#its just cathartic to vent sometimes

[vse-kar-vem]

how to write vent post title that does not come off as self-pitying and or accusatory (because it's NOT !)

[ezbakedchaos]

honesty hour:

i genuinely hate the person ive become.

[graysoncritic]

A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Conclusion

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

Though it may not appear so given the length of this essay, I did try to be fair to Taylor and Redondo. I focused my criticism on Taylor because my knowledge of written storytelling far exceeds my knowledge of visual storytelling, especially when it comes to sequential art. As such, I did not think it was my place to criticize something that I did not feel entirely comfortable addressing.

As I implied in the introduction, this essay was both an intellectual exercise and a cathartic one. Much of the information in it were reworded discussions I had with other Dick Grayson fans throughout the past couple of years. I must also thank them for allowing me to quote them when appropriate, as none of this would have been possible without their contribution. The essay itself was written in the time span of months, and sometimes I went weeks without even opening the document, only doing so again when a new issue came out and I wanted to vent.

As I worked on this, I was able to articulate a frustration that has been building up inside of me and, I know, many Dick Grayson fans for years. These frustrations are not exclusive to Taylor's writing. Rather, Taylor’s writing is but the most obvious and prominent example of said problem, with new and old symptoms drawing glaring attention to themselves on a monthly basis. The real problem behind all of these grievances and, quite frankly, the hurt Dick Grayson fans feel at the moment is rooted in the fact that DC Comics as a whole seems determined to undermine, if not completely erase, the importance of this amazing character.

There are other ways in which this can be observed. One of the Dick Grayson fans I know has been collecting examples of this erasure that span decades. I, myself, have thoughts on the motivations behind these actions and how they are reflective of a societal dislike for those who are othered, and especially those who challenge patriarchal ideals, the gender binary, and heteronormative culture. 

Perhaps one day I will address those subjects. Or perhaps not. As cathartic as writing this was, I do want to write more about the things I love rather than the things I hate. But I also believe it is important to express dissatisfaction when experienced, to vent when required, and to critique when necessary.

If you stuck around this far, then I do not believe that this needs stating, but just in case, I must assert that I reject any claims that comics should not be analyzed in this much depth. I do not, for a second, believe that comics are above serious criticism simply due to their format or their content. Comics, like every form of storytelling, are worthy of being examined and dissected. They are a part of our culture. They are literature and as such, they deserve to be studied. 

This essay explored Taylor’s current, ongoing run of Nightwing. I believe it proved not only its failure as a good story, but also as a good Nightwing story. Taylor’s superficial characterization, weak plot, and simplistic morality that undermines the story’s stated themes, demonstrate that Taylor does not care about Dick Grayson. He does not see Dick as a character worthy of his care and attention. At the very best Taylor lacks the knowledge to understand Dick. At the very best, Taylor has no interest in getting to know him, nor any respect for his predecessors to learn how they handled Dick and incorporating their work into his continuity. At worst, he despises the character so much that he wishes to re-invent him into something different, tossing away everything that was special to his fans in order to bring in a new crowd that never cared about Dick Grayson before he was made palatable to them. 

And that attitude is not isolated to Taylor. It is, I believe, observable throughout much of DC. Not all current writers, editors, and artists are like this, of course, but for years — decades, actually — there have been attempts to erase Dick’s importance to certain characters, to replace him, to downplay his achievements and his uniqueness in order to prop up others, and to water him down until he becomes but a shadow of who he was. Sometimes, it feels like DC is trying to kill Dick Grayson, remove his parts and give to other characters. This character gets his unique relationship with Bruce. This character gets to keep Dick’s relevance to Robin. These characters can have Bludhaven. For how long, I must wonder, do Dick Grayson fans have to put up with this silently? Must we just quietly watch this continue until Dick is all hollowed out and is only a memory living in the hearts of those who love him? 

Because we do love him. We love him for all the special characteristics that made him different, that did not make him into a blank canvas, an every-man hero. I do not hate Taylor personally, but I believe that his clear disinterest in Nightwing is not an isolated case, and that DC, at this moment in time, is unwilling to engage with Dick’s character and his fans. They want a brand new and palatable hero to step into his place, not the long standing bastion who has been around longer than most of DC’s characters. They don’t want Dick Grayson. They do not respect or care for him. And as such, I believe Dick’s fans have a right to be angry and to feel like DC does not care or respect them. 

I do not know how long these attempts at erasing Dick will last. I do not know how long-lasting the effects of Taylor’s run will be. But trends come and go, and Dick has been around for nearly a century. He’s a strong enough character to survive this long, and I believe, despite previous and current attempts, that he will survive this as well.

And as he does, I will be there, cheering him on. 

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 2: My people

Rhoda is sitting in her apartment, near the north facing window of her dining area, leaning on the table there and looking out at the courthouse, with its grandiose modern architecture and its halo of golden brown trees.

She’s thinking about last Thursday when her best friend just got her new name legally recognized, and the emotions that they both felt and shared that day.

She remembers that that was the day she first started revisiting the harder memories she has of her son. Her child. Memories she’d been avoiding for more than a decade. 

It’s been pretty rough since then, and this friend of hers is in the middle of the roughness. She wishes she had more friends. But what she has are countless acquaintances and contacts. People she could work at to become friends with, if she could trust them enough. Or had the energy to try.

Sometimes circumstances choose friendships for you.

And she did get to reminisce and vent all Sunday, and that was cathartic and something she’s been needing for a long time.

But then, the next day, she learned that her friend is something she can barely comprehend.

She knew she was a dragon. And she knew she was raised by white parents, and basically white herself. These were things that Rhoda had chosen to accept and work with for the sake of their growing companionship and mutual support. And that talk on Sunday had been so important to her.

But then Meghan Estragon Draconis goes and says that she’s more immortal than the immortals they both know that have been monkeying with human affairs.

And Rhoda’s brain has gone blank.

She’s seen the magic at work, since that first day. It’s easy to believe in. It’s nigh impossible not to. It’s as real as electricity.

And it feels like her new best friend has suddenly been replaced by the page of a book. An illustration with a caption underneath it on the top half, labeled with her friend’s name. And the bottom half with just a snippet of story. Hardly anything she can make sense of.

Is there a person there anymore?

Was there ever?

She didn’t go down to the shop today, because she needs this alone time to try to think about this.

“I don’t want to get caught up in nobody else’s myth,” her mouth says. And she half agrees with it.

If it were the right myth, and she had the right role, it feels like it would take her away from her pain, though. And that’s why she’d given Meghan the time of day in the first place, she realizes.

Maybe she should start going back to church. Not for the religion, of course. That’s already rejected her and her child, Jacob. But for the community. The chance of having some kind of family again.

She could maybe leave her truths here, in her apartment, for that.

It’s so fucking hard.

She and Meghan had been lonely together, and it was something, at least.

Her phone buzzes.

She pulls it out and sees a message from Meghan in her group chat, “All plans blown today. Met Säure at DMV. Want to eat him. Talking instead.”

—

Astraia’s oversized keyboard arrived yesterday, so today she and Caleb are trying it out.

Caleb works graveyard, so he’s effectively staying up late. But he says it’s worth it.

The livingroom of their apartment has become a hydra den, the white walls completely unadorned, and half the floor of the room covered with animal hides they’ve been trading and saving for. Astraia’s old wardrobe and some of the furniture went into the effort of acquiring them.

The other half has their computers hooked up to two medium sized TVs.

She can’t fit through the front door anymore, but the sliding glass door leading the concrete patio is still big enough. Another molt, and she might have to find a garage to move into.

But she’s not arguing with herselves about that right now. She’s almost all completely focused on playing Diablo 2: Resurrection with Caleb.

She’s hissing. He’s cussing. But occasionally they will each reach out and give the other an affectionate bump. They’re working together through the Kurrast swamps on Hell and they both have always hated this level. The shared hatred feels like a kind of love.

Fortuitously, right as she creates a town portal and steps through to the safety of the docks, there’s a loud ping from Discord.

Her rightmost head poinks at Caleb, and she switches over to see which server it’s coming from. Caleb nods and leans over to look at her screen.

Queen Meg’s, of course.

The general channel.

Meg wrote, “Säure is dragon. Can human. Talking right now. All day. Might eat him.”

She and Caleb exchange glances, then she types, “Save us eight bites.”

Caleb holds out a fist, and she bumps it with one of her noses.

They keep playing

—

Joel is enjoying his new favorite pastime of letting children play on him.

It is a weekday, and most kids are at school, and usually it would be just him and the seagulls unless he went to one of his other haunts to drink with the locals. But there’s this one family, and it’s clear that the two children need their dragon time while their mother talks with a friend about their troubles. He can’t talk, but he’ll be here for them whenever he can. Tuesdays are usually one of their days.

There isn’t much to it. He just lies there, and they climb all over him, ignoring the actual play toy in the playground. Occasionally, when they’re both far enough away from him for a moment, he’ll roll over and change his positioning. Always folding up his wings carefully, and tight, though, as out of the way as possible.

A few strategic groans, and the kids all learn pretty quickly where not to step, if they don’t figure it out themselves at first glance.

He’s now lying on his back in the grass with his head facing east, giving him an upside down view of the hill that Flounder Sound Brewpub is on, and the university behind that. And he can’t help yawning.

Later that night, he’ll do his rounds and swallow up the excess food that the restaurants have to throw out. He’s their new compost bin, and it’s a pretty good gig. Sometimes he gets some beer out of the deal, too.

He doesn’t have a tablet or a phone or anything like that that he can use to connect with the other dragons, but he feels like he’s starting to understand them as if they’re talking, even when they don’t utter a word. He wonders if that goes both ways. Sometimes it seems like Meghan understands him better than she should.

In any case, he doesn’t get the message from Meghan in any way.

Instead, what happens is that he feels her and another dragon enter his territory as if they were rolling onto one of his wings with a little toy car. It’s not a painful sensation at all, just a very clear and obvious one. And he recognizes her presence very clearly.

He’s always been able to do this, even before, though no one believed him about all the dragons.

He doesn’t recognize the other one, but he knows his nature. That’s a really fucking big dragon.

He groans and gives an affable yawp and starts to roll very slowly back onto his feet. The two kids both complain and whine, but dutifully and carefully get off.

Once everyone is situated in a standing position, he looks at them, bobs his head, and then yawps quietly again, as cheerfully as he can manage.

And then he starts galloping toward the brewpub where Meghan and her rival are clearly headed.

—

Wentin is standing precariously on the roof of the wooden observation tower on the hill in the Fairport Arboretum, facing north, its lionine form dwarfing the structure. Its head is turning ever so subtly as it tracks the movement of a speck of a car driving from Northside to the south end of Downtown Fairport. There are times when the car is not visible to it, hidden behind trees or buildings, but its gaze is unerringly accurate.

It’s not tracking by sight.

As the car approaches the brewpub that’s its destination, Wentin creaks, “Too soon. Much too soon.”

—

Chapman has an annoying little job today.

It’s a business card sie has to design from elements the client gave the shop.

The problem is that the chosen comp has been returned on the third revision with the note, “Can we make my logo bigger, pls.” This is the third time sie has seen that note on this job.

As always, if the logo were any bigger it would bleed off the edges of the card and be illegible.

It seems like, about four times a year, another client makes this same demand of a business card or a small ad or a brochure. There’s just a type of business owner that doesn’t seem to understand the concept of space or how to communicate what it is that they actually want, and they all use the same cut and paste note, complete with the abbreviated “pls”.

Talking to hir coworkers and boss about it only gets light commiseration and maybe a cussword or two, but no further understanding. Nobody has a clue why people do this.

It must be a neurotype. A percentage of the human population that just sees space differently somehow.

Chapman dearly wants to scan this client to find out what’s going on, but that goes against hir personal code of ethics.

The only thing sie can do design-wise is actually make the logo a tiny bit smaller, increasing the white space around it, and moving all the other elements just a tad further away from it, shrinking them.

Otherwise, sie can effectively fire the client as being too hard to work with. Hir boss will back hir up on that.

Sie decides to give her expert design decision a try, thinking about how sie really shouldn’t have to put this much thought into such a small, routine job. And sighs.

Hir phone buzzes.

Sie leans back in hir chair and picks it up from its face down space on hir desk to look at the message as briefly as possible.

It’s Meghan.

It’s Meghan with Säure.

Chapman touches the scanning tattoos on hir wrists together and focuses on Meghan’s patterns, knowing that Meghan will feel this, and perhaps Säure will too.

They’re headed to Flounder Sound Brewpub, in a car.

Chapman scans the whole city next and spends a moment thinking about the data sie received from it.

It’s not numbers. It’s not something you could plug into a computer.

This century, Chapman would choose to describe it as like strings of probability, all interwoven and passing waves of meaning to each other. And that looking at a portion of it can give you clues as to what’s happening in the greater universe and hints as to what’s happening to a tinier portion of it, but never anything definitive. But at the scale of pattern that you look at, if you squint, sometimes you can predict the future.

Kind of like predicting where a baseball will fly after a pitcher has thrown it. At a certain point, you’re trying to predict where it will go after the batter has swung, and that’s harder.

Chapman groans and presses the backs of hir wrists together, a different set of tattoos.

This time, all the power in the building goes out.

Chapman was saving this particular effect for an emergency like this.

The power won’t go on for the rest of the day, and everyone will have to go home, where they will be slightly safer.

Maybe that will have been unnecessary, but sie does care about them.

—

Kim and Kimberly both interrupt their tasks to pull their phones out of their pockets at the same time and look at them. Then they exchange uneasy looks.

“What just happened?” the nosiest customer they’ve either ever met asks them.

“Armageddon,” Kimberly says, shugging, and putting her phone back in her skirt pocket, and then turning to the espresso machine to prep it.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it will be fine,” Kim says, waving her hand dismissively at the customer and going back to the POS to finish the order.

Later, Kim mumbles to Kimberly, “I’m sure the others will keep us informed.”

“Or we’ll hear about it with our own ears when the city explodes,” Kimberly responds.

“Please don’t talk like that.”

—

Since his last statement, I’ve been having trouble figuring out what to say to Säure, and the rest of the drive has been oppressively quiet.

It’s almost like he’s managed to paralyze me with just words.

It’s my C-PTSD, I know. Suddenly having a social demand placed on me by an authority figure sometimes does this to me, even if I don’t want to recognize them as an authority.

I’m painfully aware of the perceived power he has over me as someone in his socio-economic position, and the very possible real power he has that I just honestly don’t know about. I don’t know what he’s spent his money on. And he has a larger vocabulary than me while exhibiting at least one of my own special abilities.

His draconic prowess is a huge unknown.

But, you know? So is mine. I’ve only just started learning what I can really do. And I can feel I’m due for another molt, which means I’m growing. I think. I know I’m growing. Maybe molting happens regardless.

So now, I’m holding my tablet in my lap and staring at the road, ignoring the car around me, and thinking about just whether or not I can get the better of him and show my dominance, at all. Ever.

And then we get to our destination, and the lunch time rush has made it so there are no parking spots within a two block radius.

And I get the rare joy to see a genuine billionaire silently, stoically fuming as he drives in circles, looking for a place to park where he won’t have to walk very much.

The really weird part of this moment is when I realize that we’re both dragons who should not be doing this. We should have our teeth on each other’s necks, claws dug into each other’s sides, beating each other silly with our wings. We should be wreathed in fire.

—

Ptarmigan stands on the roof of the Magnolia apartments, keeping an eye on Meghan’s duffel bag, even though she never asked her to do that.

It just has old clothes of Chapman’s in it. And there’s nothing else special on the roof, besides a smattering of small polished river rocks and undigested compressed pellets full of beak, bone, and feather fragments.

But every now and then, Ptarmigan feels like it’s a good idea to be up here when Meghan isn’t, and to keep an eye on things. Especially when the police presence in the neighborhood picks up.

She’s not exactly worried about being caught up here.

It would be extremely inconvenient. But she’s taken precautions to make that improbable. While she’s present, anyone thinking about checking the roof, or glancing its way, will remember nightmares they had as a child that terrorized them, and stop thinking about it.

Meghan’s had enough bother from the human authorities. It’s time someone trained them to reflexively ignore her home.

Meghan has no idea that Ptarmigan is doing this, and that doesn’t really matter.

Ptarmigan’s phone buzzes and she looks at it.

“Yeah,” she says. Then she walks to the southeast corner of the building and looks out over the city toward one of the brewpubs. The one near the Farmer’s Market square.

She reaches up and grabs the toothpick that’s in her mouth and flicks it out toward the street. She doesn’t even watch it fall.

Sitting down on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the side, she pulls her little sketch-journal out and yanks the ballpoint pen out of its spine.

It’s time to do some real work.

—

Maybe I’ll hear about all these reactions my friends are having after the fact and include them in one of the books I’m writing. For now, I’m just speculating.

I know that I now plan on writing several. Without being able to talk as well as I used to, I have the urge to be at my computer as often as possible and just write. And I know that even if I just write about the first few weeks of this whole experience, I’m going to infodump about dragons and it’s going to get too long for one book. And a lot has happened. A lot keeps happening.

Or, maybe I’ll be messily killed and eaten, if not by Säure then by Wentin, and I’ll lose my memories of this life, and it will all be filled in by one of my friends, as they finish this chapter of my story.

I feel pretty comfortable with either outcome, honestly. Though I don’t look forward to the experience of being eaten. Or most of me doesn’t.

I haven’t quite yet figured out how it will all turn out, but at least I know what I am.

—

There’s a moment, at the stop sign right in front of the brewpub, where the incensed Säure stops and just breathes. He closes his eyes, hands at ten and two o’clock, relaxes his shoulders, and takes in a breath through his nose and lets it out through his teeth.

And then he watches as a family of four leave the restaurant section of the brewpub and start walking toward their van, which appears to be parked around the corner to the right of us.

A little earlier, I had felt shifts from Chapman and Ptarmigan, so I know I’m being looked after.

If Säure did anything, I didn’t feel it.

He didn’t use Artistry.

I know I don’t feel any sort of shift when Wentin does its weird shit. And I expect I won’t feel anything whenever Säure sheds his disguise.

I can speculate as to what this means. It seems pretty obvious, but sometimes I like to keep my reactions free of conclusions. I just note this right now.

Maybe Säure didn’t do anything but relax.

He smiles at me as the spot opens up and he pulls forward to turn and take it before anyone else can.

“It. Worked,” he says.

[the-meadowlarks-cradle]

Ramuda Amemura Regressor Headcanons

Ghdhdhfjgmgmg this request made me really happy i love ramuda so so so much i had a lot of fun thinking about these and i hope @idsmiles likes these just as much!! Tho ill admit it has a lot of fling posse as a whole in it.... sorry :3 enjoy!

TW for vent regression at the end!!

- Oh man baby Ramuda would be an accidental little agent of chaos. He'd be super playful and curious, holding a lot of childlike wonder in regards to his surroundings, I feel hed be more so like a baby regression wise and would try and eat/play with a lot of things he shouldn't. He would find almost everything new and exciting, being able to learn about the world through a kids eyes would be fun to him.

- I think Dice and Gentaro would know about him being a regressor. Not straight away, but they would probably catch him regressing on accident - and they've already heard so many crazy things about Ramuda that this doesn't really phase them at all. They're kind of like his carers, as much as he'd let them be, and Ramuda would appreciate having the two of them when he feels he has nobody.

- he's such an artsy and creative person anyway, I think one of his favourite things to do when small would be colouring pages or crafts. It'd be nice to put that side of him into things that isn't just work. Along with that he loooooves playing dress up and he'd love someone to play a little game with him. I think sometimes Gentaro would, and he loves acting out whatever story Gentaro decides to think of on the spot. And yes, Gentaro would 100% do his best to drag Dice into it with the help of little Ramuda, and man he really can't say no to the little guy at all. Especially not when he's that happy about it.

- baby Ramuda would make himself be as independent as he can. Mostly because trying to open up to anyone enough to let him take care of him sounds like something he would rather die than do. He cant even really conceive it. As much as he would REALLY need one, and as obvious as it is that Dice and Gentaro are more than happy to do that for him - he just can't really fully trust anyone with it. It's a lot for him because this is something he never got, he never got to grow up properly - this is something he feels he needs for himself. Despite this, Dice and Gentaro have to constantly remind Ramuda he's a baby and handling big kid things like scissors and knives is very dangerous--

- baby Ramuda would also be really defiant and rather pouty, always trying to get his way by being cute about it at first then straight up pouting and huffing when it doesn't go the way that he wants it to. He throws a lot of hissy fits, not really actual tantrums but he does get a little fussy. Its not easy to get Ramuda to do things that he doesnt want to, even though he has to, but eventually he'll be defeated by the promise of a little treat.

- Funnily enough, he handles his anxiety and dread on his own situation better when small - compared to spiralling downwards at least. He actually lets himself feel, it's cathartic to actually be able to cry about it, as scary as it is at the time and how he really doesn't know how to handle all these big emotions he's feeling - or even fully understand what is actually going on in his head. And when he has Dice and Gentaro with him, he can't lie and say it doesn't help when they calm him down by just letting him talk and reassuring him that he'll aways have them. It's easier to believe when he's a child, too.

- Generally, baby Ramuda feels all kinds of things in extremes - more so than he normally does. This includes being more expressive when he's happy too - he can barely contain it, he laughs a lot harder, smiles a lot more, gets way more giddy and excited about things and he talks and babbles a lot too when he's happier. He loves sharing how hes feeling when he's truly happy, he doesn't get to feel it all too often, and honestly Dice and Gentaro tend to find it precious. After all, they know how hard it is - so any time Ramuda gets to be happy is cherished by all three of them.

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas!!

im gonna rant at you for a bit if you dont mind :)

Im a minor that lives in a super tight night, close minded community. Super religious, super homophobic transphobic ect. Seeing as im a teenage girl whose questioning their gender and is definitely attracted to women thats kinda problematic lols. Honestly idek how to explain the situation without a bunch of details, but basically, theres a fifty-fifty chance of me being sent to conversion therapy or just cut off from any internet access (and i mean ANY. i have a flip phone for fucks sake.)if my fam finds out im queer, i have no support system outside of some internet friends who know nothing about my situation, and within the next few years(so like once i turn 20ish, thats in like 4 years but whatever) my family is going to expect me to get married to a man and start popping out babies asap. Btw thats whats expected of me in this community, marriage under the age of 25, have like as many kids as physically possible and god forbid higher education. And im not okay with that . Ffs i want to go to college, major in fine arts, meet a person i like and fall desperately in love or maybe not just have a bunch of close platonic relationships i want cats and a dog and a cute studio in a big city where i can dye my hair whatever color i want aand get an obsene amount of piercings, i want to wear pants!! I just want to live. Without expectations or limits or people who love me hating everything they dont know about me. Is that truly so much to ask for?

And im incredibly dramatic cuz i literally have the dream life. My family loves me, my parents are upper middle class, theyve never hurt me before(besides for all the anti everything rants haha) i literally have a full sized bed, which for some reason i see as the peak of being spoiled idk why. I go to school, not even public, a private religious school that prob costs thousands of dollars, i have friends(who are all part of this community btw and id bet my entire savings that most of them think gay is only a word that ppl use to mean happy lol) close ones even!! I have adorable neices and nephews(my 3 sisters all were married by the age of 20, so i have 11 niecesand nephews while my oldest sister is 31) im living the dream life. But i hate it and i have no way out. No hope of college to get on my feet and find someway out, no people that'll help me fucking run away or some bullshit like that, hell ive considered it and then felt like shit, cuz what am i even running from? Im probably attracted to men it wont kill me to marry one. And i like kids, i wouldnt mind having any either. But.... i dont want to be trapped anymore. Cuz ill be honest thats what i am.if some one asked me to run away with them rn i would, no hesitation.

God im a mess😭😭 anyway this was me ranting in my notes app, im just apologizing for dumping this on a complete stranger(we're moots actually!!) albeit a very kind one :) i dont know what im looking for, but ill take whatever your comfortable giving ig.

I love and appreciate you<333

And hey this has been oddly cathartic so lmk if its okay for me to do this again sometime :))

"im living the dream life. But i hate it and i have no way out."

Hon, you're not living the dream life...there's a difference between financial privilege and being happy, you know? It's pretty clear that this isn't what you want.

I'm not sure if you're asking for my advice here, or if you just want to vent. But I care about you, and if you want me to research some things to try to help you, I'm more than willing to (that way it's not on your search history.) Just say the word!

Until then, you are ALWAYS allowed to vent to me.

I'm naming you venting anon in case you write again!

[4townlove]

4⭐Town Headcanons : When Youre Having a Bad Night

⭐ Robaire

"Hey there, love.

I'm sorry things are difficult now, and... I completely understand how low you're feeling. I often feel the same myself.

Its like thw weight of the entire universe is on your shoulders, but if you slip up even for a second, everything falls apart. Its unbearable sometimes, suffocating... but when I'm in those moments, after letting myself feel the emotions... I always find my hope again in music.

And I know in times like these it's easy to listen to music that fits how bad we're feeling, its almost cathartic, but listening to or singing hopeful music always helps me believe, little by little, that I can get through it.

So... could I sing for you? Just for you... maybe music can bring you some peace and strength like it does to me."

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

⭐ Jesse

"Life's pulling a fast one, hm?

Yeah, I know how it feels to feel... like you're alone in the world. But you're not alone now. I'm here with you, and I'll stay right here until you feel safe again.

How about I make us some hot chocolate? Something warm and sweet is always good to help you feel better. At least, that's what I do. Whenever it's all just too much I... settle down, make a big mug of something good and get as comfortable as I can and do whatever possible to relax and clear my mind before breaking down what I'm struggling with. Somehow it... it eases the pain I feel inside....

You wanna try it? I make a pretty good cuppa, if i do say so myself, but I'll make it perfect... just for you."

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

⭐ Taeyoung

"Oh... I'm sorry things are hard right now. It can be really stressful when it's like the whole world is falling down around you and you can't find an escape...

Even when I feel overwhelmed like you do now. I get all flustered and shut down but, I've realised that... focusing on what you can do, what you do have control over, can help ease the burden.

even if all you can do is... put on a funny video you love or listening to your favourite song or... even just getting a few inhales of fresh air is more rhan enough.

It's easier said than done, I know, but... I'll help you. You can hold my hand all the way if you need. I'm here for you, sweetheart. We'll get through this together.."

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⭐ Aaron T

"Man... it's times like these where I just wanna fight life itself for pickin on you like this. I'm sorry... so so damn sorry. You don't deserve this pain! Not for a second! But I'll do whatever I can to take as much of it away as possible!!

Since Life is to chicken to fight me man to man- or um.. man to... cosmos, i guess- I can help you get away from it all, yknow. At least for a bit. Knowing when to tap out for a breather is just as important as knowing when to keep fighting on.

So! How about a midnight trip to McDonalds? I'll get you whatever you like! And we can go to the park to eat it! I'll bring my boombox, some blankets! It'll be fun! You'll feel better in no time. I promise! O-or well, at least i hope you will... but I'll do my best !!!!"

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⭐ Aaron Z

"Hey... I noticed you're having a rough time tonight. I'm sorry.

C'mere... let me hug you for a while.

It's ok to feel down sometimes, but I just want you to know you're not alone in it. So... I'll hold you as long as you need... and if you want to talk then, I'll listen for as long as you need me to.

Talking helps, when you can so... Im all ears. Feel free to vent to me anytime... about anything. I'll always listen and do my best to help you. Because I care about you.

I know it can feel like alot but, I'm here. Trust me. You're ok with me. Promise."

[bunny584]

IM OKAY

This is gonna be long, bear with me

Come sit with me, Bunbun, I brought hot cocoa (and also liquor if you need it)

First of all, thank you. I don't think I say it enough, but thank you, thank you, thank you. If it wasn't for you, I don't think I would have gotten into writing JJK stuff nearly as quickly as I did. Your writing continues to get me all fluffy and happy, and encourages me to keep writing

There's something about like...medical angst that's just different. I dunno how to put it. Maybe I get edgy sometimes and get the urge to write my own medical angst, but I'm always so nervous about getting it wrong, so I'm definitely delighted to see how you do it. Especially considering your knowledge! I do my best to research and understand, but it's still one of those things that makes me a bit nervous as I don't want to represent anything incorrectly

Next

I don't think that different forms of grief are shown a lot, one of which includes sex, so I'm happy to see a new depiction of grief in a story. Especially coming from you! I admire you a lot for a bunch of reasons ❤️ it always fascinates me to see how the thoughts of other people process and appear on paper (or text), and I get so damn giddy when you post a new update (or in general) because it's, like...there's one of my fav authors! You make me fangirl, damnit.

This whole chapter was just a wild ride, from the boys struggling, like Satoru taking it out on Sugaru (pls give the man some extra love and kisses :( ) to just the whole chaos, to Mama Darling, TO THE FUCKIN PREGNANCY REVEAL?? THEN THE LOSS???? AAAAAA THAT HIT LIKE A SUCKER PUNCH, the boys were SO close to being papas :c </3 hhhhhhhh your writing is so good but FUCK I weep for each baby involved, literal and emotional </3 I know I gotta be patient but I can’t wait for them to get back on that baby-making grind. I’ll be a good girl, I swear, so I’ll dream whilst I wait for another gift from you

Next next

Whenever I think about posting my stories, I get nervous because I'm a shy, praise-whore of a bean, but it's also because I wanna make a good impression on someone who I love and look up to reading my stuff. Like, "this author is so good, I hope they like my writing, too," type of deal. I'm bad at articulating my own feelings BFKFBFKDN I’m so antsy about you reading my fic because I want you to like it aaaaaaa (mildly related, I did a TINY rewrite of the pianist!Satoru fic to make it better, and by tiny I mean that I just went back in with a thesaurus lmao)

Lastly! 

I'm okay! I'm a strong girl, I got this, I CAN DO IT FOR YOU

AND I DID!

I can do it for your writing because it's worth it! Plus, crying can be very cathartic! I very much approve of using writing/reading as an emotional outlet to vent out one's feelings and get that sweet, sweet catharsis. The only part I don't like about crying is how stuffy my nose gets. I'm unable to blow my nose because it plugs my ears hardcore which drives me insane and makes me dizzy, but otherwise it can be so freeing. Even if the heart hurts, I know you have the power to mend the cracks and breaks with lacquer and gold dust

It makes me happy that you consider my heart, by the way ❤️ don't be afraid to write whatever your heart desires, even if it hurts! I know we'll be here for each other through and through to heal our souls 

(P.S. you're beautiful, both inside and out ❤️ yellow suits you, like the sun 💛)

BABY!!!!! My sweet girl. I was waiting for when you’d forgive me enough for that hell of a chapter I promise heaven is coming soon.

Okay, let’s talk about it.

1. Hi, you don’t ever have to thank me for writing. Your loyal readership, constant support, and incredible, insightful comments are thanks enough. You are one of my favorites, I do hope I’ve made it abundantly clear.

2. Medical angst is god tier. Its raw. Its omnipresent. With your technical writing skill you’d carry it out, flawlessly.

3. You always make me blush like a fool when you compliment my work in ways I don’t deserve 😭😭😭 I’ve already warned you! Affection means I fall first and hard and that’s a natural disaster for all parties involved??? In all seriousness, the way you respond to my words on paper is…probably one of the most beautiful things to come out of this hobby I picked up last October.

4. You are insanely talented. Tether me is incredible. My commentary is in my drafts because I wrote as I read. You’ll be receiving a full, unhinged review tomorrow. And to this day, Pianist! Satoru takes the cake for my favorite take on that boy.

5. I know you’re strong. And you can take what I dish out. It doesn’t stop the pause I have before I hit publish 😅 there are a few of you. With pretty, pretty tender souls that I know have put me in time out at least a time or two with the recent infusion of angst/hurt. Quietly I wonder if you guys will come back to me. I’ve been lucky so far that you always do.

Whew, getting me a lil emotional. To my curly haired soulmate - I adore you, thank you for being here and being you 💕

[vacantgodling]

sometimes i think people really do underestimate how much clearer a head you can have once you are able to get out your feelings in a safe space. even if you don't do therapy, journaling where you can be perfectly honest with yourself, sending a post off to the court of public opinion (aita, posting on a blog or an advice column) or just talking to your friends candidly without judgement for the situation you're in is legitimately so cathartic. and sometimes, venting or airing out your grievances about your situation can help you approach it more level-headedly. its necessary. its needed. when you hold things in you allow your emotions to distort and color what you're thinking and feeling until it reaches levels of unhealthy fever pitch and you're driving yourself bonkers just trying to make sense of it all. but every time i've taken the time to write or journal, or vent to a close, trusted companion... suddenly my headspace is super clear. i can make better decisions. i can see where my emotions were dictating how i acted and i can correct those mistakes or work on those things that are bothering me. sometimes letting it out is needed so you can get better.

[quadrange]

ive tried using a bunch of different forms of art as some sort of art therapy thing, mainly drawing or painting but it never worked out. i never finish the paintings i start when im sad, the paint takes too long to dry. but unintentionally my music has been becoming this thing. over maybe the past two years ive been randomly making small sound design bits, minute long recordings of jams that i would send to someone to show and then forgot about. and it has been becoming my style to just take those random bits and put them together and play them as a live set or layer them into a track. and people like them sometimes. its really cathartic in a way. didnt ever intend for that to happen but it makes me really happy. my music is a sound collage of depressed meaningless recordings. i am reapropriating my vent art into something i can be happy about

[hanzajesthanza]

by the way, i wanted to thank everybody for so many kind, encouraging, and thoughtful responses to my first video. (slight vent post :>)

it did indeed take a lot of work and a lot out of me, a lot of research, multiple stupid all-nighters… but as unhealthy as it was, it was actually really good for me, i think. it was a real experiment, i honestly haven’t worked so hard on something since my thesis to graduate last year.

i felt cathartic, that i had it in me to make something like this, that i’m not useless…

i mean, i know i’m not, but ever since graduation i’ve felt so, so burned out and as a result of that, just, stupid and inexperienced compared to everyone else in my field, socially isolated, agoraphobic, even, in some cases.

(i’m one of those people that worked really hard in high school and college, and now that i’ve graduated it’s like, who am i? what is my purpose? what is my value? add burnout to that, and you have a year of feeling guilty that i’m not killing myself constantly with projects.)

so to be able to actually fucking make something that not only took a lot of work, but had me constantly pushing my comfort zone, reorganizing my space (physically and digitally) and just trying my hardest to get it done… on top of it, being really, really be passionate about what i was working on… it feels like…

it feels like, if a close friend of yours died a year ago… and you went numb with mourning… but then you just got news that they’re alive…

but the thing is, that friend is you.

it’s funny how dramatic i’m being, because i actually decided today that i don’t like the video much, and that it’s not very well-produced. (it only took me two-to-four days to start hating my artwork, of course. well, i had a good time being proud of myself while it lasted).

it’s something along the lines of calanthe’s “i hope my outburst didn’t offend you. the form, not the content.” i hope this video didn’t offend you—the form, not the content. i’m secure in the content, the research. but the form… again, like calanthe’s, very ‘in the moment.’

i woke up this morning really mad at myself for making some creative decisions that i feel cheapen the whole thing. (i don’t know what posessed me to use my accent color for a background color, it makes the whole thing look gaudy and unprofessional. i guess i just didn’t want a boring white background, but ugh… that is going to be on my list of regrets for a while).

but i placated myself knowing that the video does its job as a biography and a source of information. and the fact that youtubers sometimes remake their first videos later in their careers. (well, at least my first video is a topic that will never go out of style, it’s an essential, expository, evergreen topic of interest). and that i will make more videos, improving one thing at a time. one thing at a time. slow steps to progress.

i want to make engaging videos, but it’s really difficult because i don’t think i have a very engaging personality… it’s very “book report”-ish at the moment, lmao, i’d like to be myself. if i know who that person is.

i had a ton of anxiety about how i would be judged or what if i got it entirely wrong… (i rerecorded some parts due to this and i think that may have been a bad decision, because the cuts sound terrible, but anyways). but everyone was so encouraging and just had such a warmhearted reception to it, i don’t think i expected that. i expected mean comments for some reason, idk lol. i also expected way more pushback and cringe because i was talking about sapkowski (who, as we all know, is not very popular, for some reasons more valid than others). so i honestly have no idea where the positivity came from, except your own good souls and goodwill towards me, which is astounding, so thank you.

i want to make more videos and improve. and grow the channel, so it can serve people who are interested in the books. the books deserve something of their own, their own space. i know they’ve had their own space for as long as they’ve existed, but this would be my space for them. if that makes sense. i’m carving out an intentional space for the witcher books, slowly but surely, it will get there with time.

at the same time, i have to balance this with real life. ugh, real life. i might have serious committments this week, but i have no idea... the exact details yet. essentially, committments that may eat up all my time to the point where i’ll have no time for this large crazy video experiment after all.

my name, nimue, is… an emanation of myself. like krzysztof’s katarzyna. a poet’s name.

my person that exists within book pages, the mind, and the web. but not in real life. or rather, not yet in real life. i think they’re stuck somewhere between the screen and the floor.

i’d like to bring them to life, soon. but it will take time, work. i have no idea if i’ll have that kind of time soon. i have no idea what adulthood brings me in terms of commitments. it hurts me to abandon nimue like this. for once, i was able to bargain something for them, release myself, give into the creative flow. i spent a week being them, i think that’s the longest nimue has ever existed in the real world. and now… i have to jump back into my ‘real’ self again. “no fun allowed.” damn it. and i had just tasted that freedom, that creation.

all i know is that i can’t let them die. though i think they’re immortal inside me, after all. and perhaps one day we’ll become the same person. it could happen!

[jakethesequel]

I'm 100% sure I'm guilty of doing this myself, but do you ever see a post and think it would have been way more rhetorically effective if it changed its focus audience just a little? Granted, not every post is supposed to be for a wide audience, and shouldn't be. Sometimes to just want to complain to your homies who you know agree with you.

I'm just thinking, sometimes I'll see a post that's like "[X socio-political opinion] is so dumb, are any other [Y opposing socio-political opinion] followers seeing this? Obviously hard-Y is the only ethical position, but they keep suggesting solution X1 as a compromise between X and Y. This is stupid, because there can be no compromise between X and Y, because [hard-Y socio-political opinion founded in a belief fundamentally incompatible with the X worldview]. But like every Y knows, X1 doesn't work because [genuine criticisms of solution X1 that can be understood by X and Y followers without challenging their foundational axioms, and could convince soft-X followers to abandon X1 in favor of a better XY compromise that might be agreeable to both soft-X and soft-Y]. The X-ers will never understand this though because they're all brain-poisoned by hard-X, and all soft-X compromises are a hard-X ploy to subvert Y, which can only be stopped by even harder Y."

Now granted, I'm probably just overthinking a post that was not intended to have broad appeal and was just looking to complain among mutual followers of Y. Or it might just be some rent-lowering gunshots, I know I sometimes try to keep bigots off my page just by reblogging some angry leftist memes to piss them off. It's just got me thinking on how some of my own posts must come across, and how I might alter my rhetoric so I can still have my rhetoric-heavy vent/complaint/whatever to my fellow Y believers; but not alienate soft-X or neutral people so they don't ignore the kernel of sound, broad-spectrum, mass-appeal critique in there. How to have my enthusiastic, cathartic, inspirational appeal to emotion without it overwhelming my bit of rational, analytic, intelligent critique.

[fordtato]

🍉💞

🍉in what ways has writing helped you process trauma and/or navigate through your own life?

This one's tough to answer in detail, but I do think that there is a lot of projection at play in my writing. Much of the experiences I write about (estranged family, growing up in poverty and wanting to break out of that, over-ambition , internalized homophobia) mirror my own experiences. I'm not a therapist, I don't know if writing about it is my way of working through it or just writing what I know or just venting, but I think that writing it is at least cathartic. And maybe sometimes that's all you need.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

In stories I read/watch/consume, I think the most important thing is the characters and the state of mind of the characters and if their reactions/actions feel True or not. I think that, no matter what a character does (whether its a good thing or a petty thing or a shitty thing or a pure evil thing) if it feels True to that character, that is the most important thing. If you have characters with strong motivations/emotional states and a good way of communicating those motivations/emotional states, the rest just falls into place.

Asks from this post

[dendrahrah]

[ soft touches / still accepting (please!!)]

@furaajesuu sent: 001. grab their hand .

Ever since she first stepped foot into the Paldea region, Dendra Iwai had devoted everything she had towards her personal training, studies, and--most importantly--the prestigious Academy and its students. Even now, the newly-minted Battle Studies instructor often finds herself racing around the school's hallways to put out metaphorical fires, running last-second errands for her colleagues, and staying late to offer meditation sessions for stressed-out kids, all of them sprawled out across the schoolyard as their teacher walks them through a simple deep breathing exercise...

And sometimes, even for an absolute warrior like Dendra, everything comes crashing down, her careful array of balanced responsibilities collapsing inwards like a fallen house of cards. It's all just too much to handle. Even for me.

On these rare occasions where the pressure threatens to crush her, she knows exactly where to go, every time.

In case one should ever need the other, Dendra and Tulip maintain a longstanding open-line, open-door policy between themselves: call me if you need anything, and come over anytime. And whenever the instructor arrives at her best friend's door in that shaken state--usually late at night, on the verge of breaking down--the Alfornada Gym Leader knows exactly what to do, taking Dendra's hand and ushering her inside. Within minutes, Tulip has soothing teas prepared, scented candles lit, and she's sitting close to her best friend on the couch, both of them covered in warm blankets.

It always takes a while for Dendra--stubborn Dendra--to open up, but Tulip takes her hand and holds on, the fashionista's grip gentle but steadying, her thumb tracing comforting circles across the back. And, with a little additional coaxing, it isn't long before a teary Dendra will finally spill everything on her mind. Tulip is one of the few people that have heard her vent, really vent, and they both end up venting together, holding fast to each other as (through rants and gossip) they release all of their pent-up negative emotions from the past weeks, sometimes months. It's cathartic. Therapy.

And when it's all over, when Dendra is finally falling asleep on Tulip's couch, she isn't focusing on the stresses and pressures of her life anymore. Instead, the instructor is thinking about how lucky she is, how grateful she feels for the inseparable bond formed with Tulip all those years ago...especially during times like these. They had each other's backs until the end.

Thanks, Tuli.

Nobody gets me like you do.

[lonelyinkcap]

hi sorry im. here idk i know youre not here you dont have to answer anything idk i hope its ok if i hang out here for a bit

my brains been pretty weird today i keep trying to write i keep failing do you ever write to yourself? i used to hate it in fifth grade my teacher asked every student to keep a diary, for some reason. i dont think i made it past a day i have one from seventh grade with a couple pages filled out mostly surface level things, my hobbies, my interests, current school drama. things i thought would be interesting to future me. nothing too personal sometimes id write paragraphs and paragraphs of posts on my vent blog and then just. delete them. like. id finish writing and then just close the tab it felt really cathartic, but at the same time i half wish id saved them so i could go back and read them, even if i know i wouldnt like what i was reading im not even sure if thisll end up in your inbox i guess if youre seeing this then you know the answer i dunno i write a lot of letters to myself. i never noticed how much i enjoyed them. did your school ever force you to write those "time capsule" letters? i tried looking for one that i wrote in seventh grade, that was returned to me at the end of eighth. i couldnt find it. im not sure if i lost it or if its just buried somewhere in my drawer of cards i have a time capsule saved on a google doc that i wrote at the end of eighth grade. its supposed to be mailed to me at the end of high school, so i guess having it to look at any time kind of defeats the purpose. but its pretty surface level stuff anyway, like i said. just interests and things. im fairly sure i wrote extra on the physical copy? maybe just so the teachers couldnt look at it. i'm not sure. i wrote one to myself a couple weeks ago. im not sure if its more like a diary entry or a time capsule. i always tend to get existential with that kind of thing but, this note is. particularly suicidal. i suppose as im writing this im realizing that i probably dont want to send this. and you probably dont wanna read it either. so i amend my previous statement. if youre reading this, its because i misclicked and accidentally sent this ask instead of copy pasting it and saving it to my drafts where it would rot and die. i have a couple drafts there. ones i... dont think id want you to see. i guess.

my cursor naturally drifts closer to the "ask" button, as if betraying me, its weilder. its tomorrow now, it has been for a bit. i wonder if i'll stay up long enough for you to wake up? sorry, i dont know where i was going with any of this. and since ive abandoned any hope of sending this to you. i guess ill stop here. im sorry.

[captain-of-silvenar]

For the fanfic asks: J and/or L?

Thank you for the ask! Always appreciated :)

J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?

Oh, I have so many of them! The first one that comes to mind is the Bodyguard to Friend to Lover kind of trope. I'm in the works with this trope with First Impressions with a Teldryn/Dragonborn pairing.

I enjoy having a character have initial thoughts about the OC, then getting to know them outside the confines of their initial contract, and even if their contract is strictly to protect them on paper it is fun to then morph that into actual connections that extend past their paycheck. Very fun, lots of possibilities to play with.

And I'll get into it a little bit more with the next question: but I do like a good Hurt/Comfort every now and then. Sometimes we need a good whump to let out an emotion in a controlled state. And then patch it up with some good aftercare makes it cathartic. Which leads to-

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

What a coincidence, was just talking to a friend about this. If we are talking recently, my first published long fic I linked above was emotionally challenging for me because I was testing myself to put some of my writing into a public space and try to not get overtly anxious about it. Which is working, I'm still writing it and haven't deleted it off Ao3 so that is a good start for me.

My most emotionally charged fic, though, is one I don't think I'll ever publish because it has a lot of baggage attached to it from my own personal life. It's a vent fic at it's core, and has a lot of things in it reflecting a bad time of my life. That fic helped me out and is still helping me right now as I try to change it from a strictly vent dump to a recovery one. I have some thoughts about its existence, but it is still important to me. And I think it's good to have these kinds of writing just for a personal use to have a controlled setting to write and let things out and not have to worry about outside eyes.