#i've been mulling over it for a few days because i really do not put my characters on planets very often

[ilovedthestars]

How do the members of the Polaris group respond to snow? Have they all even seen snow before? (this is either w writing prompt or info dump prompt, whichever you prefer! <3)

Hey I really appreciate that you sent this outside of any ask game, just for fun! :)

I tend to stick to writing the Polaris characters on stations and ships a lot more than planets, so this is actually a great question that I haven't thought about before. Most of them have probably been down on Preservation's surface at least once, but we don't know that much about the climate in the inhabited areas.

Niri has probably spent the most time on Preservation (although still not like, years) and has also gone on all kinds of contracts while undercover, which probably includes some planetary exploration missions like the ones we see Murderbot on in ASR. It has probably seen snow before. I think it would like it, especially the pretty kind of snow. If it was free to do so, and with friends, I can see it enjoying a friendly snowball fight! Aybee, if they were there, would absolutely join in.

OldUnit...is really old, so it's possible, but I think it also mostly gets sent to guard mining and construction projects, which people tend to avoid doing in places with a lot of snow. But still, in 40+ years it's probably been sent at least once to a planetary surface with snow. That was probably before at least one memory wipe, though. If it encounters snow again, it would be part new and strange experience, part deja-vu.

Hope's done a lot of traveling, but I think xe really appreciates and values comfort. So xe probably prefers to experience snow as a pretty view out the window, while xe is cozy and warm inside.

Enigma...is probably a little wary of entering gravity wells without a way to leave that it's 100% in control of. Stations just have more escape routes. But I don't have a clear idea of what the planet where it spent 7+ years on contract looks like, and an icy, frigid landscape does sound compellingly horrible--I'll have to think about that! So it probably either has never seen snow, or actively hates it.

(Bonus: Yuma and Crowbar both spent most of their lives on airless asteroids/planets, with artificial atmosphere under domes that aren't big enough to have real weather. I think they'd both be very excited about the experiences you can have in an actual atmosphere, including snow!)

[squibsformers]

Miscommunication

Rodimus x Human Reader, Drift x Ratchet x Human Reader

Summary: After Rodimus tried looping you into something you really weren't into, you sought out your other partners to complain about his reveal of character.

Word Count: 1,128

AN: NSFW suggestive talk, no outright smut. Also hi this is my first tf writing soooo lmk what your thoughts are, i love comments. I'm already working on a reader insert series and wanted to start with a few one off bits. Enjoy! tagging valveplug just in case.

Drift looked up when you entered the medbay, his greeting dying on his glossa as his field just PINGED with the waves of displeasure coming off you.

“Jeez… what's got you all wound up, huh?” He straightened his backstuts as he stood up more from the desk he leaned over, messing with Ratchet temporarily set aside.

You hissed a rush of words under your breath as you strutted in, something that he couldn't TELL what was said but he understood it wasn't very polite. Even the older medic bot lifted his head to address you.

“I only managed to make out Rodimus in all that. What did our oh so brilliant captain do to piss you off?”

 “I thought this whole time we were leading up to something… fun. But it turns out I misread every step. He thinks he's BETTER than me.”

“He's the captain, he is better than you.”

You whipped your head around to glare at Ratchet. “Better enough that I deserve to clean the dirt off his kibble with my tongue?? Because I feel that's pretty fucking degrading.”

Both bots stilled, and the medic's “Wait, what-” was interrupted by Drift stalling briefly and talking over him. “That doesn't sound at ALL like something Roddy would say.”

“I thought so, too.” You huffed before your attitude melted into something a bit sadder. “I mean… I've been flirting with him for so long, and he's been receptive towards it. You even told me he said he likes me. So I don't know where this came from…” 

Groaning, you put your face in your hands, and idly Ratchet patted your back while working (and half listening). 

“I didn't even think that would be a thing with you guys, making someone tongue-polish your like, plating and stuff.”

“That sounds like something Megatron would have had Starscream do back in the day,” Ratchet groused, making Drift mock gagging.

“I'm going to purge my tank, don't make me think about those two like that.” A shudder wracked the ex ‘con's frame. “Eugh. No it's not really a thing with us. Is…is it a human thing?”

“Ah…” The question made you pause to think. “Not… really? I mean, kind of. It's usually an extremely exaggerated form of punishment from someone who wants to uh… show superiority while demeaning the other. Though it's shoes or boots for us, not armor spikes. The idea is to polish the dirtiest article of clothing with their tongue - or glossa - so they feel... sub-human. Though there's always exceptions, and some people are into that kinda thing as like, a kink? But it's really not…what I'm looking for.” You wince.

….Ratchet paused his comforting as he listened, before turning to look you over. “Hold on, back up. Armor spikes… kid, what did Rodimus say to you?”

Drift leaned over the autobot's shoulder, studying you closely. The samurai looked both confused…and disbelieving.

Alright, fine then.

“He said ‘Y’know… Maybe you can put that glossa of yours to use and… clean my spikes with it.’” They let out a grumble. “I didn't peg him for the degrading type…”

The two mechs went oddly quiet and still.

“Spikes… plural?” Drift pressed.

You thought back more, mulling the memory over, of the captain of the Lost Light leering down at you with that heated smirk and his thumb on your cheek…and shook your head.

“No, sorry. Just spike.”

“PFFT-”

You looked up to see Drift looking away, one of his servos clamped over his intake as he cackled. His limbs shook and he held onto Ratchet to steady himself. The medic was looking away, face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook.

He was also laughing at you.

“What. WHAT! HEY?? HELLO!!”

“Kid…Kid, Sp..spike is another term we have for plug.” Ratchet mumbled out. Still laughing. Very much laughing at you. His words caused Drift to wheeze and bend over, his vents stuttering as he cackled.

“He was asking you to interface finally and you totally missed it..!! Oh Primus help me, what did you say? What did you say, tell me. Please, it has to be good.”

Your face got warm as you thought of the fact that you had finally gotten Rodimus interested enough he would make a bold pass. Your face was hot when you realized you had totally missed his signals. Your face was practically on fire when it clicked just how badly you fumbled the whole interaction.

“I… I said Ew, no thanks. And came here-”

“THAAAAHAHAATS THE WORST THING YOU C-COOOHOULD HAVE SAID!!! AAAHAHAGHA OH PRIMUS-”

“Frag me, kid you did not-”

There was no saving you. Both mechs were now openly laughing at your misery. Your face buried in your hands you mumbled out a weak “How was I supposed to know!” that only made Drift start losing it all over again.

After some time (Ten. Minutes.) the two much larger beings had settled, Ratchet returning to his work and chuckling on occasion while Drift…pestered you over your absolute dropping of the ball.

“I can't believe this. I'm almost scared to flirt with you now because you may not get it!”

“Driiiiift…!” You whined, the cheeky samurai squeezing your hips. “Let me go, I want to jettison myself out of the airlock.”

“Not a chance!! I mean I want to make sure if I tell you I wanna have you eat my valve from the back that you aren't going to mistake it for me, say, threatening to mug you or something.”

Your face was bright red. “Drift!!”

“Or, oh man, if I tell you I want to slot my plug between your thighs, maybe you'll think I'm wanting you to-”

“RATCHET! DRIFT IS BULLYING ME AGAIN!” Complaining loudly, you squirmed in Drift's hold while eyeing his Conjux, displeased and humiliated and hoping the medic would scold him or something.

Ratchet barely spared you a glance with his optics as he continued his inventory count. He was literally busy and not paying attention to you two.

“Between words from attractive mechs, manhandling, and something almost too big to go in, you enjoy being bullied, and all of us here are very aware of it,” drawled the grouch's response.

You stared at him, mouth dropped open in shock and WORSE embarrassment at how he called your bullshit out. All while Drift began cackling all over again.

—

You stared up at the habisuite door, staring at the imposing metal barrier of captain Rodimus Prime's personal chambers. Your stomach twisted in knots nervously, your palms somewhat sweaty as you raised a fist and knocked hard, twice. Mentally, you prepared your apology as you heard shuffling and the soft clank of pedes across a metal floor.

God, you hoped the mech thought stupid was hot.

[callmebrycelee]

I've been mulling this over for the last few days and I figured I'd just put what I'm thinking out there in hopes that someone will understand what I'm coming from. I'm reading a wonderful fanfic where Buck leaves the 118 and goes to work at Air Operations. He is paired with Tommy and the two of them strike up a friendship and an eventual romance. I'm only a few chapters into the story and there's a conversation where Buck and Tommy are relaying their backstories to each other. Buck talks about getting crushed by the fire engine, the subsequent surgery and setback, and him suing the LAFD. Tommy talks about his time in the Army and ultimately joining the 118. He goes into vivid detail about every single awful thing he did to Chimney and Hen. He ends the story by telling Buck that even though the Chimney and Hen chose to forgave him, he can't quite move past his guilt and works hard daily to become a better person. The thing I've been mulling over is the concept of white guilt and how it often triumphs over forgiveness extended by people of color. I find this so funny because even when people of color, esepcially Black people, are at their most vulnerable and open, whiteness still finds a way to be greater than.

Now I'm not here to excuse any of what Tommy did during his time at the 118, but I have to admit that the majority of the people I have seen taking umbrage with Tommy and his behavior, even after he has been forgiven by those whom he offended, and even after he has taken strides to change, are white, non-queer individuals. And before we making this a B*ddie versus BuckTommy situation, I have seen individuals from both sides of the fence taking Tommy to task.

Before I jump into my thoughts on this, let me just say that I'm a Black man. I'm also a queer man. Most importantly I'm a Black queer man and let me tell you a little something about poor behavior from white people. It happens so much and so frequent that oftentimes I don't even see it happening until I am allowed to have a moment to process and reflect. With that said, quite a few of my close friends and acquaintances are white and all of them at some point have said or done something deliberately or accidentally offensive to me. Now not all Black and/or queer people are a monolift so let me make this very clear right now. I am speaking on behalf of myself and myself only.

Now that I've gotten out of the way, I will say that in any and all cases where I have been offended, my forgiveness is more for myself than the other person. Forgiveness is something I do to protect my peace. I fundamentally understand how whiteness works here in America and I understand how it operates. You don't get to half 39 years as a Black queer person without learning this. Especialy living in the the south. I also realize that at the apex of whiteness is the white, straight male and whether we realize it or not, we all, for the most part, at some point, seek proximity to him. You see this happen with white women, with Black men, and evenwith gay white men. In fact, the only group you don't tend to see this with is Black queer women and I believe this is because they are truly the antithesis of the white apex.

With that said, any time my friends or acquaintances have behaved badly, especially towards me, especially regarding my race and/or sexuality, I understand where that energy comes from. I really do. And, if we are being truly transparent here, there have been moments in my younger existence where I actively participated in the oppression of Black women and queer people. I, too, was a Tommy who hid myself by participating in the toxicity directed towards queer people. And yes, I felt tremendous guilt for my actions when I had time to reflect.

Here is the thing people forget about guilt. Much like grief, guilt ebbs and flows, and it doesn't really go away. What happens, or what should happen, is that your world gets bigger and bigger to the point where that grief or that guilt doesn't occupy as much space. That's exactly what I believe has happened to Tommy Kinard. Yes, he still feels bad about what he did to his friends back then (and he should) but his world has gotten so much bigger since then. That guilt that was once a loud roar is hopefully only a whisper now because he has done the work to understand why he behaved the way he did and has taken strides to be a better version of himself.

So, to all the white, non-queer individuals out there who have been taking Tommy to task for things he did a long time ago, things he's been forgiven of a long time ago, parts of himself that he has made better, ask yourself this one simple question. Why should my guilt (white guilt) be bigger than the forgiveness provided to him by those he offended? Second question I would ask you to ask yourself. Why am I demanding that Tommy actively punish himself and be punished for something he has already been forgiven of? When you answer that question, there is one last question I want you to ask yourself. Why am I feeling guilty and projecting that guilt onto someone else?

Again, I am not excusing any of what Tommy Kinard said or did during that time of his life. I just find it strange that so many of you are condemining him of something he once did when you should be asking yourself, am I actively participating in the oppression of those around me. There's a 99.9% chance you are so maybe focus on your own garden before you start asking others to clean up theirs. Also, for those of you coming at this from the angle of, well we didn't see Hen and Chimney forgive him. So what! Unless you have a camera following you around 24/7, no one will ever get to see you be forgiven of the fucked up stuff you've been doing. Most of all, stop projecting onto fictional characters. It's weird. Okay, those are my thoughts. Do what with them what you wish. As always, these are my opinions.

[elitadream]

Hi guys~! ⛅👋

Long time no see! Much longer than I ever intended, in fact. Truth be told, I wanted to make a public post sooner, but I've had a lot to catch up on in terms of notifications and messages since logging back in a few days ago. I've also made some changes that I will address shortly, but first of all I wanted to thank those of you who have reached out with so much care and understanding during my absence. Adjusting has been a slow and fragile process for me -still is-, and I sadly haven't responded directly to everyone yet because of it, but I wanted to say how much I appreciate your patience and support nonetheless. 🥹 🙏

Long story short, I was gone for five months due to a huge burnout, then progressively found my spark again somewhere along the way and have since mostly recovered. It was my wonderful friend @drones-of-innocence who reached out to me outside of Tumblr, and her sense of initiative is largely the reason why I managed to make this post in a somewhat reasonable delay. 😅💖 With that said however, I must also mention that I've deleted a lot of stuff from my page and have removed most of my work from the public eye as well. This may seem quite drastic and frankly a little unsettling, but I assure you that it was a thoroughly considered and reasoned decision! The thing is that I was still getting lots of notes on these drawings everyday and… To put it simply, I didn't want that anymore. 🙇‍♀️ Experiencing popularity was very detrimental to me in the long run and I needed to put an end to it for the sake of my own wellbeing; at least for now.

Which brings me to my next point.

After mulling it over for a while, I've decided that I would not be returning as an active creator in the Mario community this time around. 👐 Making fanart for this franchise (with such a high and continuously maintained degree of involvement) had a lot to do with my health's decline and I've come to realize that I wanted to direct my focus elsewhere going forward. For that reason, there are things which I know will never be repeated again in the future, both in regards to my art and online presence in general, but that's alright. Things change, as they do and should. I'm looking forward to reuniting with folks and would be very happy to stay in touch with those of you who wish to message me privately. Like my lovely pal @istadris said, what matters most about any fandom are the friends you make in it. ☺️

And speaking of which-

@ody-and-fanatu That's so sweet of you, thank you! 💗 I'm glad you've enjoyed my contribution to the fandom. It was fun while it lasted! 💫 My visual ideas may be gone from my page, but most of my written posts and replies are still there for anyone who wants to revisit those at least, so there's that! And I'd also like to answer some of the asks I still have in my inbox at some point. Knowing that you hold my art in such high regard makes really happy! 🥰 Unfortunately, the other account that I have is reserved for my professional work and I prefer to keep them separate from one other, but the good thing is that I intend to go back to this blog occasionally. Hoping to see you around! Cheers! 🥂

@heiressofdoodles Thanks, I appreciate that! ✨ I'm honestly doing much better than I was earlier this Spring. Back then, I was running on empty and on the verge of crashing without even knowing it. Being in constant physical pain was one thing, but feeling mentally and emotionally drained on a daily basis was another entirely, and something had to be done. It took me a moment to really figure out what was wrong, but thankfully I realized very quickly what was causing it and applied the breaks with all my might. One of my main priorities now is to be more alert and respect my own boundaries to make sure that this never happens again. 🥲

@keakruiser Thank you. 🙏💐 I'm just glad to have found my footing again. Feels good to be able to create freely.^^ Hope you're doing well too!

Special thanks also to @pianokantzart, @jelly-fish-wishes, @katlyntheartist, @triniji and @wahooitsamee for their kind words. 🫂 Your graciousness and consideration means a lot to me. 💝

As for all the nice people who sent me anon comments and well wishes, I tried to summarize my thoughts as best I could in this update, but if there's anything else you'd like to say or know, don't hesitate to ask me anytime! Now that I feel like myself again, I think I'm gonna hang out on Tumblr for a little bit. I'll be excited to see what you guys have been up to in the meantime! 🤗 Wishing you all a very good day and pleasant Fall. 🍂

-elita 🌸

[phantomdoofer]

Tower Town, Chapter 29 - A Long Time Coming

Giuseppe opened the door, and Anita grinned at him from the other side. “Hey, Anita. You're a bit early…” he scratched the back of his head and tried to smile… but, as so often happened, it looked more pained than happy.

“Nothing saying I can't just park on the couch while you finish,” she said wryly.

“Yeah,” he chuckled nervously.

She fought not to start examining his every action. What's got him so wound up? Giuseppe had always been a bit twitchy - ran in the family, after all - but… right now he's acting like he's in combat, instead of having dinner with his friend. We do this all the time. What's different?

He turned as he closed the door. “Just a few minutes and I'll have it ready, Anita. Make yourself comfortable.”

Anita leaned back on the couch. “Sepp, you're acting like I don't practically live here these days.” Her smirk turned into a genuine smile. “Relax, man. I don't bite… unless you want me to.”

The big Italian blushed furiously, and laughed. “Infatti,” he muttered. The man puttered into the kitchen… but everything's on the table, she thought, confused and a little concerned. He's being absent-minded. Something's really got him worried.

He opened his refrigerator and pulled out what turned out to be a bottle of wine. Not the stuff they typically had for dinner; she knew he kept some stronger stuff around. For his nerves. She reflected on the absolute hell his brother, Peppino, had gone through because of alcohol, and felt her own worries rise for Giuseppe.

They expanded when she saw him turn, think she wasn't watching, and kick back a long drink. He's normally so careful.

He put the bottle of wine back, wiped his mouth, grabbed a different one, and closed the door. “Ok, I think I've got everything ready. Shall we?”

Anita stood and sauntered over to the table, trying not to let her concern show. Are things really that bad for him?

After a brief period of eating, he took up his wineglass and downed half of it at once.

Okay, I have to say something. “Sepp, you might want to go easy on that.”

He put the glass down, looking hunted. “Why? You know I can handle a little wine.”

“A little, yes. But I saw you knock back half a bottle of the strong stuff, before you grabbed this one.”

He winced, looking sheepish. “You, ah, you saw that, huh?”

She pointed at her eye, which shifted from its normal appearance to the crosshairs it took on when she was using her powers. “With this thing? Of course I did.” She leaned across the table, grabbing his hand. “Listen, Sepp, something's bothering you. I can tell. Don't go trying to do it all yourself again. You know that didn't turn out all that well.”

He looked away. “I know.”

“So tell me,” she said, kindly but a little hotly. “You know I'll help if I can.”

He shook his head. “It's something… something I need to do myself, ‘Nita.”

She leaned back, exasperated. “Sepp, don't! Don't go trying to shoulder everything on your own! We can solve… whatever your problem is. Together. We're here for you. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know that,” he whispered. “It's just…” he shook himself, like he was trying to shake off his problems.

Then he put his hands on the table. “Fanculo. Dillo e basta, stupido bastardo,” he muttered. He looked up at her, a gleam of determination in his eyes. “Anita, let's get married.”

Anita leaned back, taken completely off-guard. “What the - Sepp? Married? I -” She spluttered for a few seconds before find her verbal feet again. “What brought that on?”

Giuseppe smirked. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a dangerous occupation,” Anita quipped ascerbically.

“I'm serious, Nita,” he replied. “I've really been mulling it over, and - I'm not interested in being with anyone else.” He reached over and put his hand on top of hers. “I know we've been… together… for only a little while, but - this has made me realize something. I don't just like you, I love you.” He looked into her eyes. “I want to be with you, from now on. Not just as friends, or lovers. As a unit. As two parts of a whole.”

She froze. He knew, as confident as she was in most things, that she was unsure of herself when it came to relationships. “It's… it's a big step, Sepp. A huge step.”

“I know,” he said, smiling. “But I don't think I could take it with anyone else. We've always had each other's backs, even when we were estranged.” He nodded emphatically. “So, why not make it official?”

She looked shaken, but also thoughtful. For several moments, she was silent. Is this what I want? Finally, she muttered, “You know, you're right. I try to think of anyone else, and… I'm just not interested.” She stood, pacing a bit. Finally she shook her head violently. “All right. Let's do it.”

Giuseppe felt a lump in his throat. He realized he'd been holding his breath, and he let it out in a heavy gust. “All right.”

Anita laughed. “Poor Sepp. You always did bottle up your anxiety. You could take a lesson from your brother, there.”

Giuseppe chuckled ruefully. “Non sono così sicuro. My brother letting his anxiety run wild destroyed an entire pocket dimension, after all.”

Anita leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Turned out for the best, though.” She paused. “Back on topic, though, I'm keeping my last name.”

Giuseppe laughed. “Can the kids at least have my last name?”

“Kids? You think there'll be kids?” Anita said, a wry smile on her face.

Giuseppe stood, kissing her hand and smiling. “Considering matters… yeah, yeah I think there probably will be.”

Anita grinned. “I like how you think, Sepp.” She stood, and he followed suit. They embraced, feeling each others’ pulse. “No wonder you were so keyed up, Sepp,” she said.

“I've wanted to ask you for days,” he whispered. “Took me this long to work up the courage.”

“Courage?” She said, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don't know what I would've done if… you'd said no.”

She snuggled back up against his chest, and he hugged her to him. “I didn't, Sepp. It didn't happen. Don't worry about what-ifs, now. I said yes.”

“You said yes,” he echoed. His face blossomed in a giant smile. “You said yes!” He picked her up, spinning her around, grinning like a fool. “You said yes!”

They laughed together as he whirled them around.

~~~~

Peppino heard a knock on his door, and he stood. “Ehm? I-a wonder who that-a could be?”

Gustavo peered over the back of the couch - they'd been watching TV together. “Were you expecting anyone?”

Peppino shrugged. “No… though people dropping-a by isn't that unusual these days.” He opened the door - Giuseppe stood outside. Peppino raised his eyebrows - he could tell his brother was nervous, but in a good way. “Buonasera, fratello. What brings you here so late?”

Peppino stepped aside and let his brother in. Giuseppe was wringing his hands. What has him in such knots, I wonder? “Come, fratello, sit down. What's bothering you?”

As Peppino sat back on the couch, Giuseppe slumped into the recliner. “I have some news. I'm glad you two are together, I can tell you both at once.” He grinned.

Gustavo waved a hand airily. “Well, don't keep us in suspense, Seppe. What is it?”

Giuseppe's mustache split in a huge grin. “I asked Anita to marry me, and she said yes!”

Both men sat up and smiled. Peppino stood, striding over to his brother and taking his hand. “Felicitazioni, fratello! Felicitazioni!” He pulled Giuseppe to his feet, giving him a hug so hard Giuseppe found himself gasping for air.

“Non così stretto, fratellino!” He managed.

Peppino dropped him and laughed. “Mi dispiace, but I'm so happy for you! After everything you've-a been through, you deserve happiness in your life!”

Gustavo chuckled. “Took you two long enough. Do you have any plans made yet?”

Giuseppe shook his head. “No, we just agreed to this earlier. After Anita left, I couldn't sit still. I had to tell someone. So here I am.” He laughed, flopping back down. He put a hand to his forehead. “I still can't believe it.”

As they sat back down themselves, Gustavo spoke up. “How'd Anita respond?”

“She was surprised, but she agreed. I left it entirely up to her. She'll probably have to take some time to digest.” Giuseppe's face grew serious.

Peppino spoke up again. “Niente di cui preoccuparsi, credo. She wouldn't have-a said ‘yes’ if she wasn't-a serious.”

Gus nodded. “She probably needs some space, though. It's a big deal.”

Giuseppe nodded as well. “Yeah. But she'll probably come back like a whirlwind.”

~~~~

Anita knocked on the door to Pepperman’s studio, then leaned back against the wall. I know he's here. Much to her surprise, though he seemed utterly self-centered, he made an unusually good confidant. She'd found herself talking to him more and more. Must be the therapist training.

The door squeaked slightly as it opened; the giant pepper looked around, then around the corner. He adjusted a pair of glasses. “Oh, Anita. It's you!” He paused. “Why do you always feel the need to hide when you come to see me?”

She shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Pepperman said, moving his bulbous body aside. “Watch your step, though, there's likely paint on the floor.”

Anita looked around - there were a few splotches here and there, but nothing unusual. She looked up at the pepper's lens-enlarged eyes. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

“Since we left the Tower and the medical checkup revealed I had vision problems. I only need them while painting, really. You hadn't noticed?”

Anita sat on a handy stool, looking at the floor. “I've been a bit, um, distracted lately.”

Pepperman grinned - the vast overbite almost lit up the room. “Of course, Anita, of course. The dashing Giuseppe! We've discussed him many times, I know.” He sat down on another stool. “I assume this is about your most recent… meeting with the indefatigable paisano?”

Anita looked up and laughed. “Call it what it is, Phil. It's a relationship.” She sighed. “He proposed to me today.”

Pepperman's smile didn't look like it could get wider, but it did. “And what did you say?”

Anita chuckled. “I said yes. He made a good point - when he asked me who else I could imagine myself being with, I couldn't think of a single person.” She smiled, a rare, genuine smile. “It's been nice, having him back in my life.” She looked down, opening and closing her hands. “Ever since we got… regenerated… I've felt things… I haven't felt in a long time. I feel… hopeful, less resigned.”

Pepperman laughed. “Youthful energy, no doubt.” He leaned forward, placing one forearm on his knee, looking her in the eyes. “Do you think this is a bad idea?”

Anita looked up, surprised. “No! No! Why would you think that?”

“Because whenever you come to speak to me like this, it's almost always because you're unsure of something.”

Anita leaned back, considering the Verduran’s words. Am I really sure about this? She put a hand to her chin, standing and pacing.

Pepperman nodded. “Take your time.” Turning, he flipped back the cover on his latest painting. Anita paused to look; it was an achingly beautiful portrait of a tree. But on closer inspection, she saw it was dying - the few leaves were gnarled and twisted, the bark peeling and covered in vines. Around it were splintered, broken trees, looking more like the aftermath of a tornado than a forest. “What that?”

Pepperman nodded towards a photo, placed on a smaller easel beside his canvas. “One of the gnomes from the nearby village returned to their old home recently. The forest is dying - the trees are mostly dessicated from lack of water. A powerful storm came through, and most of the forest was shattered like this. Many of the gnomes who didn't move here died. On their way back, they saw this single elderly tree survived. Obviously it won't live much longer though, and it so embodied their grief that they took a picture and commissioned a painting.” Pepperman looked at the scene, a bit wistfully. “I don't know if I can do it justice.”

Anita stared at the single tree, near the end of its life and surrounded by the dead. She shivered. “That tree is dying alone.”

Pepperman, without looking away from his work, nodded. “Indeed. For some, that would be fine. But I can't help but feel pity for something that once knew such community… only to have it ripped away.”

Anita leaned back again. “I shouldn't let my worries stop me from doing this, should I?”

Pepperman laughed. “Some people are fine being alone, Anita. But I think you've convinced yourself to be alone… when you don't really want to be.” He turned, smiling. “I've seen the stars glistening in your eyes when you talk about him, Anita. Don't give that up because of habit.”

Anita chuckled. “You know, Pepperman, for a raging narcissist, you make a good sounding board.”

Pepperman snorted. “I'm merely listening and offering opinions, much as my old mentor did. As… she did…” slowly the paintbrush dropped, and Pepperman's face fell with it. “I wish I could recall her name. Her face.”

Anita reached over and patted the pepper's arm. “Maybe someday, someone will come up with a way to restore memories.” She stood and stretched, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You're absolutely right, though. I need to grab this with both hands. I let my fear take over last time, and see where that got me.”

Pepperman smiled. “That's the spirit!” He turned back to the painting. “You know, in your opinion, would you say this painting is done?”

Anita looked at it for several seconds. “Pepperman, the sight of it makes me want to cry. I think you've done what you set out to do.”

Pepperman chuckled. “One of my teachers told me that my greatest failing is not knowing where to stop.” He stood. “We'll just let this one settle a bit, then I'll call the client.” He turned to her. “Now then. What say we celebrate out on the veranda? I have a bottle of wine I think you'll enjoy!”

Anita grinned. “You're on, apple.”

“I asked you not to call me that,” he said mock-threateningly.

The two laughed as they moved towards the kitchen.

~~~~

Giuseppe sat in the dark, leaned back on the couch. He hadn't been able to sleep. His nerves were shot, his mind racing at speeds even his feet couldn't match. He was fighting the urge to pace. As keyed up as I am, I'd probably kick on the speed without realizing and wear a groove in the carpet. He leaned forward, his hands in front of his face. What if she changes her mind? What if she can't, for some reason?

His heart was racing.

He nearly leapt through the ceiling as someone knocked on the door. He clutched his chest, trying to will his heart to stop racing. Easy, Seppe, easy.

The visitor knocked again, this time more forcefully.

“I'm coming! I'm coming,” he said loudly. He strode to the door, throwing the deadbolt and turning the knob -

Suddenly his visitor was wrapped around him. “Wh-” he managed before he felt them kissing him… and he recognized them. Anita!

As they broke apart, the lights of the breezeway threw the woman's angular face into sharp profile. She was smiling.

“Soo, I take it that's a yes?” Giuseppe said, half amused, half surprised.

Anita wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Definitely.”

They stood, embraced, for an unmeasured time.

“Soo, are you going to invite your fiancee in, or are we living in the doorway from now on?” Anita grinned as she looked up at him.

He chuckled. “Kind of lost myself in the moment, that's all.”

They laughed together as the door shut.

~~~~

Giuseppe and Anita sat together at a table, a few slices of pizza cooling between them in the box. Both were trying to look calm, but Peppino could tell they were nervous. The two had requested for him to let them use the pizzeria as a meeting place after hours, and Peppino had agreed. He didn't mind at all, but… what are they being so mysterious about?

Gustavo strolled up beside Peppino, drying his hands on a towel. “Everything's cleaned up in the back, amico. Any idea what this meet-up’s about?”

Peppino shrugged; he'd locked the door nearly an hour before. “Non ne ho idea. Did they ask you to stay, too?”

Gustavo nodded. “Sì. They also said there would be other people coming by, but… who, I wonder?”

A knock at the door startled Peppino out of his reverie - Vigi and Noisette were standing outside. They looked as mystified as Peppino and Gustavo. Peppino quickly walked over and unlocked the door. Noisette bounced in, jumping up to give Peppino a little peck on the cheek. Since she'd been regenerated, she was almost too friendly. “Hi, Pep! Hi, Gus!” She gave him a little peck on the cheek too, which made the gnome blush a bit. Then she bounced over to the table, chatting animatedly to the couple.

Vigi oozed in, grinning. “Hope ya don't mind if I don't kiss ya, Peppino.”

He laughed heartily. “Non è un problema, amico mio.”

The cheeseslime held out a gloved hand to Gus, and they shook. “Wasn't sure what t’ make o’ this invite. Y'all got any idea?”

“No more than you, amico,” Peppino said.

“That's everybody, Pino, go ahead and lock the door,” Giuseppe called.

As he did so, Anita waved at them. “Come on, you two. We don't want to keep you all night.”

As the two settled down, Peppino spoke. “So, what-a skullduggery do you two cattivi have planned for us tonight, eh?” He grinned rakishly as he said it.

Everyone at the table burst out laughing, Noisette almost falling out of her chair. “No skullduggery, as you call it, this time, fratellino,” Giuseppe chuckled. “We do, however, have something to ask.”

“An’ what's that?” Vigi said, his serious tone softened by the smirk he was wearing.

Anita folded her hands. “Well, you know we've been planning our wedding.”

“Oh yeah!” Noisette piped up. “I love that outfit you picked out, Anita! It's so you!”

Anita blushed a little, then cleared her throat. “We're not planning anything elaborate, but…”

“We haven't finalized one thing,” Giuseppe said. “We need witnesses.”

Peppino nodded. “You want us to be your witnesses?”

Giuseppe squirmed in his seat. “Well, we were really, uh, hoping…”

“You'd be in the wedding,” Anita finished. “All four of you.”

“You mean, like, groomsmen and bridesmaids?” Noisette put her hands to the sides of her head, her eyes literally twinkling. “I would love to!”

Giuseppe looked over. “Peppino, I'd like you to be my best man.”

Peppino flushed furiously; he wasn't sure how to feel. “Mio caro fratello, ne sarei felice.”

"Vigi, we want you to officiate."

Vigi took off his hat and smiled. “Still remember greetin’ you that day you almost choked out ol’ Noise. Never thought we'd end up buddies.” He shook Giuseppe's hand. “O’ course I will.”

Gustavo looked uncomfortable. “But, uh, why am I, er…”

Anita laughed. “I know, the tradition is that women attend the bride. But you're the closest thing I have to family left in this world, Gus. I don't have any female family, or even friends, left.” She reached out and grabbed his hand in hers. “And I can't think of anyone else I'd trust so much to have my back than you.”

Gustavo felt a lump in his throat - he couldn't speak. Tears welled up in his eyes. “All-all right then. I'd be honored.”

Giuseppe clapped his hands together. “All right then! That's settled… now for the 18,992 other things we have to work out for this.”

[jicklet]

Oh no I forgot you ship Ted/Becca.

😆 Hi anon! I hope this doesn't ruin your day or anything, whomstever you are. If you don't ship it or ship something opposing or whatever's your bag, I'm sure we can still be friends, or whatever we are.

But I've been mulling this all over since the finale, and this is a good excuse to get my thoughts out. Because I come from ye old timey shipping days of "the idea of them together is cool, regardless of whether it happens or not." so that wasn't really my problem with the ending.

Here are the things that are true:

I really like themes and parallels. I like connecting dots and finding connections and all that jazz

The number of themes and parallels they set up between Ted and Rebecca was delicious and very fun for me.

My reaction to the finale is less upset than it is frustrated and confused.

My frustration isn't purely 'they didn't get together romantically so it sucks.' I had started making peace early S3 with realizing it probably wasn't gonna happen

I am frustrated because I wanted all those bits of cool narrative shit they laid out to Do Something

I am frustrated because it feels like Ted and Rebecca have had very few emotionally connected scenes since season one, and what's the point of parallel journeys and soulmateism if their journeys are going to stay so parallel and not join up more, and then just apparently diverge completely

And on the apparent diverging, I don't love it but it would have sucked less if their lines just matched up more in the middle! That could be poignant! But as is, it's more disappointing than tragic, because whatever potential was there wasn't almost realized and then lost, but instead just... never really approached. It feels wasted.

The show did not owe us them getting together, but what it did give us, I found unsatisfying. That's just a bummer, man.

Forgive me this metaphor but I cannot find a better way to put it: I am frustrated because I feel like I got ridden for 3 seasons while they went 'just wait it'll feel so good' and then they were like 'are you ready?' and then just hopped off and left.

I am confused because at the end of their story, I cannot figure out what I am meant to be feeling about it.

Again, I didn't need them to get together romantically, they totally could've found some other way to make it satisfying! But. Ted and Rebecca getting together romantically would have also tied it up in a lot of ways that worked and made the narrative satisfying.

Having a romance arc that works with their character arcs and the themes they've built on is just really cool as a story.

Obviously all that parallel journey stuff would've actually been leading them somewhere, ie to each other, yay woo

And not to each other just because they've been through similar shit, but because, as that last post said, among a lot of other reasons, they've been set up well to be what the other person needs.

Romance is not the be all, end all. But:

Ted and Rebecca both want to be in love with someone, someday.

Here is someone who already understands and balances and supports them.

Like, that's awesome. Is that not the qualities you want for them in a future romantic partner?

I can't see how it diminishes their friendship if it caries on very similar to it has been, just like, sometimes they smooch. Maybe I'm just too demisexual for this idk

Boat guy. I like boat guy, but he's a chiller version of Ted. I can't find that post that points out all the parallels there, but that episode by the time we got to Kenny Rogers I was like. Uh. Hm.

It's confusing to have boat guy have a beautifully intimate evening with Rebecca, all the while having so many specific details similar to Ted, and then just act like romantic Tedbecca is a wild, character-ruining concept.

Because the show ends with Ted leaving and Rebecca miserably walking out of the airport and straight into proxy-Ted. I have no idea how to feel about that.

I could keep going, but I'm about out for now, so uh. Woe, wasted Tedbecca potential be upon ye~

[protectingtulpas]

Do you have any advice on wonderland building for someone who really struggles with visualisation? I had aphantasia until I was 15, when I taught myself to visualise but it's still very much a process, and I primarily use it to visualise maths problems in my day to day. Visualising my wonderland is very disjointed because I can't do more than a sliver of it at a time. I still haven't managed to do sound at all. Touch, smell, and taste come more easily for me so I've probably put some emphasis on that but they aren't exactly the most helpful senses for building.

Aphantasia to synesthesia communication, aphantasia to synesthesia conversation /j/ref

Not gonna lie anon, this is a little out of our breadth cuz we rely so heavily on visualization, but we've been mulling over this for ages cuz we have a friend that wants to do tulpamancy too but has such bad aphantasia she can't do much, so we have at least a few ideas you could give a shot! If any of em work let us know cuz the feedback would be epic

- focus on what you can feel! Your mindform is an extension of you. Feel your limbs and how they connect with your wonderland around u. What's the texture of the couch you sit on or the grass you touch, how's the wind feel in your hair? Think about how people without seeing and hearing get around IRL

- this one's a bit more instinctive, but generally, you can kinda "sense" the things and people around you in the physical world, right? Applying that to your wonderland and tulpa might work. We can sorta instinctively "know" about where something is before we even visualize it, and I'm pretty sure ppl with aphantasia can do that too.

- Drawing down your wonderland might work! Maybe something a bit more objective that ya can use to help judge space and distance, and then apply that space & distance to your real wonderland in your head.

Just some shots in the dark, but I bet you can figure out your own unique way to interact with ur wonderland eventually. Don't give up!

[deadinthefoam]

Hero Worship, Terrible Artists And Thursday

Trigger warning; this blog/essay contains mentions of sexual violence, racism, ableism and homophobia. Please keep yourself safe.

-

Recently, I've had a bit of a detachment phase going on.

Realising that your heroes aren't perfect is a very natural, and important, part of maturing; no matter how well put together somebody's image might be, no person is incapable of making a mistake, or doing something “problematic”. Notes app apologies seem to have become a staple of online culture, when a celebrity's old tweets resurface about some miscellaneous topic, and the swift hammer of chronically online twitter — oops, X — users falls down to determine whether this person is “good”.

Of course, when the topic is serious, concerning racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, sexual assault etc., I find that saying we should “cancel” these people shows the trivialisation of serious issues in online spaces. Though, I suppose the concept of an angry mob is something that’s been in our society for a long, long time, so it harkens back to our primal instincts of justice. That being said, you can't “cancel” anybody; rich people find their way back to the top and move on 99.9% of the time, and all we can do is watch. This is the hellscape of capitalism (late stage, if we’re going to be specific). And it is frustrating beyond all words, so we have giant campaigns to seek some kind of catharsis, hoping we can get this person beaten with virtual sticks. The internet is often a lawless place, so we create our own type of karma.

What helps us in our quests, naturally, is the fact that all information can now so easily be dropped into our laps. A quick google search is all you need to find out somebody’s achievements, and their greatest “flops”. Exposé articles and think pieces are ready for us to consume, mull over in silent discomfort, before at the end, there’s the unexplainable dread that we now have to come to a conclusion about all of this, by ourselves; there is no definitive authority on this subject, no great philosophical statement, because, as we are constantly reminded by the snot nosed critics, “art is subjective”. Suddenly, after being metaphorically waved off by the high brows, who declare us too unimaginative to understand the genius of Woody Allen, we now have to decide the morality of a piece of work, or person. We are inexplicably burdened by our love for art.

My mother once told me that “all knowledge is good knowledge”. I don’t really consider my knowing of Johnny Depp’s sexual abuse of his ex-wife to be particularly “good”. My knowledge becomes a dead weight. Clair Dederer, in her book ‘Monsters: What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People?’ [2023], (which I took quite a few cues and good takeaways from), put it best: “Biography used to be something you sought out, yearned for, actively pursued. Now it falls on your head all day long.”

Because of this, I see that the backlash from fans against a public figure can be more vitriolic than most — these are the people who actively seek out those biographies, and delve deeply into them. Of course, you have the adamant defenders, but there's something oddly heartbreaking about the fury of an ex-fan, who found such value in somebody's work, perhaps deriving a piece of their soul from it, only for the creator to do something they find to be unforgivable.

The most recent of this phenomenon, and possibly the most impactful to me personally, I've found, is the case of Neil Gaiman fans, and how his countless sexual assaults have left much of his audience feeling deeply betrayed. I have seen countless fans, or perhaps ex-fans now, speaking about how his work inspired them, made them feel safe despite the world not wanting them — only to be told that, just like so many other rich, white men, Gaiman took advantage of his power, and inflicted unforgivable trauma on many young women. Discussions of death of the author are rife; separation of art from the artist begins (if it can begin).

Full clarity here — I was never a big fan of Gaiman, not to say that makes me better than anyone who was. I do label myself as a nerd, so perhaps not being very familiar with his works makes me a poser, but I was aware of his significance in comic book culture. He was one of those acclaimed figures that people would talk about online as though he were a modern day God, praising his writing, his activism, and all around “good vibes”. I read “Coraline” once, was vaguely impressed by it, and then moved on. That didn’t make the news of his crimes any less jarring to me; many people who I met through online spaces who were fans of his are absolutely heartbroken, and the backlash felt so personal, so devastated, that in a strange, twisted way, I am intrigued by it.

How can we be so emotionally invested in people we don’t know?

Trust is very rarely a two way street when it comes to the artist you like (though it can be possible). We truly don't know anyone through our screens, no matter how hard we could try to. The outpouring of grief over somebody you don't really know is both something irrational yet rational. You are mourning a person you've only seen a speck of; because artists do put a part of their soul into their work, and if you look for it, you can see it. People grasp that with both hands, find meaning in it, and use it to find strength in themselves. That is something vulnerable, intimate — if you choose to kill the author, after they commit some heinous crime, do you kill a piece of yourself?

What I'm trying to get at here, is that relationships between artists and their audiences are fraught; parasocial, if we're going to use that word (whole nother box of worms). Going back to my first statement, I have been going through a process of carefully detaching myself from the artists I enjoy, so I save myself at least a part of the humiliation and heartbreak in case something awful comes out about them. It's a self preservation tactic based on suspicion, that isn't new. And I am not immune to it. Nobody is.

With great effort, I’ve pulled myself away from Shirley Manson, from Chappell Roan, from Jarvis Cocker, from Anthony Green, from Paramore, from My Chemical Romance (efforts still ongoing here — MCR is a terribly easy band to get attached to). Now I attempt to see things objectively, so I don't have to feverishly hope and pray that none of the artists I love have sexually assaulted a child. I'm aware I sound horrifically cynical.

That being said, the band Thursday from New Jersey will always be perfect to me.

No, no — that's wrong. Hold on.

I know Thursday cannot be perfect, because I will always stand by the philosophy that nothing is perfect. Yet, I have the most trouble detaching myself from this band. It's a bit of a twisted cycle, I will go through phases of completely cutting away any personal strings I have to the artists, and yet inevitably I return.

Probably part of the draw is the golden retriever-like charisma of lead singer Geoff Rickly, who's very vocal on his Instagram stories, and is very open to talking with fans. I'm one of those fans, occasionally asking questions in direct messages, or sharing artwork, though I'm sure I'm incessantly irritating. I find Geoff oddly comforting, as a person I maybe could have been — musically gifted, friendly, and able to make good connections with people. Instead, I sit alone in my small room at university, having dropped most of my musical interests in favour of a law degree that I'm not entirely sure I want to do. And I know I'm young, in comparison, I still have (in my opinion far too much) time left; but the existential dread isn't easy to cope with. I have to make decisions that I feel I am wildly unequipped for, in a world that clearly does not want me. Geoff exudes a kind of warmth and openness, which makes me feel as though maybe I can be as content as him, eventually.

The rest of the band are active on social media, each bringing their own unique personalities. Tucker Rule, the drummer, is the most frequent poster, sharing almost every concert he does (which is a fucking lot, considering his position in LS Dunes as well), as well as a few sweet posts about his family. Stu Richardson, bassist and producer, is relatively quiet, but his few words count just as much as anybody else's, and his handprints are all over their new single's (White Bikes) slick production. I definitely found a sense of safety in the band, after I listened to a podcast between Geoff, Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon, the two guitarists, and found that queer people in hardcore was, well, something that existed.

And the fandom provides warmth as well; a strange mix of older hardcore guys, and younger, mainly gay and/or trans fans, who create a space which is marginally more accepting than probably every other fandom I've ever been in. Then, just as I was furious about none of my favourite musicians speaking about Palestine, Sudan and the Congo, Geoff Rickly calls on stage almost every night for an end to the genocides in each of those countries, and rags on US imperialism.

It's glorious. It's all I've ever wanted in a band.

It's fucking scary.

Because now, what do I do if these people ever disappoint me? How should I proceed? Should I burn my baseball cap that I got from their website and paid extortionate shipping fees for? Should I toss my Thursday albums in the garbage? The CDs that Geoff so kindly signed, after following their concert in London during summer, I utterly blew my chance to meet him and had a panic induced meltdown in front of their tour bus?

(I still feel embarrassed about that.)

All that pain, all that grief, and hatred, and love — where does it go?

Fuck if I know.

Instead, I'd like to perhaps posit something new. Detaching from your heroes is good; but a full disconnect is usually impossible. Perhaps we should find new things to explore, new ways to fall in love, get heartbroken by, and move on from. This is just the human experience, to love and to lose, and to move onwards; not everybody in the world is going to disappoint you, despite what the cynics may argue. We are not naturally selfish and cruel. Not to bring politics into things, but those traits are normalised under capitalism.

At a point, you realise that the artist who has done something terrible is not one of a kind. They are one of many; sexual assault, in the case of Neil Gaiman, is something that occurs so often among rich, high status, powerful men, that it is normalised. Neil Gaiman seemingly did everything right, he was an ally to the queer community, he was a “feminist” by all accounts, and yet here we are. But I find that putting any more effort into someone like that, who wears the face of a good person, to be tiring and not something anyone should go through.

It will take time, but I feel as though a mild detachment is necessary, for yourself, and the artist, because you can have trust both ways, through a sense of mutual understanding. You don't realise you have something until it's gone, how fandoms mourn their favourite creators when those creators step away from fandom and social media entirely (and for good reason!) and leave us behind; like Alan Moore, Gerard Way or Ryan Ross. Their (public) biographies stop — we are no longer privy to their lives. And who are we to tell these people what they can do? Fame is a terrible thing, most of the time, yet it’s a tragedy that we keep having to learn, every time a young artist passes away.

Funny how it takes somebody dying for us to pull together.

So, I’m going to keep being annoying about Thursday, milk that youthful naivety, until I grow up a little more. I’m going to keep making my silly portraits of band members, because I know the day will come where I will have to put my paintbrush down, and permanently trade it in for a keyboard and court documents. With age, I expect that some things will not affect me as deeply as they do now, and I will understand my idols as I become closer to their age. I will learn to distance myself, with time — but I can still care. It is never a crime to care. Love is a burden I will gladly shoulder for a little while more.

I don’t want to wade into faux deep talk, and get in over my head, so I’ll wrap things up now.

Maybe I've been completely pretentious this entire ramble. Maybe all these words mean fuckall in the grand scheme of things, someone’s surely thinking “we have bigger things to worry about”, and I don’t disagree. So, I'll leave you with this: be kind to yourself, fall in love with new art. When the artists you love disappoint you deeply, scream “fuck you”, with righteous rage and sadness — cry and feel. Write that think piece. Burn a book if you want to.

But do not ever give up on yourself for trusting somebody. You still have love to give to those who better deserve it, and your love is worth so much more than you can ever imagine. Love is neither rational, nor logical, but it is real.

[wumblr]

every couple of hours i walk silently in the dark down the spiral staircase in my mom's friend's unbooked airbnb past my mom, who is sleeping 20+hrs a day at this point, holding my breath to check whether i can hear hers to try not to wake her, 20+hrs sleep deprived, and inevitably i make one noise and she wakes up and i ask her if she's hungry and she asks for morphine and i say i never expected you to exhibit that kind of junkie behavior and i ask if she wants an ondansetron first except i call it a stomach pill and after i repeat myself three times because her hearing is gone she takes it because the morphine puts her stomach off and she can already only eat a tablespoon of the blandest possible food with no variation in texture which i've been fucking up for a week barking up the wrong tree trying to put spices and flavor in things she refuses to eat at all and i keep telling her if we don't figure out how to get her to eat i'm going to call the nurse and ask her to bring a nutritional IV and she says that might be okay and that's how i know it's really starting to go south, because there are very few things she hates in the world more than keeping a needle in her arm. if i had to guess, that's why she refused treatment, not really anything about the treatment itself. and i go out to smoke and i mull over being in the downwinder state the year RECA expires unexpanded with the lowest cancer rate in the country because it's been over thirty years since the comprehensive test ban and the risks from smoking or drinking vastly outweigh the risks from radiation exposure at this point, and nobody here smokes or drinks, and i think about whether i will be so lucky to catch mine at stage 1 when i get it and thus have the option to beat cancer on the first try by surgical intervention just like everybody else in my family did except my aunt who went for chemo instead of an oophorectomy because as her doctor friend advised her it would "probably work, like dropping a nuke on an anthill" but due to the state of my life i don't think i'm going to have regular cancer screenings, so it doesn't really matter. then my mom's friend comes by with her dog and talks about how she has to cash out her stock portfolio because she only has $5k in charles schwab and she hates whatever the other account was but they'll freeze her withdrawals for a week if she tries to transfer it out and she can't do that while her property holdings are as curiously unrented as they've been this year. and i think about how i've never even had $5k. and she asks if i want them to start over bridget jones' diary because she's trying to make my mom watch the raunchiest comedies she can find and they only just started it and i say no thanks and silently go back upstairs to not sleep, punctuated by soundtrack clips of chaka and aretha

[ghoulangerlee]

I'm on blood thinners for the next 5 months as par for the course for DVT treatment. (Anywhere between 6 to 9 months depending on if you have any fall back during the initial month of the diagnosis, I started treatment in Nov, so I'm on a 6 month course.)

BUT I have to decide if I plan to stay on them for the rest of my life or if I'm going to stop them in May. There are of course, pros and cons of both of these things and I've been trying to think of it on those terms lest I lose my goddamn mind.

If I go off of the blood thinners and develop another DVT then I'll be put back on thinners for the rest of my life anyway—I'd have no choice then.

If I go off of them and have to wear a boot again, or any kind of cast, I'd have to take a course of them for as long as I was immobile.

Because ofc my family history of blood clots isn't enough, now my veins have been affected by one so it'll never be the same again, which, increases risk even more.

I could take an aspirin a day once off the pradaxa, but there's no guarantee it'll keep me safe cause I was taking an aspirin a day when I first started wearing the boot and developed DVT anyway.

Pros:

I wouldn't have to worry about the blood clots anymore

The pradaxa doesn't have harsh side effects and doesn't interact with any of my meds

Relatively good outlook this way because I don't have periods anymore so there's no excessive bleeding, the hematologist said I was "moderately" healthy all things considered (chronic pain and stomach conditions)

Aspirin is really fucking bad for my stomach

Cons:

Can't take NSAID pain relievers

Wake up every morning at 6:30am 🥺

If I get a cut I will bleed a whole lot

So I dunno, still mulling it over. I have some time definitely before I need to make a decision, so we'll see where a few months takes me

Gooder news is I'm fully out of the boot on Wednesday. Weaning myself down to wearing a shoe full time again, and I'll be doing some PT to strengthen my ankle back up. Slowly but surely getting there.

[transmasc-tabris]

Introduce this mystery OC! I wanna meet them :)

Hey sorry for sitting on this for literal days I have no excuse besides the fear of being cringe. Stupid since I clearly decided to be cringe anyway.

Since the two who've taken over my brain most are two of the potential Rooks I've planned, and I saw a 'meet your rook' tag on a few posts, I'll answer it in that format.

Also putting the rest under a cut because this is really long and disjointed and rambly and includes a shitty drawing

Anyway, since he's the first one I'm going to play since I'm incredibly basic and starting as an elf whenever I play a fantasy RPG is basically tradition at this point

No, I don't know what compelled me to draw him looking like a court from aliexpress but it's all I've got.

Name: Issala Laidir

Nickname/Alias (besides Rook of course): 'Quiet', 'Crooked Fingers'

Pronouns: he/him

Lineage: Elf (born Dalish but doesn't consider himself that)

Faction: Lords of Fortune

Class: Rogue (saboteur)

Potential Romance: Neve is most likely

Potential Friendships: Davrin and Bellara (obviously others are possible too but those are the ones I've spun little scenarios in my head about. I've been trying not to think toooo much about the upcoming companions so I don't develop wildly inaccurate images of them and get disappointed)

Potential Rivalries: Lucanis. (I like him well enough but I keep thinking about an early game choice that was spoiled and this Rooks most likely route in that scenario wouldn't sit well with him)

Also putting Solas down for this since while I think they'd end up on at least alright terms with each other, I really don't think they'd start on good terms, though I obviously don't have a plan for for things would turn out.

Scars/Tattoos: Well, obviously there's the giant burn on half his face (and extending to his ear, hence the little gold thing) (people think it's from a mishap with either explosives or poisons since he uses both and often tries and fails to diy new types. it's not but he lets people think it is), and along with that there are quite a few others on the rest of his body (some of which are from explosions or poisons), including some rather significant ones on his stomach (from other events). I mulled over whether or not he'd use tattoos to cover or at least distract from his scars, but in the end I decided that he wouldn't let anyone close enough for long enough to do that, and as far as his face is concerned, he'd rather just deal with it as it is than possibly be mistaken for Dalish.

(note - that's not out of some intense dislike or dismissal of the Dalish people. More that he barely remembers having been part of a clan (not that he remembers much of his life all that well before like age 13 - totally didn't give him that because something something slapping my own issues onto a made up guy) and by the time he has much agency and ability to consider where he wanted to go in life, he felt that it was too late to try to connect with that part of where he'd come from, that he'd gotten by without it for over twenty years and could just keep on that way. looking forward to figuring out how his feelings on that might change)

Oh and the ones on the opposite side of his face. Bar fight, because of course he'd do that. And of course it would have started with him standing up for a woman he was into. She really didn't need defending but appreciated him trying. Then he got someone close to her killed, they broke up and she took the kids (mutually agreed as the best decision). Good times all around.

Notable appearance details:

Large hat and either long sleeves or some other sort of arm covering, at least whenever he's out during the day.

Two gold teeth - gold because lords of fortune aesthetic. Made as replacements after the woman in the already mentioned bar fight punched him in the face.

I tried my best to draw it but not sure how well it came across, but curly hair.

Blue scarf - a gift from that same woman. He definitely keeps it for practical reasons she didn't change the trajectory of his life or anything.

That jar was supposed to have a beetle or similar bug in it but I am very very much not skilled enough to depict that. He likes bugs. They're just interesting little creatures.

Stupid tall boots.

Unseen - a little pouch of ashes in his pocket

I gave him a trait I generally like giving characters, which is that he, for lack of a better way to say, looks like he doesn't know how to have a face. Like every expression he makes is... not necessarily creepy but always a little stilted awkward and generally just a bit off

Anything else to share: Overall, I know he's not the best or most interesting or original character but I like him and am looking forward to bringing him to life.

I imagine him starting out as pretty jaded and apathetic, like he doesn't see the point of getting involved in anything bigger than himself or in thinking of the future, since he tried that before (when he was younger and a lot more idealistic) and it went absolutely to shit and that was kind of because of him over estimating both his skills and what he could handle mentally. So, it'll be fun to figure out how he handles having to be part of something much bigger than himself.

Oh, forgot to explain his name. It was given to him by a vashoth mage who saved him from Some Absolute Shit when he was young. At the time he was too injured to tell her his name, but she didn't want to just call him 'elf' or something like that, so she just chose the first thing that seemed appropriate, and even when he tried to choose a different name nothing felt quite right, so it stuck.

Okay uh, doubt anyone is still reading at this point but Rook 2. Just using a picrew since I don't have a drawing of her at this point.

Name: Anaan Mercar

Nickname/Alias (besides Rook): Sunny/Sunshine

Pronouns: She/Her

Lineage: Qunari (Vashoth)

Faction: Shadow Dragons

Class: Mage (continually torn between evoker and death caller)

Potential Romance: Davrin

Potential Friendships: Neve, Emmrich (again, obviously others as well. I think Taash might be a good possibility but it's hard to say right now)

Potential Rivalries: Again, Lucanis, for similar reasons.

Also again Solas, but I feel like it would be more intense with her and might take her longer to be at least grudgingly okay with him.

Scars/Tattoos: Snake tattoo over her left collarbone. Not some big story behind it she just thought it might look cool. And since she did do blood magic in her youth (I go back and forth on whether she'd have given it up by now or she'd view it as a tool like anything else - one not a lot of people have the competency to use and that can easily go wrong, but still) and the blood magic cutscenes in da2 stuck with me, there are a fair number of scars on her forearms for blood magic reasons.

Notable Appearance Details:

She is Always. in a dress.

Dramatic red lipstick.

Do I know 100% if curly hair is canonically something qunari can have? No. Is it still oddly important to me that she has curly hair? Yes.

Glasses (in my mind they're square)

Horns cut mostly off, the bits that are left capped with silver.

Always wearing some sort of silver jewelry, usually earrings or a bracelet.

Anything Else to Share:

Sees little distinction between her self and what she considers her purpose in life - can't think of a better way to put that, hoping it makes sense

Very much the sort to put on a happy or at least contented face no matter what she's feeling. In part that's just her putting whatever needs to be done first and just generally putting others before herself, but I also keep thinking about what growing up in a place where people would look at her and see a member of the race their nation is at perpetual war with and just how... she's never been able to blend in (the only way you don't stand out as a seven foot tall woman with very broad shoulders is if most people around you look like that) and I think it would dawn on her rather early that most people (to an extent even including her human family, not going into them much though right now since my brain feels like mud) view her, whether they'll say it or they even realize it, as inherently threatening, so I imagine her being constantly aware of how she comes off to people, very conscious and careful of her appearance and actions, and I keep picturing her as having this air of vague sadness. I already imagine she'd be able to drop that most easily and quickly around Neve, and underneath it she's generally very caring and will talk nonstop for hours if you let her.

Okay I'm sorry I typed all that.

Oh, might as well add that her name is the one her biological parents gave her (damn, way to set your kid up for success I guess), but officially her name is still the one her human family gave her, she just never uses it and would mostly rather forget it

[oathkeeperoxas]

💖🦄🫘💥???

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

I want to finish my two poor codywan fics 😭😭 they've been languishing since 2022... I need to put them out of their misery

🦄 Is there a new POV you'd like to try writing?

Maybe Bradley! I've been mulling over over a 5+1 piece of outside povs of Mav, and while there are some I would be comfortable writing (Slider, OCs) I don't know if I can properly grapple with the layers Bradshaw jnr has. I don't really like Bradley as a person, but as a character I have to admit that he's got so very much going on for him. I've dabbled in some unposted other wips but this idea would really be cutting to the heart of him and I think it would be fun to try that!

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

ahaha probably not what you're expecting but after all the selkie talk for saintspy in discord now I wanna do a selkie au for them so so bad 🥺🥺 there's no one else in this kitchen but I WILL cook

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

I wrote about 20k of pure angst over nano (squeezing Ice like he's a chew toy) and it doesn't really make sense out of context but I'll let you guess what wip it's for ;) more under the cut! I really do want to finish this fic this year

New Year Writer Goal Asks

He spoke to Slider a few weeks ago, so he shares the conversation because he can’t think of anything else. They’re both back in San Diego for the week, but soon enough they’ll both depart – what point is there in talking about the house, or what’s new that’s happening around here, or what’s changed since last year? Mav nods along to his news of Slider and then tells Ice about a few of his former TOP GUN students that he’s run into while on deployment. Ice asks about if they’re keeping up to TOP GUN standards and Mav hems and haws and says yes but that there’s always room to learn and grow. The Iraqis are fond of RPGs, and that’s the next frontier they’re learning about: how to fly to avoid getting shot down. Neither of them mention the US soldiers which have been captured on foreign soil. Ice doesn’t want to think about that in relation to Mav, and it’s one more thing that he puts out of his mind. Easier to talk about killing people instead.

Is this all they can talk about? Death and work and the weather? They used to laugh and argue and test themselves against each other. Ice hasn’t smiled once in the whole time they’ve been here, and Mav has cracked a few jokes but they’ve fallen flat for them both. Mav has their feet pressed together under the table, and he’s still got that look on his face that he did yesterday when he tried to ask Ice what the fuck was going on – he’s still worried. Why? What has Ice done this week to deserve that loyalty? Is fucking him really all it takes? Ice is bad at that. Mav could really do a lot better. They don’t live in the same country anymore, let alone the same state, and it’s pure chance that they have this week together. Ice pushes the last of his pasta around his plate and Mav steals a bite from him. Ice doesn’t protest. He’s pathetic and he can’t even hide it and Mav is pitying him for it. Mav is going to leave him. It’s a fucking miracle he hasn’t already. Ice is an unpleasant person to be around these days. He doesn’t know how to have a normal conversation anymore. The only things he can talk about to Mav are work and life-admin tasks. He shuts the fuck up and Mav talks a bit about the new food he’d tried overseas and how nice it was, then tells a funny story about the people there who fed it to him. Ice isn’t really paying attention. Can’t focus. He feels like complete shit, like he’s been hit with a car or been on back to back shifts with no sleep for forty-eight hours or like someone has beat him half to death. Barely grunting answers when Mav asks a question. Doesn’t finish his food. Pays with his credit card at the counter and doesn’t even bother looking at the total. Drives Mav home with the streetlights blurring around him.

Mav is quiet when they get into the house. Ice hangs his jacket up and takes his tie off, the rasping of the silk against his rough hands only darkening his mood. He doesn’t turn any of the lights on and Mav doesn’t either. It’s late, and they should go to bed, and Mav is brushing his teeth but Ice escapes outside to smoke. He doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or not. Inside, Mav doesn’t talk, kisses him, even though his nose scrunches up at the tar in Ice’s mouth. Ice apologises for it and goes and brushes his teeth. In bed, Mav kisses him again but doesn’t do anything else.

He’s not going to do anything else.

Ice closes his eyes for a long moment before reaching out. If the sex is what’s keeping Mav with him then he has to try. He has to show Mav that he wants this too. Mav rises against him eagerly; so he’d wanted this, but hadn’t tried to get it. The confusing sickness in his head gets heavy again. He pushes it away. If he controls what they do, if he doesn’t let Mav ask, then they can have normal sex and that’s fine. It only goes bad when he thinks about it too much, so he doesn’t think about it. And he does want to touch Mav. On Ice’s terms, with Ice in control, it’s so good to feel his wide shoulders and taste his musk and kiss him languidly. On Ice’s terms, sex with Mav can make the rest of the world stop mattering.

He wants that. He needs that.

He pushes Mav back into the bed and swings a leg up over him. He’s still wearing his pants and shirt, but he gets Mav naked and touches every part of him he can reach, kissing and licking and sucking. Neither of them say anything. It’s not that kind of night. Mav’s hand cups the back of his head, strokes his jaw, supports Ice and brings him to where Mav wants. Ice tastes his sweat and follows it, nipping and biting so that Mav will look at the marks on his skin and know that Ice was there, Ice wanted him, Ice did this to him. Taking Mav into his mouth is blissful. He tastes better than dinner did. Ice strokes what he can’t fit in his mouth slowly, not wanting to rush this. This is what he’s been missing, for months on end – the ability to get the fuck out of his head. When Mav firms his grip on Ice’s skull, Ice moans and softens his mouth and lets him. Like this, giving Mav what he wants – letting Mav take – there’s nothing better. Nothing better at all. 

He jerks himself off afterwards, quickly while Mav is panting and sprawled in the blankets. At least he knows what to expect if he’s touching himself, and if he doesn’t think about it then it’s fine. It’s all fine. He can finish and get up and wash his hands and go and sit on the verandah and have another cigarette and it’s fine. They don’t have to talk about it, so they don’t. End of story.

[abimee]

For what it's worth, I've been following you for a few years and I do think your skills as an artist have grown. You've seem to get more confident in the way you build the human body and face, your coloring has gotten more complex, and in general I feel like I've watched you settle more and more into a defined and unique art style.

I know it can be frustrating to not see the growth or changes you want but it does break my heart to see you be so harsh on yourself. I think you're genuinely extremely skilled and I always looked up to you as an artist, even when I was going through art school myself. I feel like you have a way of capturing people that's just so emotional and lovely and I want to see more of it in my own art, though I've been struggling to capture the same vibes too...

It's also never too late to pick up or try out something new, to find new skills or return to old ones. I loved the fics you posted, your prose is wonderful, and the way you speak about your characters is so thoughtful. It does hurt to feel like you've lost out on the time to do something, but please don't give up completely. I think you have a lot of genuine skill and talent and it'd be lovely to see you take it in any direction. Regardless of where the future takes you, I hope you have a nice day.

THANK YOU.... THAT MEANS A LOT TO ME TO HEAR.....

ive been like, trying to mull it over in my head because sometimes what i think is one way might sometimes morph into another and idk i dont think its its a dislike for my own art but like a sort of external critic ive decided to consume thats trying to sway me one way. i hate to be like ''the support i got on my art when i was younger was sort of really bad for me'' but maybe the years of being pushed To be an artist by adults and people around me saying they like my art only when its X or Y thing has like made me prey to feeling like im drawing not for myself. like i failed the expectations put on me and i dont have the chance to ''re-do''

maybe i just need to like reconsider what i like drawing or try smthn new that isnt like. hinged on this idea in my head that i need to keep peoples attention or what support i have because like. thats another fear is always like ''what if all these people who say they like my art one day just stop and im left alone'' but thats a different plate of cookies for a different glass of milk. i think i just need to figure out what I personally want out of my art and stop hinging everything on years-old circumstances

but then at the same time i dont really have any idea what i would want to do differently, i really like what i draw now but idk maybe theres something else for me in some way. i think im worried of just alienating people so used to one thing from me that changing that will just feel wrong. not really in like art style or anything but just like What i draw. i feel like ive always kept to the same concepts and ideas and imagrey that changing it will be strange or worse. but maybe i do just have to make that chance and not be so scared 😞

[retrocontinuity]

looking back over the years (maison ikkoku ep. 27)

Well as one does throughout their lives, or at least as I often find myself doing, I am on yet another rewatch of Maison Ikkoku. I tweeted briefly about being struck by the animation in episode 8, which I had never noticed until this round. This time I'm also impressed by the amount of diegetic music in this series that I never really processed: music on the streets, pop songs in restaurants and cafes, even a sad Japanese folk rock song when Mr. Ichinose reveals over dinner that he's been laid off.

I've always loved the last few minutes of episode 27 and have mentioned it before, so it's no surprise that this time around I still love it, but it's always worth a few more laudatory words. The episode as a whole is unremarkable: Soichirou goes missing after Kentarou takes him out on a walk and he runs off after a stranger with yakitori. Kyoko at first is unconcerned about his absence, telling Kentarou that Soichirou will return when he returns, but she begins to mull on the dog's presence in her life, in turn revealing her memories of both the human Soichirou while alive and her grief in the days right after his death. Finally, she goes out to look for him, not realizing that Godai has already put in a Herculean effort to find the dog. Lost in thought, she walks the hill back to Ikkoku-kan, only to come across Godai and Soichirou walking home.

There's a maturity and patience to the final moments of this anime that you rarely see anymore. The pacing is glacially slow, with Kyoko's thought processes happening in 1:1 real time. When she first sees the silhouette of a man walking a dog, she breaks out into a delighted smile and calls out, "Soichirou-san!" The man turns around, the music swells, and you see a close-up of Kyoko's face. She is stunned, but by what, we're not sure. Does she see her dead husband, or does she realize at that moment that it can't possibly be him?

The music fades. The wind blows. In an agonizing half minute of silence, the train passes, and the streetlamps flicker into life behind her, one by one. When the streetlamp right above her lights up, we cut away to a shot of her face. She says her husband's name one last time, this time desperately, as if trying to grab a hold of a dog that has, unleashed, run away from her. She tries to say it a third time, but the name dies on her lips. She knows her husband is dead, and yet, can it be? It is like you are reliving her grief over the death of her husband with her.

Then: the streetlamp above the silhouetted figure lights up. It is, of course, Godai. We knew that, she knew that. Yet the light had to travel from behind her to above him, from the past to an unspoken future, before she can accept it. She calls Godai's name tentatively. He, bathed in sunlight and artificial light both, smiles down at Soichirou-san, sends him back to his rightful owner. In a moment of soundtrack genius, Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again, Naturally" begins to play (but only in those regions that had the license to include it). When we next see Kyoko close-up, the moment is broken. She is present, in the present. She is smiling again, and Soichirou licks her face.

At 15 it seemed to me obvious that Godai should get Kyoko at the end, because he was the main character. At 20 I thought Godai was a fool to chase after a woman while being destitute in college. At 25 I thought about the hard choices Kyoko made to give up a life of security with Mitaka for a life of little space and even littler pleasures with Godai. But at over 30 I see this story for what it is now, a love story through and through. Mitaka never had a chance. Kyoko's heart had made its choice long ago; the seven years we spend with these characters is for her to make peace with that decision, to learn to listen to herself, to give herself space to grieve and hold space for Soichirou's death while also making room for Godai, like the long two minutes at the end of episode 27 which end with Godai returning Soichirou, metaphorically and actually, to her.

Some might call these scenes filler or saving animation budget. I think this is one of those rare moments where the anime truly internalizes the source material and gives us something unique to its own medium. Takahashi's original often makes Godai a butt-monkey even in his most dramatic moments. It is, at heart, a comedy as much as it is a poignant romance. The anime on the other hand takes an almost cinematic approach to "filming" the characters, who are often given moments to breathe and emote with just their faces as if this were a real movie. Nothing more is said in this moment in the anime, besides Godai and Soichirou's names. Nothing more needs to be said. The anime trusts the viewer to put the pieces together and link the parallel images of Godai and Soichirou to Kyoko's mental state. This episode comes after Kyoko admits at Soichirou's graveside that she isn't ready to move on and Mitaka/Godai both propose and ask and are asked to wait for her response. What a perfect moment to draw it all together. It isn't that Kyoko mistakes Godai for her late husband. She sees them both and knows who, and what, they are. It is that she needs time and our patience to cross that distance and walk under the same streetlamp as Godai. And in this episode, as he does throughout the series, Godai gives it to her.

[timexticksxby]

THREE DECADES

"UNCA! Look at what I made! Look, I did th-" "NO WE MADE IT!"

Sprawled out on one of the sofas in the Cronus cabin, phone held far enough back so that his ears were safe from the never quiet yells of his niece and nephew, and so that Milo could perch on his chest to be in shot for face time, there was no helping the easy smile. As soon as they'd been up, he'd had to put away any plans for training, or helping out around the camp until later in the day. Hoodie tugged on to try and mask the fact he was absolutely in better shape... and the white tank he usually tossed on showed the clear lines of the tattoo beneath.

"Is that me?"

The chorus of yes and obviously really wasn't needed, but he like teasing. Hand made birthday card, him on the front with both of them, and then Lizzie and her husband. Calvin's parents, too. No mistaking it. It was the first time he hadn't been able to swing by, but they both seemed happy enough to talk to him. It's back and forth, poking question after question to keep them talking. Filling their heads with stories of his wild adventures, none of them... Even close to what he was actually experiencing but they didn't need to know that.

Half an hour later, Lizzie's other half had wrangled the pair of them away, so it was just Cal and his sister. Who...

"It's not plastic surgery, is it? Because you look better than I've seen you look in years." He can't bite back the laugh, open, nearly knocking Milo off of his chest shaped perch and having to catch the pup before he hit the deck.

"Rude. You saying I don't always looks like perfection?" Corner's of his eyes crinkling, amusement in his words, even as his thumb became a chew toy. "No, no, I told you. Seeing a bit more of the world. Hitting thirty and never seeing most of the world outside of Manhattan didn't sit right. Paris does not smell as good as it looks."

Enough truth that it didn't feel like a complete lie, and believable enough that she wouldn-

"So how dangerous is whatever you're doing? And don't try and bullshit me, Cal, we both know you don't bulk up when you're travelling. I get that you want me safe, and the kids, and everybody else, and I'm not gonna push, but I need you t-"

"I'm being safe, promise. Got a... Lost count of chance at life? I'm not gonna waste it. He wouldn't have wanted that. Just... Something I gotta see through. When I can tell you all about it? I will. In the meantime... Wanna see some of my friends?"

He'd been taking pictures whenever he got the chance. Snippets in time, physical reminders of the memories. Anybody that let him take a dumb tourist selfie in Paris, a few pics of the guys around camp, candid's of whoever he could. Nothing magic, nothing dangerous, but just proof that he wasn't alone. Enough to help ease her concerns, he hoped. There was a lull, just...

Chatting, like they had before. Catching up, reminiscing on things from when they'd been kids. Talking about Noah, about... Everything Before Camp. Losing himself in a time before everything got chaotic, and the world was somehow simpler.

"So how many of those guys you gonna try and get a birthday present from?"

And there's him choking on air, and an alarmed look before he can even try and hide it.

"No- Why the to- Elizabeth."

"He told you to live, right? We both know he didn't mean keep mourning him for the rest of your life, Cal. I know you don't think that's yours to give away, but he left it for you. Just... Let people in, okay?"

He doesn't have an answer, and there's a face full of Milo informing him they'd been talking long enough for him to get antsy, and he knew she was right. But admitting that was just a dangerous move.

"I'll speak to you again soon, okay? I'll... Think about it. Give him my love when you take the kids to see him for me?"

Affirmation, one last round of talking with said kids, a brief chat with Lizzie's other half, and he was hanging up. Milo let loose, and perching himself in the grass to... Mull it over. Feel mortal again before things got godling heavy again.

[nodutra19]

I've Been Mulling Over Utena (SPOILERS)

Alright, if you're watching Utena now or are planning to do so, skip this post cuz I'mma spoil, like the whole thing.

WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF SA, CSA, INCEST, AND EMOTIONAL ABUSE

A few weeks ago I finished Utena. I discovered it through one of Noralities videos, I think, and some time later ordered the Blu-Rays when they were on sale.

I really wasn't sure what I expected in all honesty. I had little to no preconception of it. I think by the time I got the Blu-Rays I'd completely forgotten everything Noralities or from whoever I discovered it had said; I even forgot about an old meme on my phone that puts Utena avis at the tail end of Communist.

I've been mulling over just what I experienced, and I think I have something of an interpretation of one element of the series, although I imagine the Ikuhara scholars have long beaten me to this conclusion.

I watched Noralities's video (don't bother informing me on drama or controversies, I'm too old to care about shit like that. I only care if they're bigots and have committed material harm, and I don't mean just property. If they're not like Vaush or any given alt-right YouTuber, I don't care) on Nanami since I really wasn't sure how to feel about her, and it definitely opened my eyes to things.

In my eyes, this series is very much about intimacy, particularly the ways our comprehension and expression of it can be warped to exploit us. Before Akio's sins are shown to the audience, we see Nanami's fixation on Touga, and one's response might be to either fetishize it or mock her and her behavior, but she's literally 13.

In a sense, a sibling is the "safest choice" of a "prince." Unlike the others bond in life, you don't have to forge it: the set-dressing is already there for you. There's a pre-established connection, especially if you're like Kazuo and Miki. It's an almost primeval love, a love one can stay in if they so choose, but like the chick they will only suffocate and die within its shell like the ageless members of Ohtori. This is at least from the point of someone like Nanami, and I say that as someone who was once similar to her.

I'm not going to get into details, but my abuser and I once played with such ideas. I 12, they 14. They shipped Ken and Minako from Persona 3, which should tell you everything. I was the "Ken" in her mind, and she did indeed infantalize me. Maybe I'm being too dramatic, but this was my experience. I was "into it," but shortly after we broke off, I came to realize how strange it was, and the whole sordid ordeal cast a shadow over me until I was 16. We started off as simply playing as siblings, me wanting a "Big Sister's Affection," and they a Little Brother to dote on, but things developed. I was pressured into dating, mostly through guilt-tripping, putting me in the position of a caretaker, as one who must clean the mess she makes, at one point her threatening suicide if I left, her cutting me off from my friends like all abusers do.

This was very much the theme in my experience.

The fixation Nanami has on Touga is the most explored and thus illuminates the disconcerting synchronicity the characters experience in their betrayals and troubles.

Kozue and Miki are a more disturbing mess of tangled intimacy and affection, and this could be attributed to the lesser age gap. Nanami can be curtly dismissed as a childish attachment, but the closer maturity between the Kaoru heightens how frightening such attachments can be, especially for twins. Their bond is embryonic, beyond primeval.

And by consequence of being like Nanami, this also means I was much like Tsuwabuki, a child who through unhealthy images disseminated in society comes to believe and perform ideals antithetical to his development, maturity, and health. Nanami, like my abuser, as Noralities points out, repeats the cycle she herself is blind to, and because her main example has been glamorous images of knightly princes at night and day atop pale horses eternally in love, specifically Touga, she unwittingly and subconsciously mimics him in her treatment of the younger compatriot who himself has been taught to tangle emotional and physical intimacy and perhaps even to suffer mistreatment.

Later on, Touga essentially assaults Nanami, and here Kunihiko and the crew clarify that what Nanami desires isn't sex or even romantic love. At first I was confused on what she wanted, but then an idea came: Nanami herself is confused because she's been confined to Touga and the imagery of men like him carved in stone and painted in art.

This has been me blowing out my ass despite how fancily I can write. I hope I was able to provide a long-time fan with some insight. I guess I've come to Nanami's defense, eh? I guess I was embarrassed of her because she reminded me so much of myself. Maybe that's her point.

Maybe I've been analyzing fantasms, I dunno, y'all tell me.