing a look of amusement with him rather than at him, and Eddie finds himself charmed by Steve Harrington once more.

It's not the first time and he knows that it won't be the last. Steve has had Eddie firmly wrapped around his little finger for far too long to say now, and Eddie's only waiting for the barest hint to step forward.

He sighs and turns back to Dustin, “Let the snake go, it’s a bust.”

Dustin opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie heads him off, explaining that the only creatures in danger of the carnivore in his hands are worms and maybe a mouse or two.

Eddie reckons that if Dustin were a mouse his tail would drop in disappointment right now, looking as sad as one can as he trudges away to release the snake in a safer place deeper in the woods.

He turns back to Steve to find him crouching now, braced with a hand outstretched towards Eddie. His eyes are still bright from his earlier laughter, but an invitation now winds its way through them.

“How about I help clean you up?” Steve asks in a dark murmur and Eddie lights up, finally finding an answer to the question that's been jittering in his heart.

“Why don’t you,” Eddie grins in agreement, clasping Steve back and pushing up to meet him halfway. As he scrambles out of the hole, Eddie pats the lip of its edge in affection as he continues to hold onto Steve’s hand. He silently thanks the soon-to-be-forgotten experiment and winds their fingers together, following Steve home.

💚 More steddie here

[dsknsk]

Limbus Company and its visual portrayal of female characters, an essay

Limbus Company, and by extent, Project Moon has been a great example of how female characters are visually portrayed. In this article, I’ll try to dissect why and how, focusing on Limbus Company as it has by far the largest amount of images I can talk about. Let’s dive in.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means a professional so please, PLEASE don't clown on this i.e mention the summer controversy. I have a personal trauma on that and do not wish to revisit it. I know it's practically impossible to ask from tumblr, but still.

Visually portraying a subject

Where to start? At the very beginning, of course. Portraying a subject visually (not talking about female characters in specific yet) has a number of things attached to it. Perhaps the first question one can ask themselves is this:

Where do I want the focus to be?

Now, you can be short and say ‘the subject, of course’, but even then, that won’t often be precise enough. Let’s say you have a butterfly as your subject. Do you want the focus to be on its beautiful wings? Or its curious multi-faceted eyes, or its roll-up tongue? What do you want the viewer to notice immediately? 

Arguably, even photos of landscapes have at least one point of focus. The pretty waterfall, the vast mountains, the green pastures or the starry sky. Some have the focus split up in two, where both the lake and the mountains are to be spotted immediately.

How focus can be created

There are multiple ways focus can be drawn to a specific part or to a specific subject. 

One way is to simply make everything but your point of focus uninteresting. A common effect used is the Bokeh, which blurs out the background so that it will automatically appear as less interesting and more as a faded bunch of colors that contrasts with the point of focus which is sharply shot in HD. You can also make the background to be a flat color, like black or white. Some pieces of art additionally add colored shapes or lines behind the subject as to accentuate it further.

(an example of Bokeh. In addition, the direction in which another character looks shows what our main subject is, who is actually positioned off-center.)

You can also just…fill the space with the subject, as in a close-up of the thing in question. Following the previous butterfly example, it’s like only showing a small part of its wings, enlarged to comparatively huge proportions. This is also seen in portraits and to a lesser extent, similar art like waist-ups.

The eye is immediately drawn to what we should look at, which is the character who’s front and center in the image. Secondarily the blood. Her hair also uses the next point below: color.

If you’re working with color, then color is an excellent way to bring the focus to a subject. Bright colors and contrasts can be used, like what’s done here:

The bright red forms a direct contrast to the green that dominates the color pallette. It thus leads the eye to the red areas - aka the blood the character is spilling as well as her face, which is technically a tint of red. The red returning in her eyes which have a small trail, and on her bloodied face, as well as the yellow of her tie, further help to bring focus to her face and her expression. (Other than that, this image also has classic cartoon speed lines, which are minor but do help).

Light is also something I should mention. Using the image from above, the character is actually rushing towards the darker areas of the image. The light is coming from where she seemed to come from, judging by the speed lines and the trail of red we just saw in all its glory. The light forms a line around the subject which keeps said subject’s green uniform from blending into the darkness and the green of the image.

There is a specific technique called chiaroscuro (lit. ‘light-dark’) which is totally a real thing that even old masters like Rembrandt have used to bring focus. The gist of it is that the painting has very bright areas which is the subject, surrounded by dark areas, with not much in between. This technique is often used to make scenes more dramatic, and to immediately show us what the artist wants us to see, without any possible doubt. It’s like putting a spotlight on your head in a dark room. Chiaroscuro is also seen in Limbus:

You can’t actually see much of the room our subject is in. The only light is coming from the candles, illuminating the top part of our subject. The other, darker half is much harder to see the details of. This makes it so that the eye is led from either the character towards the source of the light (the candles) or in reverse, both of which are possible and valid because in both cases, we ignore the pitch black part of the artwork.

How to create focus with characters (in specific)

Now, humans and humanoids are fascinating subjects to focus on, because there are so many situations a person can be in, and so much stuff a person can be. Are they the commander of a spaceship? A medieval ruler? An overworked office clerk? There are specific things that more or less pertain to humanoid characters more. I’m going into two aspects, clothing and posing - I’m aware there’s more, but for the sake of making this not longer than it is I’m going into only those two.

1. Clothing

What someone wears makes up a considerable part of how they’re seen and what they are presumed to be. This is also a large part of stereotyping. If you're wearing a t-shirt with pants, sunglasses, and have a camera around your neck, chances are people think you’re a tourist. To them, it likely won’t matter if you are, they will perceive you as one anyway. This is also important here: you might want to pretend you don’t know anything about the portrayed character or show their image to an unknowing friend and see what they think that the character is.

And that brings me to this point that I have seen so many times with female characters: their description/role not directly matching with how they are supposed to look if that were true. I’m talking about the battle-hardened veteran without muscles or scars of both kinds (even if adequate healing/scar removal is available in the setting). I’m talking about the scientist with a leotard under their lab coat. However, I’m not saying they should look a certain way or be the same - that’d be boring - I’m saying that…hey, it might make the viewer not take the character as serious as you want them to be.

The way clothing is built up can also serve as a way to bring focus to a specific aspect. Which will most often be either the boobs or the butt (or both) in the case of female characters. Look at this (non-Project Moon) example.

The woman in the front (obviously the focus due to the place she is standing in being squarely in the middle, and her red hair standing out) is the leader of that squad…as well as the strongest in battle. Without any protection of vital organs. With a shape under her boobs that would stab her fatally in the liver if she does as little as bend over.

The way her clothing is built up also brings the focus to her boobs - not only with how they’re prominently on display, but also with the shape the top and the fabric covering her shoulders makes. In a similar vein, her ‘pants’ and the belt all lead the eye downwards to her crotch as well. Furthermore, her thigh highs look skin-tight, bringing secondary focus to her legs, of course.

And last but not least. The guys behind her are actually properly armored from the neck down, making them somewhat more of a homogenous whole… in theory. The different body types, hair, and colors of the armor of the right and left dude make them stand out slightly more, which in turn only accentuates this ridiculous difference. 

I don’t really have many Project Moon-originating images on hand that are similar to this. Every time we’ve had an ID with a female character being the leader of their group (of which we’ve had surprisingly many, actually - Don has two Section Director IDs to boot) they have usually been posing alone, or well, posing…their full uptie art normally shows a moment when they’re beating their enemy into a pulp instead of posing for the camera like in the above image. This is really consistent with the other half of the playable characters, who are male.

I want to give a special mention to two characters despite that. Faust and Rodion are both known as the more well-endowed characters, but from their IDs and E.G.O it is treated as something that’s there rather than something to be exploited.

The blue glint is the highlight here, illuminating her blood-stained clothing but also finding its equal in her small, blue eyes. I have found eyes like this and expressions like this to be quite rare on female characters. Just look at her and her face. She’s completely lost it, wrapped in twisted and warped euphoria of the moment of ‘purging’ another ‘heretic’ - and from the looks of it, the last one on the scene. She’s not even trying to clean her own clothing or face, or expose her boobs. That’s not what matters to her image, showing any kind of skin doesn’t add to her character. She’s caught in this violent moment, having her victim completely in her literal grip - not even her eyes are looking at the camera. This image showcases the violent and sadistic nature of the character.

I find this art to be a curious thing. The background is actually rather bright, making the inverse true: the character is dressed in dark clothing, so that’s what the focus is on instead. Her coat flared out in such a way it can almost be mistaken for the underside of her long hair, making her seem even larger (something certain animals use when threatened to scare others into leaving). Her actual figure is thus more obscured, it only being a few tones darker. The thing that keeps her from being a dark blob in the foreground is her sword, large enough to be an odachi. Because she’s unsheathing it, the glint that comes from the blade immediately draws attention - arguably away from her partially unbuttoned top. The animation of this in the game supports this: no boob jiggle, just her standing calmly in the moment she’s just about to unsheathe her sword.

Because I’m going to use this example further in this thing, keep this one on hand.

An image that’s again in the middle of the action. Rosespanner Workshop Director Rodion is right now turning an enemy into an unrecognizable stain on the pavement with her huge weapon. The highlight is her weapon again, but this time it actually serves as a secondary source of light, illuminating her face. The yellow coloration of this secondary light source also makes the whole thing more interesting than if it just had the background light that serves a similar purpose as it did in the first image of this post. Even though the image has a heavy pinkish tint, the red that splatters all over the scene is still very much present and they draw the eye back to the yellow light. While her pose is ambiguous, it keeps things vague by not putting any sort of focus on her lower body. In any other piece of media this pose would be viewed from another angle, as to profit from as much of her body’s curves. Not here. Her killing an enemy with visible ease is important. Not her pose. This sounds logical, doesn’t it?

2. Posing

Which brings me to this. The way a character is posed also plays a part in their portrayal. It is possible to accentuate certain body parts with this - like when a character brings their hand to their chin, or the way their legs are posed. No matter the actual scene that’s meant, the way the character is posed is a factor that decides how it’s viewed and where the focus lies. Most often I’ve found this to be when a character is shown wielding a weapon, but their ‘battle pose’ being rather something that accentuates their bare skin, or their little clothing that does the same thing.

Is your character actually showing that they’re dangerous through being shown fighting…or are they just sexily posing with a weapon in their hands to add a sense of ‘danger’? Some can be highly difficult to distinguish. Some CGs can show the middle of the action yet the way the character is posed still brings the focus away from the violence or brings a secondary focus to it. Unfortunately I don’t have examples of those on hand but I know they exist.

A character just posing with a weapon isn’t wrong - I draw that all the time - but when the focus is brought to a character’s boobs and/or butt with the pose the character is in, it will be kind of obvious (even if it isn’t true) that sexualizing those features of the character what the artist is really intending to do instead of showing how dangerous she is with the weapon.

I’m going to use this image from Echocalypse as an example. I regularly take poses like this as a reference point and then attempt to make them more realistic, or, funnily, point out their weirdness by putting a male character in it. Often I do this by using them for a different, more appropriately clothed character. This goes to show that clothing can already decide a lot in posing itself.

This character is posing with a weapon, a…particularly huge odachi in this case (I thought it was a staff at first until I saw the hilt). Which is exactly the same what Rodion is doing up there in the image we already handled. Yet, there are subtle differences between that image and this one, and it’s actually more minor than you think it is (disregarding the thematics of the pieces). Both characters…

are posing with an odachi of similar size (assuming that both characters are of similar height for ease of comparison) as opposed to being locked in battle; theoretically making the focus more on how pretty they look

have long hair (that, minus the bun and the bangs, have a similar cut) that makes their silhouette appear larger than it is

do have a relatively bright and sort-of detailed background going on

have large boobs

are unsheathing their weapon just slightly

However, to get to our first difference, we need to get back to point 1: clothing. Using the same two images, the largest difference is clothing. Kurokumo Rodion is wearing all-black clothing that covers her from the head down except for the unbuttoned top. If I had to describe what the other girl is wearing, I’d say she’s wearing a piece of armor on one of her arms, a flowered collar, thigh highs but no footwear otherwise, and something…obviously lingerie/bikini derived. I’m actually not sure if that’s a tail or part of the clothing.

But to return to our point: posing. The pose of Kurokumo Rodion is actually fairly neutral. She’s just standing there, menacingly! (I should note that their normal character talksprites are also just standing there neutrally) No, literally. Anyone with working legs and arms, can reproduce that. Just give them a sword prop and you’re done. Coat cape optional. The way she is standing does convey some sort of subtle confidence, however, just like the way she is actually looking down (at the viewer). It’s likely you’ll see the sword first for the reasons I mentioned when first discussing the piece above and then look at her from top to bottom as usual.

The way our other girl is posed…is a little harder to replicate in real life to say the least. Not only is this a floating pose (i.e you’d need support), the way her body is bent sharply brings the focus upon her boobs and butt. The human body is actually rather flexible, depending on how you’re built of course, but even so I do doubt whether anyone can do this pose even if they could somehow float in mid-air. Or do this lying down. I (someone with joints that are a little too flexible for my own good) haven’t tried and highkey don’t want to. The thigh and upper leg that is prominently on display, along with the way her body curves leads the eye to her butt or downwards towards her legs and feet.

Her facial expression is neutral, but I get some sort of… ‘dreamy’ vibe from it from the traditional anime-like proportions (huge eyes, tiny nose and mouth). Almost as if she’s doing puppy-eyes to beg for candy or something. It’s, well, what most people call to be a ‘babyface’. Kurokumo Rodion is also in ‘anime-style’ and her facial proportions are still a little bit unrealistic, but I do dare to say they’re more realistic than those of the other girl.

Also, small sidepath. What do you think the second girl is based off? One would judge from her tail that it must be some sort of water creature but whether she’s a shark or any other kind of sea creature isn’t really obvious. Would it surprise you if I told you she’s based on a bake-kujira, a SKELETON-whale (which sounds cool as all hell)? Without any kind of skeleton-parts worked into her design? To be fair, I wouldn’t have guessed it either if it were not for her canonical description.

Also, one last note about that latter image. I think that an odachi of that format would be extremely tricky to unsheathe in such a pose, because of the distance between your arms. Her arm that actually unsheathes the thing is also obviously reaching out, so she’d need more strength to do that than what the look of her arms suggest.

Speaking about arms…

On paper, our Limbus girls would have all the reason to have twig arms. After all, the City allows one to get stronger without visually changing their physique much. One can carry around huge weapons like chainsaws, lances and zweihanders without visible muscles. And yet. And yet.

One of the few times bare arms are seen (most art prefers to cover them up - for Limbus standards, this would be the ultimate fanservice thing), it becomes very clear that they at least have a basic tone. Like, the basicest of basic efforts is done to make them not look malnourished. Even if this girl above is not like, the strongest of the world (for as far as we know...) the muscles she does have are very lovingly shaded and detailed. 

To end this, I’ll showcase something one last time with a funny in-game example: Roseate Desire. Roseate Desire is an E.G.O which wraps the wearer in pink ribbons and is highly implied to especially speak to the sin of Lust (which is the affinity of the attack). In the game, this E.G.O is given to two characters, a girl and a guy. In any other gacha game, it would only be given to girls.

While bent over and with a happy expression, she’s still coming to get you. How can you tell? For one, the huge anchor she has with her is within her hand (i.e opposed to it being tied up next to her or something like that), and the shield that’s tied to her arm. Despite being wrapped up, she does still look as if a portion of her is still in control, and her attack suggests the same. 

Hong Lu wearing it always makes me grin. He does wear clawed gloves and his fingers are arched, that’s true, but the way he’s strung up like a puppet makes it so that he can’t even get you with those. The manner in which he is posed and his head is tilted is highly reminiscent of how one would pose a marionette. And ingame properly he doesn’t even use these claws in close combat! He wraps up the enemy in the pink ribbons with doll-like movement. Even the way he’s covered evokes a sense of powerlessness, like he’s led on by the ribbons instead of controlling them.

I think this example, along with the others, is implicative of how Project Moon’s visual portrayal of female characters is done so well. They’re equally portrayed as the male characters, if not arguably more powerful, and there’s an equal roster of 6 to 6. They’re not overtly sexualized by bare skin or impossible poses while the men are covered up in a sensible pose. These are characters designed for their personality and role first, not with fanservice or money in mind first. Even the female NPCs fit within this rule, even though they have less art to go from. When you have a game which had 97% completion on the story and a mere 64% on the systems (i.e monetization) it would kind of figure that character designs fall in line with the role the character fulfills, is it not?

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for Everyone I Missed Last Time:

Idril: a sculptor. She worked with every kind of stone imaginable, and often went looking for new material in Gondolin’s mines with Maeglin. (Look my Maeglin head canons are complicated but they should get to be friends the narrative has hurt them too much already) She actually preferred not to make elvish figures, instead focusing on strangely beautiful stone landscapes and various animal-like figures. She was actually responsible for Middle-Earth’s version of the gargoyle, having carved several to stand guard over Gondolin. Several elves swore that the statues moved, but she never addressed those rumors. She also liked to paint her work with bright colors, which would’ve been seen as odd back in Valinor, but fit right in in First Age Middle-Earth.

Maeglin: a smith, but his craft was more in-line with Avarin practice than Noldor practice; with much less focus on the idea of making gems and heavier focus on understanding natural geology and the properties of various gems and metals. He knew the mines of Gondolin better than anyone, and wrote plenty about the the earth under the earth. His work also had fairly significant Dwarfish influences. He liked to make mechanically complex pieces, with moving parts or even some internal gear work.

Finduilas: a hunter. Her and her father were both nature people, just in very different ways. She was silent, with all the grace of a dancer, and quick enough to outrun most of what she hunted. She preferred to go after more aggressive animals– wild boar, wolves, bears, even wargs– and leave the deer and rabbits be. She was born in Beleriand, and had never met the Valar, but sometimes, privately, offered up prayers to Orome. She liked to imagine she could’ve been in his hunt, if things had turned out a bit differently.

Celebrimbor: a smith, in the very traditional Noldor sense. Gemworker, specialized in jewelry, made various famously beautiful pieces, etc. Was never quite happy sticking to hairpins and necklaces. Longed to try his hand at imbuing his work with real power, but always talked himself out of it. A whole binder of concepts for works of power sat locked away in a chest in his workshop for centuries. He never talked to anyone about it. He was as ashamed of his feelings for his craft as he was of his feelings for his family. By the end of his life, he’d made peace with only one of those things.

Earendil: a mariner? Alright, he was definitely a mariner, and he loved the ship life– he even built a few boats of his own, in a similar fantastic style to Turgon’s architecture– but he also had a longstanding fascination with the natural world, and filled volumes and volumes of journals with information on various plants, animals, and minerals. But natural lore isn’t a recognized Noldor craft, since it involves learning but doesn’t really produce tangible results. Still, it was a passion he got from afternoons spent learning about geology with “Uncle Mole,” and one he shared with Elrond. Researching the beauty and wonder of nature gave Earendil something to do with his immortal life, and was a big part of the reason Elrond chose to be immortal at all.

Gil-Galad: a king. No, really, he’d been the high-king of the Noldor since he was a child, and hadn’t really had time for trivialities like “finding a life purpose” or “having fun.” He was too busy learning how to stay alive in late stage Beleriand (read: hell) and learning to rule the least cooperative group of elves imaginable. He wanted to be a painter, and while he found enough practice time to get good at his chosen craft; because of how long detailed paintings can take, he almost never had time to actually make anything. He tried not to let it bother him too much. He didn’t always succeed at that.

Elrond: in a bit of a weird spot. Elrond is most associated with lore and healing; but, as discussed, “lore” isn’t considered a craft. And, well. Healing had to be Elrond’s craft, right? He’d been doing it since he was seven, and just about the only person in Amon Ereb who could still use healing powers. And it was good work, and it was rewarding, even if it often left him feeling so burned out and worried that he forgot to eat or sleep. It took him a long time to admit to himself that healing for him was what fighting was to many other elves: a necessity. Truth be told, he’d rather be gardener, working with the earth to create a place of peace and beauty. Also, Elrond is basically a nature spirit. So. It was something he began to explore in the peace of the early Second Age. He found that his Ainuric powers had all sorts of interesting effects on plant life. He also learned how to breed new varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Still, he never really considered that it could be a proper craft for him. At least, not until he first saw the valley that would one day become Rivendell.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the House of Finarfin.

[vante1920pm]

Ugh i absolutely adore your writings!

Could you maybe do something with Neteyam where the (human) reader is afraid of heights. Which is obviously incredibly inconvenient when you're practically living with the Na'vi. When she has to fly with him she freaks out. He calms her down and helps her over her fear.

──;; 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄 ★☆

★ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: I loved to write this, such a cute idea !! ^^

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

☆ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: neteyam/fem!human!reader

☆ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: height, ooc, not proof read, fluff, comfort

I breathed in the fresh air, without a care in the world. Well, that was before I got knocked down.

Tuk and Spider laughed and screamed an apologize to me, leaving me on the ground.

I grumbled before I raised up from the ground, picking some leaves out of my hair, that got stuck. I heard a laugh behind me, knowing exactly who that belonged to.

"Haha, are you okay? Now, that was a hard fall."

I turned to Neteyam, who leaned against a tree, with a grin on his face. I sticked out my tongue and headed towards the village.

"At least you didn't fall down this cliff, then you would've an actual reason to pout."

"Ha ha, you're soo funny."

Neteyam walked beside me and teased me the whole way back.

'This boy..'

────

When we came back, we were greeted by Kiri, who was watching us with narrowed eyes and a small smile. I looked at her confused but she just turned away and left.

I just shrugged my shoulders, not giving it a second thought. It didn't really matter now.

"Hey, Y/N! I thought a little bit and there's something I wanna show you!"

Neteyam ran towards me, I didn't even notice that he left, and tugged lightly on my arm.

"Is this one of your stupid ideas again?"

The boy just smiled at me and pulled me with him.

────

"Since we all know that you're scared of height, which could be kinda a problem in near future, I will help you to overcome your fears!"

I stared at Neteyam like he grew a second head, I knew exactly what he had in mind.

"No. No, no, no, no, no-"

"Please don't worry, you're not the only one who has this problem, we'll work on this, together!"

I just stared at the open landscape, reconsidering my whole existence, before I hesitately decided to accept his offer. I mean, it's really time to face my fears and he's cute, soo...

"Hmm, okay, sure.. maybe I will even like it..?"

────

"I DON'T LIKE THIS!"

I sat before Neteyam on his Ikran, wiggling on my place, we were still on the ground and I already regretted my decision.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay! I have you."

He tried to reassure me but it didn't really help. My heart was pounding and the adrenaline thumping in body didn't help.

"Y/N, just breathe. Follow my breathing."

I tried to calm myself down, listening to Neteyams own breath and feeling his heartbeat on the back of my head, since he was so much taller than me. It didn't took me too long to steady myself, now leaning against the boy behind me.

"See, it's okay now."

I smiled, not really convinced if I can really do it, but before I could even ask him to let me down, we were already in the air. Flying. Without being able to see the ground.

I slightly panicked again, but felt Neteyams breath on my top head and one of his arms around my body, which calmed me a little bit.

"Yes! You're doing great, Y/N! You're so brave!"

I blushed at his compliments and smiled to myself. It wasn't even as bad as I imagined, even if I'm still really scared.

Maybe I should overcome my fears more often.

© 2022 VANTE_1920PM

[soaked4mk]

Could you do Reiko (MK1) and the reader (who is also in the Outworld army) having a knife throwing contest? (You can choose if it’s platonic or romantic and who wins)

Reiko x Reader fluff

👽: I chose a super light flirty theme :) I’m not really good with reiko so bare with me here 💀🫶🏼 (not proof read)

⚠️: None really

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

★ In the secluded training grounds nestled within the heart of Outworld, you and Reiko engage in a private knife throwing contest, the rhythmic thud of blades hitting their targets echoing in the crisp air. Surrounded by the rugged landscape, the tension between you two crackles like lightning, fueled by the competitive spirit that drives each throw.

★ Reiko, usually composed, finds himself strangely drawn to your presence. His stoic facade begins to falter under the weight of your charm, his eyes lingering on the graceful arc of your movements and the sparkle in your gaze. Despite his attempts to maintain focus, his thoughts stray to the alluring figure before him, his heart racing with a mix of companionship and something more profound.

★ As the contest progresses, playful banter and teasing jabs punctuate the air between you, each exchange laced with an underlying flirtation that neither of you can ignore.

★"You call that a throw? I've seen toddlers with better aim," you jest, a smirk playing on your lips as you effortlessly land another bullseye.

★ Reiko chuckles, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. "Careful, Y/N. Don't let your confidence get the best of you," he retorts, his tone teasing yet tinged with genuine admiration.

★ You share a knowing look, the air thick with unspoken tension as you trade playful barbs and competitive banter. Despite the intensity of the contest, there's an undeniable connection between you, a magnetic pull that draws you closer with each throw.

★"Impressive," Reiko concedes, his voice low and husky as he watches you sink another blade into the target. "But we’re just getting started."

★ You grin, a flicker of challenge in your eyes. "Bring it on, Reiko. I'm not backing down anytime soon."

★ As the contest continues, the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training grounds. With each throw, the bond between you deepens, forged through the shared thrill of competition and the electric spark that ignites between you.

★ Reiko's gaze softens, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're quite skilled, Y/N. It's refreshing to find someone who can match my prowess."

★ You feel a rush of warmth at his words, a sense of camaraderie mingled with a growing attraction. "Likewise, Reiko. It's not often I meet someone who can keep up."

★ As the contest draws to a close and the winner is declared, a charged silence envelops the training grounds. With a knowing look exchanged between you, the air crackles with anticipation, the promise of future encounters laden with flirtatious exchanges and stolen glances.

★"Looks like I win this time," you remark, a playful glint in your eyes—seeing as your knives were more on target.

★ Reiko's gaze twinkles with amusement. "Perhaps," he concedes, his voice tinged with a hint of challenge. “We should do this more often—to better my aim of course…”

★ “Oh right—to better your aim.” you echo back, a small grin curling onto your lips teasingly. “But of course…”

★ As you both agree to practice more together, the bond between you deepens, forged through the shared thrill of competition and the undeniable chemistry that simmers beneath the surface.

[chase-prairie]

I'm guessing that as a graduate student you have read a zillion and one documents and books and papers and things in your field. Would it be outrageous to ask for recommendations/your favorites? I'm really interested in learning more about the history of Native land use and food systems in the midwest (which I suppose is a very long history, I'd be happy learning about any time period), prairie ecology, and the current outlook for native plants and pollinators (and conservation recommendations). Even one recc for each would be amazing. Feel free to postpone this ask if you're too busy! P.S. can't wait to read your dissertation.

This is a big ask, and I get a lot of these types of asks! In the future it'd be nice if people were more specific about their interests and not asking about general, huge topics. There's a level that you can and should be googling yourself! Many academic papers are online for free through sites like academia.edu and I'm not a search engine!

General answer if you're interested in this range of topics is Robin Wall Kimmerer's Braiding Sweetgrass. She comes from the midwest and writes some on prairie and the book is all about Indigenous science stewardship.

Otherwise, the topics you're asking for don't have one single source that will tell you everything you're looking for. People make small studies of one community, one ecosystem, one plant. Whether it's ecology or ethnobotany, there's no one making compendiums of info, especially not in the midwest. That's why I do the work I do, but even what I do is imperfect. Be suspicious of anyone who/any text that claims to be comprehensive on a huge, complex subjects; they probably are bsing you.

Indigenous Land Mgmt:

Two good recent papers:

The subject of indigenous wild management is more intensely covered in California (M. Kat Anderson) and Vancouver (Nancy J. Turner). Those two authors are great for both nuts and bolts chat and philosophical perspectives about how people have lived in and altered and restored their ecosystems.

A compelling academic book on the subject is Roots of Our Renewal: Ethnobotany and Cherokee Environmental Governance by Clint Carroll, which is just as much about philosophy, knowledge production and protection and community building, as plants.

Prairie Conservation Practices:

Like I said above, currently published stuff is about very specific interactions and focuses, like a particular pollinator group in a particular plant. What you're looking for, a generalist summary of the field, doesn't really exist.

If you're looking for plant lists and how-tos Tallgrass Restoration Handbook or the Tallgrass Prairie Center Guide. Do not go for Ben Voigt. If you're looking for a general conceptual entry to Midwest conservation/restoration, there's Ecological Restoration in the Midwest

If you're looking for general recommendations for free, Xerces.org is the resource for bee-friendly landscaping and planting.

If you live near a University or Arboretum or Botanic Garden, this is the kind of thing where you should just browse the shelves near the books I've recommended! Chances are you have free access to the libraries, if not the ability to check the books out yourself!

[hisui-dreamer]

the edge of adventure

Pairing: Jade Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: Hiking can be thrilling, but even more so when a certain eel is with you.

Tags: hiking, fluff, slight banter, reader has hair, bot proofread

Word count: 1k+

Notes: i went hiking on a trip by the seaside and of course, hiking reminds me of this slippery eel<3

Masterlist

As you approached the trailhead, the warm, golden light of the sun spilt over the landscape, casting the rolling hills and jagged cliffs in a soft glow. Jade was in his element, practically gleaming with excitement as he led you up the treacherous path.

He had invited you on this outing a few days ago, his voice infused with a bubbling enthusiasm that was so rare for him as he enthralled you with vivid descriptions of the rugged sea cliffs and the undulating hills, promising magnificent sights that would leave you spellbound. His words painted a picture of a spectacular adventure that would take you into uncharted territory. Having been rather exhausted by your errands at school and in need of a break, the thought of immersing yourself in nature was a balm to your frazzled nerves. The lure of the great outdoors, with its stunning vistas and vibrant colours, was too hard to resist. What better way to lift your spirits than the dazzling sky?

His tall, lean figure strode confidently ahead of you, a backpack slung over his broad shoulders. Every so often, he would glance back at you with an encouraging smile, lending you a hand where the steps were unsteady and slippery. You could tell he was elated to explore the rocky landscape and discover new wonders, his gaze scanning the rocks and cliffs with a childlike curiosity.

The salty air filled your lungs as you neared the top of the cliff, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder and more insistent, beckoning you closer to the cliff's edge. Jade's eyes lit up as he spotted an interesting patch of mushrooms growing by a tree, and he eagerly took out his camera to snap a few photos, before carefully harvesting the fungi.

Meanwhile, you were transfixed, gazing out at the endless expanse of cerulean sky and sparkling ocean. The sea cliff was a towering behemoth, standing high above the tumultuous waters below. The waves were a symphony of power and violence, rising up in towering peaks, their foamy white caps akin to glaciers reaching for the sky before crashing down onto the rocks below with incredible force. A frothy contrast to the cliff's rough and jagged surface, the sea foam clung to the rocks like delicate lace. It appeared as though nature had woven an intricate tapestry onto the jagged rocks, smoothing their sharp edges.

As you stood on the edge of the sea cliff, the raw power of the waves crashing against the rocks below filled your senses with a thrilling sense of danger and excitement. The wind whipped at your hair and clothes, as if taunting you to take one step too far.

"Are you sure you should leave your back open like that?" His words broke through your trance. "Someone cruel might just push you, you know." You turned around to see his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and sadistic glee.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, his teasing only adding to the thrill of the moment, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. "Haha, you wouldn’t do that," you chuckled, calling his bluff.

His eyes widened in surprise before a wry smile spread across his face, revealing his sharp teeth that twinkled in the sunlight. "My, what confidence you have in me, dearest," he said, his words laced with a mix of amusement and challenge.

"I trust you," you said, your voice firm and steady. "And besides…" You took his hand and pressed it to your chest, feeling your heart beating strong and steady. "Even if you did, I'd just come back and haunt you. There's no way you're getting rid of me that easily!"

You tugged on his arm playfully, the force pushing you back a step. "Go on, I'd like to see you try," you said cheekily.

As the wind continued to whip around you, Jade's teasing demeanour suddenly melted away, replaced by profound affection.

He let out a soft sigh as he enveloped you in his embrace, his arms like a fortress around you, providing a sense of safety and protection. As he held you close, you could feel the steady thud of his heart against your chest, a rhythmic beat like the tide of the ocean.

"Mmm, my dear pearl," he murmured, his voice a smooth caress of love. "You truly are so endearing."

With those words, you felt a warm and comforting sensation spread through your chest, a strong sense of love and belonging that made your heart sing.

You leaned into Jade's touch, resting your head against his chest and breathing in his musky scent mixed with the freshness of the sea. As you closed your eyes, you felt his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, a tender and soothing gesture that made you feel safe and loved.

With a gentle but firm movement, you pulled out of his embrace, your hands still clasped tightly together as you looked up at him with a bright and eager smile.

"Come on, Jade," you said enthusiastically. "We've still got so much more to see! The day is just getting started."

As you spoke, you noticed a fleeting hesitation in Jade's gaze, his eyes reflecting a reluctance to leave the comfort of your arms. You reached for his hand, fingers entwining with his, his gloves a barrier against the chill of the morning air, and tugged him forward, urging him to embrace the anticipation for the journey ahead.

Shaking your head fondly, you pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, the last remnants of his hesitation melting away like snowflakes in the spring sun under the warmth of your affection. His sigh was heavy, but it was a sigh of surrender, as his eyes once again alit with the thrill of exploration. "You're right," he said, a hint of eagerness creeping into his voice. "Let's get going."

Without another word, you resumed your journey down the path, the cool breeze tousling your hair as you gazed in wonder at the breathtaking scenery that surrounded you. The verdant foliage of the forest stretched out before you, dappled sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy overhead. And with him by your side, everything would only seem more enchanting and wondrous.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[untitled5071]

Writing request where Lisa does get sent to a psych ward.

Thinking a little angsty there, huh? I hope you don't mind the direction I took it, I just couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy!

Tw: allusions to suicide

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

Lisa hadn’t spoken in a week and a half, and it was doubtful that she ever would again. 

The last words she had said had been desperate pleas for help, screamed at the top of her lungs in the hopes that someone, living or dead, would come to her rescue as she was dragged towards the transport van for Serenity Manor. But no such help came; her father had only watched her be dragged away with sad eyes, and her wicked stepmother was smirking, eyes flashing and victorious. Taffy was at cheer practice, and her absence meant the loss of Lisa’s last line of defense. 

It had all been Janet’s doing; after Lisa smashed the bathroom mirror, she had decided that enough was enough and pulled her influences in the hospital to get her admitted to the psych ward, citing incidents of Lisa being a dangerous, reclusive vandal and needing residential treatment. Lisa didn’t even have time to protest her case before the guards had pulled up to the front door immediately after she returned from her shift at Wayne’s, and she suddenly found herself being wrestled into the white vehicle for the whole nosy neighborhood to watch. 

And watch they did; the last thing she saw before the car doors closed on her was the sea of Brookview citizens, all staring with wide eyes and harsh whispers as the Swallows girl got taken away “like she should have from the beginning”. 

And then her world was dark, and it didn’t get much brighter when they arrived at the facility. 

She was silent through the entire registration and rooming process. Janet had clearly been chomping at the bit to get her out of the house so most of it had been done for her ahead of time, but she refused to speak as they handed her a new, dull grey set of linen clothes to change into, cut her nails so she couldn’t scratch herself, and fitted her with special socks, ones meant to keep her from falling or running away too fast. 

She knew, in some deep, long locked away corner of her mind that she should be fighting, be protesting, standing up against this, but the voice of outrage was drowned out by the tidal wave of hopelessness that swelled inside her and refused to subside, nearly drowning her as they led her down the hall by her arm. . 

Her room was a bland thing with whitewashed walls, bars on the windows and a bed too low to the ground to hurt herself on or with, and as the attendants closed the door for “lights out” oh her first night she hadn’t even bothered to make it to the stained mattress; she just sank down onto the floor where she was standing and cried soundlessly. 

The routine hadn’t deviated much from that in the coming days, nor would it for the foreseeable future. 

Though she got out of bed when they told her, she hardly woke up; she ate her tasteless food without blinking, she sat in the recreation areas during the several hours of unstructured time they were given and stared ahead, waiting for the attendants to usher her to the next bought of mindlessness. She didn’t chat with the other patients, she didn’t answer the nurse’s questions with anything more than a miniscule nod or head shake when asked about her basic needs. 

She had overheard Taffy call her a zombie once, on the phone with her friends a few months after she moved into Janet’s house. 

She was most of the way there. Only one thing left to do, but the facility had made it impossible to complete the last step. Damn them. 

Speaking of Taffy, she visited as often as she could. Janet wouldn’t set foot in the place, and her father had stopped by once before making a hasty exit once he realized his daughter was back to being mute, but Taffy cut school and snuck over every other day. She was a welcome pop of color against the drab landscape of Lisa’s mind, though she did notice the dark circles under her eyes and the occasional flinch when far-off doors slammed. 

Her voice was more subdued as she whispered to Lisa about how many arguments she was having with her mother for Lisa’s sake, trying to bring her home and apologizing for not being able to say goodbye. She brought Lisa things, when she could; the photo of her mother, a tape player that got confiscated immediately, and posters from her bedroom with the corners ripped, which told her what she already knew. 

She was being erased. Janet was tearing up her room and throwing out everything she still clung to from the Before times, and even if she made it out of this goddamned cell then she would have nowhere to go, no one to miss her since to them, she was already gone. 

She might as well have been, for all the good living was doing her. 

She only felt remotely like herself at night, when she was able to lay on her back with her arms crossed like she was laying in her coffin, and dream. She lost herself in the labyrinth of her mind, thinking of her mother and how sheltered she had felt in her arms, writing new poetry that now went a few shades darker than ‘pitch black, and of Bachelor’s and her favorite grave. 

She hoped he missed her. At least then someone would. 

It was on one of these nights when the storm started, flashes of green lighting up her peripheries as she counted the spaces in between thunderclaps like her mom had taught her to when she was five. She was imagining winged figures getting strikes and spares when her imaginings were interrupted by another peal of thunder, this one sounding dangerously close by. 

She pulled herself out of her imagings so she could watch the following bolt of lightning, and in doing so she ended up locking eyes with the figure looming above her, their face completely obscured by a massive pile of mud and roots. 

Thunder boomed, and the being leaned closer, reaching out a hand to her and groaning. 

The next flash of unnatural green lightning perfectly illuminated her horrified face, and the thunder drowned out the sound of her scream. 

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

Lisa’s eyes shot open and she lay in bed panting as sweat pooled under her bangs, seemingly unable to move. She was breathing so hard that she was afraid her lungs were going to expand out her chest, and it took her several minutes both to calm down and realize where she was. 

She was in her bedroom, her wax carvings still on the walls around her in poetic fragments, her dark comforter was tangled around her legs and the bright red numbers on her digital bedside clock read 2:47. 

Her breathing started to come easier as her eyes fluttered closed in relief; she was okay. Janet was dead, she hadn’t been admitted, she was still in her room, still with-

A gentle touch on her arm made her startle, and she opened her eyes to see the figure of a man looming over her, the same one from her nightmare and yet distinctly different. Despite herself, she tensed, her sleep and adrenaline-addled brain warning her of danger and telling her to run before the figure was retreating slightly, leaning over to the other end of the bed. Her lamp flickered on and in the soft yellow light she could see her corpse companion, his eyes wide and brow furrowed in concern. 

She looked at him in the light, saw Janet’s earring shining in his left ear and the green stitches on the wrist of the hand that was hovering between them, saw his dark eye circles, the pink floral nightgown she had given him and the worried dip of his mouth, and she sighed shakily, the pressure in her chest alleviating. 

He groaned at her, clearly trying to ask what was wrong and if she was okay, but his ability to speak still hadn’t returned to him. She understood him perfectly though, and she grabbed his hand and squeezed it while she ran her fingers through her hair. 

“It’s alright, I’m okay. Just a nightmare, that’s all. They haven’t been that realistic since my mom died. It just rattled me a bit, I guess.”

He hummed in sympathetic understanding, and his eyes flickered with uncertainty. She tilted her head at him as he took a breath, making a decision before reaching out with his other hand, eyebrows lifted in a way that clearly said, ‘May I?’

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat as he pulled her to him, running his hands up and down her back and arms as he rested his chin on her hair, her head tucked neatly into his chest. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the air hitching in her lungs as it escaped. Her undead partner began to hum quietly above her, the sound echoing around his empty chest, and she cuddled closer. 

She felt him squeeze her tighter in a comforting and protective way, and the last remnants of her fear melted away. 

How could she have ever been afraid of him?

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 26, 2021 4:00 a.m. a balcony, somewhere

time somehow seems to simultaneously slow to a crawl and race beyond the speed of light. grant doesn’t remember when they’d ended up perched like lovebirds at the pinnacle of a staircase, peering out over the night-drenched landscape, but it must have been a while ago. customers have long since stopped streaming in and out of the restaurant on the street below.

he remembers in better detail the stream of their conversation–they’d shifted from food and a strangely peaceful, humorous discussion of kicking the bucket to movies, and at some point, paranormal stories came up along the way.

it’d be hard to forget talking to yunha.

there’s something curiously enrapturing about her, something that had drawn him to her when he first made eye-contact with her.

the look in her eyes, maybe. it’s piercing, like she’s baring right through your skin and into your soul, but not malicious or judgmental. it’s friendly, it’s curious, it’s playful.

the way she speaks, maybe. she’s the most engaged conversationalist he’s ever encountered. everything you say, whether she agrees or disagrees, is met with affirmations and a lot of nodding. yes, yes, of course. i see, i see. i understand. ohhh, wow! really?

she’s unraveling every shard of the puzzle that is his personality and piecing it back together in one whole picture, analyzing it. figuring it out. appreciating it.

or maybe it’s the sweetness that radiates off her. she appears unafraid to smile, instead all too happy to flash those pretty, crooked bunny teeth for the world to see.

“so, i'm going to guess you’re not accidentally good at singing.”

she seems not to mind revealing her own puzzle pieces either, and the more she says about herself, the more fascinated he is with her. with who she is. with what makes her tick.

“i hope it’s not an accident,” yunha replies, laughing, “because shit, then years worth of practice was a waste.”

“time enjoyed is never time wasted.”

the unabashed cringe of the line garners an immediate eye roll, but she still seems to find it funny.

they’ve definitely been sitting here a while. grant straightens his back, fixing his gradually slouching posture, and is is met with an immediate flash of pain, distinct from the chronic dull ache underlying every day of his life, that radiates down every vertebra.

“what got you into music, though?”

yunha’s rosy pink lips purse in thought as she dwells on the question.

“a lot of things. my parents like music. i listened to a lot of different kinds of songs my whole life, first with them, and then later with my friends. i had some time between classes and studying to spend having fun, but i couldn't spend any money, so my friends and i would go to this music store. we walked around and picked random albums to listen to on the headphones. we never bought anything.”

grant nods supportively. “what’s, like, the first album you remember really liking? or albums. you don’t have to pick one.”

“ah! i treasure so many albums. seo taiji and boys IV. i think that’s still my favorite nostalgic album ever. i also remember fondly, um, this girl’s in love with you by aretha franklin. i heard that at the music store, and i was so impressed by her talent. i still am.”

“i'm not a music expert. surprise! i know, i know, i'm sorry to tell you, i did not practice for centuries for that wonderful spice girls performance earlier. no, but seriously, i most often just listen to the same old emo stuff i liked when i was 13. so, unfortunately i don’t know the first album at all, at least not yet, but i do know the second one. you have fantastic taste, that’s a classic.”

despite his ignorance, yunha still smiles from ear to ear. “you should look up the first one! look up, like, seo taiji ‘come back home.’ that’s the most popular song on the album. i don’t wanna bias you, so listen on your own and make your own opinions.”

“wilco. and if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you turn the interest in music into a skill? you are talented, but i know it's very much a skill. it does take a lot of practice to become tangibly good at music.”

“to express myself,” yunha says plainly, “it’s easier to tell your story in art than talking about it, and singing is free. you don’t need supplies to learn it. but yes, i needed that kind of outlet, you know? i always liked singing, always did it, but i needed more than only entertainment from it over time.”

“oh yeah, art is helpful. i really should have gotten on that train earlier. i got on board about a year ago. it's much better for you than intellectualizing everything. or at least that's what i tend to do. do you perform, by the way? outside of karaoke, that is."

"sometimes. but also, not in a long time."

there falls a brief, but peaceful lull in the conversation. grant’s eyes draw to black night sky as he recalls the last haphazard art he’d created–the mushy-gushy attempt at processing the universe. seeing it hanging above him now, his thoughts are no less conflicting. light pollution washes out the shining sea of stars, but the sky still retains its beauty, its bewilderment. visible or not, an infinite chain of dimensions and celestial bodies exist in the vacuum of space, orbiting independent of him, yet factoring in the tiny fraction of his mass on the mass of the earth in their delicate ballerina dance across the fabric of spacetime.

the universe must have created me for some reason, for something other than anguish.

his own words. again. ever-present.

“i miss seeing the stars.” yunha’s buttery soft voice breaks his concentration. “you can’t see anything here.”

“polaris.” grant raises his left arm and draws his index finger across the sky until it hovers above the only star he’s seen thus far. “technically, that means we should be able to see sirius, too, but we don’t need to get all science-y and talk about magnitude and that polaris isn’t–”

“i would like it if you did.”

she was thinking of the stars, too.

synchronicity.

“aw shucks! well. i’ll say this, polaris isn’t the brightest star. we just talk about it way more frequently because it has the most cultural significance in the northern hemisphere for, you know, navigation reasons. but hey, give it about 12,000 more years, and it even won’t be the north star anymore. thank you, wobbly earth axis. but also boo, woobly earth axis, because it's a little sad to think about.”

yunha’s eyes glitter with fascination. “it’ll be something else?”

“yep! the next north star will be vega,” he explains, “come on down, you’re the next contestant!”

“maybe we’ll see it happen.”

“if my consciousness is still floating around as little dust particles, that’d be pretty sick. you know? forget fly me to the moon, fly me to vega. why not?”

“i don’t think i'll be dust,” yunha says, not missing a beat at all, even as her focus remains fixed on the faintest twinkle emanating from polaris, “it’s kind of troubling. you don’t want to be, like, stuck in the whole cycle of the universe, but if you’re still here, you can see some really beautiful things.”

“ah. reincarnation?”

“if you’re asking me, you’re not going to be dust. either you escape the suffering or you come back in some kind of physical form, human or not, and you try again.”

grant thinks about it for a moment. and then the feelings, like usual, spill out at once.

“i'm not going to lie, that idea has always given me the heebie-jeebies. i think it’s very cool as a concept, but i'm, like, man, i don’t want to do this shit again. also, look, we're doing the thing again. oh, and shit, that sounded judgmental. i just run my mouth too much."

"most people don't know they lived before. you can't really remember your other lives without a lot of study," she answers, "and no, you don't. i prefer to hear your real opinion. it's actually stupid when people tell you what they think you want to hear."

"do you ever wonder what you were up to last go-around?"

"not too much, but i always heard strange birthmarks and scars are signs from your last death. fears, too. things you avoid. so, i guess, like, a clown stabbed me in the neck with needles."

"are you afraid of storm drains, by any chance? if so, i think pennywise had it out for you."

"hahaha." yunha shakes her head. "wait, i have to ask. is it not worse thinking you can only live once? that's not uncomfortable? feeling like you have to make everything perfect in your one lifetime?"

"oh no, it's terrifying. dying and just being done with everything is eerie, too, because there are nice things to do and see here in the real world. you’re right about that. and yeah, there is a lot of pressure to get it all right. also, that's not even mentioning that there are people i love that i don’t want to be gone forever. i'd like to think they remain somehow. conscious or not. i kind of think they do, but i don’t know. am i contradicting myself? capital-P probably."

“you don’t know what to think.”

grant immediately bursts out laughing. “yeah, no, absolutely not. i do not know. i just kinda waffle around and hope some scientist throws out some numbers and whatnot that proves some explanation of everything correct. but that’s impossible. it’s literally impossible. we can’t even simulate or predict the wacky physics that were going on at the exact moment the big bang happened.”

“not to be, like, all quirky, but...” yunha reaches over, patting him on the shoulder. “maybe don’t think about it? you’re gonna go crazy. you can just not know? and it's fine. this doesn’t mean anything anyway. the answer to anything is already in you, it’s not out there.”

and then she, too, starts giggling all over again and her cheeks blush deep red from sheepish cringe.

another stereotypical line, but he doesn't mind. they sound better coming from her than him anyhow.

a second later and she checks the time on her phone. her cheesy smile erodes into a slight frown.

“ahh, i really need to leave soon. i have a schedule in the morning.”

grant checks the time as well, drawing the sleeve of his hoodie up just enough to read the minuscule roman numerals on his watch.

on the watch an ex-girlfriend gifted him. not päivi, but...

4:00 a.m.

fuck.

right.

you’re leaving the country in two hours.

[its-dean]

I’ve been posting on other online platforms about Fossil Fighters for a long time now, and most who are familiar with what I share know that a lot of my content has a heavy focus on original vivosaur ideas. With these vivosaurs I come up with, as well as the stats I create to go with them, I notice that there are often people questioning whether what I come up with would be balanced or not from a gameplay standpoint.

As I’ve gone on with developing this unique vision for my vivosaurs, I’ve also slowly refined my idea of Fossil Battles entirely. All of us are aware that both the original Fossil Fighters and Fossil Fighters Champions don’t have the best balancing in the world. There are certain cast members and even a few core game mechanics that allow so many otherwise memorable characters to fall to the wayside, and with the stats I was coming up with I was only further encouraging that type of hostile environment. The more I worried about whether something I was coming up with would feel realistic or balanced the more I considered the fact that the formula itself may have been broken in the first place.

There have been others in the community that have projected their own ideas of how to change things up regarding gameplay, things like adding new elements or even having customizable skills. Because the series felt like it had ended so suddenly there's become so much to dream for in a potential sequel. These are the people that inspired me to attempt something similar myself back when I was making my vivosaur last year. It inspired me to take a step back with my thinking and ultimately led to me creating a total re-imagining of the classic battle system we all know and love. 

That's the thing, the games may not be perfectly balanced, but I always find how these games work to be something that's just inherently fun in a very unique way. Above everything else, with this project I wanted the new system I was creating to still have the "feel" of having a good old-fashioned Fossil Battle. These games have incredible potential for an interesting competitive landscape, just if only some of those unbalanced mechanics were to be adjusted. This is what I strive to achieve the most with my ideas: an environment where every vivosaur has something practical to them, a format where you CAN win using your favorite vivosaurs. The only thing that should stop you is how well thought-out and unique of a strategy you can come up with.

Fossil Fighters Odyssey is a personal project of mine that I've technically been working on for over half a decade now. Still, I think it's most important to stress the fact that everything I come up with and will be talking about in this post is for fun. This shouldn't explicitly be seen as a vehicle for a potential fan game, I make these things for my own enjoyment and have no plans or obligations to turn any of these ideas into tangible content in the future. We all can pretty unanimously agree that it’s fun to dream about a theoretical continuation of this franchise, especially because of how it felt like it came to such an abrupt halt in a way none of us were really ready for. This project is simply meant to represent the changes I'd most want to see if that were to ever somehow happen, and that vision of mine simply might not appeal to your individual preferences.

But now moving to the fun stuff itself. I strive to be as in-depth as possible when taking into account how I would rework the gameplay, taking a comprehensive look at the entire series. To keep things feeling familiar while also feeling like an "evolution" of sorts, I found it most compelling to try and utilize standout mechanics from all three of the previous games. Yes, that includes Frontier because, while I can't defend its battle system as a whole, I do think there are some features it introduced that can really enhance potential team building and strategy (mainly referring to the boost system it uses).

Since there are far too many changes to cover in a text post, I created a PowerPoint to explain everything in a more presentable and organized way. The link to it can be found directly below this paragraph, with the presentation being separated in order of different areas of discussion, from how vivosaurs have changed to the differences in the battle system to new and altered abilities and so much more! Plus, attached to this post are the stat sheets for every single vivosaur, #1-300. My own vivosaurs as well as the 10 unique vivosaurs from Frontier are included in the lineup, and all the vivosaurs you're already familiar with have received numerous changes and enhancements to their skill sets so that they can thrive in this new Fossil Battling format.

Link to the PowerPoint (in case the picture quality is too poor to be able to read on this website)

FFO Mechanics.pptx

Link to all 300 vivosaurs and their stat sheets:

FFO All Vivosaurs.pptx

(Disclaimer: not all of the vivosaurs have artwork to correspond with their dino medals, but those will be hopefully trickling out down the line in the future.)

To round things out, I definitely want to thank the people that have already been supporting me and the things I create these past few years elsewhere. Without the level of the recognition and approval I see from the people who always respond to what I make, I definitely never would've come this far with developing my ideas. You guys are the ones who've been enjoying these things, from vivosaurs to characters to the overarching story I hope to one day be able to share with you all. I owe it to you for allowing myself to become as invested in my favorite series as I now am. And hey, depending on how people react to what I have here I may make another post outlining the more creative story and character elements I have in mind… 

Thank you to everyone who's been there for all this time, as well as anyone willing to read through everything I've been able to put together here, this project never could've been completed without you all for me to share it with.

[skwigelfskwisgaar]

Cold.

Skwisgaar always hated the cold. But it wasn't like he wasn't used to it - he had grown up swaddled in the biting cold winds, reminders that his mother had forgotten to buy food, to purchase new coats, socks, boots for her growing boy. He was an afterthought, to be left outside like the rest of her worries.

It was why he hated the cold.

He said it was because he was always stuck outside and exposed to it - which wasn't a total lie - but in reality it was because it was a reminder that he was unwanted by the one person he ever wanted to be noticed by when he was young. He wasn't meant for love, he wasn't deserving of it. He was unworthy of it.

He loathed everything about the cold and the snow.

It's why he was probably the only one opposed to the idea of the concert in Danzig - the cold affected sound quality, and it was cold.

Right now, he was trapped in the icy wilds of who knew where and stuck with Toki, without a guitar, and no cell reception. In the cold. But to the more pressing matter at hand, he had to tell Toki about something that was absolutely necessary before he forgot.

"I coulds hear your feedback in mine monitors!"

Skwisgaar hated the snow, but maybe because they were stranded together and he felt some kinship with a fellow Scandinavian that instead of complaining about the fact that they were needing rescue, the blonde felt maybe he should try to dig into Toki's subpar playing at their concert. Especially given that Toki had grown up playing in the harsh Norwegian landscapes and should know to tune his guitar for colder temps -

"How dares you - !" Toki cuts him off, offended that Skwisgaar had told him his playing sucked. Maybe if he practiced or actually paid attention to Skwisgaar when they practiced, maybe he wouldn't have feedback during the concert. Sometimes, it felt like Toki wanted Skwisgaar to be disappointed. It didn't make sense that such a talented guitarist would make such careless mistakes otherwise.

Regardless, he tried to hear Toki's rebuttal about how he was 'killings it', but he was too worried about the cold.

There was a pit growing in his stomach with each step they both took and it was taking every fiber in his body to stop himself from cutting Toki off on his rant - it felt like he was that young little boy again running home excited to show his mom that he got a passing grade in his home ec and music class only to see --

A tree exploded next to them. Halted to a stop, Skwisgaar's thoughts froze, and he stood still, much like Toki before he decided to comment.

"That was weirds."

A large brutish man emerged from the tree line, letting loose a battle cry. Already on edge from the botched concert and a failed escape attempt, Skwisgaar joined Toki in screaming out in fright.

"Time to die!" Both turn in a frenzy and run, long hair wildly whipping behind them. Neither make it far enough and get shoved down as their chaser pulls out a weapon.

In a panic, Skwisgaar thought of how much he hated that after all this time, he was going to die in the snow. Surrounded by the cold. The very thing reminding him the he was unworthy of love. He looked over to see Toki, who was much more confused than panicked, maybe because he had a fighting chance at kicking this guy's ass than Skwisgaar. He took a moment to let his mind calm down from the frantic thoughts speeding through it before he spoke.

He thought of the way the snow crunched under the boots of the man as he took his time to pick between him and his friend. He thought of how he often wanted to play music forever with Toki, and so, quickly formulated that into words before anything else happened.

He thought of all the times he felt the happiest.

The image of Toki and his audition, and how he impressed the band and blew Skwisgaar's mind.

The first recording of them in the studio together as a band.

The privilege of having a fellow Scandinavian who understood basic Swedish and knowing enough Norsk to talk to Toki when he could.

The times when Toki told him how safe he felt, or the times he opened up about why guitars had saved him much like how Skwisgaar felt they had saved him too.

So he said the only thing he could.

The only thing he felt was appropriate.

"I's ... will sees you in Valhallska, Toki."

Toki looked over, a hesitation lasting half a second.

"I always ... hateds you, Skwisgaar." There was a half second in his response but Skwisgaar's heart was singing at the very idea that anyone admitted to feeling anything for him. Toki admitting that he felt this passionate anger, this brutal fury for Skwisgaar made the blonde's heart soar. Toki had this black fury, brutal anger, raw talent that he had trusted Skwisgaar with to pour into their music. To hear Toki aim at him when it was probably more of Toki trusting Skwisgaar with it was neither here nor there, but nonetheless it cemented what Skwisgaar had thought of their musical dynamic for a long time now.

To hear him say it out loud was euphoric.

He knew there were days that Toki wanted to rip Skwisgaar apart, or who knew what else with that wild primal look he had in his eyes after practice sessions - but for him to admit this on what might be their metaphorical deathbeds?

It was the highest form of flattery Skwisgaar had ever been granted and he had no way of of knowing how to respond. So he smiled.

He cracked a small, albeit genuine, smile.

And he answered honestly.

"...I knows Toki, I knows."

- - - - -

It was cold in his room, no matter how often he fiddled with the thermostat. Ever since he had the scare with Toki and his new guitar teacher, Skwisgaar's room became colder. He was sure Toki was playing tricks on him at this point, or the others were messing around with him when he wasn't looking. They all knew he hated the cold. It was probably more mind tricks.

Right now he had a hard time even playing classic Dethklok songs because his hands were so cold. He muttered a few curses under his breath and started again from the top, gluing his eyes back on to the metronome and internalizing the beat.

Closing his eyes, Skwisgaar tried to playing the Duncan Hills jingle again from memory, trying to forget the recital and the events that led up to it. Toki's tutor had died last week, which should have meant Toki and the other guys would find a way to stop fucking around with Skwisgaar - they moved on to the next thing which was Murderface and a line of Planet Piss watches he was planning on launching. Yet Skwisgaar hadn't been able to find a way to regulate the room to a stable temperature he could tolerate.

He was in the middle of playing the stupid coffee jingle when he heard a knock on the door. Skwisgaar mumbled something about coming in before rolling his eyes at the hulking mass that was Nathan - probably there to tease him about Toki still. He made his peace that he wasn't the best tutor for Toki, as much as that hurt to admit, but they weren't going to stop him from being better.

"Hey, I heard Toki was - holy shit Skwisgaar - !"

In a flash Nathan had torn Skwisgaar's hands away from his Explorer, with Pickles and Murderface in tow as they now poked and prodded at his bloodied hands with very poorly veiled concerns.

It took over an hour of some careful wording and promises to Charles to get everyone to leave him alone after all was said and done. Even Toki had stopped by to see what happened, to which he put his foot down and shooed everyone out with promises of care and rest if they left him alone

Everyone except Nathan.

"Nat'an, you amnst needs to dotes on mes like Fatty Ding Dongs."

Nathan had taken a seat on the bed next to him, looking at him like he did when Toki or Murderface screwed up their parts.

With pity.

"Uh. Just. Take it easy, need you in peak shape."

"Can'ts stays in peak shapes if I can'ts praktises." Skwisgaar pulled his signature white fur cover on himself, his room unbearably cold still. He forgot to mention to Charles about the fact that his room needed servicing.

"Well. Maybe. Hrm. Maybe ease up. On the whole... uh. On the whole practicing thing."

"Nat'an, I has to be betters than Tokis - !"

"Skwisgaar. We were messing with you. We - I didn't think - this was a joke."

Skwisgaar looked down at his hands. He knew guitarists who had done bloody messes of themselves trying to meet deadlines. Hell, Skwisgaar had done that to himself several times trying to complete songs with Toki and Murderface, all 3 of them sporting some gnarly blisters; bloody bandaids the days after recordings were finished worn as badges of honor. Why was this a concern all of a sudden?

"I's had bloody blisters before meeting deadlines. Williams, Toki, mes toos. Amns dis about somet'ings else, Nat'ans?" Skwisgaar could see Nathan struggling to spin this in a way where nobody broke that stupid rule but it wasn't like they had particularly tried to hide it this time. Maybe it was habit at this point - Pickles talking about the insurance policies Charles took out on each of his fingers and Murderface talking about how devastated Toki would be and how he would be burdened with the younger man. As if either one of them actually played their instrument outside of concerts or the recording room.

"Look, I'm only saying this because no one else is here to hear this but Skwisgaar, this is ... uh. Concerning."

"Ands?"

"And? Is Toki getting better than you really that big a deal to you?"

"Woulds it be that bigs a deal to admit that I has not'ing else?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I only has de guitar. If I amnst de best at de guitar, what do I has to mine name?"

"You have Dethklok. You have us."

Nathan got up, giving Skwisgaar a squeeze on the shoulder, before leaving the room. His room, oddly enough, was no longer cold after that night. At least now he knew he had his band. He had his friends.

- - - - -

The Dethcopter was cold. Maybe it was because Toki and Pickles beat the living shit out of Murderface and he insisted they stay an extra hour to get some ice for his aching bruises, or maybe because he had just broken up with Tori, the first time he felt like he was at home outside of Mordhaus. Regardless of which, Skwisgaar was over it. The cold was exactly as it was from his memories - sharp, biting, numbing.

Sitting across from him, Murderface gave him an accusatory look - something Murderface had mastered over the years as their profit chasing bassist. Despite both seats facing the same direction, they both managed to face each other while they made small talk.

"Looks like Pickle and Tokis really puts de boots to you."

"I wish those fuckers put the boots to me..."

Skwisgaar, out of pity, or out of duty to the band, took his freezing hands and placed them on Murderface's knuckles, red and bruised from covering himself from Toki's and Pickles' beating. Couldn't have a bassist with useless hands. Murderface flinched at first, then took Skwisgaar's cold fingers and placed them on his other knuckles, alternating them every few seconds.

"Amns wantings to knows whats you dids to get beaten by Pickle and Toki." Murderface grumbled, or mumbled, Skwisgaar could never tell with that terrible lisp of his, before he responded.

"You know, that chick you were with looked an awful lot like schomeone we know, Skwischgaar."

Skwisgaar arched an eyebrow. He thought about all the women they knew, which wasn't many to begin with, and tried very hard to think of who his ex-girlfriend could even remotely look like.

"I's... not sure who she amns looking like." Murderface made a smug face, as a Klokateer came by to give him an ice pack for his leg.

"Whats?" Murderface took the ice pack from his knee and placed it on his hands when Skwisgaar retreated his hands, trying to question Murderface now.

"Brown hair, blue eyes. Blue sweater, really Skwischgaar?"

"She amns sweet and kinds, and likes animals. She hads a small collection of sea creature plushies. Wants to be a doctor." He smiled a little, remembering the fun dates he had with Tori, and the fun outing to the aquarium in Stockholm. He didn't even know about Skansen-Akvariet and now it became a new favorite spot in his home country to visit.

"Holy schit, plushies?" Murderface clamped a less bruised hand over his mouth, looking more like he was trying to contain his laughter instead of trying to have a conversation. Skwisgaar scowled at him.

"Ja, Williams. She amns havings a sweet side. Classy lady nameds Tori Skarsgard. She hads me whats call binge watch Moomintroll wit her, even if I alreadies seen it with Toki when he amns join - !"

"Why the fuck am I the only one here to hear this?!"

"You amns just jealous dat I founds a wonderful lady even ifs I's not famous." Skwisgaar crossed his arms in indignance, a bit upset that Murderface was finding humor in any of this. Maybe Skwisgaar was sore about letting Tori go. Maybe he was upset about the cold. Or maybe it was a mixture of both.

"Skwischgaar." Murderface stopped smiling and more or less kept a serious face. At this point Skwisgaar saw that maybe Murderface was seeing something he wasn't - maybe that Tori resembled someone he already knew.

" ... whatevers. It amns over wit her." Murderface sighed, a placed a hand on Skwisgaar's shoulder. Was that pity he picked up on in the bassist's voice?

"What, Williams? Are you goings to tells me to stops de moping over Tori? Tori amns amazings but evens Tori amnst a worthy of a gods?"

"What the fuck - no, I wasch going to say that she was Toki with tits, you fucking egotistical prick!"

Skwisgaar's brain short circuited at the words that came spilling out of Murderface's mouth. He blinked, and he registered that Murderface had begun to to snap his fingers in front of his face and had said - asked actually, about something. But nothing was registering.

Brunette with a large plushie collection. The blue sweater he gifted her for their aquarium date. A shared love for animals. The fact that both of them made him sit down and watch Moomintroll nonstop --

Snap!

Skwisgaar shot his hands up and slapped it over Murderface's mouth, as he scanned the Dethcopter for prying ears. Once he saw not even Klokateers were nearby, he leaned in to whisper. Murderface, who was caught mid finger snap, stopped as if frozen in ice. He locked eyes with Skwisgaar once the hands came off his mouth.

"So, what gives Skwischgaar?! Your first ever girlfriend and it's literally a female Toki - !"

"I misseds Mordhaus."

"Excuses." He and Murderface glare at each other before Murderface sighs and lets out a laugh.

"What amns funny, Williams?!" Skwisgaar crosses his arms again, furious that he didn't have his Explorer on hand and sits facing the right direction, forward to avoid looking at Murderface and his ridicule.

"You literally just realized that?!"

"Whatevers, you dildo. At least I amnst denyings dat I misses mine band."

"Nah, you missed him." Skiwsgaar spun around so fast Murderface almost got a mouth full of blonde hair.

"Never mention dis agains. Got its?"

"...I got it. If it makes you feel better - well, you didn't hear it from me personally- but I- we saw more blonde groupies too. Not even to like fuck them or anything, but just like, to have them around. The other guys, I mean. I- we all missed you." Murderface looked away, trying to put on a cool bravado and not look like he was outing himself but instead more like he was ratting out the rest of the band for blatantly caring as much as they did. With both now facing forward, Skwisgaar could swallow the humiliation of being told by Murderface of all people that Tori had been 'Toki with tits'.

Skwisgaar nodded, then replied, "What a weird ways to says the bands misses me."

"Whatever." Murderface leaned away again, before he spoke again.

"What a weird way to admit you dated a Toki with tits."

"Dat amnst true, Moidaface - !"

When Pickles and Nathan came back on the Dethcopter they found Skwisgaar and Murderface rolling around like idiots, fighting about who knew what - probably about who slept with more groupies. Again.

- - - - -

Skwisgaar felt a bone-deep cold that he couldn't shake off. It was Sweden 1984 all over again. In the distance, he could see the dying fires of riots from fans still upset about Dethklok breaking up. Rumbling in the sky signaled that the weatherman was correct as always, and rain should be coming in later. Despite this, Skwisgaar doesn't care.

His band is no more.

He takes a swig of the ipen bottle of vodka he has with him and looks from his high balcony as he leans forward on his arms. Everyone is trying to put out fires, it feels like.

With Murderface still dealing with the fallout in the political sphere after his nudes leaked, and Pickles and Nathan still fighting over a woman that Skwisgaar was positive wanted nothing to do with either of them, it left little for Skwisgaar to do except drink and think. He wandered Mordhaus like a ghost, except he was riddled with dread and stress. Maybe less a ghost, and more a haunted soul left to carry the burdens of mistakes made. To drink and think on decisions made.

And he's had plenty of time to drink and think since Pickles announced he was quitting the band.

To think about how awful he's been to Toki. To drink to the good times he took for granted. To blame himself on how he turned Toki's admiration, that righteous brutality he wanted to draw out and funnel into his playing - how he twisted it into an acidic poison that's corrupted into a desperate plea for validation. While Toki could have attempted to pour that angry energy into his guitar playing, Skwisgaar definitely didn't encourage Toki in positive ways.

He twisted Toki into the monstrosity that backstabbed him all for a stupid solo - which Toki bombed and was also still trying to make up for with those fans too.

" Oh hey, Skwisgahr! Mind if I join ya?"

Seeing that this was the balcony overlooking what was the Mordhaus equivalent of a backyard, Skwisgaar looked at Pickles and nodded. It's not like he and Pickles didn't hang out often, but nowadays, it felt like Skwisgaar had been left out to dry just like everyone else, while Pickles and Nathan feuded over Abigail.

"I see you're hitting the liquor early tonight."

"Heughs, I ackshualies am starting lates tonights."

"...is that so?"

"Yeahs. But amns enoughs about mes. Wants some?"

"Sure!" Pickles took the vodka from Skwisgaar and really took in the sight of the man. He felt those emerald green eyes look over him as he approached. Blonde locks looked dull, skin had a grey pallor, and unless his eyes betrayed him, the guitarist looked sleep deprived. Or at least Skwisgaar would assume Pickles could tell that from a glance - Pickles was always so good at seeing and telling right away what was wrong with someone.

"You okey, dood?"

"I wills be. Not my foirst times having a band break ups."

"Right. Look, I was actually lookin for ya, I wanted to say sorry fer -!"

"For whats? Tellings Nat'an dat he amnst right for breakings de master records?"

"No - !"

"For goings back to your moms after you tolds me you amnst let hers do whats she dids last time we dids mom talk?"

"Dood, unrelated and no!" Pickles downs almost the entire bottle of vodka like a true champ before Skwisgaar takes it back and drinks the remainder. He doesn't look at him when he produces the other bottle he had brought out with him, and he just knows Pickles is going to judge him for it - which is rich coming from the guy who was in rehab for drinking.

"I came to say sorry for being a shit friend. I was so bent outta shape about my shit wit' Nathan thet I forgot to check in with ya, especially after the whole thin' with Toki."

Skwisgaar spins around and smacks Pickles with his hair. Pickles sputters, trying to wipe his face.

"What amns you knows about me and Tokis?" he asks, popping the cork on the new bottle, before leaning to look at the dying riots in the distance, "Amns as much mine faults anyways, amns a punishments for mine hubris." He takes the bottle to his lips and takes a sip, and not wanting to not wake up hungover for Cornickelson's funeral offers the bottle to Pickles.

Pickles stands there gobsmacked before he takes the bottle away from Skwisgaar again. Skwisgaar rolls his eyes.

"Looks, Pickle. I cames here to be miserables before de funeral. I amnst in de mood - !"

"I'm not gonna stand here and see you kill your liver over fuckin' Toki!"

"It amnst over just hims! It amns de band, mine friends, mine music careers! I pours mine entire hearts and souls into dis!" Pickles takes a step back as Skwisgaar, drunk on both vodka and misery, looms over him as each syllable spills out of him.

"Seems likes I amns de only ones who amns not wanting Dethklok to breaks up, because it amns de foirst time I likes people - de fans and de label and mine friends - !"

Pickles tries to tackle Skwisgaar but becomes a hug when the guitarist wraps his arms around him; Skwisgaar pets his head and while the humiliation of the failed tackle stabs at his pride for a split second, there remains a longer burning shame for neglecting a friend who has been suffering in the shadows of the much more prominent fighting between himself and Nathan. He feel Skwisgaar's arms shudder, no doubt because the man was always somehow cold.

"... fuck, Skwisgahr - I'm so fuckin' sorry."

"I don'ts want de pity. I wants mine band backs."

"It's not pity, you fuckin' douchebag."

"What amns dis huh, Pickle?"

"Fuckin' ... shut up and just let me keep yer beanpole ass warm for a sec."

"You amns such a moms."

"So... do you accept my apology?"

"Ja, apolejacks accepteds."

"Geez, we have got to get you an' Toki to some classes - wait, I got an idea."

Tearing himself off of Skwisgaar, Pickles produces his phone out of his pocket and taps away, while clouds overhead blot out the stars. Skwisgaar decides his legs need too much coordination to keep him upright and slumps down next to the railing.

"You invites goirls?"

"No, I invited Toki."

Pickles had never seen someone try to sober up as quickly as Skwisgaar did. The man knew he was an emotional drunk, as evidenced by the hug earlier, and the half-confession, half-admission of him caring about the break up. And for some reason unknown to the band, Skwisgaar always refused to get drunk around Toki alone, or would get drunk with everyone. Pickles squinted at Skwisgaar as a suspicion began setting in; the guitarist is busy trying to make himself puke over the balcony, before looking back to the entryway to their home.

"Skwisgahr."

"Nej, dis amns terribles time, I's drunk as shits - !"

"Skwisgahr."

"Calls Williams, or get some groupies - !"

"Skwisgahr."

"Waits, maybes I gets sloppies and just pass out - !"

"Dood, why are you so against having Toki here?"

Skwisgaar freezes like a deer in headlights, before slumping back down against the balcony and pulling his legs up and laying his head against his knees. Realizing he wasn't going to get an answer, Pickles joins him, pulling out a joint and asking again.

"Skwisgahr, I'm askin' as a friend 'ere."

"You guys knows I amnst likings to be drunk with Toki around. Amns bad influence."

"... never stopped you from drinking and partying with 'im on ... tours..." Skwisgaar looks up to Pickles as if confused for the drifting off at the end.

Pickles looks back at him, confusion in his face.

"Now that I say it, it's like - it's with the rest of the band. Is there something else I'm not seein' here, beanpole?"

"Nothings you dildo! I don't wants him to sees de poirson whats invites him to de band to acts like... wells like drunk idiot!" Skwisgaar and Pickles both look to the entryway for a short second because they saw movement; when they see a few Klokateers come and go and one come out with ice, some drinks and glasses, Pickles continues. He thought Toki said he was close by, and he could swear on his drum set that he saw those pale blue eyes for a split second.

"What's wrong with thet?"

"Toki ands I went drinking alones once. We don't drives anymore. It were a careless act." Pickles gives him a face of realization, recalling the incident. They thought it was really awesome to see them on the news, drunk driving on live TV on a police chase. Toki shooting a gun at the news helicopter and then the crash into the barricade was the highlight. The band was excited to pick them up, even if it meant that Skwisgaar and Toki had lost their licenses to drive.

"I remember! Thet was fuckin' great."

"I crash de car. We hads de buckles on, which amns goods but..."

"Oh yeah, so... you really care thet much?"

"Toki ... he amns like music... soul twin. He amns differents. I's be a dildo to not says dat. I has been dildo to hims. Amns why I amnst mads about de book, I's mad it took a book to sees it. I deserves it for not appreskiatings Toki's skill. "

"... this is the first time I've ever heard ya talk about the kid in a nice way. But I've seen ya, Skwisgahr! You care, like, a lot."

" You amnst foirst to tells me dat." Pickles lit a joint up and passed it to Skwisgaar, who took a good puff out of it.

"Pickle? Ams Toki, I's here!"

Skwisgaar promptly started choking on the puff he took. Pickles let out a hearty chuckle. Toki waved, looking at Pickles before his eyes landed on Skwisgaar. The kid seemed nervous. Apprehensive about approaching them, and for a second it felt like he was watching a rabbit approach a wolf in its den. Maybe his eyes hadn't played tricks on him earlier.

"Amns you been arounds a long time?!"

"Nei? I's uhm, I's justs gots here." After composing himself from what looked like a potential heart attack, Skwisgaar passed the joint back to Pickles, who made a huge wave of his arm to make Toki sit down. He took a small puff then passed it to Toki once he finally sat across from them.

"So, Toki. Heard ya leaked the nudes that killed Murderface's political cahreer."

Skwisgaar leaned in, and so did the others. "If you dids, Toki, I says you dids de woirld a favors. No ones in politics amns taking bads nudes like dat."

Pickes let out a loud howl of laughter as Toki giggled.

"...amns you been drinking, Skwisgaar?"

"Ja, amns been rough wit ... Nat'an and de new music he amns doings. It's dildos." Pickles gave him a disapproving look, but Skwisgaar would rather go back to Sweden than talk about why he was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Nat'en ams needs to apologise to Pickle. It ams wrong what he did." Pickles raised the vodka bottle he had managed to get without much moving and then drank. Toki took it next after passing the joint to Skwisgaar, who snatched it from him.

"Nej, amns bads for yous."

"Pickle!?" Pickles smacked him on the arm.

"Fines."

"Play nice, both of ya."

"Skwisgaar started it."

"Toki, we all need apologize. I came to say sorry to Beanpole here." Skwisgaar felt himself shrivel up, as Toki looked at Pickles with curiosity.

"Whats about?"

"Eh, another time, kid. But I think, before we get crazy here - ya both need to clear up some shit. I'm gonna get Murderface, he just texted thet he got lost."

Toki asked why not text him again, like he did with him as Skwisgaar flopped on either trying to pull Pickles back down or freezing up.

As Pickles vanished, Skwisgaar felt too drunk and too aware and in his skin all at once. His eyes locked with Toki, and he immediately slumped back on the balcony railing, opting to grab the abandoned bottle.

"... yous not just drinking because of Nat'ens, ams you."

"Amazings brain usings, Toki. De skies amns blue too, you knows dat?"

"Okei fucker, whys Pickle says dat and leaves me wit your sour pusses?"

Skwisgaar didn't respond. He took the bottle to his lips, dipped his head back and drank. And drank. And drank. And drank --

"Stops! You amns gonna kills your liver!"

'I's not drunk or highs enoughs for dis."

"For whats?!"

He looks at Toki, who looks lost and afraid. He's not seen Skwisgaar hit a low like this, not even when he lost the endorsements after the book published, or his career was pulverized into pieces. Last time he saw Skwisgaar this drunk was the night they got arrested for drunk driving. He thought about how things were different then, how simpler their dynamic was, how easier it was to trust his band, to trust Toki.

How he took it all for granted.

"I's sorries, Tokis. You amnst deserves dis."

"What ams you talking abouts?!" Toki pulled himself closer; Skwisgaar's eyes drifted away from those pale blue hues and to Toki's hands. Those hands that he had been trusted to write for. To care for. To cherish and to play music with.

He sighed.

"You needs to talk to mes when I amnst fuckeds up. Meets me at de bar after de funerals?"

Toki, looking at him with concern and apprehension and some suspicion, nodded in agreement. Pickles came back and told them it would be a few more minutes, and Toki volunteered to go with him.

Skwisgaar cracked a small smile. Toki did too. Pickles looked at Skwisgaar, and he gave him a sloppy thumbs up. Pickles gave him one back.

- - - - -

The first thing he felt was cold. It was a common thing to feel when he didn't remember the events leading him there. Stiff and sore, he took an attempt to slip back under because being sober was awful.

Was that puke on his face?

"...eurgh.....hrmph..."

He pulled himself out of the tangle of hair, limbs and liquor spilled on and around him before he grabbed a bottle. Surprisingly, it still had alcohol in it, so he took it and a semi-clean robe and wandered out of the room. Alcohol was better for avoiding sobriety this early, for now.

It felt like it was a lifetime ago that he spent his night under that cloudy night getting drunk and high with Murderface and Pickles and Toki. With the promise of meeting Toki under better circumstances after the funeral to talk.

That night he sat at the bar by himself until he couldn't sit straight anymore.

And since then, he refused to stay sober.

It was easier that way.

And when alcohol wasn't doing it, he began to raid Pickles' stash. When Pickles cornered him, he lashed out and finally went out and found himself back on the streets of 1999, chasing a high that he promised to leave behind.

Pickles finally came to him in hysterics when he threw out his Explorer, a book he wrote some music ideas on, and a few CD cases he had stashed Toki's old guitar riffs on. Pickles only knew Skwisgaar was doing it because a CD hit one of the groupie sluts he was talking to in the backyard.

Skiwsgaar was so high on meth that Pickles had to get Murderface and Nathan to help him bring the blonde inside. It didn't take long to see that the guitarist was not drunk but high and less time for Pickles to see what it was when he saw track marks.

"I's not gonnas get lectures from you Pickle. You wents to rehabs for dis." Stunned at the remark, Murderface and Nathan watched as they both had a shouting match until both stormed off. At least Skwisgaar stopped taking meth.

That was last month.

Or last week.

Or was it last year?

He lost track of time.

It didn't matter anymore. Not without Toki.

Skwisgaar picked up a pastry in the kitchen and listened as they talked about using a new recording as part of the concert coming up. Skwisgaar nearly gagged.

"Amnst de sames."

"It'll have to do. We have recordings - !"

"Nei, Nat'an. I won'ts do its."

"Skwischgaar - !"

He threw his glass of juice at the first wall he saw.

"Fines! Dos whatever, fucking dildos."

He shoved the pastry into his mouth before they said anything and walked off. Stumbling, like a toddler just learning to walk. He makes it to the entry of the kitchen as he hears Pickles finally pipe up.

"What the fuck is Skwisgahr's problem now?"

"He, uh. He doesn't want recordings."

"... did I ever tell you guysch about the girlfriend he had in Sweden?"

Immediately, Skwisgaar turns on his heel and comes back into the kitchen and makes a dive at Murderface, until Nathan tackles him and tosses him against a counter. Pickles makes a dash to get out of the way as Murderface slowly lowers the arms he instinctively raised in his defense.

"Yous amns fuckings dildo lickers! You fuckings-- you amnst GETS ITS!"

And while his silent cries and tears didn't make sense that day, a week later when he quietly held Toki in the Dethcopter and whispered all the things he didn't get to tell him at the bar the day of the funeral, they understood.

- - - - -

Cold.

Something about the Arctic cold that made bones creak. It made joints crack like glass. Fingers ache. Skwisgaar hated it. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was the cold, still.

How long had it been since they had first stepped onto Danzig? How much had changed since then?

His head throbbed, the ground wobbled -

A warm arm wrapped around his middle before his knees gave out.

"Shit - Toki, come help with yer brother!"

If Skwisgaar wasn't on the verge of puking his guts out he'd chew out Pickles for calling on Toki to help him. With Murderface on his right side Toki came up on the other, clutching Deaddy Bear as Pickles ran his hand over Skwisgaar's head. Wait, when did Skwisgaar get shorter?

"Of course Skwischgaar is a mess, he's light as fuck! Feels like a lady!"

"Yous a lady, Williams!"

"Dood, how many fingers am I holdin'?"

"Amnst blind, Pickle - !"

"No, but uh. You have a concussion. Got those in high school. Erm. A lot. I know one when I see one."

As Pickles and Nathan both talked about how Skwisgaar was going to recover, and Murderface grumbled about how no one cared about how he felt after having been possessed - all Skwisgaar wanted to do was make sure he at least made it back to Mordhaus -

"Skwisgaar?"

Toki pressed Deaddy Bear to Skwisgaar's arms, and then held Skwisgaar in a tight hug. The cold he felt began to seep out of him as Toki slowly looked up and finally locked eyes with him. He had taken a seat next to him, under Skwisgaar's arm still.

"I know it was you who carried me," he said in Swedish, "Let Toki carry you now."

"... this is a hug, Toki." Toki just hugged him tighter.

"What have I said about not speakin' English? No Snow-Speak!"

"Picklesch, its called Swedish." Toki gave Murderface a look, as Skwisgaar finally manages to hold down the Doritos they gave them in their cells the night before. He says what he assumed Toki was also thinking.

"...what de fucks amns Snows ... Speaks?"

"A schtupid term he picked up from reading ..."

Skwisgaar saw Pickles panic for a split second as Murderface stopped. Toki loosens his arms, but doesn't let go of Skwisgaar, to lean closer to Murderface, who also looks like he's panicking.

"Readings what?"

"Wowies, Mordaface, how ams you knows wes speaking Svenska?"

"I made an educated guessch."

"Yeah! Ya only speak in Swedish when - !"

"Readings what, Pickle?!"

"Uh... fans! Social media stuff! The fans think you an' Tokes have some secret language! They call it thet." Based on Nathan's own face, Skwisgaar felt like maybe Pickles was lying through his teeth. He was not going to pry further now, however - his stomach was threatening to empty itself again. Skwisgaar pried his right arm away from Murderface to clamp his mouth and then rub his stomach as he took a deep breath.

"Shit, uh. We gotta get you, mhrm, Murderface, and Charles looked at. Like, now." Pickles made a quick turn and immediately pointed at something Skwisgaar couldn't see from his angle. Sitting on the snow aside, the view out here wasn't bad. Nathan patted Pickles on the shoulder before walking in the direction he pointed. Maybe it was Charles? Pickles began walking away and talking with Nathan, before he stopped and made a motion to Murderface.

"Murderface, come help Nathan grab Charles! Looks like there's someone helpin' already."

Murderface grumbled something about suffering from success, which made absolutely no sense to Skwisgaar, but he was using the time of quiet to gather his thoughts. Toki finally, slowly pulled himself away from him and smiled sweetly.

"...Skwisgaar, I know you and I have had our problems, and I haven't made a great friend. But I mean it. Let Toki carry the weight for now. If that includes you when things get tough, then I will." Skwisgaar grabs Toki's fretting hand and rubs his thumb over the callouses there. Even now Toki is clingy, needy, affectionate, caring. And it's not just with Skwisgaar, even if it is who he does it the most with - he went to Pickles or Nathan if he needed help with anything or to Murderface for fun and laughter.

With Skwisgaar he often just sat and listened to what the Swede said, chords and strings and arpeggios the backdrop for the lessons and practice sessions in Deus Keep.

He wondered what happened in the time they forgot.

He wondered what made this Toki so clingy.

He wondered if he did something to him.

He wondered why Toki and not --

"You are thinking too loud."

"Sorry, my head is a mess."

"Speak your mind, Skwisgaar."

He lets go of Toki's hand, and holds himself in the biting cold as he formulates his thoughts. Danzig is where they both 'confessed' to their intentions going forward in their music, and Skwisgaar wanted to keep that same spirit. Here was Toki wanting to mend things - either because he felt guilty about the book or because he felt he wasn't pulling enough weight in the dynamic, but here he was ready to help Skwisgaar.

Ready to not just be an equal, but his friend.

"Toki... if you have been a bad friend, then I've been outright shit to you. You trusted me with your talent, and I squandered that. I never gave you reason enough to be excited or passionate for the music if I never let you shine. It's just as much my fault - !"

Toki launches himself on Skwisgaar, a crushing hug and then shaking shoulders. Skwisgaar panics as he realizes Toki's crying, and he slowly and awkwardly begins to rub the younger man's back as he pulls himself tighter on the blonde.

"I promise to put my ego aside from now on. Okay?"

Toki nods his head, and Skwisgaar suddenly realizes something.

"Tokis... amns you using mine shoirts to wipes your face?!"

Toki shakes his head no, but then pulls himself away and gives Skwisgaar an angry look.

"You says nice things and you worry about yous stupid shirt?!"

"It amnst a hankys chef to wipes snot off ... your - !" Almost immediately, Skwisgaar feels it and loses to his stomach, as it empties itself and he only feels Toki rub his back as he goes for a second round, and finally, his stomach gives up fighting him. Thankfully all he did was turn his face to the side and Toki managed to get his face out of the way before he whispered reassurances that it would get better once he had something to eat and some proper food and sleep.

"...the fucker exploded into red mist! Farm equipment is brutal!"

"That uh. That explains why we didn't see a corpse."

"Skwisgahr ain't doing so great too, Charles, we're gonna get ya'll checked out."

"Thanks, boys."

Skwisgaar wipes part of his mouth as Toki keeps a hand on him and the other cradling Deaddy Bear. It sounds like they did find Charles. Good.

His ears ring for half a second, before he sees Charles carried by Nathan and Murderface. Behind them is what looks like a nurse and a paramedic, and a Klokateer with a duffel bag slung on over a shoulder - if he recalled correctly, many of the non-combat Gears had been left in chapters scattered throughout cities to help in the days of the prophecy but to still see them around was --

"Wowies, a Klokateers?!"

"Lord Wartooth, Lord Skwigelf, an honor. I have some emergency first aid kits and these two medical professionals volunteered to assist with what they could. Mr. Offdensen has been stabilized and can be treated for minor injuries while we look at Lord Murderface and Lord Skwigelf."

Pickles approached Toki with a diabetes monitor and insulin kit, while the paramedic looked at Skwisgaar, and the nurse looked over Murderface. Murderface was cleared physically of anomalies, and Toki was given a sticker and insulin to make sure his levels were stable. With that, Pickles and Nathan helped clean up Charles with the nurse ans Toki and Murderface kept Skwisgaar company.

With both sitting next to him, he only has to whisper as the paramedic does some final checks and gives him some medications.

"Sos, Williams, Toki. When amns you thinkings dat Nat'en and Pickle finallies realizes de truth?"

"Truth about what, Skwischgaar?"

"... you amnst sees it!?"

Toki sticks out his tongue as he squints hard at the pair, busy trying to make sure they help. They're both helping Charles with his mangled hand, cleaning and bandaging what they can.

"...thats they sucks at doctors?"

"You amns dildos at dis. Nat'en and Pickles? De worry abohts eqch other? De way de boths amns so carings wit each other?" Murderface and Toki both let out a sound of realization, before excitement and shock creeps over both of them.

"Wait, you think they are together?!"

"That ams make it reals mom and dad?!"

"Looks, we amns smart and can sees it. We amnst idiots. We can sees what amns plains as light of days!"

At this point, Murderface looks at Skwisgaar and then Toki. Henarrows his eyes at the guitarists, as if he's expecting either of them to say something - Skwisgaar looks at him and gives him a questioning look instead.

"What, Williams?"

He just needed to find the people that wanted him first.

"You know what, Skwischgaar? You aschtound me. You really do." Skwisgaar smiled, as he realized that he hadn't felt cold for a while now. Here he was out in Danzig, in near Arctic temperatures, and he felt warm as if he was standing outside on a sunny day. Maybe he was wanted, after all.

Like Nathan, who reminded him he had more than just his guitar - he was Skwisgaar and he had his friends too.

Like Murderface, who reminded him his band wasn't just another gig, it was his friends who liked him for him.

Like Pickles, who reminded him that he didn't need to struggle alone, and apologies made people grow.

And like Toki, who showed Skwisgaar that he was someone worth trusting.

Who, despite all their up and downs, still wanted to be his friend. Who still wanted to play music with him.

Toki, who wanted to shine just as much as he wanted Skwisgaar to shine too.

Toki. His friend. His brother. His equal.

[familyabolisher]

Apologies for bringing up a topic you've already discussed at length, but I've read through your posts on "anti-intellectualism" and completely agree with you on all counts. But I'm just now curious about how you'd define the increased culture of outright rejection of critical analysis (vague though the term is) as opposed to simple disinterest. Situations like people dismissing any deep analysis of systems, media, texts etc with "It's not that deep", or hostility towards fuller and in depth responses to statements (especially on social media with the ever prevalent "not reading that"), with the result often times being that anything requiring slight effort to engage with, or that isn't entertaining is dismissed completely.

Although I understand that these are just peoples reactions on the internet, and not systemic or material issues, I'd love to know your thoughts on how that cultural behaviour and trend could be classed, if not as anti-intellectualism.

(there are obviously a huge amount of external reasons (the attention economy, media, education etc) for people to react in that way, so I'm not blaming people personally, nor do I think everyone needs to go read Hegel and become a master critical thinker, but I do think it is a trend that has some damaging effects, especially as a response to any criticism of capitalism)

talked a little about it here—i guess i would ask what you're actually seeking to accomplish with the word "define," because there's no one explanation that can neatly account for every individual rejection of the practice of critical reading, and nor should we be seeking to find one. certainly 'anti-intellectualism' doesn't cut it, so i would just reiterate the point i made in the initial piece—how people feel about critical analysis, what their base skill level in critical analysis actually is, how that skill level is articulated, what their relationship is to the work or works in question & the respect with which they are willing to treat it are all highly contingent questions which cannot be easily explained away but instead merit thorough materialist investigation. ultimately as marxists we have to be materialists; our investigations should seek these material explanations, which means interrogating normative epistemes, education & academia, how we define "literacy" & its social use + social distribution, who benefits and who winds up disadvantaged. the "anti-intellectualism" position is broad enough to be near enough useless when it comes to articulating actionable responses; i also find it cruel.

also tbqh whilst i do get impatient when people don't "want" to engage with challenging narratives in ways that i find intellectually stimulating and would rather watch marvel film #47384 or whatever, i think it's good to take a policy of, like, blocking and moving on, curating your feed, and remembering that you don't + shouldn't have access to that person's relationship to the media landscape and the sorts of analytical tools that they may well only ever have encountered in a hostile educational setting, as well as working towards showing that engagement with "difficult" works is a) possible and b) fun and worthwhile. often people's reluctance to engage with works that have a (perceived) higher entry barrier (however ethically questionable that perception might be) simply comes from the fact that they lack/believe themselves to lack the right tools for engagement, and don't want to be made to feel "stupid" by not "getting" it—they preemptively go on the 'let people enjoy things'-esque defensive to counter this. the more candidly we talk about critical practices & the more digital airtime we give to less "mainstream" work, and the more space we give people to not understand things/to ask questions/to communicate and share ideas rather than participating in the big pissing contest of who can be the most Media Literate, the closer we get to resolving these sorts of tensions, imo.