#it's a rejection of the singular great man

[nhaneh]

funny thing is I don't really have any interest in hoarding knowledge or resources for myself in any way, I'm just bad at publishing stuff because I feel like that'd require a bit more stringent quality control than what I might expect of something made largely for my own use.

sometimes I think maybe I should set up something like a google drive or a git or something to just throw my personal- and work-in-progress stuff for people who are interested, but I dunno what limits for space or bandwidth or anything are like.

like I'm sure some people would possibly find the ColorSet unpacker python script useful?? It kinda sucks through and I want to make a better version of it and maybe one that could work as a standalone executable instead? and possibly a packer counterpart to the unpacker?? But also I keep thinking like "would this even be useful to anyone lmao??"

in theory you could probably make some kind of art program plugin that does all of this for you - even the bit with loading actual colorset information into layered colorset pairs, but I mean that's a lot of effort and I still largely use a 20+ year old version of Paint Shop Pro myself so...

[ozzgin]

“Do you mean it in the sense that Reader goes through monster boyfriends and is quick to dump them for the next catch”

Yep. Just a vile reader who’s breaking hearts left and right. I think you’ll write it beautifully if you channel your evil side like when you play the sims! ☺️

-👘

Yandere! Monsters x Heartbreaker! Reader

You've always been a free spirit, unable to settle on a single partner. Even after being abruptly transported into a different dimension where you are the only human surrounded by monsters, this habit of yours has persisted. Except monsters, as you will see, are harder to discard than humans. They aren't as willing to accept rejection.

Content: female reader, reader is a player, monster smut

Ah, how troublesome. He won't stop calling. You lazily pick up the phone and look for the options to block the number, clicking your tongue in irritation. You'd specifically told him you're not interested in anything serious. "Who's calling?" The man shuffles under the sheets, still half-asleep. "No one." You respond curtly, glaring at the intruder. "It's morning already, by the way. When are you leaving?"

You slam the door shut before the overnight guest can bring up the classic "Will I see you again", and exhale theatrically in relief. Finally alone again. You look up and shake your fist menacingly, as if whichever entity governing this world is responsible for your bad luck. You've always been utterly indifferent towards committed relationships, and yet most fuck buddies end up head over heels for you, dragging themselves at your feet like pitiful beggars. Pathetic and a pain in the ass to deal with.

Well, someone must be up there, because your situation feels too much like a sassy answer to your complaint. You've just rushed out of your apartment a moment ago and last time you checked, the concierge office wasn't on a rocky hill covered in deep cracks erupting with lava, stretching out into the seemingly unending horizon. Where the hell are you? You turn on your heels, reaching for the door, only to find out - who would've expected? - that it's gone. Great. Your immediate explanation is that the guy you've mistakenly brought home last night must've slipped something in your drinks. All this for a sloppy, clumsy eating out.

The worry of being drugged vanishes quickly once the first creatures of the realm appear. Hard to believe anything on the market could cause such detailed hallucinations that can sniff and touch you: Some alligator-looking minions with eyes popping out of their backs slid out of a nearby crevice to investigate the newcomer. Ironically enough, they seem to be the ones shocked by your appearance. Once they've hesitantly assessed your presence, they scurry aside to discuss their findings. "What could it be?" You hear one mumble, completely baffled. For whatever reason you can understand their language, so you decide to speed up their detective work. "Ever heard of human?" You shout, with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The beasts gasp in unison. "Nonsense! Straight out of a children's tale!"

Eventually, after a lot of confusion and pointed fingers, you manage to figure out your predicament. You've somehow landed in a world of monsters, where humans are more of a fictional, mythical existence. Thankfully they don't seem to consider your potential as food, though you're not sure if the sudden, massive ambush of creatures is any better. The alligator-like quadrupeds brought you to the nearest settlement and had to form a barrier to stop the curious beasts from almost trampling you in their frenzy to see "the human". You've garnered ridiculous amounts of attention, yet such reaction is to be expected; how often would an earthling wander into their world? It could very well be a lifetime singularity for many.

As the days pass and you become more accustomed to your fate, you begin to feel that familiar calling. It doesn't look like you'll be going home anytime soon and a lady has her needs. Additionally, whatever popularity you had back in the human world is a minuscule fraction of what you're currently experiencing here. In the eyes of the monsters, you're an exotic treat that cannot be refused. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself a partner, or two. Or three. Who keeps count nowadays?

You remember stumbling upon a postcard print of "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" at some museum shop. You immediately picked up the thick cardboard, eyeing the artwork in amusement. A woman enveloped in the limbs of two octopuses and very obviously enjoying herself. Who even came up with the pairing, you wondered at the time. Whatever the artist was thinking, you can certainly see his point now. The first one to receive your indecent proposal was an eldritch creature of sorts, something straight out of Lovecraft's lucid dreams. Dark, long tendrils sprawling out of an amorphous core - which you assume is its head based on the bulging, glistening orbs hungrily staring at you. Your whole body is throbbing under the tight hold of the slippery tentacles, wrapping around you in masterful intricacy. You could see the result featured in a bondage magazine, though you don't...can't ponder much on it given the fact you're, well, stuffed with monstrous appendages. You doubt any genital variation back home could compare. The monster is even polite enough to occasionally wipe away the continuous stream of drool spilling out of your whining mouth. Towards the end you barely have a voice anymore, throat sore from the loud moans and merciless constriction. Your muscles contract all at once, overwhelmed by the sensations. Whatever sensitive areas you might have are presently aching under the needy fondling of the creature.

Mind-blowing. The memory is enough to have you wet and squirming with desire. Even more so when you consider the other varieties of monsters ready to fuck you senseless. Soon enough you're surveying the neighborhood for the ideal suitors and thankfully you don't have to worry about making wrong choices, as there's always a next target. Thus the following weeks fill you with a particular kind of nostalgia (among other things and fluids), reminding you of the bed-hopping in the human realm. From werewolves drowning out your whimpers with their desperate howling, to hooved legs of hybrids violently thrusting into you until you're a dripping mess. "Look at me" is what one of the beasts demanded in a low growl, turning you on with its ragged voice and clawed hand encircling your frail neck. Although you had to ask it where exactly to look, given it was covered entirely in eyes.

You yawn and stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about the depraved fuckfest you're currently recovering from. You might've overdone it with the last one. Alas, you came enough times to make up for it. Just as you turn around to readjust the ice pack, you hear a loud thud coming from the entrance. You (carefully) sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the shadow figure approaching your bed. It's one of the lizard monsters, swiftly slithering across the wall and landing over you with an angered expression. "Where the fuck is that dog?" it inquires with a hiss. "What? Who're you talking about?" you mumble, wildly confused. "The one that dared to touch you."

Oh, not this crap again. You almost roll your eyes. "You never said anything about us being together." Is your annoyed reply. "What? I thought it'd be obvious you belong to me!" You're about to question the strange logic, but your couple's quarrel is interrupted by the sound of shattered glass. The many-eyed monster crawls its way in with fluid, uncanny movements, releasing a deafening screech once it notices the lizard in your bed. "Off! Get off my human now!" is what it finally manages to verbalize in its fury. Okay, it seems to be the common belief. To clear off any shred of doubt remaining, the ceiling gives in and crumbles like putty under the weight of an enormous tentacle. You scream and cover your face from the bits of rubble flying everywhere, but you're quickly sheltered by another thick appendage looping itself around you, against the wrathful protests of the lizard. You did not anticipate the eldritch creature could expand to this gargantuan size.

For the first time since arriving here, you feel homesick. At least back home you could get rid of your annoying admirers with the slide of a button. Is there a larger scale alternative for cosmic blasphemies? You shake your fist (up? down? you can't tell in the darkness of the tentacle shield) towards the entity once more. Damn it, you've learned your lesson. Several steps must’ve been skipped before reaching a pack of angry, possessive monsters fighting over your ownership.

[thewistlingbadger]

This is going to be said poorly but I must say it. Some people will never understand the significance of jinx, silco, and their relationship because they've never lived through any similar experiences. They don't know what it feels like to be completely isolated, rejected, and unloved. That's why they don't understand that the devotion silco has for jinx is something to be envious of. His complete and total loyalty and undying love that he only gives to her. He loved her more than anything and did everything to show it without care or injury.

Do you know how amazing it would be to have a singular person in the whole world who completely understood you? That's something so rare it's basically impossible and she found that in Silco, a man who loved her with all he could. A man that took care of her, nurtured her, and protected her. That's what Silco was to Jinx. That kind of connection and understanding is something to envy, even on Silco's side. After years of suffering alone he finally found someone who knew what his pain was like and he was able to help her through that pain.

To see someone with trauma and mental illness not only be a protagonist but also have heroic moments of triumph was so great. Jinx is fantastic representation.

[heavenlymorals]

Dutch Van Der Linde: An Outdated Progressive

(Warning: This post contains period typical attitudes such as racism and sexism as well as spoilers for RDR2. This retrospective is also pretty damn long too.)

I love Dutch Van Der Linde. Honestly, he is one of my favorite characters ever and just the whole concept of his character and the philosophy of his character as well is something that just sticks with you.

He is charming, intelligent, cultured, charismatic, a right Messiah, and a right bastard all the same time.

But the thing that I believe people most remember about Dutch Van Der Linde is his romantic image. What I mean by this is the things he stood for and the things he wanted to change.

This makes Dutch have a positive image pretty quickly from the very start. In the first scene with him, he's encouraging people, rallying them up, and giving them hope in such an awful situation. He saves Sadie from a terrible fate and asks Hosea to send someone to bury her husband. Arthur and Charles talk fondly of him. He makes it clear in the train robbery that he despises the systems that keep men rich whilst most people starve.

Whether or not Dutch was always cracked, to the characters in the game, he was a great man because of his beliefs and because of his empathy/sympathy.

But what gets me is that a lot of people in this fandom misconstrue Dutch's character into being what we see today as a progressive. I see people saying things like "Bill shouldn't be racist, he's with Dutch's gang" or "why is Micah in the gang" and other similar things as to where people get confused as to why characters with immoral belief systems are respected and active heavy hitters in the gang.

This isn't saying that Dutch isn't progressive because he IS. For his time period, he was VERY progressive.

However, before I get into that, I want to establish some context in terms of the time period that we are talking about.

Theodore Roosevelt was the 26th president of the United States from 1901 to 1909. He once had dinner with African American leader Booker T. Washington. This one singular act of simply eating with one another as a white man and black man was so scandalous that it became an outrage to many politicians that the PRESIDENT, the literal face of America, was having dinner with a black American leader.

Teddy later put out this response: “The only wise and honorable and Christian thing to do is to treat each Black man and each white man strictly on his merits as a man, giving him no more and no less than he shows himself worthy to have."

A lot of people would take this event and try to say that Teddy Roosevelt was a progressive equivalent to our time when that is simply not true. Roosevelt was racist to many groups in his personal writings and he believed in the racial hierarchy, even though he had respect for any self made man.

Was Roosevelt a progressive? Yes. For his time, he was a progressive. He was pro union, anti monopoly, and created many government departments like the FDA. He also believed in the merits of a man. But the thing about historical progressives is that their standard of progression doesn't fit in with our criteria anymore.

Dutch is the same. Is he a progressive? Yeah, of course he is. But is he a true progressive in our standards? No. Not really.

This is why the gang allows racist gang members. That is also why the only repercussion to such racism is if the victim of it is willing to dish something out like Charles slamming Micah on the ground or Javier pulling a knife on Bill. It is also why the gang is pretty traditional and rigid in their gender roles. It's also why queer people (ie. Bill) are casually mocked within the gang too.

Another thing too- Dutch is a romantic. People misconstrue that with being a progressive when that really isn't the case. Romantacism is a philosophy that was a rejection of the realism of the Enlightment. It focused on Idealism. The thing with Romantacism, though, is that it was a super white-washed philosophy. It was made to mould into white cultures and belief systems specifically for white men. Dutch could say all men are equal and he may believe that, but it's clear that he doesn't see equality in the same way that we see equality today.

What I mean by this is that any man is equal but if told otherwise, that man is the one who has to prove them wrong. It's his business and he should be the one to deal with it. That's why other gang members don't back up Charles or Javier if they find themselves in a situation with another gang member who is racist. It's their responsibility to deal with their own beefs. It wouldn't be like today where we all publically shun racism.

Remember when Dutch, Arthur, and Micah come back from Sadie's cabin? Micah says something about not wanting to share a room with Bill and POC, to which Dutch can hear and doesn't say anything and Hosea only says "Get yourself to bed" instead of calling Micah on what he said. Same goes for Arthur too. He may condemn and do something about violent racism, like how when he helps the doctor in Rhodes get his wagon back, but he doesn't really say anything when Micah or Bill say racist things to Charles, Javier, or Lenny. That's their business, so to speak, and they should be the ones handling it.

Also note the poc's characters relationship with Dutch. Javier likes Dutch because of the revolutionary ideals that he believes in. Charles likes Dutch because he treats him fair. Lenny likes Dutch because Dutch is far more progressive than other white men, but he also calls out Dutch's romantic philosophy because it doesn't really include POC or their struggles. Dutch sympathizes with their struggles, but he cannot emphasize, which is the problem with his romantic philosophy. It's a culture that is a house to white people, but POC are only guests in it in terms of its European and American tradition. Yes, Dutch hates what the Europeans did to the natives, but given the context beforehand and the things he says, he hates less the violence and more the upheaval of the lifestyle that he wants, which is one that is connected to nature and earth. I also find it interesting how the only person Dutch kinda defends from racism is Lenny, the same boy who calls him out for reading too much into Miller and not into reality. It could very much be Dutch unconsciously trying to prove Lenny wrong.

And the thing with Dutch is that he isn't squeaky clean when it comes to racism either. He's racist too, but he's racist to groups that we don't see as marginalized anymore and this goes for Hosea as well. The biggest example of this is with Italians, who weren't considered white at the time, same with the Irish.

We have this conversation between him and Hosea:

"Have you ever met an Italian strongman before?"

"Not outside the circus."

I shouldn't have to explain that.

And there is also when Bronte set them up.

"That greasy son of a bitch, he set us up!"

It doesn't sound strange at first but context matters a lot. Though 'greaser' is a slur that we see thrown at Javier for being a Mexican multiple times in the gang, that slur was also used against Italians. So Dutch saying that is him still purposing that slur but in a different way.

Another thing that I noticed is that whenever Dutch wants to speak with someone who isn't white or wasn't deemed white at the time, he would dumb down or slow down his speech first before the person he's speaking to shows that they know English, in which then he talks normally. He doesn't automatically consider that hey, these are people who are intelligent and understand English.

Here are two examples:

This is Dutch to Bronte.

"Why do you take his son?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said why DID you take his son."

He fixes the way he talks as soon as he realizes that Bronte speaks english.

And then to Eagle Flies.

"How do you DO?" (In the game, he slows down his speech and emphasizes the do.)

"Not well, sir."

"I can see that."

This is such a subtle detail but it shows that even subconsciously, Dutch isn't as admirable as we sometimes like to make him out to be in terms of OUR time period and that we shouldn't be surprised when other gang members or Dutch himself do or say things that aren't cool.

And of course, there is the sexism of the gang and that Dutch is shown to be sexist multiple times in the game.

"There are two theories about arguing with women and neither of them work."

"Good Lord, a few more like her and we can take over the whole world." (This was a sarcastic dig at Sadie)

And given the rigidness of the gender roles in camp and that the girls are barely in any missions and are mostly just doing house work, Dutch supports this system because just like how political Romantacism wasn't really for POC, it wasn't really for women either.

He can also be religiously prejudiced as well, though this shows up only once in the game. When you get into Saint Denis, Dutch says this:

"Here we are in this strange land of Papists and rapists."

Papists is another word for Catholic and given how he connects them with rapists, it makes it quite clear that he doesn't like them all that much, which makes sense given that Dutch is some form of Protestant and the general disgust regarding Catholics at the time. There is also the fact that a lot of reasons why Italians, Irish, and Hispanic people dealt with discrimination is because of the Catholic background in many of their cultures.

Again, it's a small detail, but when you look at the time period he says that in, it opens up many doors to many other social issues that were there at the time and how Dutch, despite being better than many, is also still a man of his time and this idea that the gang is this beacon of prosperity and progression is generally overemphasized to something that it is not.

Again, I love Dutch's character and he was a progressive but it isn't surprising to see these negative equalities come out from him and from the gang as an extension. They all have their flaws, even if those flaws are especially jarring at points.

Historical people almost always have historical attitudes, guys. It's just the unfortunate truth.

In any case, this is already way too damn long and I hate proof reading so bye 😃

[lightningant]

niche but sadly very core Voldemort meta for me (which not based in anything but vibes I will admit) is that I think he has a lot of unresolved emotions about his parents and it manifests in bizarre ways because he doesn't even understand that's what's bothering him

I'm obsessed with giving him a parent [after he makes at least one horcrux] because a part of him wants to be nurtured, celebrated, and understood. A strong factor "Lord Voldemort" is his determination to essentially create himself; become singular, separate from any line. There is no first name-surname, he is only himself. Because being a part of a line has done nothing for him. It has been wielded against him, it has provided no care, it amounted to shallow indignity on both ends.

So I do think he'd get a lot out of, forgive me for saying this about a platonic relationship, a parent who matches his freak; a boymom who prioritizes him and is willing to engage in complete enmeshment to soothe his feelings of rejection and displacement.

And he knows he's never going to get it, despite not knowing he wants it. So he wants to be the parental enmeshment boymom.

I see Snape as the clearest taste of this, with his abnormal closeness to Voldemort in the inner circle, learning dark magic no one else seems to get to learn, and his blood/class status being completely irrelevant. Voldemort wants to ignite something in him that his past self never got. Your muggle dad sucks. Your pureblood family won't associate with you. But here I am, to raise you as a man like you should be raised, help you become singular and isolated from all others except myself, and I will not interrogate why this is so important to me.

But this only extends to young adults straight out of school; he detests children, and the younger they are, the more repulsed and anxious he gets. I don't think Voldemort trying his hand at boymoming to express what he thinks a fair and just parental influence would look like would make him a good parent. Not even in the gothic way, he'd just be mediocre and avoidant. Sad!

Anyway. Having a mentor figure he's spoken to and had a relationship with is a great spotlight for making this dynamic more stark. A late mentor means a third parent that disappointed, abandoned, and rejected Tom Riddle, confirming Voldemort's hypothesis he must create himself anew, and thus another parent must be eradicated from his personal history and his hurt must be buried where it is no longer relevant. And I'm aromantic so platonic derangement is innately more appealing to me in every situation.

[mystic-orb88]

HAZBIN TRAILER OBSERVATIONS!!

Okay, so this shot tells us a lot about the geography of The Pride Ring. We see that the Hotel’s wayy out, really sending the message that the sheer concepts of hope, redemption, and everything it stands for is outcasted and rejected by the rest of the city. The Clock Tower is in the heart of the city, showing how it is the main cog in the machine. The Porn Studios building on the left, poooossibly the Cannibal Colony or Rosie’s Emporium on the lower right. There’s also a lovely balanced distinction of modernity shown in the absence or presence of neon lights dotting the buildings throughout various districts. This shows that the Sinners prefer to live in conditions similar to those of when they were alive. Heaven, as well as a weird red moon are also visible.

This looks like Cherri’s attacking the Hotel with one Hell of a pyrotechnic display (Seriously, how does one attain such a massive singular smoke bomb??) Possibly because she is aware that Sir Pentious is taking sanctuary there. Luckily Alastor’s Radio Tower looks like it came through unscathed.

Looks like Alastor and Charlie are taking a stroll in the same park in the Prequel comic.

I love how everyone looks so fake and nervous and then Razzle and Dazzle, Charlie’s lil’ protectors/assistants/plushies are just looking so pure and adorable. Actually zoom in on their faces, do it. Also, as soon as you see Husks face, the frame can officially get worse. Also there’s a bag of drugs or.. something on the table, I’m guessing PCP knowing Angel. It bears resemblance to the bag in the pilot.

It’s also here, on the right side of Lucifer. So we now know some sort of celebration was at the Hotel, and Lucifer visited. Decorations are still up.

Travis. What the Hell’s he doin’ there?? Love to see him back for a gag. Also, someone try and read that script. There’s a memo or mail box on the side that is overflowing. This building looks similar to a setting in R2NinjaTurtle’s Valentino Board Animatic. Same with Vox’s Tv Screen Lair Thingy.

Nice shot from the ‘Happy Day in Hell’ Song number of the Cannibal town with a lovely late 1800s-early 1900s theme. Bring back this fashion, or like a cool, modern-inspired version. Please. Also, there’s a lil’ Chimney Sweep who looks like this very Dick Van Dyke-inspired O.C. I drew a while ago (maybe it is him, you decide).

Alastor took the trouble of talking to this nice overlord chap while filming this nice man who is in the process of committing unspontaneous combustion.

This shrunken voodoo head is here, while Alastor and a nice lady with a dead fox scarf and an oversized version of Voldemort’s wand repurposed as a cane are in the background.

Just appreciation for how perfectly this frame captures their personalities.

Charlie: You’re doing awesome, my script is great, isn’t it? I’m so happy at this moment.

Vaggie: I’m too tired for this crud.

Angel: I’ve read some real interesting scripts in my time but none as terrible as this one. Also someone get me outta this coat, it’s filthy an’ it reeks of the 40’s.

Niffty: *gremlin* Seriously, stop looking at him like that girl.

Husk: How the f*** did I end up here?? It’ll all be over soon.

Alastor. How to sit like a sir while plotting unavoidable carnage.

Pentious: Lollypop, lollypop oohh lolly lollypop, lolly pop, lolly pop- WHERE DID HIS HAT EYE GO?? WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT IT?? IS IT LIKE AN EXTENSION OF HIMSELF, LIKE HOW ALASTOR CAN MAKE HIS MICROPHONE DISAPPEAR UP HIS SLEEVE??

Nothing much about this one, it’s just one of my favourite frames in the trailer. I absolutely love how expressively and awesomely animated Alastor is here. Really captures his theatrical tone. And we get a snippet of Rosie’s voice!! Also the song is FIREE. It will hit so hard when it comes out and further context is given.

[urlovebrini]

i'm super shy. i'm all nervous 'cause you're on my mind all the time, and i wanna tell you but i'm super shy (part 2)

⋆❀ — includes: diluc, heizou, thoma, xiao x gn!reader

⋆❀ — content: fluff, gn! reader (mentions of skirts, makeup, and lipg loss with heizou), first degree burn with diluc, simping, pinning, one-sided attraction, not really one-sided attraction, some

⋆❀ — a/n: here is the second part of the super shy imagine, i hope you like it. if you have some ideas you can comment or send an ask. i tryed be just with everyone but sometimes the words flow more for some characters.

⋆❀ — psd: my asks are open.

part 1 [cyno, wanderer, kaeya, alhaitam] | part 2

I'm super shy, super shy But wait a minute while I make you mine, make you mine I'm all nervous 'cause you're on my mind all the time I wanna tell you but I'm super shy, super shy

⋆❀˖°·🧋࿐ ࿔˚ xiao

the summer had unfolded great so far, the climate was nice, and and the clientele of wangshu inn radiated an affable spirit, some of them will tell you tales about their travels, their lifes, the most old would give you pieces of lice wisdom. and even some of tell would let you generous tips. so the summer job was being a success so far. if tell was only want thing that bother you, it is that you seem to have a singular thought remained unshakably lodged within your mind all the time. a silent young man residing on the inn's uppermost floor.

his precense had woven itself into the fabric of your thoughts, a constant wonder that refused to fade, as the days unfold, there is in you a compelling need to draw closer to xiao. the egnimatic presence of the wanshun inn that has ocupied your thoughts seems to beckong for understanding beyond mere silence. and you find yourself making little excuses, the cross ways, but there is a nervousness that doesn't let you talk more than a simple gretting, but every time your smile and say hi to him and he acknowledges you with a hum you heart skips at beat.

one day, your heart guides you to his balcony, bearing and offering: his favorite meal, meticulously prepared with care. you walk to him, your heart racing and your hands slightly trembling. but you go on, extending the dish to him. waiting for his reaction. as you observe him, chewing your lip nervously, trying to decipher something behind his always calm and stern face. its almost quickly, but there is a shift of surprise and puzzlement in his eyes, he doesn't say anything. though he doesn't reject the food. you give him a little dumb and shy smile, and take your leave trying to control your shaking limbs, and you hear him. his voice, a hushed tone. "what are you doing this?"

his eyes studies you, looking at you so profund, you smile to him more as you tell him "just wanted to do something nice" and you leave trying to look as if you are not running for the situation. xiao look at you as you leave him alone, with the plate of almond tofu in his hands. his heart making strange leaps.

xiao finds himself pondering about you in the quiet moments, he has percieved the looks on your eyes, he wonders why will you look at him like that, with those shining eyes, and the timid voice as you greet him everyday. it's as if you hold an anticipation, a quiet expectation, in the depths of your gaze. he's left to wonder, what prompts you to look at him with those shining eyes, as if you're anticipating something yet to come?

you are a very perplexing mortal, the intensity of your regard a mix between an earnestness and vulnerability, stirs ripples of intrigue in his quiet life. as he stands amist the serenity of the wangshu inn, he is drawn to the pretty enigma that is you.

the days continue to unfold, and the end of the summer marks the final days of your work. fueled by the beat of your heart. you find yourself again on the terrace where xiao often resides. anticipation fills your breath as you approach him. the last chance. tough you know he's noticed your presence, his gaze remains fixed ahead. taking a place a few metters to his side and looking to the landscape, you speak almost quietly "the summer is coming to an end" he remains in silence so you continue 'and my time here is also coming to and end". you share, attempting to weave a thread connecting your words, yet shyness clouds you when you feel his unwavering gaze over you. despite this you look at him and extend him a fistfull of bracelets you haven crafted during you free time in the summer. you smile to him trying to not look strange "for you, its an keepsake" he gives you a look that you can't decipher as he takes the bracelets and you smile to him showing him the ones in your arm. you don't want to lie to yourslef but you feel like he almost smile. and you are to turn away as his voice stops you.

he steps closer to you, taking your wrist gently almos afraid, his gaze fixed now in you and his quiet words take shape "if you ever find yourself in danger" he stops almost like thinking his next words "if you ever find yourself... if you ever need, need anything. just say my name" his eyes shine with a strange light his words almost as an unspoken oat 'just say my name and i'll be there in an instant". he speaks to give you a little grip and leave you alone, with a smile that doesn't seem to leave your face

And I wanna go out with you Where you wanna go? Find a lil' spot, just sit and talk Looking pretty, follow me You and I side by side

⋆❀˖°·🧋࿐ ࿔˚ heizou

amid the familiar surroundings of your family's restaurant. the sounds of clicking pans and the aromas that fill the air. and yet, admitst the rush and the chaos, there's only one preoccupation that consumes your mind – him. and you feel that maybe you are going crazy. why are you losing your mind over a man?. heizou swirl your toughts and you feel almost powerless to the feelings that are growing on you.

to the entrainment of your family, ever since heizou began frequenting the restaurant. you who was a rare visitor, now frequently daily, assisting with serving the tables, and receiving the patrons. and as you go about your task, you catch yourself stealing glances towards the entrance, half-expecting to see him saunter in, as if summoned by your thoughts alone. It's absurd, really. Your heart flutters like an unbridled butterfly, your mind races with scenarios and conversations that have yet to happen. It's a symphony of anticipation that you're powerless to mute.

your family watches with bemusement, well aware of your newfound fascination. and the amusement of your family grows, at your spectacle of trying to catch heizou's eye. every day, the colors you choose are a touch more vibrant, the neckline a little more daring, the skirt a little more shorter, and you make up meticulously applying, rimel, gloss, and more. your mom always playfully asking when you're finally going to strike up a conversation with your "boyfriend," teasing that she wants to invite him over for dinner at home.

heizou indulges in his meals, almost always in his business. yet, beneath his seemingly absorbed exterior, it's obvious that the detective is absolutely aware of your growing fascination. while his attention might appear to be fixed on his food, a book or his papers, his eyes have a way of seeking you out, their fleeting glances holding a secret understanding. it's exiting, it's not really a mystery for him to solve but it's unfolding right under his nose.

that day was not so different you almost so shyly always stealing glances to him. you are not fooling anyone less him. you give him a dessert that he knows it's not even on the menu of the restaurant "treat of the house" is what you say. he arches and eyebrow, his lips curving into a knowing smile "are you attempting to sweeten me up?" your eyes open a lot and you shyly look at him "amm no? maybe yes? maybe no?" he let you be for the moment.

as the shift winds down and the patrons begin to thin out, heizou decides the time has come to delve more. he approaches you as you trend to a table, your eyes shine as he nears "you are so dreamy, i solved your mystery quite some time ago". surprise dances in your gaze, mingling with a tinge of self-consciousness "my mystery?" he nods, his smile playful "yes, so, how about we unravel another enigma together? how about a date?

the word hangs between you, your heartbeat quickens, caught in the gravity of his words. "a date?" a slow, knowing smile graces Heizou's lips, his tone gentle. "yes, i have a strong inkling about that."

You don't even know my name, do ya? You don't even know my name, do ya-a? More than anyone You don't even know my name, do ya

⋆❀˖°·🧋࿐ ࿔˚ thoma

in the simple rhythm of life in inazuma, there was a constant revolt of unspoken emotionions, a constant beat, a flutter of attraction to seemed to have life of its own. days to you were spent in a usual pattern—work, home and the occasional outing—but amidst all that, you heart was entranced by a single figure. your mind seemed to belong to the know fixer of inazuma, your heart itself entrapped by him.

thoma, oh so handsome, kind and with a brightness that left you in awe. it was hard to you fathom that someone like him would ever cast a second glace in your direction. how could someone so captivating even spare a fleeting glance in your direction?. yes, he was amicable and always kind, but he was like that with everyone. yet your feelings expanded beyond mere attraction everytime he come to the flowershop you work in, but it was difficult to ignore the little pain in your heart, a bittersweetness. the flowers he purchased, flowers for "his lady" house.

moments of dejection visited you, as you were convinced he didn't even know your name. still, every time your paths crossed, or your eyes met, your heart would race, uncontrollably.

unbeknownst to you, thoma was indeed aware of you, the pretty lady of the flowers, he saw your presence, felt the nervous energy that surrounded you in his proximity. While it intrigued him, your shyness tugged at his heartstrings. he admired your smile, and theand he found himself contemplating the idea of engaging with you on a deeper level. as the day

the day draws to a gentle close. the flower shop, on the brink of closing for the day, as the last customer's footsteps fade, you're left with the comforting embrace of the familiar surroundings. yet a surprise awaits for you. thoma stands there, his presence like a breath of fresh air, unexpected and exhilarating. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, but you manage to compose yourself, offering him a warm and friendly greeting. as he mustered the courage to step forward, his curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"excuse me," he begins, a hint of bashfulness in his tone, "i feel like i should have heard your name before. i don't mean to be impolite, but could you tell me again?" thoma's voice is palpable, and his smile is as radiant as ever. As you share your name once more, he nods with a warmth that seems to light up the surroundings. "

"thank you for refreshing my memory," he confesses, his gaze never once faltering from yours. "Hey, would you be interested in joining me for a meal? Allow me to treat you, of course." the offer is genuine, his intention clear,

I'm usually pretty talkative, what's wrong with me? I don't like that Something odd about you Yeah, you're special and you know it You're the top, babe

⋆❀˖°·🧋࿐ ࿔˚ diluc

in the heart of bustling mondstadt, your quaint cafe-bakery stood. it might not have reached the peak of popularity, but it was a beginning to you and your dreams. little did you anticipe that the owner of the dawn winery would become a frquent visitor. master diluc claims of not having a sweet tooth didn't detter his visits to procure treats to his house staff.

each time his presence graced your café, your heart couldn't help but race at the mere sight of him. nervousness took a hold of you, making hard to keep your cool. tought you were known amongst your customers for your talkative and cheerful nature, something about diluc's presence managed to unravel your usual composure. your attempts at engaging him in conversation stumbled and faltered, showcasing your nerves more than you'd like. despite that, master diluc ever the gentleman, met your moments of awkwardness with calmness and kindness.

on a calm day at the cafe, the familiar chime of the entrance announced his arrival. diluc walk in. your heart raced in response, but you did your best to compose yourself and greet him warmly, hoping he didn't notice the subtle flutter in your chest. he request a selection of the new pastries for his staff. your mind racing to find a way to engage him in conversation, and with a mix of anxiety and determination, you offered to serve him a beverage. Your voice trembled slightly as you mentioned your latest coffee creation, promising it wasn't overly sweet.

unbeknownst to you, your bright eyes and the sparkle in your smile were the only things that diluc need to say yes to you. diluc agree to the offer, albeit the stipularion that the drink better not be too sweet. your eyes spark in genuine eximent and smile to him oh so sweet, and he could no help you would smile like that more often.

as he lean in the bar, observing you. his presence seemed to enchant you, making it hard for you to really focus on your work, and your distraction led to an unexpected mishap—a slight burn from the steaming nozzle. the sound of pain in your voice follows for the shater of the glass. and in a instant master diluc was at your side, concern in his handsome face. lost for a moment, you get back to downplay the accident, but he halts your protest in an instant.

"give me your hand," his firm tone resonated, his words carrying a touch of admonishment. caught in the intensity of his gaze, you hesitated for a moment before extending your injured hand towards him. his touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers firm yet tender as he examined the burn on your skin. as he took you towards the sink, you found yourself lost in his stern presence. the cool water brought imediaty relief, as you look at him.

diluc's gaze was unwavering, as if he wanted to ensure that you were truly okay."You should be more careful," he said, his voice a mere whisper, his tone now softer, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "i'm sorry," you murmured softly, casting your gaze downward as you held your hand under the water.

he sighed gently, his gaze softening as he regarded you. "don't apologize. i just want to make sure you're okay," his voice carrying a soothing reassurance. He reached for the first aid kit, skillfully bandaging your hand as he spoke. the way his hands worked was gentle yet precise, and his proximity set your heart aflutter even as the tension in the room seemed to dissipate.

the sound of the entrance chime broke the spell, reminding you both of the outside world. diluc stepped back slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he nodded towards the new customers who had just entered. "I'll take care of them. You stay seated and rest," he said, his voice holding a note of finality. you found yourself obeying his words, watching as he effortlessly attended to the new customers. when he comes back to you, his gaze fixed in you "i think it would be wise to close for the day and let yourself rest," he suggested, his tone firm. despite you try to protest his resolute gaze silenced you, "okey master diluc" he nodded in approval and stepped back, allowing you to wrap things up.

the streets of mondstadt are quiet as he walks beside you. you tried to insist that it wasn't necessary, that you could manage on your own, but his gentle insistence won out. as you reach your doorstep, his usually composed expression seems to soften. his hand comes up to gently caress your cheek. "rest well. If you need anything, don't hesitate to reach out," you nood in response your voice soft "thank you master diluc".

his gaze held a hint of something more, a sentiment that seemed to linger unspoken between you "diluc" is his answer. before the words could find their way out. his hand reach your, taking the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss over the bandage. and then, with a soft smile, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a mix of emotions that swirled within you long after he had disappeared from sight

⋆❀ — a/n: hello, i finish this, first time thinking of a story for certain characters, and I'm not 100% content with some ones, but writing is practice. i repete my ask are open if someone wants to give a suggestion for a story. i hope you enjoy this.

[inubaki]

Soundless Confession

-part 2

Adam shifted to sit parallel from him, purposely setting a few feet of distance much to Lucifer’s relief and disappointment. It seemed Adam would read cues enough even if it struck Lucifer as a more rejected reaction. Between Adam’s legs, the human did nothing to hide his erection and Lucifer had a harder time looking away. Angels could be as fluid as they wanted with their gender and it had been one of the first altercations Lucifer had brought up. Why start humanity off by deciding a gender? Why not let them decide? But he was rebuffed and pushed further and further from the project with each attempt he made. His siblings seemed determined to fit humanity into a strict mold without any freedom to choose.

Seeing Adam, after all the centuries of work and planning, was a hollowing feeling. The human man was given a voice with no words to speak. A member was a singular purpose and Lucifer was only growing more determined to intervene. After a moment Adam cupped his hands around his mouth and released a series of tweeting whistles and chirps. Lucifer was, at first, taken back until a flock of birds emerged from the forest. Falling upon in a variety of species to the varying calls of Adam’s voice. They all answered the human in kind all of which, to Lucifer’s shock, Adam mimicked perfectly back. Even the duckling that he given him a way earlier, wrestled for Adam’s attention with an excited quakes. Adam picked it up and looked to Lucifer was a shyer smile. The human was.. showing off?

*Lucifer couldn't help but smile. It was adorable to see Adam wanting to show him the animals. He had tried making some animals but the Elders had told him his ideas were too wild and outlandish. Biting his lip, he watched as Adam gently, careful not to touch him, place the duckling on his lap. The duckling quacked and Lucifer felt his eyes widen with unshead tears at the beautiful sight.

Adam showed him the birds with that shy beautiful smile of his, cooing softly at the animals and at Dēoful. He showed the wings if the birds and then gestured to Dēoful's own white wings.*

"Yes. We do have similar wings, don't we."

Adam tried to mimic Dēoful, to make the strange noise he was making and failed miserably, only able to make awful noise in comparison. Adam's eyes welled up with tears and stopped trying. Maybe he just wasn't capable and that only belonged to Dēoful alone. Lucifer saw his tears and immediately thought something was wrong.

Adam didn’t meet his eyes this time, seeming to sneak away from Lucifer with a shroud of gloom. The angel’ watched perplex, remembering reports of Adam’s consent contentment and perfect behavior. But what Lucifer saw was anything but. Even the birds hopped back over to Adam in reaction, bunching against the human in a attempt to comfort him.

“Hey…” Lucifer sat the duckling on his lap and reached out to gentle brush Adam’s shoulder. The human raised his head, looked down at Lucifer’s mouth and open his own hesitantly. What came out sounded between a cough and senseless babble when he again attempted to mimic the angel. Till a look of frustration veiled Adam’s face and sunk his face into his arms to muffle a sob. “Adam what ar-“ Lucifer froze and gasped aloud. “Ohhhh!! Silly me!!” He playfully knocked his knuckles against his own head. “You’re trying to mimic me— oh golly! That’s great Adam!” The fact that Adam showed interest and from HIM of all the angels was a fantastic feeling. -though he ignored that he was ONLY Angel Adam had physically met. For now at least-

*None of the angels in Heaven ever took him seriously and that infuriated him beyond belief. But more often then not, he felt ostracized and discarded without a thought.

But here…Adam saw him. Tried to mimic him. It was the best feeling he had ever felt and he was going to hold on to that feeling for as long as he could.*

"I could teach you, Adam. Teach you to talk so we can communicate." Lucifer pointed to Adam, his hand on his chest. "Let's start simple. 'Aaaaaa.'" Lucifer repeated that sound over and over until Adam was copying him perfectly. Lucifer was very proud of him.

From that moment on it became a routine for Lucifer to visit Adam. His siblings, with their indifference and obsession with their plans, never came to check on either of them. Dispute all their work, all their plans; Eden was slowly starting to feel more like his own endeavor. And in extension; Adam. His human that could mimic the different sounds of nearly any animal and could decipher even the smallest differences by scent or sound alone. None of the angels knew this, only simply dapping down the names Adam breathes into the animal’s beings. Just another thing only Lucifer knew about him and the garden itself. “Waterfall” Adam pointed to the newest addiction with a gusto. A ledge framing the stream that rippled down into what Adam called a lake. Lucifer smiled but rolled his eyes at the plaintively boring function that Sera had so beamed at. It didn’t even have loops!!

“Very lovely” he said patiently. “Thawk” Adam said with a building of pride in his expression. The human swiftly scooped Lucifer up and sat him down next to him to watch the overview of the waterfall. Kicking his legs off the cliff side before falling his attention directly back to Lucifer with a look of anticipation. “L-u-cifffffffy” he recited slowly.

Lucifer looked at him in surprise. He was…saying his name? He beamed at him with tears in his eyes. "Lucifer…can you say that? Or maybe Luci?" Adam gave him a bright smile as he hugged him. "Luci! Luci! Luci!" Lucifer giggled and nodded feeling honored that Adam was learning his name. He placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed it gently, watching as Adam nuzzled it. He wanted Adam by his side. He was the only one who understood him. The real him.

"You truly are Father's greatest creation." *Lucifer said and he watched as Adam just smiled, not quite understanding what he was saying but knew from the tone that he was being praised.

Lucifer may have gone overboard with*, "Good boy," *Because not only does Adam reacts to his name, he responds to being called good boy. And he was. He was Lucifer's good boy.*

Adam beamed with infectious warmth. His eyes screamed of affections he lacked the reticulate descriptions to understand. Only that it involved Lucifer. It gripped Adam in an icy grip that each time could be their last time seeing one another. Leaving only the garden and the whispers of orders. For the words he lacked Adam displayed with physical affections he mimicked from the other animals. Approaching slowly to see if Lucifer was receptive, before laying his head on his companion’s shoulder. Burying his face passed the fabric to nuzzle his cheek against Lucifer’s lovely facial spots. He adored the colored Lucifer turned when he kissed or nipped him. His biting being something that turned Lucifer’s cheeks the quickest.

“Luci…” he said again against his ear. Wishing for more praise while all but pushing his larger frame into Lucifer’s lap.

*Lucifer, as always, blushed a bright yellow, his cheeks warming as Adam practically cuddled him on his lap. He was so cute…every time he kissed his cheek, it made Lucifer want to pin Adam down and nip at the exposed flesh. Adam has no idea how much control he had been forcing onto himself. He was so afraid that if he snapped, he would scare Adam with how he wanted to mate him like how he saw the animals. Mark his neck until Adam only bared his teeth marks.

He wanted all of creation to know that Adam was his…he shook his head from those thoughts as Adam snuggled closer. Control. He needed…control.*

—-part 2 of the little rp @libby-for-life and I did. hopefully I fixed up my parts. They were so patient with me. And I hope @sir-tater-of-the-tot likes it. Whom we’ve written it for.

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[orange-orchard-system]

I saw a post a while ago that I think was trying to make a good point, but it just came off as really label police-y, so let me try to give the same warning here in new language

A lot of laws are based on the idea of singular, human personhood. A lot of rights are based on the idea of singular, human personhood. A lot of laws and rights that protect folks and say that others aren't allowed to treat them like shit are based on the idea of singular, human personhood. Therefore, you have to be careful who you reveal your alterhuman identity too, particularly if you reject humanity, personhood, or being a single person in a single body – not just to avoid expected discrimination, but to avoid legal discrimination and losing your rights due to the argument that you are not someone those laws and rights apply to. For this same reason, it's also important that you accept that there will be times where you have to lie about your identity, especially when it comes to authority figures who hold power over you (for example, cops. Cops already don't have a great track record for following the law or facing consequences for their cruelty; you don't want to clue them in that they might be able to get away with their cruelty yet again because they may be able to argue that those laws don't even apply to you in the first place). If you have to lie about being a singular, human person to protect yourself, do it. Or if you have trouble with lying, then consider it as a legal identity and not a personal one; you can identify in this way for legal reasons. I am a singular, human person for legal reasons, but I may also, on the side, have a much more complex identity.

We live in a world in which a major corporation is currently trying to argue that a man using a free trial for their video service several years ago means that he can't sue them for killing his wife. Better safe than sorry when it comes to loopholes and legality. There's no shame in staying in the closet or shame in lying if it means you're keeping yourself alive.

[anonameisadditions]

So You Want To Write #1 : The Amazing Digital Circus

In my work with the ever-impressionable and quick learning @mikiib, We often end up working with a particular dynamic on her creative projects, ranging from fanfiction to self-started fiction like our ongoing comic series, PARANOiD. She's a great artist, mind you- I wouldn't work with her if she wasn't- But our lives were spent very differently before we met; She chose a life of drawing, I chose a life of reading.

In this, I'm frequently put into the position of helping her make writing "sing" in the tune of what genre or media property she's drawing from. One of my many talents is my ability to quickly deconstruct and recognize the various influences a writer has taken from in a body of work, and The Amazing Digital Circus is one that I find a lot of people seem to misunderstand it's roots, and the kind of stories it's drawing from. To this, much-despised reader, I come to help, to scream from my digital soapbox the advice I would have needed a decade ago to write something properly.

THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS: Mr. Elison needs to stop watching PBS

Most casual fans of the Amazing Digital Circus would know that the Harlan Ellison short story "I Have No Mouth And Must Scream" is the conceptual well that ADC draws from. It's one hell of a starting point- for those unfamiliar, a brief recap- The last 5 humans on Earth are tortured and controlled by the A.I Singularity known as A.M, the maniacal, suicidally minded A.I. who, in realization of the inherent trappings of the microchip in his existence, chose to exert his frustrations on the global earth as a whole, leaving only these 5 to torment for the rest of existence as punishment for the sins of mankind.

... Quite a different story on the surface than ADC, no? But to engage with Mouth a surface-level retelling of events deprives the story of it's wit and candor. Harlan, as a writer, is a reader's antagonist- and his contempt for the people who read his stories is palpable.

Harlan professes, in this interview, an anger towards the concept of self-reverence- the idea that he, himself, is any more significant on this unholy thing we call "earth" than another person. Thus, he reacts to fans by despising them when they reject his jocular, irreverent sense of self as some kind of personal attack. This shows in his writing, if you consider how he views his typical set of characters. In "Big Sam Was My Best Friend", the titular Big Sam, a likable, if reserved teleporter in the far future of space travel is revealed to be a lout, a creep- A man who, when gifted the ability to teleport vast distances unbounded by energy or time, chose to spend his existence chasing a woman who hated him. In "Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes", we have Koster and Maggie: One a down-on-his-luck, pathetic idiot representing the average Vegas coin slot jockey, and the other, Maggie, a rage-filled prostitute who regularly John's for a sleazy mafia boss.

The marking of the Elison school of writing is to defy the status quo expectation of morality winning. Here, the characters are tragic figures driven by their own incompetence and lack of self-awareness- They continuously battle themselves, refusing the luxury and peace of the ordinary to try to shape reality to their will, and every time, reality bites back.

But what does this have to do with The Amazing Digital Circus?

HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE

In the pilot of Amazing Digital Circus, we get to know our selection of trapped souls with a unique lens of understanding that Pomni does not get- For her, these characters of the "Show" of the Amazing Digital Circus (I mean this in a meta sense- More on this later.) are strangers, who's cascading complexities will surely open up with time. But for us, the viewer, we exist beyond the 4th wall- We know we are watching a virtual play, in a sense, where we can expect that there is no dramatic spiritual transition in store for anyone- that whatever we discover will be building on the foundation of each archetype.

But what's unique to both Digital Circus and No Mouth is the reality that these characters know each other quite well- Too well, in fact. They have been trapped together for an unknowable amount of time- and with this knowledge, Pomni is played as the foolish interloper for expecting any more or better from each character.

In a "normal" show, Jax should learn a lesson from the Candy Castle plotline in the first real episode of the show. But in the Digital Circus, Jax CAN'T learn a lesson- because he's done this stupid song and dance a million times, and his reputation precedes him in the eyes of the rest of the circus. He is trapped, figuratively and literally, in his character- He is the cunty rabbit, in and out, because frankly, his own identity might be the only thing keeping him sane.

This is not to say Jax's character cannot change and develop in the space of the canon of the show, or in your own fanfiction writings- far from it- but you need to approach these characters with an understanding that they have been this way for a long, long time- much in the same way that the various psychotic behaviors of the trapped survivors in A.M. have been the same way for a long time, too. To maintain this status quo- this character's "stickiness" as a coping mechanism - is how the soul of Elison sticks through the Digital Circus.

Wait, a stuck Status Quo, with weekly adventures that, at this point, largely don't seem to affect the behavior on a weekly basis for most of the characters, in a bright and shiny animated environment? This sounds kind of like...

A Saturday morning kid's show.

No, Really: Hell IS other people.

This is the missing component people seem to miss about the Amazing Digital Circus- Its aesthetic, its connecting theme, its horror- it's all based on the simple, ironclad premise of a children's show.

Think about it. "People get stuck in a virtual world to solve problems each week meant to help teach them social and practical life skills" is a motif used in a variety of 2000's era CGI animated shows that would air on PBS and (Canadian Broadcast Cartoons). This is "ReBoot". This is "Jay Jay The Jet Plane". This is "Jane and The Dragon". The soft, pliable, safe consequenceless world of the Children's Cartoon is the A.M. Digital World that Caine has his "players" trapped in, much to their chagrin.

At first, this doesn't seem too bad- It's safe, for one. It's remarkably easy to exist in, for another- Food isn't an issue, beyond a simplistic pleasure behavior. There's no bathrooms, no need to sleep- nothing. But in this, the true hell arrives. Week after week, month after month, you continue to participate in "Games" meant to serve the same moral lessons you've heard a million times at this point, as the only break to the skull-fucking monotony of an existence trapped in a consequenceless space where nothing you say or do changes the reality around you. You are stuck in a padded room- where you cannot touch yourself, or others, or the world around you in a meaningful way. It is a gilded cage, that seeks to patronize you and break down your mentality to the point of acting like a monocentric character archetype for the education and entertainment of a captive audience of 12-year-olds with nothing better to do.

You can see how this changes a person's priorities, fast. In this, our Circus members choose to find relief in the only ways they can- with one another, in the only thing that CAN change- their feelings towards one another.

JAX becomes the cunty rabbit he is, because vexing his fellow players is at least some form of change and control for him that makes him feel empowered. Zooble refuses to participate, as their ennui and rejection of the concept of the show enables them to, at the very least, take a stance against Caine, their captor. Ragatha tries to remain optimistic and make the best of the bad situation, as maintaining a positive attitude lets her at least pretend she's making a difference. Kinger's cracked behavior of madness is him attempting to find meaning and test the boundaries of his own existence, as the oldest member of the Circus, in a attempt to break the tedium for himself. And Gangle is reacting with a massive victim complex- She makes herself out to be a pathetic, weak, spineless creature because she can't conceive of this reality being one she has to exist actively in, for she finds the whole effort futile.

Where does this place Pomni? Well, it's a search for her own meaning in the space of the Circus. She is still an "open character", meant to play the role of the Audience's fool- And the drama comes from us wondering whether she'll sink, or swim.

SO YOU WANT TO WRITE THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

This is the soul of the show, distilled to a fine, thin gruel- If you want to make your fiction "Sound" Like The Amazing Digital Circus, you need to marry two concepts together- The horrific behaviors of Harlan Elison's characters in their efforts to deal with the ways life has personally screwed them, and the soul-sucking mundanity of the weekly format of the children's television serial. You present the cast with an adventure each week, one that is definitely below their intended age level, and let them react to it with their individualized efforts to escape the mundanity of the circumstances, in their own way- Jax tries to make everything worse, Ragatha tries to play along, and Pomni is still freshly experiencing everything for the first time.

This is not to say you can't do MORE with these characters and the base premise- @hootbon does an excellent job recontextualizing the idea of weekly "shows" with the circumstances of the abusive ringleader of a 1950s-styled circus. But they seem to understand the narrative underpinnings of the TADC in this rewritten examination; The cast is chained to the premise, and can only act within the dimensions of said premise- and what they do with those circumstances defines them as a person.

If you liked this blogpost, Give it a reblog and a like, and don't forget to follow me for more media analysis and creative endeavors. Below, you can vote on the focus of my next entry in "So You Want To Write" series. 

~ Yours Fallaciously, AN0N

[mariacallous]

“Thank you Liz!” the crowd shouted, drowning out the former congresswoman who had come to Ripon, Wisconsin to deliver the most unlikely cri de coeur in political memory.  

Cheney endorsed Harris weeks ago. But this was the first time she spoke at an official Harris for President event. There she stood, stern but emotional, positioned behind the seal of the office her father once held—a crowd of appreciative Democrats before her. 

It was a powerful scene. It was deserved. And it was overdue. Cheney has earned a moment with flowers and applause for her willingness to call out the threat posed by Trump. Yesterday she finally got it, replete with a few choked back tears. 

But the visible emotions passed quickly. This was not a time for valedictory celebration. There is real business before us. Nobody understands that more than Liz. For her, this isn’t about ego or pageantry. She earnestly believes it’s the most important thing she will ever do. Her dad said as much. 

On Thursday, she spoke in stark and powerful terms. First, she reiterated that her values and policy views haven’t changed, and they needn’t change, to make this endorsement. 

I was a Republican even-before Donald Trump started spray tanning. I am a Ronald Reagan conservative.… Above all else, I know that the most conservative of conservative values is fidelity to our Constitution. I tell you, I have never voted for a Democrat. But this year, I am proudly casting my vote for Vice President Kamala Harris. 

Then, she laid out the clear choice before the country.

In this election, a broad coalition has come together to support Vice President Kamala Harris. Now, we may disagree on some things, but we are bound together by the one thing that matters to us as Americans more than any other, and that's our duty to our Constitution and our belief in the miracle and the blessing of this incredible nation… So, today I ask all of you here and everyone listening across this great country to join us. I ask you to meet this moment. I ask you to stand in truth to reject the depraved cruelty of Donald Trump. And I ask you instead to help us elect Kamala Harris as President

As I processed this speech, I couldn’t shake the sad spectacle hovering over it. Given the stakes and the unimpeachable arguments presented, it is striking that Cheney is so alone among her peers.1 

Back when Charlie helmed this newsletter, he wrote a series about the singular bravery of Mitt Romney. “Romney, Alone.” “Romney, One Man Alone” “Romney, Alone Again.” 

In the series’ final installment he wrote this. 

Almost alone among his colleagues, Romney seems focused on the verdict of history…What would happen if three or four—or eight or nine—Republicans senators joined Romney? How would Trump react to a critical mass of senators who pushed back? What would happen if a half dozen senators who remembered the legacy of Margaret Chase Smith joined together to condemn “Fear, Ignorance, Bigotry and Smear”? Would Trump tweet insults at them all? And how would their Senate colleagues react then? As the impeachment inquiry progresses and we find more evidence of exactly what Trump did with regard to foreign interference in U.S. elections, we may well find out. Until then, Romney stands alone. Again.

Today, Romney doesn’t stand alone. He stands on the sidelines. Rather than focusing on the verdict in November, he prefers to try and ensure he is “in a position after this election to have some influence on the direction of our party in the future.” 

God (and Liz) willing, when this election is over there will be something left to influence.  

Mike Pence wasn’t in Ripon either. But he was there in spirit. In absentia, Trump’s former vice president received a spirited round of applause from the Democrats in Wisconsin after Cheney congratulated him for refusing to violate his constitutional oath. (Democrats applauding Mike Pence. Yes, you read that right). 

The list of others who were missing is too long and too depressing to enumerate, so I shan't. Instead, I’ll return to The Bulwark’s persistent yawp. After all these years and all these disappointments it remains impossible to process that at this moment, with everything on the line, it is Liz, alone. How could it be? How can they risk putting Donald Trump back in the Oval Office after he ate well-done cheeseburgers in front of his TV while a mob he sent ransacked the capitol, assaulted police and tried to hang his vice president? 

How???? 

As long as I live I will never fully comprehend it. There should have been a line of honest and wise men a mile long standing behind Cheney on Thursday. But their cowardice, their venality, their shameful abdication of responsibility only served to make this moment in Ripon more powerful.

Because instead of that mile long line of men, there stood two women with vanishingly little in common. There they were, in the place where an honest, abolitionist Republican party formed, in political unity, bound by a mutual love of country and a commitment to its best ideals. 

Two women standing in the breach to protect the country from the men trying to tear it apart. 

Two women alone, standing together for all of us. 

[laroserie]

— character : Atsushi Nakajima - Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

— content : x gender neutral reader - polyamorous relationship between Atsushi, Akutagawa and Reader, reader is referred to as 'you'

— authors note : second writing for the second week of december - again publishing this on the deadline but it's fine ! hope you enjoy :)

— It was not surprising to learn that neither Akutagawa nor Atsushi ever did any of the typical holiday activities. It was expected, after all one was quite literally an orphan and the other … was Akutagawa. But as Christmas was coming, you thought 'why not have them experience it, this year ?'.

And it wasn't a bad idea, it was sweet and cute, maybe a bit cringe but who cared ? Well - Akutagawa did, you first tried to have them wear ugly Christmas sweaters that you had sew a few years back, Atsushi gladly accepted, he didn't care much that it was 'ugly', truthfully he found it somewhat cute.

But Akutagawa wasn't thrilled, when you handed him the sweater smiling and looking at him with hope filling you eyes and Atsushi next to you smiling too, - while wearing the sweat. He sighed and just said a simple 'no.'. A simple, cut and dry reject. He was not going to wear a stupid, ugly sweater.

Atsushi and you could beg him for decades, he still could not budge - or at least that's what he thought. Atsushi puppy eyes and you incessant whining, and preaching of holiday tradition made him break and he took, more like snatched, the sweater from yours hands and slides it on. But it wasn't without a few 'I will never wear this again.' and 'I can't believe I'm doing that'. He indeed, did that again, and maybe wore his sweater the most out of the three of you.

After the first step of your plan, 'Having Atsushi and Akutagawa experience the wonders of cringy stereotypical holiday shenanigans' was done, you decided to start the second one, which ultimately was one of the easiest one, simply watching those silly holiday movies while snuggling up in a ton of blankets.

You already did that, multiples time whenever your boyfriends schedules could permit it. It was just like a regular movie night, - expect with holiday ones !

And it was indeed easy, the hardest part was probably to listen to Atsushi and Akutagawa commentary about what the characters were doing and why it was stupid or bad or didn't make sense. But it wasn't that much.

What was really difficult was the third part of your so called 'plan'. Making gingerbread, not even a gingerbread house even if it was your plan at first, you realized quickly that making a gingerbread house with your two beloved could be probably impossible.

The two of them were not exactly great in the kitchen. One was very messy and ended up making a mess of everything and the other thought he knew better than the recipe itself.

It was fun to see them struggle and fuck everything up but having to be the one fix it up was a different story. Trying to stop Akutagawa from adding one too many eggs and telling Atsushi to be careful with the flour was energy draining. You couldn't complain much as you were aware of their kitchen related issues and still wanted to go with your plan.

At the end you all had fun - to some extent cleaning up everything was awful - and it was all that counted. And the gingerbread wasn't even that bad ! A bit too sugary, because Akutagawa insisted that there wasn't enough sugar in the mix but it was honestly okay.

And that make you come to the fourth and last step of your plan, decorating a Christmas tree, you took out of the attic your old Christmas tree as well as a box full of decorations and placed it in a corner of the living room in your shared flat. It a fun regular holiday activity that you thought could be very simple to execute, well wrong.

The two man had an interesting sense of decoration - Atsushi insisted on putting multiples bauble onto one singular branch of the tree and Akutagawa thought that intertwining multiples garland together. You didn't intervene or tried to change the way they decorated the tree but you couldn't help but ask if they were sure about it - to which they both answered 'yes'.

One thing they both agreed on what to put the star ornament at the top of the tree - probably because they saw it on multiples tree outside. And they gave you the honour of doing it, considering you were only watching them from the side while they worked on decorating the rest of the tree.

Once you finished putting up the ornament, you took a step back and looked at the tree, it was a overcrowded in some place and felt very messy but it was endearing.

[rukafais]

one day i will do a grand breakdown essay on Why Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel’s Relationship Makes Me Incredibly Unhinged With Citations but for now you get this abridged version. Spoilers for Lolth’s Warrior/last book in particular but also Generations and other Way of the Drow books a little bit. also this is STILL a long post i’m sorry I am VERY not normal about this

so last trilogy (generations) kimmuriel's all, man i wish i was an illithid. i like illithids. hive mind's great. love those guys.

   But here, in this place, nothing was measured in that manner. In this place, Kimmuriel Oblodra didn’t exist, other than to be a single colligation in the one being that was the whole of illithid society. Here in the hive mind, his fingers caressing the great pulsing brain, the edifice of connection and oneness, thoughts and memories became interchangeable and mingled.  Study in the hive mind was merely a matter of searching what had become your own expansive knowledge and memories rather than hearing or reading the words of a separate being. Kimmuriel often lamented that he should have been born an illithid. The hive mind knew this truth within the drow’s heart, of course, which explained why he was so welcomed here. One could not easily hide insincerity in this place. One could not easily hide anything from the illithids.

A large part of the individual that was Kimmuriel wanted to just stay here. Let Luskan and Bregan D’aerthe be the concerns of another. He could remain at the hive mind and caress knowledge itself, bask in pure thought, revel in memories as visceral as if he had walked those pathways in the lonely and singular drow form he had been forced to wear.

and then in THIS trilogy (way of the drow) kimmuriel has mentioned it's also going to be his afterlife as a way of rejecting the concept of a god-given one/escaping the clutches of Lolth, or any god, entirely

“The multiverse is a matter of divine numbers,” Kimmuriel said. “The particulars of the tyrant gods are merely noise—temporary noise in the ultimate eternity of it all. We are manifestations of pure and singular thought, grains of sand on an endless beach or drops of water in the endless ocean that splashes onto that beach. The hive mind is a conduit into that pure and singular thought. It is my destiny to directly merge, to become less speck and less droplet, and more a viewer of it all. You felt the power when we channeled it from the hive mind to obliterate Demogorgon those years ago. You felt it, the ecstasy.” this kind of description is also imo, implicitly has thematic connections to transcendence; kimmuriel is interested in it, he asks drizzt for his opinions as drizzt has gone through a similar process, he examines the memories of Kane’s own transcendence, etc. It’s not the same but it is similar. Transcendence is a process that is easy to initiate and hard to come back from because you essentially become one with the universe and it's so ecstatic and amazing that you have trouble remembering who you are as an individual, and if you lose that thread enough, you kinda cease to exist as like, yourself. You just get lost in the sauce, forever. but, some kind of strong emotion and focus can bring you back from it, if you go in with a purpose and you manage to maintain that purpose: 'ecstasy' is a key word here because kimmuriel uses it to describe what channeling the power of the hive mind/being tapped into that pure conduit is like, and vitally, to strengthen the connection, transcendence is also described this way:

“The body will not turn back and the mental and emotional discipline needed to deny that call of ecstasy is enormous. When you transcend, you will know such joy, unrelenting, even building as time, which becomes meaningless, passes, yet the time to find the needed discipline, the denial of pure desire, is short, and failure means that you will be forever removed from this existence. Afafrenfere just stared at him, jaw hanging open. “I know not how to put it more clearly or bluntly,” the ancient monk answered that blank stare. “You will not want to come back, and so you, as you are known and as you know yourself, will be no more.” So, i posted all that text, now i'm gonna get into the next bit Several books have established that Kimmuriel is lonely without psionic connection and the hivemind fills an unmet need in him.

 However, as a direct counterpoint to the hive mind and what it is capable of giving him (despite its love for him, and I do believe it’s reasonable to interpret this passage: Arguments came back at him from so many other corners of the hive mind, though. He was unique here, or nearly so. Only this synapse of the hive mind, this being named Kimmuriel, that existed in that drow reality in that world of Faerun, could bring in such expansive experiences and knowledge of that place. He would be limiting the hive mind and thus limiting himself if he lost the balance between recipient and source. as a kind of love, even if it is an ‘alien’ expression of it; Kimmuriel is worth more to them as an individual and not an illithid, even as an outsider, than he is joined and subsumed to them) we have...stuff like this:

Kimmuriel’s work here was done. He offered that thought to Pescatawav, and the Most Endeared excused him to go and tend to the more pressing problems he faced on his home plane, among his own inferior people. There was no sense of gratitude, no thoughts of hope that Kimmuriel would succeed. It just was. There were a few moments like this for Kimmuriel Oblodra, when he almost reconsidered his life’s journey, when he saw so plainly the difference between the sensibilities of the hive mind and those of Jarlaxle. His only friend. we also have jarlaxle getting kinda disassembled and put back together by the hive mind so his memories can be deconstructed and it's kind of funny but also Kimmuriel had been desperately worried about subjecting his dearest friend to the intrusions of the mind flayers. Perhaps he should have been more worried about subjecting the illithids to the sensibilities of Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle is So Much that he’s kind of affected the hive mind. Good job buddy. But it means they now have that connective tissue: Kimmuriel cannot hide anything from the illithids including whatever strong feelings he has for Jarlaxle, and Jarlaxle is also very attached to Kimmuriel: “Kimmuriel is your second.” “He’s the other half of my first. In my part of Bregan D’aerthe, in my, shall we say, personal journeys, you are my partner.”

Like really attached: “Where will you go?” Jarlaxle pleaded when Kimmuriel didn’t answer. “ “You know,” the hulking possessed man replied audibly. “No,” Jarlaxle breathed. “I won’t let you!” Drizzt saw that Jarlaxle was fighting back tears. [...] “There is an emptiness . . . I will miss you, Kimmuriel,” Jarlaxle said, as quiet as Drizzt had ever heard the rogue.

Like, really really attached:

“I am lesser without you, my friend,” Jarlaxle told the image. “Both practically and in my heart.”

I could go on but I’m trying to make this short etc there’s like a fucking billion examples.

So. Kimmuriel is not content with just his mortal body on his own plane, which is a lonely existence, or just feeding his mind which is essentially what the hive mind does for him. He needs friends and people to like...make physical existence worthwhile to actually reach a pleasant equilibrium. His more passive suicidal tendencies actually sort of ebb after Generations, where he is considering mortality carefully but also is like "i'm not sure i actually want to die":

“So, he let you in there and he gave to you his memories of transcending the physical form.” “And now I understand better. But of course, there remain limitations on that understanding, because such an act may or may not be a permanent state of being.” “There’s only one way to find out the truth,” Drizzt admitted. “I am in no hurry to leave this life.”

So he's clearly found some sense of purpose to make being physical work for him , and again! A large part of that is Jarlaxle! He names other friends (especially Gromph) but a LARGE part of that is Jarlaxle.

And then he fucking dies of course I've shrieked enough about that lmao

and when he says goodbye he confirms that yes, he is going to his ideal afterlife, where Drizzt hopes he finds peace similar to transcendence:

“My time is ending,” the voice of Malagdorl repeated. “There is nothing to be done.” “Except to say farewell,” Drizzt said. “I will remember our talks on the road to the monastery, my friend. May you find oneness with the hive mind and peace in eternity.” “And you, warrior. Survive, I beg.”

joining the hive mind, a cluster of individuals swirling into a greater ‘being’ and is also referred to as ecstatic, is compared and contrasted to a process of becoming one with the universe that is hard to come back from as yourself because it feels That Good.

Got all that? Good. Because now we get to the epilogue of Lolth’s Warrior:

Jarlaxle left them, then, and went to his private room. He sat down before a table and pulled a cloth off the circular object resting in a tri-pronged stand atop it. He closed his eyes and reached out, hoping. A familiar image appeared in the ball a long while later, and Jarlaxle breathed a sigh of relief. “I am glad you are floating about this day,” Jarlaxle said. “You miss me.” This day, he heard in his mind, a most familiar voice. And perhaps again, now and then. Jarlaxle understood the unsaid part: Kimmuriel would not come to him at his beckon. Less so, came the thought in his mind. There is so much. So much. “And so much I still need from you.” You will be disappointed.

 [...] “I am lesser without you, my friend,” Jarlaxle told the image. “Both practically and in my heart.” It is the way of things. And that was it, and the spirit of Kimmuriel departed once more. Perhaps for the last time, Jarlaxle knew, though he desperately hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Here he is!  It’s not a summoning circle or a calling spell, it simply just seems to be that Jarlaxle reaches out and hopes that Kimmuriel will be around to answer him, and he does. Taking Jarlaxle's gay little sad thought calls, plural, because they have done this several times already, is worth it to Kimmuriel, enough to tear himself away from his ideal, implied to be VERY GOOD FEELING AFTERLIFE for.

Enough to maintain a sense of self and individuality because he speaks to Jarlaxle like he's the same person, just very distracted and its like WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS. like fucking. Im not even getting into the implications that it's rooted in love, like, the hive mind’s love for kimmuriel as an individual and kimmuriel’s love for jarlaxle and jarlaxle’s love for kimmuriel?? subtextually? becuase jarlaxle is the only one who has consistently treated kimmuriel like a person

To trust Kimmuriel is to trust a creature we cannot begin to decipher. Why Jarlaxle elevated him to lead Bregan D’aerthe, I will never understand.” “Perhaps Jarlaxle believes that he understands Kimmuriel.” “Then Jarlaxle fools himself.”

they are noted by other characters to be extremely close to the point that they have a trust bond that is rare among menzo drow:

Now, though, I witness a much different structure within Bregan D’aerthe, and one very much more powerful. For Jarlaxle has given to his followers something truly special among the Lolth-serving drow: an element of trust. And he does so by example. Jarlaxle has entrusted Kimmuriel Oblodra with the very leadership of the band on those many occasions when he, Jarlaxle, is out on some adventure or other. He has even tasked Kimmuriel with reining in his own worst excesses—with keeping Jarlaxle himself in line!

(also see the other half of my first thing; when Jarlaxle says Zak is his partner Zaknafein immediately rebuts it with “Kimmuriel is your partner”) they go from standoffish and awkward to like calling each other friends and kimmuriel being Totally Fine with jarlaxle just touching him unprompted, a guy whose personal space bubble is Don’t Fucking Touch Me Asshole:

“I hesitate to take Azzudonna, this woman I barely know and know not at all as a friend, and you expect me to subject you to the intrusion of the hive mind?” “Why, Kimmuriel, did you just admit that you love me?” Jarlaxle teased, but the psionicist was having none of it. “Good,” said Jarlaxle, nodding to his drow companions. “Then I want you to cast it now on my dear friend here,” he explained, wrapping his arm about Kimmuriel. and then kimmuriel dies and this literally does not slow him down. and then he dies and, as the epilogue shows, comes back to jarlaxle anyway.

like it's not even thematically inappropriate is what fucking gets me, because kimmuriel has already established he is someone who essentially lives in two worlds and needs both to be happy and the conclusion is that he doesn't have to choose, he can have both, and that mirrors jarlaxle's defiance of having to give things up to be 'good' Jarlalxle doesn't have to abandon everything he was just so he can become Good and Palatable to a surface world that doesn't give a shit about him (drizzt did this only out of desperation, even; his flight and rejection and all of it, for him menzo is a home that he wanted so badly to belong to, it hurts to leave, but he knows he has to because he can’t bear it. that’s a different essay though). he can have all of it, as much as he can carry. he wants all of it. he hates to let go of it. that refusal to let go saves almost three thousand people from menzoberranzan. kimmuriel's refusal to be forced into a choice means he comes back to jarlaxle in some way and form, even with the deck stacked against him to make it incredibly fucking difficult to do so and again, kimmuriel has literally everything he has ever wanted in dying, everything he's ever aspired to, the One Truth he’s been reaching toward, and it is, apparently, still not enough.

In conclusion:

“Look at yourself!” Gromph scolded. “You care. Kimmuriel Oblodra— and how remarkable that any Oblodra or Odran cares! Have you gone soft, then? Have you abandoned your sole goal in life, to find the One Eternal Truth along with those tentacle waggling illithids?” Kimmuriel wanted to deny his words, to deny him, but his responses sounded without conviction. “Have you become enamored of the flesh, Kimmuriel?” Gromph asked more seriously. “Have you found within your emotionless mind a bit of love for that which we mere mortals covet?” idk man look at it its on the ceiling. i dont fucking know. i truly do not know. i am not going to be normal about this for the next five years.

Bonus:

When Kane is talking to Afa about transcendence and Afa’s reasons for transcendence (he wants to find his dead boyfriend again):

“Nothing in the multiverse is more powerful than love, my friend,” Kane said, and he smiled, and moved his hand. 

Like sure okay whatever. Sure. It sure is huh.

[devastatinglygreen]

You know, I’ve given so much attention to sticking up for Colin and the absolutely brain dead takes I’ve had to read about him since S3 Part 2 how are we still focused on the entrapment line?? HOW?? that I am just getting to the point of analyzing what Pen’s thought processes are in eps 7 & 8.

Pen never seems to indicated a doubt in his love for *her* after the LW reveal, even though prior seasons have shown reason to fear his rejection. I mentioned before that I think show!Penelope is not allowed to stick up for herself more bc they’ve made show!LW much more powerful, so there’s this combination of not getting her hopes up with Colin bc she never thought she’d have him and bc she knows he has a right to be upset about Whistledown. Do you think Pen was thinking about what their future looked like post reveal/the wedding or do you think she was taking it a day at a time/waiting for him to reject her or leave?

pls...the entrapment comment, i can't. it's so stupid to focus on such a singular comment made nearly directly after his childhood friend, his closest friend, his love, and his future wife had been caught lying to him for years.

it wasn't a great comment, there's no doubt about that but at least it was private unlike penelope calling him fake (which was true but very unkind and also not how you treat someone you care about) in print for everyone to read. idk man, being humiliated in public would hurt me worse if i found out it was someone i cared about.

even eloise sort of accuses penelope of planning a marriage to him and everyone shrugs it off. she has no reason to think that other than pen is LW but it's only a big deal when colin says something in the middle of emotional turmoil and i have no idea why? getting me to defend a man is a feat, let me tell you. and yet.

alright i got distracted but to answer you i think this is where the people who are big mad penelope didn't run off when it got rocky need to understand just how much book material they pulled for our season. penelope is not willing to give colin up. she even admits in the book she'd rather have everyone's scrutiny and endure colin's anger if it meant having him.

girlypop is down bad. colin's degree in downbadism was him majoring in pathetic with a minor in yearning and we love him for it but penelope has years of being stoic about it. which is also brought in from the book, she's been in love quietly with this man for years, she knows how to handle her business and go about her life. colin...not so much. he falls apart within days. nerds.

so while i'm sure she was thinking about what the future of their marriage would be, they added a girlboss veneer in the show for the modern audience and the need to keep LW going as a plot point but i think she was terrified he'd take the out she offered at the end even if she had a brave face about it.

penelope knows colin isn't a liar. if he says he loves her, she believes him. she also knows him better than anyone so if he says something out of anger she knows he needs to be reassured and met with patience not punished. she wanted him to choose her and she gave him all the honesty possible and the means to leave if he wanted.

but like he was never going to, that man is just as insane about her as she is about him

[anghraine]

I decided to watch Rings of Power and I still like it! General thoughts on the first episode:

This episode does a lot of heavy lifting to introduce everything in a somewhat rough and often disconnected, but engaging enough way.

The voice-over exposition at the beginning is obviously echoing the PJ FOTR one, but it's more awkward and sort of generically high fantasy. I still like it better because a) no Númenóreans were harmed in the making of this voice-over, b) retaining the Finrod-Galadriel age gap while simultaneously leaning into their sibling bond is really cute, c) Finrod using a heavy-handed metaphor in which the greatness of SHIPS figures largely seems entirely in character and also very Telerin (Eärwen's son!!!), and d) the overall story of how Valinorean Elves ended up in Middle-earth is so highly editorialized that it feels like the self-serving Noldor version of the story, which amuses me.

I enjoyed the introduction of present-day Galadriel. She's clearly the most impressive and competent person in the company she's leading while also being kind of unhinged, which I appreciate in a female protagonist. Good for her.

And I like that she's clearly this ancient being and her fixation on FIGHTING EVIL FOREVER is, in part, a product of being old and immortal and stuck in a singular mode of being. However, she's also right and the comparatively young people around her are being condescending assholes (like Gil-galad, but especially that one guy who semi-mutinied against her and is prodding her on the ship).

(Oh, and she has great hair. I actually don't care if the entire wig budget went to her specifically.)

The only one who seems to really feel bad about their dismissive treatment of her is Elrond, which tracks. The hints that he isn't seen as quite an equal ("Elf-lords only") feels silly, but it's not a huge deal for me. And I like that he and Galadriel are bros alongside the tension in her relationships with basically everyone. S2 Celebrían plssss

I still think the complaints about costuming/hair, and incessant comparisons to costuming in PJ!LOTR/WOT/whatever are largely pretty absurd. I particularly liked Arondir's armor and how dissimilar it is from the aesthetic of the Lindon Elves, everything Galadriel wears, and the weirdness of the ritualistic armor removal as they approach Valinor. The Elves spontaneously bursting into unsettling song was odd but extremely on-brand for Tolkien, so it was fun to see it actually done onscreen.

I also think the show is quite beautiful in general and a pleasure to simply look at (no, not only because of the budget).

I don't like how heavily and visibly made-up the main female characters are, however, especially Bronwyn (who also has my least favorite costuming of any of the mains tbh). It reminds me a bit of how Padmé Amidala's heavy and perfect make-up in her death scene in Revenge of the Sith always distracts me from the pathos of the scene. God forbid she wasn't hot as she died, you know? I don't care about middle-aged and older men being cast as Elves, but I'd like to see more older actresses, too!

The Harfoot stuff has an interesting mixture of cuteness and underlying menace. It doesn't interest me as much as what's going on with Galadriel, Elrond, and Arondir/Bronwyn, but I like Nori quite a bit and the whole aesthetic they have going, so I don't mind spending time with them, even though it's kind of detached from what's going on everywhere else.

Speaking of Arondir, the Southlands stuff is interesting because there's so little to work with in terms of canon (even if they had rights to everything) and the canon that does exist wrt them is super racist. So having the textual racism towards Southrons actually be brought up in-story, and rejected by an Elf protagonist who is being played by a Black man, is like ... there's a lot going on there and other people are probably better equipped to talk about it.

Personally, I would have liked to see Arondir fall in love with Bronwyn rather than being presented with it as an established thing, especially with the conversation about how this almost never happens etc. His actor does a great job with what he's given, though, and I laughed at the other Elf who is like "do you know how rarely romances between Men and Elves ever happen? do you know they always END TRAGICALLY?!"

Arondir: mmhmm

Other Elf: THEY DIED, ARONDIR

Arondir gives off big "distracted by drawing hearts around Bronwyn's name in his Trapper Keeper" vibes in that conversation and, idk, it was just really entertaining to me.

Bronwyn herself is all right thus far. I did really like the moment when she's talking about how she's from the allegedly creepy village and the people there are her relatives and friends. By and large she seems the most normal person in the cast, honestly.

I also enjoyed how deeply ominous the "approaching Valinor" music was, lmao. A bit overkill by the end, but I rather like the idea of Valinor being scary if you're not supposed to be there.

ETA: cutting between the different plots via the Middle-earth map is a bit silly as well, but functional enough. Interesting to see Calenardhon on the map before Gondor even exists!

[paperandsong]

Les Trois Hommes de Pierre

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

English translation:

It is said that certain individuals of this stupid species shout to late-night passers-by: “You’d like to have arms? You’d like to have arms?” If one is foolish enough to answer “Yes,” they go on to demand: “Then give us your legs!” And since they have the power of casting spells, one must then stay there with them for just as long as they please. One clever fellow, withdrawing in fear, thought to say to them instead: “Take my legs, if you’d like; for they are dead.” -- They could not respond to this, and the man was able to escape their spell.

-       Maurice Sand.

In the Indre region, bordering the river Creuse, the very look of Nature changes; the valleys nestle downwards, the plateaus rise, the vegetation shoots upwards, the waters rush, and the steep embankments bristle with rocks. While traditions and legends are more rare in this picturesque region than they are in the plains, they are also generally sad; and, except for what pertains to Gargantua, I did not find within them that background of Berry-style humour which so often mixes irony with the terrors of the fantastical world.

As I have referenced Gargantua, I must now ask anyone knowledgeable about this matter whether, before the publication of the Book (for this is how, I believe, people referred to that singular, great, and wild literary success of Rabelais during their time), there was not also some popular legend of Gargantua in the provinces which the great satirist might have seized upon, just as Goethe did the legend of Faust and Molière the legend of the Commander’s Statue. Was the phrase the Book used by Rabelais’ contemporary admirers exclusively in order to express their great admiration? Might it not also indicate that a distinction was to be drawn between his brilliant poem and some more obscure legend? The ogres Perrault brought back into fashion are those very same giants whom the knights slaughtered in the Middle Ages. Would Gargantua not be of the same family as them, and would his name not have been noticed by the author of Pantagruel right alongside those other once-famous characters who are now long forgotten for having only existed as the late-night tales of our ancestors? 

In Berry, where no historical traditions have remained in the collective memory of the peasant except as vague myths, we were more than surprised to still encounter there a very precise sort of local recollection of Gargantua quite separate from Rabelais’ poem, although in the same vein. At Montlevic, for example, a small isolated knoll in the plain was formed by the foot of Gargantua. Whilst lost in these clay-rich lands of ours, the giant shook his hoof here, and left a hill in that spot.

And on the Creuse, in the outskirts of Berry, Gargantua was once found [9] astride that vast and magnificent ravine where the river rushes between the bell towers of Pin and Ceaulmont, planting himself in their steep cliff sides. A small boat full of monks drew up to pass between the giant’s legs. Believing it was a trout darting away, he bent down, plucked up the ship in two fingers, and swallowed it whole, finding the monks big and fat but rejecting the boat itself, complaining about the fishbone. 

Anyone who tells you such stories has certainly never read the Book, nor did their ancestors even know of its existence. The name of Rabelais is just as unknown to them as those of Pantagruel and Panurge. Brother Jean des Entomeures, so renowned for his character and for his use of speech, did not achieve widespread popularity amongst them either. These fictional personalities are the work of the poet, but I would still believe that Gargantua is the work of the people and that, like all great artists, Rabelais took his subject matter where he found it.

The superstitions within the villages and cottages of the Creuse region in lower Berry do acknowledge the giants, who, by contrast, occupy little place in the chronicles of the high country. This high country is wide-open and rolling; the low country, which is steep and ravined, is rooted in the same rock which serves as a buttress for the escarpments of the land. Its strangely-shaped stony cliffs of mica and schist might easily resemble gigantic figures, and this fact must be far from laughable to any fisherman who goes out in bad faith to lift their colleagues’ traps at night. It is not the merry Gargantua who appears to him: it is the three men of stone, whom in the daytime he would call the monk’s rocks, and whom he had seen standing motionless alongside the clear water’s edge, without fear.

One night Chauvat, coming back from the low country mill, saw them move, coming down from their huge pedestal and walking along the shore, gesticulating; oh but what horrible gestures, what a terrifying parade they made! They seemed to have neither feet nor legs, and yet they moved faster than the waters of the Creuse, and the pebbles they crushed cried out under their weight. He fled to his house and barricaded himself inside as best he could; but the men of stone had followed him, and as he was an unbeliever who didn’t think of giving himself up to God, the smallest of these colossi leaned his elbow on the gable of the house, flattening it like a pat of butter.

The terrified Chauvat then fled to his barn; but the second of the stone men put his hand on it, splitting it into four as though it were an old Huguenot in the land of Bazaiges.

Chauvat had enough time to save himself, and he sought refuge on the great lock which cuts the river diagonally from one side to the other. There, he believed himself saved; but the three men of stone took this path to return to their usual place on the other bank, and he found himself forced either to stay there or to throw himself into the river, which is very deep on either side of the lock; to run faster than the giants was out of the question.

He made himself very small, not daring to breathe, crouching down on the ground and hoping that those wicked boulders would not see him there. The first passed by; then came the second, who also passed by. Chauvat began to breathe again. Finally there came the third, who was the largest and heaviest by far, and who tried to pass by along with the others. But the road was slippery and the stone man slipped.

Fortunately, Chauvat finally remembered his baptism and made the sign of the cross, asking for the assistance of Heaven. The man of stone stumbled yet did not fall, otherwise the poor fisherman would have been crushed like an eggshell.

The returned are, in this same part of Berry, very frequent guests. Few houses here are not haunted by some soul in pain. That rushing river Creuse, which runs black and rapid in certain deep spots where it flows without any impediment, carries along the plaintive spirits of people who have met their deaths beneath its waves. At night, we hear heartbreaking cries; these are the drowned, who wail and ask for prayers. Elsewhere, it foams and rumbles against the rocks; there, one hears the imprecations of those who are unpardonably damned.

The term le retournant (the returned) carries a similar meaning to revenant. However, some old women will tell you that the souls of those lost to suicide  (those who intentionally drowned) are condemned to the eternal task of tumbling over the large stones that clutter the torrential riverbed. In the middle of a certain waterfall in the Creuse, one of these dark rocks looks so much like a capsized boat that you could easily be fooled from afar. It is an overturned stone: we assure you that it is white on its underside, and also that it was brought there from a long way away by the returned.

These legends undoubtedly hearken back to the tragic memories of disasters caused by the river’s sudden and terrible floods. In 1845, a great deluge of rain swelled the tributaries of the river such that the Creuse, which was itself already a formidable torrent in this region, rose by what is said to be more than one hundred feet, pulling an entire recently-felled forest into its shores. Upon reaching the only bridge in the countryside, this travelling forest stopped for two hours, jammed between the two steep riverbanks, and this mass was subsequently compounded by other masses of roofs, boats, barriers, and general debris of every other kind, and fearless children travelled from one riverbank to the other on dry feet atop this floating mountain above the raging waves. All of a sudden the mountain burst forwards, carrying the bridge that had held it back, and sweeping away everything in its path: houses, herds, crops, and passers-by.

Yet even the memory of this disaster was not enough to fully populate the banks and islets of the terrible river with its sorrowful souls. There is also a faint legend of a clash between salt smugglers and salt-tax collectors, during the time when titled and bourgeois men were moving mules laden with contraband salt along the steep valley paths. The official history of Berry says nothing about this battle. The old peasants heard this story told by their fathers, who got it from their grandfathers. Many people perished there, they say, and were thrown from the rocks into the Creuse. That’s why we hear, on bad nights, unfamiliar voices who cry out over and over again: Salt! Salt! At this cry, all the mules in nearby pastures will run away with their ears down and their tails between their legs, as if the Devil is after them.

In this same region, the belief in the great serpent reawakens from time to time. We don’t mind the thousands of rock-dwelling vipers, which are said to have never harmed anyone; but this serpent, which is forty feet in length and has a head like that of a man, is the one that concerns us. It is probably the same one who ate three prisoners in the Châteaubrun tower dungeon in ancient times. He has shown himself several times since then, and last year, in 1857, the whole countryside was in turmoil because a shepherdess saw him in a bush. More than fifty hunters went out on foot looking for him; but, as usual, he could not be found.

George SAND