#logicallity

[moondeew]

I have no explanation for this just wanted to draw Patton carrying the other sides

ignore how each one is kind of a diffrent style lol- especially Janus’s cuz that’s the only one I used an actual reference for

Ofc Roman had to be carried princess-style

[arendellxiced]

Logan: *trying to fix something*

Logan: Could you give me a hand?

Patton: Sure!

Patton: *grabs logan’s hand and hold it*

Logan:

Logan: You’re cute, but that’s not what i meant.

[keter-class-anomaly]

How do you feel about ships/shipping in tss?

"i've been in the fandom for so long that i've shipped all the ships at one point or another. other than rem/rom for obvious reasons..."

-keter-class-anomaly quoted to my best accuracy. 2023.

[natlysblog]

laptop keyboarfd SUCK. to HELL. OUFDHGSWETREBGHGSEDRFE. BAD keys SLIPPERY too easy to press backspace button IS NOT WHERE IT IS.=============.===. braille keybvoard nibs REALL NOW PLAESE

[grapecaseschoices]

irvin's grades are much better the second go round [the right]

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

ahh this reminds me of how while i might get annyoed with diane the very idea she is worse than bojack who i adore more is laughable to me. some fools even said she was to blame for penny and my brain was just... the heck ya talking about? girl was depressed as shit after leaving a war torn country he's a grown ass man thats his own doing

and

so many zutara shippers in the last airbender fandom hate Mai for not being Katara while having the wonkiest sexist takes about katara being a pushover for her friends / o

south park wendy/heidi got shit on and it was all due to ships when 99 percent of the time women hate is mainly about shipping in general . woman characters get so much crap while the dudes who i adore are excused for everything bad they do its crazy

whenever someone’s too enthusiastically hating on female characters I become a beacon of feminism, I put her on that pedestal and worship her because she’s divine (I also hate her but I don’t like the way you’re hating her so now she’s my favorite character)

[randomnerd737]

I feel like the fact that Patton got his cat hoodie from Logan is not used nearly enough. imagine the angst potential. imagine Logan going apeshit™  and Patton clutches his hoodie and Logan just kind of looks at him in disgust. I don't ship logicallity but the ship potential there is golden.

[karolinswritings]

Loved the Mello hc’s! Would love to see more!

You ask and you shall recieve! Should I do Mello X Reader Headcanons too?..

Death Note Mello Headcanons Part 2

In my previous post I mentioned I headcanon that he listens to The Cure. The songs by them I think he would like the most would be I Want, Primary, Faith and Pictures Of You.

Moreover about his music tase, I think he would listen to The Sweet Kill to, especially the songs Love, Rain and Heart Attack.

He likes documentaries and crime shows.

He likes perfumes that smells like roses. Other fragurances he likes are vanilla, chocolatte, musk, sandalwood, lavendar and orange.

Skilled at cooking, baking and pretty much everything else he engages in doing. If there does happen to be something he isn't good at though he would put the blame on the activity, walking away and saying something sort of: "That's stupid anyway."

His texts are always gramatically correct. Rarely uses emojis. Basically the opposite of Matt.

A great listener and very good at memorising stuff that his s/o said they like or want. He will probably buy them those stuff soon after they mention them, or if he doesn't have the opppurtunity to do that he would just give them cash so that they can buy them themselves.

Falls in love rarely, but when he does it is always love at first sight. He is very logicall and analytical, but he also trusts his intuition. So when his s/o entered the room and he first saw them he immidietly knew. He saw it all, it hit him like a truck. They are his, from the very moment he laid eyes on them.

He is usually quiet, calm and likes to listen rather than to talk. But with the right people around him, like Matt, he loosens up and starts yapping about this and that, pretty much everything that passes through his mind. If he trusts someone, he can be very open and talkative.

Loves praise and compliments, but never asks for them. He isn't a show off, but he recieves compliments naturally for his intelect, but the praise that he loves the most is about his personality, especially coming from his s/o.

Doesn't like spicy food. He likes homecooked food the most of all, for example stew.

Loves ice cream, chocolate flavour. Thinks mint chocolate is weird.

Very humble.

Patient and calm.

A huge tease, but this is for another type of headcanon ^^

Puts his dreams before anything, even before his most loved people and even himself. Proving himself as number one is the thing he strives for the most, and he wishes for nothing more than to achieve that.

[laundrybiscuits]

(purify our misfit ways tag | AO3)

Sure enough, around midnight, Steve Harrington tumbles through Eddie’s open window.

“Shit,” he says, stumbling to his feet. “Why doesn’t that thing open any wider, christ. Think I ripped my sleeve.”

Eddie’s just glad he had the forethought to move his acoustic out of the way earlier in the evening. 

“Hey,” he says, setting down his book. “Keep it down, will you? Wayne’s usually a pretty heavy sleeper, but these ain’t his normal hours and he needs his rest.”

“Yeah, sure,” says Steve. “It’s nice. That you care about him like that.”

Eddie shrugs, uncomfortable. What’s he supposed to say? He’s mostly a shit excuse for a ward, so he tries to make up the difference where he can. 

In the lull, Steve seems to realize that he’s standing awkwardly in the middle of Eddie’s bedroom and that this is maybe the second time they’ve ever been alone together. It’s extremely obvious that he has not thought this through past the window thing. 

Eddie takes the opportunity to look Steve over, keeping his face carefully neutral. Steve’s hair’s kind of a wreck and yep, his sleeve is ripped; there are shadows under his eyes that look even more pronounced in the lamplight than they did earlier in the day. 

Yeah, Steve probably needs this just as much as Robin. 

“This is kinda weird, huh,” says Steve, pushing his hair back from his face. “I’m—just gonna go.”

“You can go if you want.” Eddie picks up his book again. Careful, careful. He adds, nonchalant as he can: “Or you can stick around and hang out for a while. If you want.” 

“Is that—” Steve starts. “Do you—”

Eddie risks glancing up. Steve’s got a complicated expression on that Eddie can’t quite read, but he’s not making any move to leave. He’s favoring his right side, where he got two bruised ribs that should’ve healed by now, and Eddie would bet good money that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Eddie sighs.

“Look, man, you could clearly use the sleep. It’s fine, I do this with Robin all the time. Just sit down for a minute and I’ll read to you or something.” 

“Oh,” says Steve. “Okay.” He sounds lost, like nobody’s ever offered to read him a bedtime story before; as he stumbles out of his shoes, Eddie flips back to the beginning of the book. 

“On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it was Court Hand and Summulae Logicales, while the rest of the week it was the Organon, Repetition and Astrology,” he starts, making his voice as clear and smooth as possible. “The governess was always getting muddled with her astrolabe, and when she got specially muddled she would take it out of the Wart by rapping his knuckles. She did not rap Kay’s knuckles…”

It doesn’t take long for Steve to pass out. He starts out sitting awkwardly upright on the edge of the bed, but by the time the Wart meets a mysterious knight in the woods, Steve is curled around a pillow, breathing slow and even. 

Eddie sets the book on his nightstand and flicks off the bedside lamp. He’s not sure whether it’s too much to get Steve settled under the blanket, but the insulation in the trailer is total shit; even on a July night, Steve might get cold. 

Nothing like what you’re used to, huh? he thinks wryly. But Steve chose to leave his two-story house with fancy bedsheets in order to squeeze through the window of Eddie’s trailer and sleep in his bed, so the least Eddie can do is try to be hospitable. 

Steve doesn’t even stir when Eddie cautiously tugs the edge of the blanket out from under him, so Eddie takes a self-indulgent moment to arrange the blanket carefully around Steve’s shoulders and smooth back his hair. 

It’s so stupid to let himself have this, but he’s never had a knack for the smart choice. All his report cards say lacks discipline and struggles to control impulsive behavior, and they’re not wrong. He’s gotten a little better about it over the years, but sometimes it’s like his body’s reaching out for something before his brain can catch up to tap the brakes. It’s gotten him in trouble his whole damn life.

There’s something really wrong with you, Munson, he thinks at himself. There’s been something wrong with him for a long time, maybe forever. He’s learned to live around it, to lean hard into his fuckups, because it feels like the only way to keep stumbling through is to build up a kind of momentum. He’s okay, he can keep being okay, just as long as he doesn’t have to exist in the present; just as long as he can let his past propel him into the future.

People keep telling him he’s young, he’s got his life ahead of him. Wayne says it a lot. Teachers say it, usually in the context of telling him not to screw up. He knows, on some level, that it’s probably true—unless he goes out early in a fiery implosion, which is definitely a possibility—but it doesn’t feel that way.

Eddie doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, his bed’s empty. He’s not too surprised about that, though it makes him ache a little bit in a childish way. 

He rolls out of bed and stretches. He can smell coffee, which is making his stomach sit up and beg, so he wanders out to the kitchen. 

“Hey,” says Steve. He’s wearing an Iron Maiden shirt that Eddie’s pretty sure was on the bedroom floor. “Wayne already left, so I—do you want some coffee?”

Eddie’s not remotely awake enough to handle this. He just stands there, gaping dumbly, as Steve pushes a mug into his hands. 

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Steve says. “We should—hang out. If you want.”

“Okay,” says Eddie slowly. “Sure. I don’t have any plans today. Let me call Robin, see what she’s—”

“No—I meant, just the two of us. Like, uh.” Steve pauses, running a hand through his hair. He steps a little closer. “Like a date.”

[olreid]

hey I've been really loving your neverafter analysis - it made me feel like i wasn't complaining about nothing lmao and you word it much better than I could

so about that, you've mentioned the acoc finale a few times & if you have a post about that or any kind of commentary, I'm really curious to read it

<3 i dont think i have any posts from when i watched, ive deleted most of my acoc posts over the years bc they annoyed me lol. ive gotten several questions about this and will do my best to explain what i mean! it's not going to be super detailed due to i havent watched that season in literally 3 years but basically i just remember the very end of the acoc finale being really like. tonally jarring because the players were saying all this insane stuff about consolidating political power but it was being framed as a happy ending not only for the party but also for their subjects. the vibe was like, well it was tough going there for a minute but now the Right people are in charge, so it's all good now :) just no acknowledgement of the inherent violence of governance via monarchy, which again may be stupid to expect from the dnd comedy show, except for the fact that the content of the season was like. a painfully extended enumeration of The Violences of Monarchy. but i guess we learned nothing :) like let's just read from the wiki briefly about the events of the episode post-siege:

Cumulous asks Liam what is glowing in his pocket. Liam without hesitation eats the seed from Lapin Cadbury. He thinks of the change he most wants to see in the world and wishes that the creativity and magic of Candia would burst forth, and instantly Candia quadruples in size within its place on the Calorum map. Saccharina thanks Liam as the new queen of a lot more Candian land. Far off, Liam hears Lapin chuckling […] Lapin whispers to Liam on his way out, “There’s nothing wrong with being a seed guy.” A new age of Candia is born as Emperor Amethar of the House Rocks embraces his new title and brings a new age of peace to the realms […] Liam brings the Pontifex and Sir Keratin back to life in an act of mercy and locks them in prison for the rest of their lives. He leaves them, and goes back to being a seed guy […] Saccharina tries to find Cinnamon an alternative food source to Bulbian hearts, looking through all of Vegetania before returning to Candia. Just outside the castle, a tinfoil tree grows and a cranky Cinnamon eats the fruit from the tree and then grows gentle, regarding the world with love instead of hunger. 

all of this is soooo stupid and shoehorned to me... why is liam wishing for candia to grow four times larger besides that ally the player thinks that would be a good thing. WHY is liam resurrecting dead people and throwing them in jail framed as 'quirky' besides the fact that they have essentially already rolled credits and so are just ready to frame anything that happens as funny and nice because they don't want to like. get into the politics of it.

and that's not even getting into the rest of the wrap-up where like. all the bad stuff, all the outstanding conflict and tension that would naturally linger after the battle just gets done away with completely for the sake of an ending that is not tainted by even the faintest hint of complexity or violence (again, this is revealing and tells us a lot about what the table considers violent vs. what is so normalized as to not even register as violence in the moment). rather than having to grapple with having raised and domesticated a pet that feeds on people in a time of war and then still being responsible for that creature after peace has been declared, cinnamon is magically transformed into a creature that now only needs the fruit of trees to surivive. the events of the season usher in a reign of peace rather than a rocky period of distrust and repairing alliances or even open rebellion because that is the happiest ending for our royal protagonists, not because it necessarily follows logically from what took place in the finale.

all in all i feel that what the acoc finale wants to convince me of is that the season's conflict was largely a case of good vs. evil individuals rather than complex people caught in and trying to exploit violent systems, and that as long as the good people win out and have the space to rule as they want to, monarchy is not opposed to concepts like happiness or justice but indeed is highly compatible with them. we just needed a good king!!! earlier in the season it felt like there was space to question monarchy's claims to moral authority, particularly through saccharina's abuse and the outsider perspectives of her crew of outlaws. however, by the finale all of this critique has been subsumed into the narrative machine and we're back to cheering for the rulers of candia in their noble pursuit to conquer ever more land, something we hope they achieve because they have shown themselves to be pure of heart and sound in judgement. this was not a actually a forum to question whether a small group of unelected wealthy people should be allowed to govern just because they want to, but rather just an extended job interview for the rocks family, and they have passed with flying colors. anyway.

the reason i compared this week's neverafter to this particular acoc episode is that i think we are again seeing some of the limits of the table's political imagination, particularly as it relates to incarceration; imprisonment has been invoked repeatedly through the device of trapping people in timothy's book, which is either framed as a good or bad thing depending on whether it is done by a protagonist or an antagonist. if the authors or the fairies trap the characters in their respective stories, it's an abuse of power that must be challenged. however, if the party traps an annoying or superfluous npc, or a meddling princess, in their handy portable prison, it's (a) benevolent; the possibility has been raised that trapping characters in this way makes them happy, and may indeed be a way to give them a happily ever after; or (b) violent, but markedly less so than other available courses of action and thus merciful by comparison. there is no space to discuss the inherent violence of incarceration or entrapment even if it is used as an alternative to death, which IS INSANE in a season where the horror that kicked everything off was the horror that what the characters thought were their lives was actually a prison made of narrative.

across these two seasons i think we are seeing an inability or perhaps just an unwillingness to contend with the inherent violence of being held against one's will. the problem for the party seems not to be that characters experience various levels of incarceration by virtue of being trapped in narratives, but rather that the wrong people have been imprisoned while those who truly deserve the punishment roam free. the party, our protagonists, have been trapped in story despite their inherent goodness, while the true bad actors -- the fairies, the princesses, the gander -- are allowed to roam free. according to this logic, simply capturing and imprisoning everyone who advances a plan the party doesn't agree with will be a satisfactory outcome and should be enough to set the world to rights.

tldr it frustrates me as a viewer when d20 seasons make a point to explicitly raise and explore structural issues only to "solve" them at the last minute with individualist fixes that do nothing to address the root cause of said issues. it adds insult to injury when they try to tell me the ending is a happy one simply because it made the party happy, even if others had to suffer for that to be so.

[moondeew]

teacher au probably where Logan is a teacher and Patton is his assistant teacher

inspired by a comment on this skit

Logan can see his effort lol

[rogueportraits]

The idea of running away to join the carnival is something quaintly historical with a dash of romanticism. Midway Touring Entertainment gets a few kids every stop that slip away from their parents and beg some ride attendant or performer to join up and tour the country. They’ve got childhood ideas about riding the attractions after dark or petting tamed lions – this particular carnival’s an animal-free establishment, excepting personal pets – and cry buckets when refused.

Ed’s of the personal belief that they should just take the kids along for a day or two, show them the real behind-the-scenes, and scare little middle-class Jimmy or Susie right back into a fine life of some white-collar office job two decades down the line. Unfortunately, that’s generally considered kidnapping, and MTE would highly prefer the law stay as far away as possible. He picks at a particularly stalwart hangnail and kicks his foot up on the dashboard. They’re about three hours out of Minot, having gotten the state fair contract another year in a row, and the only thing he likes about North Dakota is that the summer’s cool enough that he won’t be swimming in sweat. To the left of him, Jack starts grumbling and lifts his hand off the wheel.

“Can’t see with your shoes in the way, kid,” Jack makes a shooing motion. “You want an airbag through your knee?”

Ed’s eighteen years old, thank you very much, and his ID says he’s the ripe old age of twenty-one, so in either respect he’s not a kid. Unfortunate facial acne notwithstanding. He bites at his hangnail, rolls the window down, and spits it out into empty interstate air as he swings his leg back down. There’s the rustling of discarded fast-food wrappers against his shoes. “You threatening me?”

“Not anymore.”

Jack fiddles with the busted radio, tuning it to some local FM station playing this summer’s insipid pop hit. The highway stretches out in front of them, heat miraging strange shapes on the horizon. Ed can see the fractured reflections of their convoy in the right rear-view mirror, other cars and trailers and hauling trucks snaking away into the clear sky. He’ll be expected to help with set-up tonight, obviously, and tomorrow too. Probably some painting as well, considering the state of a few attractions. Then a week of his own particular schtick on the midway, a few days of teardowns, and back on the road to do it all over again. He digs in the car door for a lukewarm pop and twists off the cap, proffering it as driver’s tribute.

“You’re alright, kid,” Jack says, like they haven’t been working together since Ed was sixteen and gangly. He sips at it and blanches. “This isn’t.”

“I’ll go stick my neck into the gas station fridge next time,” Ed replies with a shrug. “Nothing but the best for my dear old driver.”

Jack tips the bottle up in a pastiche of enjoyment, snorting, and returns his eyes to the road.

The moon’s centered in the sky by the time Ed’s gotten through his set-up checklist. He’d scrambled up and over various half-assembled rides, checking bolts and greasing mechanisms – can’t have a lawsuit on their hands – and put off some of the detail work for when there’s sunlight. Playing passenger has its drawbacks, but the less cops that get a look at “Edward Neilsen’s” ID card the better. Not that he’s a bad driver, of course.

Ed belongs to the other class of wannabe carnival runaways. He opens the trailer door without the hinges squeaking. It’s not his trailer, because his paydays would have to have at least one more zero on their totals for anything like that, but Jack and his wife have a secondhand couch that suits him just fine. He sprawls across it in a show of exhausted decadence. Pale moonlight lances through a smoke-clouded window, cutting across his torso.

He’s not enough of an idiot to call this a charmed life, like some of the last generation of carnies. It’s work, and it’s a type of work that means he doesn’t stick in one place long enough to make an impression – all the better, logically. There’s more than a few people who’d like to find him for various reasons. Carnie work pays, it doesn’t ask questions about his age or point of origin, and the rest of this traveling group of vagabonds generally doesn’t try to deck him for a smart comment or three. That’s good enough for him. Ed rolls off the couch and pads over to the minifridge, acquiring a can of Pabst. Drinking after work and underage are two time-honored American traditions, after all. He pops the top of the can with a gas-leak hiss and heads back outside.

The night air is cold against his clammy skin. He sips at his beer and stares out towards the flickering lights of town.

Ed can do carnival patter in his sleep. He leans on his prop cane, discreetly stretching out his numb leg, and surveys the midway tourists.

“Step right up! Tired of testing your skill – test mine! Age, weight, height, profession, I’ll get 'em all… and if I don’t, you score!”

The main difficulty with being a carnival guesser is attracting marks. Ed’s stationed himself at the far end of the midway, after all the various citizenry of North Dakota have exhausted their efforts at games-of-skill. He offers them a chance to watch someone else fail. In theory, at least – he’s very good at this gig. He makes eye contact with a tired father-of-two and grins, stepping to the front of his booth.

“How about you? Care to see if you can stump me?”

And there’s the flicker of light in the other man’s eyes. Easy.

“Sure. Do you, ah, do all of them?”

Sensitive about his weight, then. Maybe the guy could afford to cut back on the funnel cake in that case, but heavens (and his paycheck) forbid Ed offer that advice. “Not at all. Your pick, and if I could take a ticket…?”

The man bites at the edge of his lip, tearing off a ticket from what probably used to be a much larger roll. “Age and job, then?”

“Of course.” Ed makes a grand show of scrutinizing, leaning forward and worrying his hands on the question-mark crook of his cane. Two kids, one about eight and the other being carried, no wife and – hah! – no wedding ring. Shirt with an atrocious tropical print, but a pager in his back pocket. Easy. “About thirty-three and in office work, right? Management?”

The man gapes, then rallies. “Thirty-five. But, uh, yeah.”

Really, Ed would have guessed thirty-six, but he’s had to duck one too many swings from daydrunk locals mad about his accuracy. He shoots the man a hundred-watt smile.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t take a peek at your ID, can I?”

Flush on winning, the man obliges by handing over his wallet. Jason Phillips, resident of Velva, ND. Thirty-five. Ed considers some legerdemain and decides against it – Jason’s clearly not been availing himself of the concession-center beer.

“Well, my loss is your gain,” reach back, grab some cheap prize in the form of a plush owl-thing, present it with a theatrical bow, he’s done it a thousand times this season, “and thank you for playing!”

The man meanders off. Ed debates the merits of putting his head in the gears of the carnival’s tilt-a-whirl. Minot is as boring as every other state fair. He gets the next player’s – some giggling college co-ed that looks at him like used gum – weight right. Hard not to with a leeway of five pounds on either side, and a scale that runs two pounds lighter. She’d probably laugh less if she knew her wallet were about ten bucks lighter as well.

He doesn’t consider his side hustle stealing, necessarily. If someone’s dumb enough to hand over their wallet to a carnie and look away, they don’t deserve spare cash.

Anyways, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be stuck at the ass-end of the midway playing guessing games. He’d have a bigger booth with a better locale, and he’d do riddles. Maybe some lighting, too – he’s always been partial to green. He swigs from his water bottle and watches the ebb and flow of the crowd. He’d do riddles. There’s an art to them that there isn’t to his current gig. A good riddle has one clear answer, but with enough creativity one or two more can crop up. A good riddle has nice, defined boundaries, but doesn’t care about what you do inside of them. It’d take more tickets, too, because if there’s one thing the past two years and change have taught him it’s that people are brainless idiots who can’t see the truth even if it’s spelled out in flashing lights. Which suits him just fine.

Ed coughs slightly, testing to see if his voice holds, and steps forward to start up his patter once again.

[keter-class-anomaly]

i get to proudly say that the first finished fanfic i wrote is about catboy!logan.

i FINALLY wrote a finished thing, and it's really. uh. bad. i rushed it. but that's alrighty i'll prolly draw the drawing in the fic eventually, but for now, i give you: catboy logan falls asleep in an armchair because he's perfect. it's light logicallity btw :]

Logan sits on an armchair in his room, reading. Patton lays on the ground in front of him, he’s drawing something. The scratching sounds of Patton's pencil bothers Logan slightly. “Pat, can’t you do that in some other place?” he says, looking down at him Patton looks up with a saddened expression on his face, “aww, but i like sitting with you logan! It’s nice.” Logan thinks for a moment, and answers, “fine. You can stay.” 

Patton smiles and gets back to his drawing. Logan tries to focus on his book again, but after a few minutes, he finds his mind wandering as the sunlight softly hits his face, and his fluffy ears. He can hear Patton humming lightly and his pen scratching on the paper again. He wonders for a moment what it is he’s drawing. Logan purrs quietly and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t mind the sound as much as he did before. Logan appreciates that Pat wants to spend time with him.

Patton stops humming. He can hear Logan purring. He looks up to find an elegant scene. Logan is asleep, with the sun shining on his face, and his tail slightly swaying from side to side. The beams from the sun make little dust particles in the room visible. It’s quite pretty. Patton turns his paper over and starts to draw what he sees. When he’s finished he stands up to look at it. He’s happy with his drawing. Patton picks it up and puts it on the table beside Logan's chair. Patton carefully removes the book from Logan's hands, then puts the drawing in it, acting as a bookmark. Patton, back to humming, grabs a small blanket and gently sets it over logan. Patton lightly pets Logan's cat ears for a moment, and plants a kiss on his forehead. He then walks from the room to let logic get some rest. 

When Logan wakes up, he yawns and looks around. He must have fallen asleep by mistake… He sees his book and the drawing set inside of it. Patton did this, he thinks to himself. He’s really been improving in his skill lately, he did lighting and everything. Logan’s flattered that Pat had drawn him so nicely, and a little embarrassed that he saw him sleeping like that. He takes the drawing from the book and puts it up on a cork board. He keeps lists and plans on it most of the time, but he finds a nice place for it. He smiles at it, his tail wagging as he starts to tidy up his room. It had gotten pretty late, Patton was probably already asleep by now. He puts his book away, and starts getting ready for bed.

Before he falls asleep he takes one more look at the drawing Patton had made. He noticed Patton's signature with a little heart next to it. He briefly ponders if that was part of the signature or if he had meant it specifically for the drawing as he drifts off to sleep once more.

__________________________________________________________

[first fan fic posted yippie!] i am taking constructive criticism and whatnot. give me advice if you'd like!

and any comment is highly appreciated, since i'm just getting into writing it will be lovely for my motivation!

[enderfox55]

Past 9pm thoughts

Currently watching star trek(1966) with a friend and we're on the topic of vulkan reproduction.

do you think while during the deed they stay emotionally composed or do they allow themselves to become vulnerable???

"oh good golly, this is most logicalable...." -said friend

(i am not a star trek fan, we're watching the armok time after not even getting through 12 minutes of star trek(2022) )

[branded-perceptions]

Motivation,

the upon shared interpretational mind symbols🔢🎅🔠 of holographic interfaces projected emotional driving force of our attention and all our actions,

is at the core of every market, a shared dream between the subconscious emotional focus of the workforce and the consumer,

it is a kind of metaphorical emotional "love"

(in English "brand love" related to latin "mores", mind habits of being as eplored by Heidegger)

that guides our free choices, and similar to the trend dynamics in a classroom, this develops with the help of a group dynamic:

Irony of mimetic narratives shared psychoses

(advertisements, customs, intellectual constructs, ideals, ideologies, reputational fa(r)ces status "heaven"🤥😷😇 ...)

within each symbolic group🏟👏👏 affiliation.

The elements that prove to be non-functional through psychological reality testing ("the judgement" in Abrahamic religions)

are becoming ironically (in the extreme: British humor) connotated in an entertaining way

through the mimetic group urges of joke-driven passions and symbolic attention magnets

(in the schoolyard, for example, the exaggerated stereotypical impressions that children tell each other about the advantages and disadvantages and flaws of their teachers, which is similar to how consumers talk about brands)

which thereby constantly evolve into behaviors, learning effects and ideals that are more functional for the group:

a dynamic that can be observed in every elementary school playground or over-intellectualized student club.

All latest trends are mostly driven by unconscious entertaining irony about the outdated "seriousness" or "superiority" or ideals or narratives or group-focal lenses (scapegoat mechanism Rene Girard) of outdated trends, beliefs, explanatory and social constructs that have been shown to be non-functional and thus become ironic similar like medieval nursery rhymes.

And a large part of our collective motivation is subconsciously driven by this: fun.

The more causally efficient, logicall conclusive and morally praiseworthy the surprising message of jokes is, the funnier they are, the more attention they attract, and the more joy they bring us.

Why? Evolution.

[mutant-advice]

cant tell if u the mod think mutini is a good person or not

mutinis liek. moral vibe is in that super weird spot where liek logicall sepakign yu KNOW this is a mass murderer who killed litereally hundreds of ppl. but liek when you taelk to them shes liek whimsical/silly enough that you ALMOST forget that if she rlly wanted to she could track down & kill you before the sun rose without losing a bit of sleep. jsust another kill added to the cull count.