#like we can compare to ourselves all we want but we still live in a world where it's significantly more possible to speak out

[evilkitten3]

having some thoughts on itachi and radicalization and how people can do the most horrific shit imaginable while fully believing it's the right thing to do and police states

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[foone]

I want a human zoology textbook.

Zoology, as in the study of animals. Like, a study of how humans work, done by an author that is not human.

I specifically want this for a couple reasons:

1. Descriptive, not prescriptive: don't tell me what the author thinks humans should do or how they should be. Tell me what they do. Observationally!

2. No bias towards "nature". I don't particularly care what the author is imagining humans are like in some "garden of eden" unfallen state. I want it to reference how humans ARE.

3. No morality applied to this! What do humans DO, not what you think they should do, or how they should be. And most importantly, no self-censorship in order to avoid offending some of the humans that disagree with ways people live.

And the reason I want this is because of how biology textbooks/wiki pages get written, where even if they try to be progressive they're still written from this weird perspective where they're explaining based on old ideas and the progressive stuff gets a footnote.

Like it'll be "humans have two genders, male and female. This is determined from their chromosomes, XY for male and xx for female."

And then you scroll past two pages for men and another two pages for women, and then it has one subsection that covers non-binary people and intersex people. And it's like: well then integrate that into your main statement!

It's like the author's worldview is still "there's two genders and everyone is born as one" but they've been forced to accept there are some weird exceptions but the core worldview is unchanged. And it's understandable! Wrong, but understandable: the grew up in a world that is quite strong on the "there are only two genders" ideology and doesn't like to remember that intersex people exist.

But like, imagine if you tried to do this as a zoologist. You're like "hey, all bees are female!" and then someone points out the rare male drones and they're like "oh okay I'll update my zoology textbook."

And now it reads:

All bees are female. Most are workers, and one is the queen.

(a couple sections go pass)

Drones: recent science has discovered that some bees are born male. These rare exceptions live short lives where they fertilize a queen and then die.

And it's like, no? Drones are very important to how a hive lives and they can't survive without them?

And we're constantly doing the same thing to humans and it's just bad science. Like, sure, maybe you could have the theory that "humans come in two genders: male and female" but as soon as you see one non-binary person, you have to discard that theory: it has been proven false! It's like not believing in other galaxies after Henrietta Swan Leavitt figured out how Cepheid Variables worked.

Add to that the "nature" thing. Like, you can make a sort of argument about nature vs artificial settings for a lot of species: the whole alpha/beta wolf thing came about because it turns out wolves act differently in captivity compared to the wild, so it makes sense to study how the vast majority of wolves live, not a small group you stuffed into a small area with unusual conditions. It's like saying the lifespan of goldfish is under 5 minutes, based on your study of them in this dry box you put them in.

But humans are different: we are tool-users who build new environments for ourselves. And while you can talk about how humans living in different environments act differently, it doesn't make a lot of sense to call one of them "artificial". All of them are made by us, and humans always do this. This means all environments are natural (because building environments for ourselves is what we naturally do) and all environments are artificial: we always alter our environments to better suit us! That's one of the things we naturally do!

And as for morality, it's about not ignoring things humans do regularly because you think it's weird or you think they shouldn't.

Like that tweet where someone pointed out that lots of species can change gender. Clown fish are a big one, some frogs, a couple birds, some lizards, and humans.

And people often have an immediate knee-jerk reaction of "that doesn't count!" for the last entity in that list. Why? Because we do it (usually) with clothes and makeup and medication, instead of just "naturally"? Bullshit. We're naturally TOOL USERS. Of course we use tools to change gender. We use tools to do EVERYTHING. That's natural for us.

So yeah. I think it'd be refreshing and enlightening to have a zoology textbook written about humans with this detached non-human perspective. An unbiased description of what humans are and do, rather than one irrevocably tinged with ideas of what humans should be and should do.

Basically I want to load up Vulcan Wikipedia and check the "Humans" article.

[messiahzzz]

i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

[gatheringbones]

[“Sometimes, the abuse is so subtle that we fail to notice it. Sarcasm, ridicule, teasing, “kidding,” or continual criticism, for instance, starts to feel less like abuse and more like a part of the background noise. Sometimes one partner does not meet the other’s needs, but since he also does not do anything major to upset the apple cart, Adam and Eve go on in the relationship without thinking of options such as change or separation: He will never be so bad that you will leave him but never so good that he will satisfy you. In either case, we may fool ourselves into hoping for change rather than working for it.

If hope doesn’t include a plan for change, it is actually hopelessness and avoidance of change. What we do not change, we choose. Is this the message we get from the partner of our distress: “Stay with me and I won’t give you what you want,” or “Come back and I still won’t give you what you want”? We cannot be fooled forever. One day we allow ourselves to know and then take action.

Emily Dickinson, in her poem “’Tis not that dying hurts us so,” compares two kinds of birds in Massachusetts, those that stay the winter and those that migrate to warmer climes. She then says: “We are the birds that stay.” To be “the birds that stay” in wintry New England when wisdom would send us to Mexico is a cruel fate to impose upon ourselves. We can use it as a metaphor for a relationship in which we stay with someone who does not nurture us: we need a loaf and beg for a crumb from someone who’s afraid to give a loaf and hardly willing to give a crumb. To live in Massachusetts winter after winter and then say, “enough of this,” and move to California takes some pluck and then yields the warmth we hoped for. However, we may be conditioned to accept that our lives are not supposed to be comfortable. Likewise, we may believe that relationships will never work for us, that we are meant to be unhappy and unfulfilled. With that perspective, we may not be able to muster an “enough of this” when we find ourselves in pain. Instead we may ask ourselves, “Why bother?”

To live with abuse is dangerous because it can make our wish to suffer equal in strength to our will to be safe. We think, “Nothing I can do will stop him from hurting me,” or “Nothing I can do will make her love me.” A frightening conclusion can result: “Nothing matters, and I don’t care.” Such deep despair can take the form of poor self-esteem, disease, distortion of the body by overeating, self-abuse, addiction, risky jobs or hobbies, accident-proneness, anorexia, the belief that we can’t improve our lives, and so on. These all boil down to a wish to die. We might even seek relationships that guarantee protection against having to look at or process our issues. A partner may be appealing to us precisely because he implicitly promises that we will never have to confront, process, and resolve any issue very deeply, never have to change an intimacy-defeating style. We may think, “He is superficial and just as scared to confront things as I am, so I am safe here.” In such relationships we forge a tacit bargain to be what Emily Dickinson’s poem calls “Shiverers round Farmers’ doors” awaiting a “reluctant Crumb.”]

david richo, from how to be an adult in relationships: the five keys to mindful loving, 2002

[nonranghaes]

"my prince..." your armor clinks as you shift your weight, hand resting atop the sword at your hip. "we need to keep going."

the words seem heavier than usual coming from you, punctuated with a quiet sigh. you stand near him, watching the careful way felix weaves flowers together to make a crown. chris is patrolling not too far away, but felix doesn't care much. yes, he knows you two are here to keep him safe... but what's the point now? this is the last thing he wants to do. he almost wishes someone would stroll out of the woods and steal him away, enough that you could chase after him and earn his hand in marriage. or that a doppelganger would wander up, and chris could continue the journey on alone with this other-felix while the two of you built a little cabin somewhere overlooking the flower fields...

instead, someone else is waiting to wed him. felix just presses his lips together tighter, hands fumbling a little with a flower. your kneel beside him, hands coming to cover his own for a moment.

"please don't be upset, felix," you say, quieter this time, the intimacy of using his name not lost on him. "this is all my fault."

he shakes his head. "you didn't force me to fall in love with you."

for a moment, you just shut your eyes. he knows you want to refute it so, so badly. to shoulder the burden so he can do what he has to do for his kingdom. all he does is reach up to crown you, all of the pretty colors lifeless compared to how beautiful he finds you. and when he kisses you, you don't shy away.

"let's run away when we get to the city," is what tumbles past his lips. and although you open your eyes and go to speak, felix shakes his head. "i love you. i... i don't think i can live without you." he squeezes your hands tight. "and if i can, then i don't want to."

you've already thought about this before. "we can't come back, felix."

"i know." he hates it. he hates that there's no winning here, not like in the chess games that you often throw, just to see him smile when he wins. the card games that you help him win by teaming up with him against chris. in the way he won your heart, although he still hasn't figured out how he managed to do that. "you don't have to--"

"chris?" you turn, calling out to him. "we're leaving."

and the grin on chris's face says everything. "y'know, i was wondering when he'd actually commit to it." he's rushing back over. he pats the horses gently, and looks at you one last time. "well... let's steal ourselves a prince."

[csuitebitches]

On Getting Rid of Your Inferiority Complex

You can take advice from everyone and every book you read, but no one can protect you proactively, unless you choose to protect yourself. Only you can do that for yourself. Your parents, friends, partner can support you emotionally but you need to stop relying so much on external validation.

When you’re making a choice that you know is going to be detrimental to your health, whether its physical, mental or emotional - such as going back to your ex, not taking the next steps for your career/ education - you need to think more about your (near) future self and make sure that she’s also comfortable. You need to think long term.

As we grow up, we often encounter situations that we’ve been in before to some degree, there’s somewhat a pattern to them. It’s time to start recognising them early and leave when you see the red flags waving.

By breaking your own word that you’ve made to yourself you’re making the inferiority complex worse. Because you’re showing to your subconscious mind that you don’t matter at all. Others do.

It could be something “small” such as going out clubbing with your friends because you couldn’t say no - and having an important presentation due the next day. It could be something “big” such as breaking off a difficult relationship, and still going back to them.

When we suffer from an inferiority complex, we idolise people around us and think they’re better than us in every way. We choose to see the best in them- just the way we choose to see the worst in ourselves.

At some point, we have had enough and decide to start improving ourselves. How do we do this? By improving ourselves in areas that you feel left out in.

Such as, seeing an influencer live your dream life. Now you’ll do everything you can to live like her because you think that once you achieve that, everything will be great. You try to improve in areas that have no direct relation to your inferiority complex.

You’ll try work on these things - while that can be in a way good because it’s alright to have a dream life and motivation for it, that doesn’t fix the inferiority issue.

Because the inferiority issue solely comes from lack of confidence and trust in yourself. Even if you get your ideal life like that influencer, that confidence won’t last long and you’ll find something else to panic about - you’ll compare yourself to your peers, or the anxiety of jobs after or the next shiny thing you want.

To actually combat inferiority issues you HAVE to build a connection with yourself. True confidence will only come when you connect with yourself with things that aren’t material things.

You need to cultivate a growth mindset and genuinely believe that you WILL get better with time, you WILL get smarter with time, you will improve your talent over time. You have to detach yourself from outcomes, whether positive or negative and just take it as life.

And this doesn’t happen overnight. It takes consistent effort to not feel fomo anymore or feel shitty.

You have to stop hesitating putting yourself first, putting your emotional needs first, standing up for yourself and saying a big fuck you to things that deserve it.

Not everything that you have today will be permanent in your life and that’s something you have to come to terms with.

But if your worth is fully dependent on other people, then you really need to sit down with yourself and start actually working on the relationship that matters the most - the one with yourself.

You’re intimidated by these influencers or the people who you want to be like, not because they wear designer bags, have cool outfits, vacations, boyfriends, girlfriends - but because they often have a very strong sense of identity.

They express what they like and don’t like. They don’t change themselves depending on the person in front of them. If there’s something they want, they go and get it. They pursue what makes them happy.

When do you plan on doing that for yourself?

So how do you do it?

You need to build a strong sense of self identity.

How? By dating yourself. Ask yourself questions that you would ask someone on a first date. What are your answers? These answers will not remain the same over time and they shouldn’t either. Here are some as a guide:

1. What do you like in general?

2. What do you dislike in general?

3. List all the things you like about yourself

4. List all the things you can improve about yourself

5. Where would you ideally want to be in 2 years?

6. What sort of a life do you wish you had right now?

Next step is continue dating yourself. Aim for one new experience a week. It doesn’t have to be major. It could be something simple such as a cooking a meal you’ve never made, solving crossword puzzles, trying to grow herbs, colouring books. With new experiences, you learn something about yourself, which allows you further build a connection with yourself. Literally date yourself.

Take care of yourself the way you would care for a partner. How do you want to be cared for? What makes you feel loved and appreciated? Show yourself the same things too.

[seat-safety-switch]

Like any honest, well-adjusted human being, I've often had reason in my life to daydream about owning my own 1,600-ton sheet metal press. I don't want to have to go to the junkyard for a fourth time this weekend just because I forgot the passenger door is also rusted out.

Why should the automakers have all the fun? Sure, they have millions upon millions of dollars, whereas I have about fifteen bucks in my wallet. They have enormous facilities capable of serving the mechanical and electrical demands of such an intense machine, and I have a motorcycle gas tank on my kitchen table because there's simply nowhere else to put it. Automakers can source kilometers-long rolls of precision-engineered high-strength steel, and I think I might be able to weld some stolen road signs together with enough advance notice. This, it turns out, is all details compared to the big problem with setting up my own autobody foundry in my backyard: the noise.

Yes, friends. Like in many well-meaning jurisdictions all across this once-great land, the bigwigs at City so-called Hall have decided to stick their noses where they don't belong. Regulating that residential neighbourhoods are not allowed to operate massive industrial machinery in the backyards is against what the founding motherfathers intended when they stole this country from the people who were already living there. Back then, people made wagon wheels in their backyard. They didn't have the luxury of going on RockAuto and ordering them from a distant trading partner, somewhere that they still built things.

What am I saying? We need to shake up government in this country. I envision a world in which the government pays you to punch out new tailgates for a 1993 F-150, immaculate bumperettes for a Valiant, and rust-free patch panels for Escorts. They will tell you it can't be done, which is even more proof that we need to go do it ourselves. If you manage to find someone willing to back this political project, send them by my house. I'll be there all weekend trying to figure out where the Princess Auto warranty on $10 hydraulic bearing presses and $3 ball-peen hammers becomes invalid.

[fluffybutt-7]

Hey y’all. I’m gonna say this for whoever needs to hear it, but also for myself.

What a fucking year. If you managed to make it through in one piece, I’m so proud of you. So much has happened in the world and in our lives, and sometimes it can be really hard to navigate but you DID IT. If you didn’t hit your weight goals this year, that is okay. You are still valid as a gainer, feeder/feedee, however you identify - if you feel it, then you are. If you gained a little bit and decided that was enough, that is okay. You don’t have to gain “the freshman 150” to be a gainer. Period.

It’s so easy to get caught up in challenges and wanting to gain quick and keep up with others in the community, but don’t forget that this is your journey, no one else’s. It’s also so easy to compare ourselves to others in the community, especially friends and people we love - it is so painful to do, and so hard to navigate the guilt and complicated feelings that can come with it. I see you, and I want you to know that it’s okay. We are all learning and figuring ourselves out along the way, and I hope that the gentleness of loving yourself through your own journey soothes the stress of comparison; truly, it is the thief of joy.

But you made it through this year, regardless. If you lost weight and are grieving that, I see you, I’m with you, and I want you to know that you are still you, still worthy, and still fucking beautiful. Our bodies do so much for us, please be kind to yourself at any size.

We made it. You made it. And that, is enough. Whatever this next year brings, I hope it comes to you softly - like the sunlight filtering in on a calm morning, and that it reminds you of your capability, your softness, your strength, and your love.

All my love, to each and every one of you-

Cam/Fluff~

[beauty-and-passion]

So... The Thunder Saga

Or, as we can call it, "Of Intentions and Pride".

By now, Mr. Rivera-Herrans is a guarantee of quality: he makes a song, it will be a bop. He will also psychologically destroy you and hype you up at the same time and give your brain a good scratch - especially if you know the Odyssey already - and the narration is so clear and the characters so flawed... let's just say, you will leave by being completely satisfied.

Fine, the songs might not be musically incredible, but the references, the voices and the lyrics are absolutely perfect. They pick up from all we experienced through Act I and introduce us to an Act that, with those premises, will definitely be characterized by pain. But, like, a lot of pain.

And we all like some sweet sweet angst in our lives, so let's talk about the songs a little more in detail.

__________________

Suffering & Different Beast: We! Got! The! Sirens! In my first post about EPIC, when the Underworld Saga wasn't out yet, I hoped we would have the sirens here and so here they are: the sirens!

I like how Mr. Rivera-Herrans decided to change the events regarding them, compared to the Odyssey. In the original story, Odysseus wanted to hear the sirens' song, so while the crew plugged their ears with beeswax, he was tied to the mast and he actually listened to that song. And yes, it drove him crazy, he begged and ordered to be released, but the crew didn't listen to him, until they were at a safe distance.

So the original Odysseus' encounter with the sirens was characterized by curiosity. He knew they were dangerous and still wanted to listen to them.

But the premises in EPIC are completely different: in the previous song, Odysseus just sang about wanting to become a monster. He won't let anyone stop him from coming back home. This is his main focus - it has always been his focus, since Troy: coming back home to his son and wife. He's not curious about everything, he's not willing to take risks. He's different from his Homeric counterpart.

(I think this also explains Jorge's short about not using EPIC as main source while talking about the Odyssey: he was about to change one of Odysseus' main characteristics, of course he wanted people to not mix up the two things)

So, when Odysseus meets the sirens here, he's not curious about them: he just sees them as a means to his end. He plugs his ears too just like his crew and gets to them the information he needs. That's it. No curiosity, no interest. They're just another enemy.

Hence why, he has to slay them. It doesn't matter if they're begging: he made a mistake once, he won't make the same mistake again. As Poseidon taught him: ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

Speaking of the sirens, I also love how their "luring song" isn't just a simple song: they literally use Penelope's voice and shape, to trick Odysseus into getting in the water. And that makes it way more impactful: just imagine this man, after promising himself he will come back home to his wife, sees his wife calling for him. The perfect temptation.

I would also like to point out this sentence from Wikipedia regarding the sirens:

"Some post-Homeric authors state that the sirens were fated to die if someone heard their singing and escaped them, and that after Odysseus passed by they therefore flung themselves into the water and perished."

I don't know if Mr. Rivera-Herrans knew about this, but I love the idea that Odysseus was responsible for their death both in the Odyssey and in EPIC. The only difference is that he was indirectly responsible in the original, while in EPIC he's a ruthless beast ready to slay the sirens firsthand.

Speaking of that, I really appreciate how his crew united around this new version of their captain. He's a "man-made monster" and, as someone on Tumblr pointed out (can't find your post anymore, I'm so sorry!), this can both mean "a monster made by a human" and "a monster in human shape" and they both perfectly sum up who Odysseus is now. Still, they accept this and actively support it... at least when the monster's ruthlessness is directed towards others. They will regret that soon.

One last thing; I like to think that the last line "Odysseus" is a reference to King, because that's another song when he will "kill them all" too.

We're off to a dark start and I love it.

__________________

Scylla: her voice is haunting and beautiful and I will never stop falling on my knees weak with love for those incredible singers. Mr. Rivera-Herrans, thank you for always finding great voices.

I also noticed how, from the moment Odysseus decided to become a monster, the monsters/powerful figures started to understand him. We will see this with Zeus too, but we see it way, WAY more with Scylla.

Odysseus barely talks for the entire song. He says three lines only. But he doesn't really have to talk, because Scylla perfectly explains everything that is going on in his mind.

Odysseus says he doesn't have a lot to say? She says he's hiding "a reason for shame", because he already planned the death of his men.

Eurylochus confesses he opened the wind bag? That left Odysseus "feeling betrayed" and "broke the bond of trust the two men made".

Eurylochus is sorry? Still, Odysseus already made up his mind to sacrifice these men and, since now Eurylochus confessed his betrayal, then he can be one of those six. As Scylla says, "There is no price we won't pay" and "We only care for ourselves".

About the last part, I love how cool and dark her voice is, so driven by bloodlust... it's perfect. And it still explains what Odysseus feels, the heaviness, the regret, the sadness: they're still his men, his companion, his brothers. And if all other times their death was unintentional, this time he actively betrayed them.

But still, despite what he feels, he did it. Because "We must do what it takes to survive". And so he did: in order to survive, he sacrificed the expendables.

And yes it's dark and terrible, but it's also perfectly coherent with the character he is now. He knows he has no chance against Scylla and he must pay a price. He knows must survive, to come back home. So, he decides to pay that price and sacrifice six men, to save more - and most importantly, to save himself. Because in the end, it's like Scylla said: everyone wants to survive. Homo homini lupus.

Even darker. Love it.

(One tiny mistake I would like to point out, because it's the second time it happened: "We're lonely demons from hell", what 'hell' are you talking about, Scylla? Maybe the Christian one? Because I can assure you, there's no 'hell' in Greek mythology. But okay, fine, I'll let it pass, because I've seen this same mistake in a lot of works too - especially fantasy stories with a made-up religion, mentioning a 'hell' that doesn't exist)

__________________

Mutiny: as said before, in Scylla (and in Thunder Bringer) we see the monsters/powerful understand Odysseus and see through him. Here, on the other hand, we see how Odysseus' crew doesn't understand him anymore.

Once again, I love it because it makes sense! Odysseus decided to become a monster, so of course now he's more similar to their enemies, than to the other humans. He's driven by one thing only: home. Empathy, kindness, brotherhood, nothing else makes sense anymore, except for home.

It was still okay, when Odysseus directed his ruthlessness towards their enemies. The problem rose as soon as he directed his ruthlessness toward his own companions.

Why? Because of intentionality. When Odysseus' (and Eurylochus') actions led to the death of most of the men, it was never intentional. It was always a mistake. A mistake he paid dearly, but not something he wanted. Hence why, despite blaming and probably having a grudge against him, the crew never rebelled against Odysseus.

This time, it wasn't a mistake. This time, he purposely sacrificed these six men. And he didn't do it to save others, he didn't even try another plan: he did it, because he had to survive. It wasn't even for his own crew: it was for himself.

That's why, despite six being way less than 500+ held more weight for them. An unintentional sacrifice means "I've tried hard to save everyone and failed"... but an intentional sacrifice means "I'm willing to kill everyone, to save myself".

So, we get the sun god's cows. And considering the premise, this episode is even more impactful. It's not just "Odysseus' men are fucking idiots and ate the cows despite knowing they were the sun god's cows". It's a crew of tired, broken people who went through a lot of shit and have lost all hope of coming back home. They're just men.

And so, as men, they make a mistake. They forget how powerful and vengeful gods can be.

But if they forgot, Odysseus did not and the last part perfectly shows his fear, the sense of urgency, the dread. He knows who is coming, everyone knows it and there's no need to tell who is coming, because everyone just knows he will come and that silent threat is enough to make them run away as fast as possible.

Jsut not fast enough.

__________________

Thunder Bringer: the other songs might just be good, but this one SLAPS SO HARD. I love dramatic songs and this one is INCREDIBLE. The singer's voice is deep, rich, powerful. It's truly a thunderous voice and you immediately know who he is.

That's another great choice: no one calls Zeus' name, nor introduces him. All other gods were announced by something/someone or introduced themselves - but Zeus doesn't need to. He's THE king of the gods, he's THE powerful one. He doesn't need others to tell his name, because everyone knows who he is.

And that makes him SO. FUCKING. COOL. Also because, consider what he said. He didn't tell "I'm pissed" or explained why he was there and his motives. He doesn't need to explain his motives. He just said "I'm here and someone will die, make your choice".

This alone emphasizes the sheer power this figure has. He doesn't need to justify his actions to the mortals: the mortals already know what they did. He's just here to deliver. As he said, he's "the judgment call/The one who makes her kingdom fall".

This is great too, because it's what Zeus does in myths too! In most of the myths, the final decision is up to Zeus: he decides who should be punished or rewarded and his choice is final. (Only the Moirai are above him, but they represent fate and fate was an unmovable aspect of life, so they don't count.)

And the whole metaphor Zeus uses to talk about pride is great too. Sure, it's sexual, but I wouldn't expect less from the guy who fucks everything that breathes. Still, the main focus is not on how much he wants to fuck (which is what most of the people who do rewrites focus on), but on his power. And, in this case, on his ability to unmask every pride and every pretense, to show people's true colors.

Just think about it: when he asks Odysseus

If I were to make you choose The lives of your men and crew or your own Why do I think they'd lose?

he's literally revealing his true colors.

As said before, Odysseus has ALWAYS been obsessed with coming back home to his wife and son. He said it during the Troy Saga, he reconfirmed in every saga: he fights for Penelope and Telemachus, because he wants to come back to them. His crew is made of his brothers and companions, sure, but he never said "I will come back home with them". He always said "I will come back home".

What Zeus is doing now is revealing who Odysseus has always been. He's giving him a choice, already knowing what the answer will be, because he wants him to admit who he truly is.

Do you know what that reminds me of? Berserk. I haven't read it in full, but I know the story and if you've read/heard of the Eclipse Arc, you know too and you understand what I mean.

If you don't know (and don't care about the spoiler - otherwise, skip the next two paragraphs), Griffith is the leader of a powerful army and, during the story, he talks about his dream and how he's willing to sacrifice anything to his dream. His companions? He owes them, he says. Why? Because they sacrificed their own dreams, to help him achieve his. They died, to let him follow his dream. So he needs to fulfill his dream, otherwise their deaths would be in vain.

And when everything goes to shit and after he loses everything and gets one final chance to fulfill his dream, but the price would be the death of ALL of his army... he does it. He willingly sacrifices them. Because that's who he has always been. Because that's what he has always done. Because his dream has always been more important than everything else.

Back to Thunder Bringer: I also love how all voices softer and more subdued, in contrast to Zeus' thundering one. It's a wonderful effect, it emphasizes how "huge" he is, compared to mere humans. Odysseus can't escape, no one can. The tears in his voice are full of pain. But he already made his choice back in Troy - he made it even before sailing from Ithaca.

Now, his nature has finally been revealed. and he will deal with the pain it brings.

But hey, he's not the only one to do it. You have to deal with it too, because, as I said, sweet angst is sweet and these songs are bangers. So listen to them, stream them and shower Mr. Rivera-Herrans with love because he deserves it.

And also, don't forget to stream the new versions of the Troy and the Cyclops Saga! They're new, updated, more beautiful, with better sounds and, most importantly, the revenue will go to Mr. Rivera-Herrans' company and not to the old company that never gave him a cent for them. Fuck them and their greed, this man deserves money and credit and to work on more cool stuff.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll do my 30th listen of Thunder Bringer...

[crabsnpersimmons]

I know those Eclipse posts are tagged 'suggestive' as in, yknow. But my brain keeps suggesting that Eclipse wants to literally eat us. Hannible Lector style.

...

Anyways I'd let him.

LOL

well

Hannibal Lecter is a chef 😏

Fun fact: early on while i was still figuring out the details of the AU, i did consider going for a mystery/thriller kind of story.

the main theme of the AU is the identities we present in public vs. our true, genuine selves—and what happens when we neglect our ourselves (mirroring how we can nurture or neglect ourselves with food)

Sun and Moon’s personalities were actually going to be closer to their canon depiction, only to reveal later that they’re very different—Sun doesn’t feel emotions and he’s only acting cheerful and bubbly, while Moon pretends to be cool and aloof but is hungry for attention and love.

and Eclipse? he wasn’t going to be a main part of the story until later. he was going to be the “skeleton” in their closet, literally locked up in the basement of the restaurant because unlike Sun and Moon, he can’t act. After Eclipse’s code was taken to make Sun and Moon, something changed in Eclipse and he became… uninhibited and wild. In a sense, all of them believe that they are broken and incomplete because they’re all programmed with scraps of code. (in my mind it was like: Sun has no heart, Moon as no brain, and Eclipse has no control). Sun and Moon try to make the best of their new lives as chefs, but Eclipse wants out and he wants to be whole again… even if that means getting rid of Sun and Moon.

why i didn’t go with that story?

my control group of friends really liked charming waiter Eclipse—and that wouldn’t work if Eclipse was locked up in the basement 😂

also, it’s already hard enough to suspend your belief that 3 robots can run a small restaurant, it’s even harder to believe that 2 robots can too 😅 and YEAH they can have human employees, but Sun and Moon would have to make sure those human employees stayed out of the basement and i’d also have to create a cast of new characters, which i didn’t really feel like doing 😂

i also just couldn't come up with a compelling end-game. call me basic, i like a happy ending. i like characters learning about themselves and finding love. and i direction the old story was going just wasn't as compelling for me compared to the current direction of the AU

i liked the old idea, but i'm also very happy with the silly trio as they are now. the story may not be as dark, but their characters are still deep and complex, and now with the added benefit of being fun and silly!

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Henry, meus cupitus - TSH

TW: gore, toxicity

Where do I even begin? I should start by mentioning that this little piece was inspired by multiple books including but not limited to: "The Meek One" by Dostoyevsky, "Lolita" by Nabokov, "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis and "The Iliad" by the one and only Homer.

This is the toned-down version. I felt that the original was much too explicit to post, but nevertheless it will continue to live in my drafts. Keep in mind, that this version may still be incredibly violent for a part of the audience. Read at your own risk.

Henry, meus cupitus, the last season of the year. My sin, my soul. Henry Winter marching down the banks with his umbrella and books.

He was Henry when we spent our weekends at Francis’ country house, rowing on the lake, finding out about the moon landing. Henry Winter was him, spreading around campus like a dark November mist or in Julian’s attentive green eyes. But he was and still is Henry Marchbanks Winter ever since my ears listened to the convoluted story of the scar; ever since he started forgetting the Latin diary in my sight; ever since our ἕνωσις.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what right have you to judge me? No one should speak of love in the third person, for it is intangible, running so differently through our bones, that it mimics our soul’s very rhythm and so drowns each of us with unique scents, extorted from the desire for which we spill blood. And yet, here it is, my poor heart standing trial for its depth. Little lords and gentlewomen of the jury, I urge you to be magnanimous and instead ask yourself: how will I ever stay behind all on my own? 

We met at Hampden. Our fates intertwined unexpectedly, gloriously, under the pressure of Julian’s classes and consequently under his guiding gaze. We were each other’s equal, neither of us possessing the ability to surpass the other. Though our views on matters weren’t, generally speaking, that different we still somehow managed to find little details so insignificant that the vast majority forget. What I believed in he stood against. What he stated I debated. A continuous chase between cat and mouse, except neither of us hid in walls. Oh, please, listen, how beautifully we were at each other’s throat with winged words whispered by Pallas Athene herself! With every class, my desire to stomp on his toes, to cut out his tongue and compare it to mine, to reduce him to absolute submission grew. As I’m sure did his. My only wish, which Zeus who drives the storm clouds later granted me, was to have him under my despotism. It was sickly divine and it consumed my insides raw. 

Fate is funny in its own sadistic way. And so, despite everything, despite every warning that I’m sure his precious guts gave him, he fell in stride with me. Dangerous, obsessive me. Slowly, with every argument we lost ourselves in the other’s carefully crafted web, our souls moving to do their twisted dance. We couldn’t stop and certainly, we did not want to stop mixing that which made us two. The knot of selves was but a mere preamble to the waltz of unification we performed under the influence of all the gods above. 

Now, most esteemed jury, that you understand the extent of our strange relationship, I can begin to narrate the following events: his demise (and the attempt of mine). I’ll tell it as I myself see fit and understand. That’s the horror of it for me, that I understand everything.

On October 11th of a certain year which I fail to recall, we were sitting against each other on the couch in his apartment, talking, quietly laughing, wasting our minds with wine as one does during the exam period. Take note, that Henry is reserved while his usual self, however, alcohol slightly enables the more emotive side of him. Through our conversation, he grew serious. I didn’t have to ask I knew he was going to tell me.

“You ruin me. You must know since you keep doing it.” Henry mumbled under his breath.  “You lurk through the darkest depths of my mind,” I looked at him, his expression a mirror of mine “I wander dazed, like Hades’ dead undead, unable to form a single coherent thought.” He scoffed. “You are my worst nightmare.” 

I remember closing my eyes for a moment. Knowing he was suffering because of me filled me with bliss. I could see that he was terribly irritated with his emotions, but I wasn’t going to soften anything. Oh no, on the contrary, seeing him in such a state made me deliberately want to intensify it. And then I opened my eyes only to find him, him, holding a knife to my throat.

“This has to stop.” He said solemnly, yet my gaze fell on his shaky hand. “I don’t want to plague my rationality further with you.”

I knew that all he had was his mind. And so, when I felt the sharp metal press against my neck; when I saw his determined, icy gaze I knew I had to twirl around him again. To prove to him that we are far from equals, that I am the sublime.

“You don’t have to love me.” I started out almost desperately, though it was only a trick, I assure you.  “Don’t answer me anything, don’t take any notice of me at all, and only let me look at you from the corner, turn me into your thing, into your little dog..” I whispered.

With his thumb, he wiped away the wetness falling from my eyes (not tears). He was distracted and so I gripped his arm turning it away from my throat and towards his chest. He reacted and used his force to push it in my face. I stopped it with my free hand just before the tempting edge deflated my round eye and all the liquid from it spilled on my face. However, doing so, Henry did severe my ring finger. It ripped from the last jagged skin and juicy flesh that held it tied to my stained hand, fell on the sofa and rolled down onto Henry’s oriental rug with a barely audible thump, all while leaving dark red stains behind. I got up and used my body to push him to the ground. I step on my lost finger. It lets out a crack. He drops the knife due to the force and I get my greedy hands on it. He hurried to get up but I straddled his hips and kissed him, pushing my wet tongue into his warm mouth. I lost myself in it and I only snapped out of my daze when I felt his thick blood staining my skin. Drip, drop, little ladybugs everywhere. 

I opened my eyes only to find his, or rather my, icy eyes still staring at me. What was left of my finger I dipped in blood and licked it. The glorious taste of his fluids mixed with mine exploded on my tongue and a voice whispered. And I believed it blindly, madly, terribly.

You all whom you believe yourself above me, pitiless hermaphrodites, inquire endlessly about the location of his body. It is not good manners to insist. Settle down, brutes, I’ll give you a clue just so you’ll leave me alone to mourn.

I listened to the voice that sang so sweetly in my ear. That is where his body is, in eternity with me.

Pass judgment on me, for that is why you’re here. However, you all are witnesses to my ‘crimes’, so judge yourself too, with the guidance of the Gods, for every accusation that leaves your wretched lips is a cast of your own dark depths. Answer if you are without sin: is it wrong to prove yourself to the one you love?

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .Epilogue

Series Masterlist

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Here we find ourselves again at the end of another story, and I just need to say a quick thing to you all who have been so incredibly kind and supportive and lovely to me throughout this. It has always been difficult for me to talk about myself and the things I feel, and a large part of why I began this writing thing was that I’ve felt for a while now that my life was stagnant and myself without growth or change, and I didn’t really know how to fix it, but I knew that I wanted to do something or say something, and writing fan fiction may seem like a frivolous sort of avenue to achieve those things, but what you all have given me, and the warmth and support you all have welcomed me with, cannot be compared to anything else I’ve experienced thus. Quite simply, you all have been so fucking nice to me, and you can’t know what it means to me or how grateful I am for it. So really that’s all I want to say which is a million times thank you, and I appreciate you all so much, and I hope I can continue to write for you for a long time to come. 

Artwork is Cloud Nine by Amy Beager (2021)

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

.Epilogue

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.

Joan Didion, The White Album

I had a dream recently: we’re in my grandmother’s house, and I don’t know what it means, but we’re together. You’ll never be able to know my parents, and even though my grandmother passed years ago, you get to meet her here – she was always kind to me, here in this place where only I make the rules. She cooks us a meal, we say grace, and she tells you how happy she is that we've found each other. At night, tucked away into her guest bedroom together, you don’t fit in her little shower, head knocking against the spout because you’re too tall. Too big for this world. We huddle into the little double bed together in the dark afterwards, lace edged pillows scratchy and smelling faintly of moths and roses, and we laugh and press together tightly and whisper into each other’s ears. 

I don't know what it means, but I know we’re together. My mother never told me to be what I wanted, but I did so anyway. I chose to live. Now I am here with you. 

-

“I have something for you,” he says one late summer evening. The two of you are sitting on the back porch, watching Sarah run around with the new puppy he’d brought home for her earlier in the week. The air, warm and muggy, the sound of cicadas sounding like the symphony of summertime. It is a small, velvet lined black box, and when you open it, a spool of thread lies within. 

Faithlessness is escaped like this: “The first time I got married, it was out of necessity, obligation, a wish for something good or right. It seemed like the right step, the right thing to do, but I think you and I– we know what we are to each other. We have always known – even when we could not yet say it. This is a conscious act, us loving one another, an act of will – out of desire or necessity, even, or perhaps – a necessity for each other – but still, we are an act of will together.”

He takes the spool then, and makes a loop of the thread around your ring finger – then ties a little knot around you. Now you are caught. 

“I thought I always had to stick by my decisions until the end, but change is only natural, it’s the intent behind your decisions, I think, that’s what really counts. We’ve learned much about intent together, haven’t we? And you and I, we have always been us –  from the very first moment. There was a thread that connected us.” And you cannot speak, for there are tears streaming down your face and flooding your throat, battling with your very heart that’s lodged there too, but you nod anyway.

He pulls his hand back and lets the spool unravel, when he uncurls his fingers a diamond ring slides down the thread and onto your waiting hand.

“You and I – we’re connected,” he says. “Every day we become more entwined. And I want us to stay like this for the rest of our lives. Every day more and more. Will you marry me?” And it is not so much a question, but a promise. 

“Yes,” you tell him. Of course you will be his wife. “Of course, I will.” He kisses you. 

-

You wake one lazy Sunday morning, months and months of happiness later, your head anchored over his heart. Warm and soft and surrounded by him, you open your eyes to take in the sight of your hand laying over his heart, the gleam of your engagement ring sparkling in the sun. You stretch your legs and listen to the creak in your knee, and when you shift to turn your face up to him, he’s already looking down at you. 

“My love, it’s almost noon,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your eyelid.

Your eyes are so heavy, your head drowsy, “‘M so sleepy, dunno why…” You burrow further back into his chest, yawning. 

“No?” he nuzzles the crown of your head, hand creeping around to cup your breast and gently drag his thumb back and forth across your nipple 

“I had a dream we had a baby,” you mumble, voice full of sleep.

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” you say through another yawn.

“Hmm…” He shifts up on his elbow over you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, another over the curve of your ear. You roll into him, hiding your face under his jaw and breathing in his smell, sleep and musk and Joel. “What was it like?” he asks softly, dragging his hand down the length of your spine. “Tell me.”

“It was perfect. She was perfect.”

“She?”

You hum, “Little baby girl…”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then the tolling of the bell: “Your period’s three weeks late, sweet girl,” he whispers into your ear, shares the secret with you, nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His palm sweeps over your belly, and you freeze at his words, thinking back, trying to count days, finally snapping truly awake. 

“What? Why– why didn’t you say anything?”

A deep sound hums in his chest as his hand sneaks over your hip to clutch a handful of your ass, and then to cup between your legs, pressing his growing erection into the apex of your thighs.“Thought you’d want to come to it on your own.” He kisses the tip of your breast over your soft, lace camisole. 

You don’t cry anymore, or, well, at least not as often as you once did. A constant well of tears ready to spill over at any moment. No longer a weeper, in a long line of weepers. There’s just too much happiness for that now. 

But you cry now, at this, you can’t help yourself. The feeling of this, the idea of the two of you coming together to make your own little person, a sibling for Sarah, it’s a call for happiness of the highest order, like nothing else that’s ever come before it. He holds you in his arms, kisses you deep and wet, and as he licks into your mouth, you feel his own tears slide along your cheeks, intertwine with your own.

-

He finds the two of you singing and dancing to Shania Twain in the family room, Sarah’s own special, revised version, one afternoon. Bumping hips, and then clutching hands to spin Sarah away from your body, and then twirl her back in, squeezing her tight in your arms, picking her up to spin around with her yourself as the two of you sing at each other. 

His daughter catches him spying over your shoulder, “Daddy, come dance with us!” and you turn, gracing him with the sight of your gorgeous smile, as he comes over to wrap his arms around the two of you, relieving you of her weight. He anchors a hand to the small of your back to steady you, feeling the small swell of your belly press into his pelvis. Let me let you in on a secret, Shania sings.

“You wanna hear it?” you tease. How to treat a woman right.

“Don’t I know already?”

You sway in his arms and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head, Sarah’s little palm is on his cheek, tugging at his beard, spin us, Daddy, spin us!

“Yeah, baby, you do. Like no one else.” He kisses you, and the three of you spin together, around and around. You’ll see love is gonna play its part.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[catofthecanals289]

nicojack fic - after that silly game vs wsh

The door falls shut behind them, leaving them in utter silence, and Jack immediately opens his mouth.

He’d been quiet on the drive home and Nico had been glad for it. Giving that post game interview had been bad enough, Nico doesn’t want to go through it all again but looking at Jack now, he knows he doesn’t have much of a choice. Jack hates silence and that’s what Nico has been giving him. His voice had cracked on that last word he spit in the gravely quiet of the locker room and it’d taken everything in Nico to hold back his hot angry teas until the shower could wash them away.

He’d given himself five minutes. Five minutes of standing in his shower stall with his back turned to the room and letting himself really feel it – the shame, the humiliation, the bone deep dread of ‘what if this is it’, what if this is what their team is? A group of bumbling fools, of boys pretending to be men, failing at the simple task of not giving up a goal every five god damn seconds.

“Jack, don’t,” he warns him now, toeing off his shoes and kicking them into the corner instead of putting them on the shoe rack like he knows Jack prefers.

“I wasn’t gonna,” is the only thing Jack says though, taking off his own sneakers and coat, following Nico into the living room like a ghost. One step behind, but never far, fucking loud in his silence and a sad fucking sight.

His shoulders are slumped, his mouth an unhappy line. It’s not a surprise that when he does speak, it’s not about takeout orders, having a quick fuck, or any of the other stuff he likes to talk about after a win.

 “I hated that game,” he says, and Nico can see him clench his jaw.

“Yeah, not shit, Jack. That was embarrassing.” Nico drops down on the sofa, running a hand through his hair.

It’s still wet from the shower and frizzy from his beanie. He couldn’t be arsed with conditioner tonight and it’s going to show. Another thing to be pissed off about, another thing that Nico could have fucking prevented.

The thought almost makes him laugh. He’s comparing that shit show of a game to his shower routine.

“You said so,” Jack says, still hovering by the sofa, not quite deterred yet by what Nico is sure must be a less than friendly expression on his face. He doesn’t have it in him to keep something even close to a neutral expression on in his own home like he did for the media. He’s tired and pissed and beneath it all just sad. Sad and disappointed and fucking scared.

He raises his eyebrows. “You disagree?”

Jack bites the inside of his cheek, glancing towards the window. Nico has no idea what he’s thinking. “No.”

But there’s something. He knows there’s something. With Jack there always is.

“But?” he presses.

Flapping his arms, Jack makes a frustrated, sad little noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Nico,” he says. “Or the boys. I’m sorry. We’re sorry. For letting you down and letting the fans down. And fucking ourselves too.”

Nico narrows his eyes.

There’s still more. He can see it in the way, Jack flexes his fingers.

“But?”

Jack shifts from one foot to the other and for a moment Nico thinks he’ll have to fucking work to pry it out of Jack, but thankfully, Jack doesn’t make him.

“But it was game eight,” he says. “It’s still October.”

Nico wishes he had something to throw. He wishes they were back in that locker room so he could yell, so he could point at the logo and ask if it means fucking nothing to Jack, if this is all a joke to him.

“Do points not fucking count in October?” he snaps. “Jack, what the fuck. They are a divisional rival. They made the playoffs last year and were shit, but they made it. And we’re gonna be exactly where we were last year in seventy-four games. Do you want that?”

“Of course, I don’t want that,” Jack shoots back. “But good teams have bad games sometimes. It happens. You know that.”

Again he flaps his arms and Nico loves him, Nico loves him so much he’s funny and sweet and hot and beautiful and right now Nico hates him a little because Nico doesn’t want to be thinking about that while he’s mad. He doesn’t want to think about how this guy who let him down on the ice is also the guy he plans to marry in a few years.

“We haven’t proven that we’re a good team yet,” he points out tonelessly.

Jack’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You don’t think we are?”

Nico shrugs, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “We haven’t proven it yet.”

“Nico,” Jack says, voice a little sharper now, arms still by his sides. “Don’t say shit like that in the room. Say it to me here, fine, but don’t- Not in there.”

“I didn’t.”

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have gone further than he did, and maybe not when it was already too late, when it was all said and done but before. During that cursed fucking second intermission.

Or maybe that would have made things worse. Maybe that would have made Nico a shitty captain. He has no idea. The way Jack is looking at him now, he thinks the answer might be yes.

“You came fucking close,” Jack says, eyes darting away again, tongue flicking out to lick over his lips. They are always dry after a game, Jack never rehydrates enough. “You-”

He breaks off and for a moment Nico is certain he’s going to walk away. Go straight to bed or take the elevator up to Luke’s new apartment, but instead Jack steps closer, getting on his knees in front of Nico where he’s still sitting on the couch.

“Baby,” he says, voice firm. “Game eight. It was game eight. We’ll get going. I’ll- I’ll get going. I promise.”

His hands are on Nico’s knees, thumbs rubbing small circles on the insides. He’s looking up at Nico not pleadingly, but determined. Still-

“What?” Jack pushes.

Just like Nico with him, Jack knows when Nico is holding something back, when he isn’t saying all that there is.

“Nothing,” Nico says anyway.

If Jack wants to get into this, he needs to be sure. He needs to ask for it, Nico doesn’t want to be an asshole, he doesn’t just want to go in on him, but-

Jack holds his gaze. “Say it.”

Nico exhales.

“I’m tired of hearing that, Jack,” he says. “You need to start the season on time, just like the rest of us.”

Colour rises in Jack’s cheeks, but to his credit, he doesn’t back away. He stays right where he is, kneeling in front of Nico, hands on his legs, eyes meeting Nico’s.

“I know. I’m fucking embarrassed,” he says, and that’s at least something. “I fucking hate it, Nico, I- I don’t know why I can’t just- I hate it.”

He blows out a breath, using one hand to card through his hair, a mess like it always is after a game. But still, he stays where he is.

“We need you to start scoring, Jack,” Nico says, looking at him. “I need you to start scoring.”

Jack nods, licking his lips again. “I will.”

“When?”

Nico doesn’t mean to sound as tired as he does, but the word is out and he is. He is tired. They’ve played eight games and Nico isn’t sure what he was expecting, what he’ll feel tomorrow morning, but right now, he feels tired.

“Game nine.”

For a moment they just look at each other, the corner of Jack’s mouth curling upwards slowly.

Nico shakes his head.

“Don’t fucking mock me.”

“I’m not,” Jack says quickly, bending over to place a kiss on Nico’s thigh, lips warm through the fabric of Nico’s suit trousers. “I’m not, Nico. Fuck. I- I wanted that win so badly. You saw I tried, right? You saw.”

Jack did try. He tried so fucking hard, just like Nico did, but none of that matters when the score at the end doesn’t show that, when it’s still a loss for the team. When it’s two points they aren’t getting, two points that might make all the difference come April.

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t enough,” he says, reaching out to scratch Jack’s scalp gently. “Not from me either.”

“You kept us in it,” Jack points out, shifting so he’s actually sitting on the floor, feet planted next to Nico’s, hands cupping Nico’s calves now. “You did that for us.”

“Just to fuck it all up in overtime,” Nic says, and again, shame rises in his chest.

God, he’d really believed they could do it, that they could redeem this shit show of a game but scraping together a win after all. Only to be the one to screw it up for them then.

“I don’t think you did,” Jack protests, because of course he does.

Nico shakes his head “That change-”

“Nico. Neeks.” Jack gets to his knees again, unable to stay still it seems. He reaches up, taking Nico’s face into his hands. “You kept us in it. You made this a game.”

Closing his eyes, Nico blows out another breath. He really, really doesn’t want to start crying again. “And what was the point?”

“One point,” Jack says with his full chest, startling a sad little snort out of Nico. “Loser point, yeah. Fucking hate them, but it’s a point. It’s a point. Counts the same as all the others.”

“Well, no, it’s half,” Nico points out, clearing his throat. “It’s not two.”

Jack laughs a little.

“Yeah, no shit, asshole,” he says. “Still. One more than zero. And next game we’re gonna double it. We’re not gonna stop fighting or believing at game eight. C’mon, Hischier, what are you, new?”

He slips his hand to the back of Nico’s neck before leaning in and stealing a kiss from Nico’s lips.

“C’mon,” he whispers, resting their foreheads together. “C’mon, baby.”

Nico sniffles, wrapping his hand around Jack’s wrist “Gimme something to believe in then, you dick.”

“Well believe in this, baby,” Jack says, and again Nico has to let out a teary little laugh because Jack is leading his hand between his own legs, cupping his junk. “Two balls. One dick. One goal next game, two the one after that. Just for you, baby.”

“Oh my god,” Nico says, giving Jack a good squeeze, before kissing him again.  “You better deliver.”

“I’m not gonna embarrass you again,” Jack promises, finally getting on the sofa himself and tugging Nico into his side so he can press a kiss to the top of Nico’s head.

“We all embarrassed ourselves,” Nico says with a sigh, settling into Jack’s embrace, inhaling his scent. It doesn’t make the loss hurt any less, but it does soothe something inside Nico. “It wasn’t- That shit wasn’t on you.”

Jack hums a little, thoughtful it seems. His fingers run up and down Nico’s arm.

“It was a little bit,” he says eventually. “Maybe I can’t promise you, that I’ll score three in the next two games.” Nico can feel him speak as much as he hears it, Jack’s cheek pressed to the top of Nico’s skull. “I’d fucking love to, I’m dying in this drought, Neeks, but I can promise you, that we’ll be better. I fucking swear it. We’ll prove that we’re a good team.”

Nico exhales, the smile that finds its way onto his face feeling genuine, despite the tear that leaks from his eye and into Jack’s dress shirt.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Jack answers, just as softly.

[bonegloss]

You're not a failed artist.

After over almost two decades on the internet, entering various art communities and establishing my online presence, I've noticed something.

The persistent idea that you've "failed" as an artist if you get a "real job" will not go away.

This, for the longest time, permeated my electronic meat slab and nestled in deeply MUCH to my detriment . For years I fought with myself over this idea. Self-flagellating and noisy, negative thoughts were almost suffocating because I was unable to Do Art As A Job consistently and efficiently enough to maintain a living off of it. Between navigating life for almost 30 years not knowing I was autistic (and all that entails) and trying to turn something I love into something I could make a living off of, it was a vicious and repetitive cycle of trying something new, getting burned out, entering a depressive state, climbing out of it, rinse and repeat. This is clearly unsustainable, especially now that I am more independent in my adult life; bills aren't going to wait for me to get out of my depressive funks. Even having jobs and still making art on the side today, this idea is still nestled in there, nagging me sometimes.

Would I like to make a living off of my art? Of course! Would it be even better if I was supported from making stuff from my own IP's? You fucking bet. But I know how I operate, I know I can't personally do that (yet? maybe?). Now, I realize not everyone can just go get a job, and I don't want this to come off as a rally cry to Just Go Out and Work (I know many creative people are disabled or have other reasons they cannot work), but I do want to stress that its okay if art needs to remain more of a hobby than a job. It is okay if you cannot sustain yourself solely as a living artist. Over the years, I've burned myself out so god damn hard and have watched others work themselves to (near) death or can barely scrape by because of this incessant feeling that we need to be doing art 100% of the time to have "made it". It is hurting us both physically and emotionally to keep this shit up.

Going forward, we have to do better. There is no shame in having an income that is not dependent on the things you make. I think that it can help alleviate a lot of stress and fatigue that can become associated with creating (and thus, making it hard to do something you love). We need to learn to be kinder to ourselves and unlearn comparing our experiences to what we see from other creative peers on social media. Its hard, finding work sucks ass, and no job will be perfect, but if it can help you survive a little easier and rekindle your relationship for creating the things you love to make, it'll make a world of difference.

You are not a failed artist. You're doing what you can so you can keep doing what you love.

[the-dame-of-endos]

Trigger warning: syscourse For my first post, I want to share our experience. We first discovered the endogenic community in early 2021 through Discord. Back then there were a lot of large and active endo-safe servers. We were never good at understanding new things, but somehow, plurality- something that's supposed to be so complex- just clicked for us. We've never understood something so quickly, related to it even. And there began our syscovery. Origins, roles, introjects. They helped us figure ourselves out, we'd never felt so cared for. The community was nothing but welcoming and educational. It was not perfect, of course, there were servers and people we avoided because we deemed them unsafe to ourselves or others. But, no community is perfect, bad apples are everywhere. Through the endogenic community, we discovered neopronouns, xenogenders, regression, alterhumanity; all things that now play apart in our identity. We would not be who we are today without this community. So, when the endo community began to become dead on discord, we were distraught. Missing a community that made us, that kept us sane in the horrible environment we were living in. Eventually, we joined an anti server. We felt like traitors, but we thought that as long as they did bring up endos much, we should be fine, right? In theory, that should have been right. They, indeed, didn't talk about endos as much as we thought they would, but they did something worse. Trauma olympics were the main problem, comparing and judging trauma. Deeming what counted and what didn't. And even in some cases prying for people's trauma. You weren't a system, or were at least less of a system, if you didn't fit their requirements. They dictated what roles you could use, what alters fit their criteria, how your alters can act, what relationships they can have, what introjects you can have, how you should treat your alters, what experiences aren't real. It was a tight box. Our mental health had never been worse trying to cram ourselves onto their checklist for the sack of community. And they gatekept a bunch of other absurd things that weren't even plural related. And this wasn't just one server, it was every single one we came across, and even most antis we see on Tumblr now. For two-ish years we were trapped like this, no courage to leave until syscord started to finally die out itself. That led us here, our first time exploring a new social platform. We've never been more relieved, it was like discovering the endo community all over again. The kindness, the acceptance, the support. We were home. It's been a few months now, but we still can't fully be ourselves, confined to the walls the antis built, but we're slowly breaking them down. One brick at a time. Seeing antis doing the same thing to other endos enrages me. I don't understand why they can't understand that we exist, we are real, we are valid, and we have feelings too. I want to dedicate myself to being that safe space that we were lost without for so long. Endos, I love you. Endos, I am here for you. Endos, don't give up.