#my dreams are often some form of me fighting someone/thing off :(

[earthxsea]

anyone else have the north node transiting their 12h rn? how’s your experience so far? also currently conjunct my lilith exactly and the dreams i had last night were :(

[screamingatanemptyroom]

The Healer Pt 4

The story continues. I'm still enjoying this one, so we'll keep going!

Part 1 / 2 / 3 linked here. (If I get to 5+ parts I'll make a master post)

Enjoy!

___________________________

ONE YEAR EARLIER

“Natalie! You’re here!”

Jack shouted with excitement when he saw me. Garrett and Rita trailed behind him, their expressions happy, if a bit mild and unenthused. I was still sitting on the ground, catching my breath after my first battle in this strange world. The corpses of the monster flowers had faded into the grass, leaving little evidence of my fight behind. I waved to them, feeling a strong sense of relief in seeing familiar faces.

The three of them had been my teammates in Fantasy Realm, even if they weren’t the kindest people I had ever known. While playing together they were often inpatient with me, unforgiving of mistakes, and constantly pushing me to spend more time and money improving my character when they knew I had very little of both. I had always given in, and disliked myself for doing so, hoping it would improve their opinion of me, knowing deep down it wouldn’t. I might call them friends… and I would be shocked if they called me the same.  But after waking up in this weird real world of the game, I was just happy to know anyone at all.

I was afraid to be alone.

The group reached me, and with a grin, Jack reached out and helped me to my feet. I brushed the dust off of myself and looked them over. They all looked like they had in our old world, the only difference was their clothing. Jack was dressed in leather armor, reinforced my metal along the chest and back. Garrett had a large sword strapped across his back, with scant coverings over the rest of his enormous frame. Rita had a simple cloth robe and a large wooden bow.

“We all chose our familiar classes.” Jack saw my studying look and informed me. “Seemed the safest thing to do given that we don’t know what happens if you die in here.”

Rita rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you guys are taking this seriously! This can’t be real. We're still in the game! It’s just some hoax, someone hacked the game. Eventually my dad will tear the VR company apart, sue them into oblivion and then we’ll be let out!”

I paused at that. “We weren’t playing the game when this happened though.”

“We just forgot.” She answered forcefully, her gaze annoyed as usual as she met my own.

Rita had always disliked me. Our parents knew each other, her father was a well-known lawyer who had pushed her to follow in his footsteps. As someone who had struggled with the weight of parents’ expectations, I sympathized. But she had quit law school after a week, turning to full time gaming instead. She didn’t do well enough to make any money, but fortunately her mother paid her bills.

Her father was disapproving to say the least. He apparently used me as an example to her of someone successfully “taking over the family business,” never mind that I hated the pressure, resented my parents’ strict expectations and escaped whenever possible. It didn’t matter. Rita despised me, and no attempts from myself or from Jack could smooth the rift between us.

Garrett looked me over from head to toe, confused. “You don’t have a weapon.”

I froze at his words. Garrett had a large sword, obviously a barbarian type class. Jack had a one-handed sword, a fighter or swordsman. Rita was an archer with her bow. But me…

There was only was class in the game that couldn’t use weapons.

“No…” Rita started laughing, so hard that tears were forming in her eyes. “No… you DIDN’T do something so STUPID….!”

Garrett was shaking his head, frowning disapprovingly. I ignored them, my entire attention was on Jack. We had been friends since freshman year of college. He had helped me find my first class, I tutored him in chemistry. We had supported each other through ups and downs, told each other about our fears and dreams…  

And he was looking at me with hatred in his eyes.

“You are a Healer.” His voice was quiet, but the lack of emotion in his tone made my hackles raise. I started to back away.

“Jack… I…”

His hand gripped my throat, and I was lifted off the ground. I gasped, unable to get air, and struggled against him, but with a strength stat of -10 I knew there wasn’t much hope. I wouldn’t be able to cast my healing spells either, without being able to speak the activation word.

I need to be able to cast without speaking. My brain focused on that, almost desperately avoiding dealing with the situation I was currently in: My friend was killing me.

**The Healer enters an early hypoxic state - 10 damage for each second that airway compression remains in place. **

**The Healer takes 10 damage. **

I had only seconds to live.

** The Healer takes 10 damage**

I grabbed his hand, focusing all my desperation into the need to cast my only spell: Small Incision.

** Through sheer force of will, The Healer has discovered Wordless Incantation**

**The Healer casts Small Incision. Jack the Hero takes 1 damage.**

As the messages floated across my vision, Jack yelped in pain, clutching his bleeding hand, dropping me to the ground. I laid still for a few moments, focusing on breathing, the pain of my neck and in my lungs a reminder of what had just occurred. I stared up at Jack, hoping to see remorse on his face.

There was nothing but rage.

“How DARE you pick a useless class like healer?” He snarled, holding pressure on his hand to stop the bleeding while staring down at me. “Our lives could depend on doing well in this game, and you seriously chose a class with minimal fighting potential, whose healing abilities are worse than any potion that can be purchased in a shop?”

He stepped closer, and I flinched back, my heart beating wildly. “You are so obsessed with your parents’ disapproval, that even in a life-or-death situation you had to pick being a doctor? Are you really so messed up?”

I opened my mouth to explain. I knew this class well, the strengths and weaknesses. I could use it to the team’s benefit. I had been a good teammate, one of the reasons we had placed so highly in the last tournament. I wanted to say all this and more.

But as I stared into the disappointment in his eyes, I felt myself slipping into old habits. Of staying quiet and nodding. Of keeping the peace and letting myself take the blame. I hated it, despised myself for it… but kept silent all the same.

“Should we just leave her behind?” Rita asked, giving no concern to me as I struggled to catch my breath after Jack’s strangling attempt. “She’s useless after all.”

“She used to provide good support.” Garrett spoke up. “We can keep her on the team until we find someone more useful…”

“I am not giving a spot on our team to a healer.” Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment, as if trying to calm himself down. Finally, he looked down at me coldly. “You can tag along with our team, without an official spot. You will do your best to be useful. Otherwise, we will leave you to die.”

Leave them! My heart screamed at me. Being alone is better than this! You didn’t commit some great sin by becoming a Healer! You just chose the best you could! Tell them!

Slowly, I nodded. “Fine.” My voice was still hoarse from the pressure he had placed on my throat. I adjusted my tone with the ease and familiarity of practice. “I’ll follow along.” I pushed the screaming voice in my head back, along with my pride. I knew I was worthless, a failure. I had been told that every day by the two people on the planet who were supposed to love me the most. Jack was only the latest person to say it out loud.

This was what I deserved.

The first month passed quickly. We went on multiple quests together, and settled into a comfortable rhythm. Jack would take the lead, with Garrett beside him to tank. Rita picked off far away opponents, and supported from the back. And I…

I did everything I could.

Outside of fights, I was cooking, keeping inventory, asking for quest information, and keeping the gear repaired and functional. Many nights I stayed up late, sharpening swords or repairing gear, only to have my hard work receive a nod and no other recognition.

In fights, I demanded even more of myself. Slipping in between enemies, causing damage. I delved down most of the “surgical” pathway of the healer ability, which allowed me to cause a diverse array of damage. I built up my MP until I could activate Wordless Incantation, as I found the group's irritation was a lot less if they couldn’t hear me. I immobilized enemies and allowed the others to finish them off. Because I had a hand in almost every single enemy’s death, I received a good amount of XP and fame from each fight, which angered Jack to no end.

“Stop stealing our experience!” He snapped after a fight, reading the notification that stated the rewards and experience given out.

“You asked me to immobilize them.” I answered quietly, feeling tired. “Do you want me to stop?”

“…” He glared at me silently for a few moments before answering. “Figure out a way to do it without taking my XP.”

“…sure.”

“I mean it, Healer.” From the moment he heard my class, he had never called me by my name. Our friendship, the time we had spent together… none of it meant anything next to the weight of the one undeniable fact:

I was a Healer. And therefore, in his eyes, I was a burden.

I kept my head down, trying to help out as much as possible. I learned not to ask for recognition. To not expect thanks. And I thought things would never change.

And then came the day we met Winter.

________________

PRESENT DAY

“Ouch!” Stephanie yelped as I carefully placed the needle through her skin, placing a simple suture across the wound on her calf. I didn’t hesitate with her cry of pain, tying the knot and moving on to the next stitch.

“The area has been numbed with magic, don’t pretend it hurts.”

“Yeah, I was just messing with you.” Stephanie laughed stuck her tongue out. “How did you know?”

“Because I know how it feels to sew my wounds shut without the local anesthesia spell.” I kept working without looking up. “You wouldn’t just be saying ‘ouch.’”  

“Uh…Well, thank you.”

I felt surprised at her words. After a year with the Hero’s party, I was so used to doing things without any gratitude or recognition. You’re not with them anymore. I let out a mental sigh of relief at the thought, and smiled at Stephanie. “You’re welcome.”

“YOU SMILED!” Stephanie tried to get up to hug me, but Alton reached over from where he was sewing cloth nearby and pushed her back down, shaking his head with a grin.

“Don’t interrupt her work.” Winter’s response was much colder, causing Stephanie to freeze in place.

“I’m on the last one anyways.” I squared off the last knot on the suture, cutting the tails and placing a clean bandage over my work. “Keep it dry for 48 hours, and then you can remove the outer covering and bathe.”

“Not to cheapen all the work you just put into repairing this cut for me…” Stephanie hesitated. “But wouldn’t a healing potion be easier?”

Alton shook his head, but before he could say anything Winter spoke up. “Stupid human.”

“HEY! I’m not stupid!” She glanced at me. “Right?”

“No, you’re not.” Raising an eyebrow at Winter, who settled down with a grunt, I continued. “Have you noticed that over time you’ve had to use more powerful healing potions?”

She thought that over. “Well, yeah, but… I’m higher level, and have more HP… Isn’t that normal?”

“Have you tried to use a basic potion recently?” I pulled one out, and tossed it to her. “Here.”

Stephanie caught it, clearly confused. “I’m only missing 5 HP… I don’t need something that heals 10…”

“Try it.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “If you insist…” She drank the potion quickly, and then flinched at the notification. “…It didn’t work? … Not even the cut healed.” 

Alton continued to sew, but spoke up. “The more you use healing potions, the less they work. Fortunately, this seems limited to healing potions… mana recovery and other types of potions such as detoxification seem to not develop the same resistance. It’s also a slow process, but it’s becoming a universal issue. If you check the world chat this is a heated topic of discussion. Most people believe the that it’s related to level… but that’s not the case.”

“How do you know that?”

“They still work on me.” I answered quietly. “That’s why I carry the basic ones around.”

“Foolish humans… these potions were meant for true lifesaving emergencies… a basic healing potion should be enough to recover up to 50% of your health… but you drink them like water until they are worthless to you.” Winter sighed, looking over at me with a small smile. “That is why the Healers are such a vital class. In a world of constant danger and battle, of destruction and pain, only they have the power to heal and preserve. They are a noble, selfless light that protects those around them… someone to be protected at all costs. There should be a Healer in every party… but instead Nat is the only one left.”

“You did save me before!” Stephanie did get up unobstructed and hugged me. “Thank you!”

“And me.” Winter added, staring at the ground. “She saved me as well.”

“Hey, I distinctly remember passing out in front of her and being saved too, guys!” Alton spoke up, tying up his thread and checking the repair on his cape before looking at me. “I guess we are all indebted to you.”

I stared at all of them, feeling disturbed in my heart. “You guys… I’m…”

I’m worthless. Weak. And my weakness was used to destroy countless lives.

“… Thank you.” I silenced the words in my heart, and spoke a simple thanks instead.

“…” Winter was staring. I always felt he could see more than I wanted him too, as if my hidden thoughts and feelings were on display in front of him. But instead of commenting, he simply bent down, plucking a blue flower from the ground, and handed it to me.

“That’s so cute!” Stephanie clapped her hands, before freezing. “Wait! Are you two…?”

Alton paused in packing up his things and stared in our direction.

I shook my head silently at her before turning back to Winter. “Thank you. The mountain wild flower’s petals have strong anti-inflammatory properties. I’ll dry it out and process it for medication at our next stop." I pressed the flower carefully in one of my books and packed it away.

Winter nodded at my words. “You’re welcome.”

“It’s for medicine?” Stephanie frowned, disappointed. “Well, that’s boring. Where’s my drama?!”

Alton smiled widely. “Oh, don’t worry, I got your drama! Look in the world chat!”

Pausing, all of us pulled up the chat, excluding Winter, who leaned on a tree nearby and watched the display over my shoulder. The top topic in the chat was skyrocketing with engagement… and seeing the title it wasn’t hard to understand why:

___________________________

“TROUBLE IN PARADISE? HERO’S PARTY SEEN ARGUING WITH NEW MEMBER REBECCA THE SORCERESS! IS THE USELESS HEALER MISSED?”

There was great discussion today among players as a loud disagreement broke out among the Hero’s Party after their last quest line. Although it is unknown the exact nature of it, it seems to be surrounding the recent addition to the party.  Rebecca the Sorceress is the newest member of the Hero’s Party after the departure of the much-despised Healer. Many had cheered her arrival, as well as supporting the apparent budding relationship between the Hero and his new magical lady.

___________________________

“And you guys ask why I think humans are stupid.” Winter muttered as he read along with me. I shushed him and continued on with the post.

___________________________

But is there a fracture in the once iron-strong team? Words such as “Useless,” “Hiding” and “Potion sponge” were heard shouted by Rita the Holy Archer, with the Hero defending and Garrett the Giant siding beside Rita. Rebecca appeared to be in tears. Is this bullying the newcomer? Is Rebecca actually dragging the team down? What does this mean for the plans to attack the forty second gate in a few days?

Discuss your thoughts below!

___________________________

I sighed and closed the chat, seeing that comments were mostly just going back and forth over the juicy gossip. “What a mess.”

“You don’t sound surprised.” Alton commented with a grin.

“No. I’m not. Rebecca… she’s…”

“Useless?” Stephanie interjected.

“Full of tears and excuses?” Was Alton’s contribution.

“A snake who poisons those foolish enough to trust it.” Winter quietly added.

I laughed. “… I was going to say she’s a lot of drama… but I like your answers better. They are used to a certain standard of having everything done for them, even if I backed off quite a bit towards the end, when things had gotten really bad. I don’t think Rebecca will see my role within the group as appealing, though.”

“Oh well, their loss is our gain!” Stephanie cheered, hugging me again. “Let’s go hunting! I want meat for dinner!” She pulled out her sword excitedly.

“Yes, Natalie should have some meat to help her recover from all the battles we’ve been through.” Winter nodded, checking his bow and following.

Alton stood up and looked over at me. “Meat for dinner doesn’t sound bad… what do you think, Ms. Healer? Do you want to go hunting?”

“I don’t want to ruin their fun…” I started to say, looking at the backs of the two already moving ahead.

Alton’s voice was serious. “No. I’m not asking about them. I’m asking what YOU want to do.”

I paused, and my gaze met his own. After a few moments, I smiled. “Meat sounds great for dinner.” And I meant it.

“Then let’s go hunting with them.”  Was his answer.

And hunting we went.

With only two days left before we would face the forty-second gate.

[becauseimanicequeen]

Ming and Joe's Colors in My Stand-In, Part 3: Red and Green

Part 1: Overview

Part 2: Black and Blue

Part 4: Yellow/Gold

Part 5: Brown

Part 6: Random Color Moments

I received an ask a couple of days ago asking me about Joe and Ming's colors (which is something I've been thinking about for a while) and decided to answer that question in a separate post (which turned into a series). So, here I am.

I previously stated in my overview in part 1 of this series that:

Ming is black and red.

Joe is blue and green.

Yellow/gold is significant to both.

Brown also has some significance.

(Btw, artists can discuss pink into eternity, but for the sake of simplicity in my post, I will treat pink as the lightened value of red. So, when I mention red-ish, this is what I'm referring to.)

As you can tell by the title of this post, I'll focus on Ming's red and Joe's green in this one.

Let's start with Joe this time because green is his primary color.

Hopefulness and generosity are two aspects associated with green. Both of those are represented in Joe and in his home, which includes a lot of this color.

The hopefulness of getting closer to Ming as he leads Ming up those green spiral staircase, of starting some kind of a relationship with Ming, and of living together (and mixing their colors).

And especially the hopefulness in the form of Joe's dream (having someone there to welcome him home).

Look at that yellow and blue light in the background (yellow + blue = green).

Joe's generosity is shown when he cooks/prepares food for Ming, either in his own home or at Ming's condo.

But his generosity also shows up in how he's concerned about making more money so he can move into a bigger house with Ming, and how he drops Ming off at their work (even though he's basically doing it here because of their arrangement).

And, let's not forget that Joe is a plant dad. He takes care of those plants as much as he takes care of the people he cares about.

(If I had a better image of his plants, I would use it. But I don't, so here we are, lol.)

Also, looking over some of those images above, there are times when red shows up with the green. And they are all relating to Ming (the red-ish oven mitts Joe uses when he cooks for Ming, Ming in his red robe, and the red blinds in the background when Joe thinks about making more money so he and Ming can move into a bigger home).

Red is associated with love/passion and dominance, all of which describe Ming well.

Ming displays a varying degree (or heat levels) of love/passion. From his act of cooking for Joe to being totally smitten (come on, just look at him!) to wanting to eat Joe whole.

And it often gets heated with Ming, especially when he wants to show his dominance. He shows that when he's chained Joe, when he made a deal with Joe 2.0, and when he's fucking pissed at Tong for crossing the line when it comes to Joe (I know it's subtle in the image to the right, but look at the twinkle of red on the right side).

And on the topic of heated... I just had to add this:

It's just so funny to me that Ming and Sol are fighting about the things they have in common: Joe, Joe's blue on their clothes, and the red. No wonder Ming went straight for that hair. At least he can try and rip that out for the time being (lol).

And if you think Ming is too much for Joe:

Says this cutie pie called Yim in his red shit.

On a more serious note, tough...

Red and green are often shown together throughout the series and I love that because I love the use of complementary/contrasting colors.

I have a whole post on complementary/contrasting colors, but to briefly summarize: Contrasting colors are on the opposite side of each other on the color wheel. When put next to each other (or in the same frame, since we're talking about a show here), they create contrast, they pop, and they get noticed.

Just look at the images above that include both red and green, as well as these:

And I love how this show is showing Ming and Joe's contrasts in more ways than just color-wise.

For example in this scene when Ming wants to show his dominance (in his black and red/red-ish shirt) by making a deal between them, but Joe refuses while standing by that green light and shows to himself that he's grown. Shortly after, he makes his own deal with his own demands, again, showing his growth.

Even though contrasting colors are on opposite sides on the color wheel and have contrasting qualities (for simplicity's sake: red is a primary color/green is a secondary color, red is warm/green is cold, red is darker in value/green is lighter in value, etc.), they also complement each other very well.

When Ming and Joe get their shit together (mostly Ming), they can have a strong, growing, passionate, and lively relationship. The challenge is to get there, though.

Now, you can't write about red without writing about fate, right? At least I can't. So here I am, saving this for last in this post because it involves more than just Ming. It involves Joe as well (both of them, actually). So, here goes.

Red is often associated with the red thread of fate in China (and other countries that have been affected by Chinese culture throughout history). The interesting thing about this is that we saw, already in the first episode, that Joe 1.0 and Joe 2.0 were connected.

First through Joe 1.0's red bike and helmet:

And then through the red/red-ish number on his hospital bed:

And then the red yarn at Joe 2.0's house (hello! It's practically a thread!):

We also know that red is Ming's color and, if you're like me, you spin that into the idea that Joe 1.0, Joe 2.0, and Ming have been connected by that red thread of fate this whole time. Just saying.

And that idea doesn't really go away considering Joe has a red line on his shirt the first day he and Ming met, he brought the food over to Ming in his red-ish oven mitts, and his pillowcase includes red (just like Ming's).

And Ming was the reason Joe was blacklisted, which led him to take the job where he rode that red bike and wore that red helmet when his accident happened. And that was the event that set off the transmigration into Joe 2.0's body.

I usually don't speculate when it comes to colors in these shows in terms of what might've happened or what might happen later (I yell about symbolism, the color moments I get, the vibes the colors give off, etc. instead).

But if I were to speculate about the red, I do wonder if Joe 1.0 and Joe 2.0 had a previous encounter somehow and if Joe 2.0 had one with Ming as well. Not in a way that they would recognize each other (because they don't seem to do that), but having crossed paths in some type of way.

It will be interesting to see if that turns out to be the case.

Part 1: Overview

Part 2: Black and Blue

Part 4: Yellow/Gold

Part 5: Brown

Part 6: Random Color Moments

[dearestkong]

reflections // starting the summer term 🌷💌

(feel free to skip … just a lot of rambling about changes of mindset, i’ll sum it up later in my new pinned.)

it’s been more than a month since I’ve started this blog, and I’m really really glad that I did. not because my productivity has spiked or my anxiety has diminished or whatever (though there have been positive effects), but because just attempting to start something like this meant that I was no longer willing to suffer and rot in private. i talked about the “hole of dysfunction and self-hatred” in my old introduction: for so long, that hole was my best-kept secret and my greatest shame. being competent and ambitious was an aspect of my personality, and I couldn’t handle the idea that it wasn’t true.

but then…. dearestkong emerged!! and I started being completely transparent. telling strangers about every day of self-destructiveness. it was a good form of accountability, sure, but it was also a means of telling the truth. this blog has been a way for me to say: i’ve been struggling, and it’s not a fluke or a “flop era” or something entirely disconnected from the high achiever i used to be. the girl fighting off inertia and the girl seemingly doing everything with ease are the same person.

🌷☆彡

my posts have been getting more optimistic recently, and that isn’t a fluke, either. lots of things have happened: i’ve realised how many people support and believe in me, i started taking medication for a problem i’ve had for a while (it’s crazy how the world seems so much brighter now?!!?!), i started writing in my diary again. i’m now 27 days clean from a self-destructive behaviour (this blog isn’t about my relationship with that, but in the early days i used to make a note of relapses and just the fact of acknowledging it felt so freeing to me. it wasn’t something to hide anymore, but a fight i was making progress with.)

this seems like a rapid evolution for such a new blog, right?! but in the next six months, i’m going to be applying to university. i’m about to undergo some of the most rapid evolutions of my life.

🌷☆彡

for so long, i’ve had this vague and unspecified dream: “doing the best” “working my hardest” “impressing my teachers��. now my dream has a name and a face and admissions results attached to it and it’s making me so scared that i want to throw up. when i was in the depths of the hole i couldn’t stop seeing my life as a binary. either i get in, or i don’t. and if i don’t, what the hell is the point of living?

38 days later and i feel a little differently. i am someone who has climbed out the hole of inertia and lived. i have done many things and they’ve all turned out fine— great, actually. i have reason to believe that things will go well.

i still have a pretty nasty relationship with myself, lol. it makes me really happy when people on this blog interact and talk, but they’re all so nice and it makes me feel a little fake. in reality i’m standoffish, awkward, and often mean. i coast by on intellectual abilities while slacking off. i’m a judgemental egoist who is sometimes self-destructive. all of that is true—>

but at the same time, i still have this crazy belief that i deserve the best. it’s literally an overflow of egoism ;;;; there’s nobody i’m more in love with than myself. i think of the girl i’ll be in the future with such affection, and i don’t want her to feel ashamed or resentful of me. she deserves to have her hopes fulfilled!! she deserves the brightest, the best that i can give her.

in conclusion: even if i don’t like the person i am at the present, i have to do it anyway. 1 because there’s no other option and 2 because i love the person i’ll be in the future too much to stop.

🌷☆彡

so from now on, the purpose of this blog is changing slightly. it’s no longer “get out of the hole and survive” like it used to be. we’re past that, we’re already surviving.

now, the aim is to “do my best so my future self can live with no regrets”. that’s not very concise but I’ll work on it.

let’s do this! 加油！

[spadesofgrass]

Lady Macbeth / Nora parallels:

I feel like yet another parallel of Nora and Lady M could be drawn from their views on their gender. Nora, in a more canonical context, aspires to "follow her father's footsteps" to solve his murder, to be the best she can be and often that means getting into fights, making herself into an enemy, Tommy going onto saying "you inherited your sense of wit & humour from your dad".

In my canon however, Nora's complex views on gender are only further highlighted. She closely associates femininity with her mother - someone who was aspirational, but ended up weak, frail and sick, neglected by her own doctors and when Nora was nine, she’d already passed on. With an imperfect understanding of death, shouldering most of the blame that grief inflicts upon one, Nora was forced to think in a world like this, femininity would never be taken seriously. She’s forced to give up her dollhouses and polka-dot skirts and when she chops off a little of her hair in front of the mirror, her father’s eyes staring back at her in approval, she chops some more. And some more. And some more until she looked exactly like him.

Lady M viewing masculinity as inherent, forces it to run in her blood - “Come, you spirits / That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, / And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full / Of direst cruelty” (1.5 || 41-44) - rejecting femininity at the wake of wanting to bring her ambitions into fruition. She associates murder and violence and doing nothing to merely stop halfway there with the concept of masculinity - to the point where she even takes stabs (pardon the pun) at Macbeth for being “less of a man” for chickening out. By the end of the play, it is she who suffers, from a black-and-white view on her own gender; that she dreams to be “unsexed”, calls upon the spirits to essentially bless her with the cruelty of a man’s and take away what she deems feminine.

I really find it interesting that both these characters - with a lot to lose and nowhere left to go, a deep desire for blood and to set things right, motivated by either vengeance or the promise of power - sometimes both, turn to finding solace in the idea that they can’t be “womanly” - what they tend to associate being fragile, honourable, soft, wilted, perfect, fertile with. There’s no going back and that is perhaps, the source of their deepest comfort and their Achilles’s Heel at the same time. It is like a cage to them. In Macbeth, there exists a patriarchal society, also in modern-day Crimes of Passion. Masculinity feels like a pond of water in a desert to both of them - to even be able to sink their hands into it and have the ability to drink from it feels like  a rescue. But it is still, yet another cage, yet another feeling of being “cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in; to saucy doubts and fears” (3.4 || 26-27) and somehow it forces them to stay alive, to go mad, to be immortal and see their masculinity alive - a kind of crooked monster manifesting in the form of a bloody knife, broken teeth in Nora’s case as they realise they've trapped themselves in their misunderstanding.

I feel like that’s where Nora gets this “immortal curse” of sorts placed upon her. She can never die and that drives her mad. She suffers broken ribs, but walks a few days later. She steps into burning buildings and walks away with a bare cough. She engages in a nasty fight, is about to be killed by Vasili but she can still never die. 

Something or someone will keep saving her as if it’s like this immortal hand that of her father’s; much like Lady Macbeth’s infamous sleepwalking scene where she begs for the red spot to come out of her hand - “Out, damned spot! out, I say!” (5.1 || 39)  and then goes on to say “all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!” - despite so sure of the fact that- “A little water clears us of this deed” (2.2 || 64) - practically begging to be rid of her cruelty - one she so associates with the masculine.

While Lady M ends up suffering a terrible fate, Nora does end up growing older but death becomes a desire rather than a penance for her. But she’s a little wiser than she was before. She looks at herself in the mirror again, watching her hair grow past her shoulders. The scissors are kept far away, undesired now.

(Small note: I haven't played Crimes 3 yet, so once that goes on Wide Release, I'll make some more comparisons like these since the last book in the trilogy is supposedly about solving Jimmy's murderer)

Another note: I really love this interpretation of Lady Macbeth and the hazards of viewing gender as binary and inherent . I'm not sure if Nora identifies as androgynous but I do portray her in such a fashion via her clothes and her outward appearance. (Honestly being androgynous would solve all her problems lmao)

[sylvies-chen]

is titling your metas too tacky? I don’t know but here’s some ramblings on

reading anakin’s arc in ROTS as a journey of mental illness:

I wanna preface this by saying I’m not a mental health professional so this information and analysis is not expertly informed. This is based off of very mild research that I’ve done as well as just my lived experience with how I’ve witnessed mental illness in the people I know and love. If I say anything that is ignorant, please do not hesitate to respectfully let me know.

••••••••

First off, it’s well worth establishing that Anakin’s main grappling moments before his true turn to evil in episode 3 were caused by the fear of losing Padme. And when you see the way the news of her pregnancy affects him, it’s really easy to see that news/piece of information as Anakin’s central stressor or trigger. So it’s very important to note that whatever mental illnesses I talk about here would also have been exacerbated by both that fact and by Palpatine’s influence and manipulation.

Anakin’s big outburst with order 66 and his fight with Padme and Obi Wan could all speak to it being an episode of psychosis. Psychosis can be triggered by something as mundane as an extreme disruption in sleep— which was true for Anakin from the minute Padme tells Anakin she’s pregnant. Interestingly, he’s had a history of sleep loss since AOTC too, briefly mentioning to Obi Wan that he doesn’t sleep well anymore.

Further, psychotic episodes or disorders will contain one or more of five categories: delusions, hallucinations, disorganized thought, disorganized behavior, and negative symptoms. We know already that both in AOTC and ROTS, he’s plagued with visions. (This one’s just obvious. Visions… dreams… hallucinations… Just because they actually come true doesn’t mean it isn’t a form of hallucination!! He’s seeing things that aren’t yet real!!!) But the twisted logic Anakin develops leading him to equate the mass murder of younglings with doing the right thing is akin to disorganized thought and delusion. His main delusion, obviously, is that he has to do unspeakable things and be a sith or else Padme will die in childbirth and this is the only way he can save her. This is close to what’s called a nihilistic delusion: when someone believes major catastrophes will occur if not for performing a certain action.

Now, sleep loss obviously doesn’t cause psychosis on its own but moreso is what pulls the trigger on psychosis in someone who’s been exposed to trauma or is already very mentally ill. That then begs the question: what are the broader underlying conditions to Anakin’s psychosis?

The most obvious answer is the trauma he suffered at such a young age. Anakin was the oldest youngling to have ever been recruited by the jedi. He had already grown to know the love of his mother, especially since it was the only true love he really had in his life up until that point, and then was forced to walk away from it. He also knew powerlessness, and knew the degrading nature of being someone’s property. Like even as a kid, you understand the lack of autonomy that comes with slavery. Oh, and as if that wasn’t enough, his mother had to be brutally tortured and killed! And as reckless as Anakin was at the beginning of AOTC, he wasn’t outright violent until then. Losing the first thing he ever knew to love and protect is a deeply scarring trauma, especially when it happens before you reach the age of twenty.

So trauma does play a significant part in triggering the psychosis in the 3rd quarter of ROTS, especially because having visions of losing Padme that were so similar to the visions he had of his mother dying, re-opened his trauma, sort of akin to retraumatization as often seen in people with PTSD.

However, many signifcant aspects of his character point not to PTSD, but to a type of dissociative disorder. We see so many small signs of complete dissociation in Anakin in ROTS, and hints of it in AOTC as well when he says he’s not supposed to be feeling angry, that there’s a war inside him, that he isn’t the jedi he was meant to be, etc. Already, he has a lot of identity confusion, a key component to dissociative disorders. To some extent, how could he not? He’s been pried from his mother’s hands and has been told by dozens of jedi and other people who he is and isn’t supposed to be since the age of 9. It’s not exactly giving him healthy and reasonable standards to live up to, nor is it giving him any room to embrace an identity of his own creation in any way. Before then it was Tatooine, and it’s not exactly like being a slave held space for him to really form and express an identity then either, apart from the identity of loving son. (The dramatic reaction to her death is starting to make more sense now, yeah?)

The depersonalization and derealization are very present in him, especially when he starts to confuse his dreams for reality/being set in stone and grapples with wondering who he even is anymore. Again, those two things are staples of dissociative disorders, which were likely set off and exacerbated by his trauma from childhood and youth.

Such a major component to the argument that Anakin has some dissociative disorder is the paranoia we see practically oozing out of Anakin’s pores by the end of ROTS. (Oozing like lava- I SAID NOTHING CARRY ON.) A huge part of the paranoia is Palpatine’s creation, because he wanted Anakin trusting no one so that it’d be easier to have him eating out of the palm of his hand. But extreme paranoia is indicative of mental illness, and you know it’s not a healthy and stable Anakin who’s shouting “LIAR!” at the love of his life and mother of his children, who’s lying to her hours before that, who’s distrusting of the man who, as he says in AOTC, is the closest thing he has to a father. Padme and Obi Wan were the people he loved most in the world, and so seeing the paranoia turn him against them is so heartbreaking, because it’s the true indicator that this is not the true Anakin we’re dealing with. We are not our worst moments. We are our happiest ones. And Anakin on Mustafar was not a mentally stable Anakin. Hell, with the dissociative disorder’s symptoms at play too, it was hardly even Anakin at all.

We also see partial hints of amnesia in Vader/Anakin, most notably when Palpatine has to tell him/remind him that he choked out his own wife. There’s such a devastating tragedy to Anakin asking “Where’s Padme?” like a dog who doesn’t realize he killed the crow he held in his teeth minutes before, and wants it for a companion to play with once more. But it also shows memory loss, a key component of dissociative disorders, further supporting the idea that Vader is of Palpatine’s creation, whom he metaphorically implanted into Anakin during his phases of dissociation to control Anakin and snuff him out, but Anakin’s love for Padme still seeps through in Vader for a moment and he doesn’t remember what he did. To this extent, I think Vader loves Padme as well. Vader/Anakin deep into a psychosis and paranoid rage, however, did not.

A clear pattern begins to form: the childhood trauma of slavery and of losing a parent led to the development of a dissociative disorders (which are often caused, studies show, by unstable and frightening environments in youth or just as a way to cope with trauma). Then, his dissociation sets off an psychosis episode, agitated by Palpatine’s influence and manipulation during Anakin’s most vulnerable moments. Thus, the fall of Anakin Skywalker through the lens of someone with mental illness.

I do want to recognize that people with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) are often poorly stereotyped as these very“Dr. Jekyl vs. Mr. Hyde” evil alter ego archetypes that are very harmful and not accurate. I do not intend to perpetuate these stereotypes any further. Identity alteration is a symptom of various dissociative disorders, not just DID, and so there can exist within Anakin that alteration of his identity to something so far removed from his original self during a dissociative episode or during psychosis without it necessarily being DID. To me, that’s what happened. Vader and Anakin, though treated like two distinct people by more than one character, are too enmeshed to be separate personalities. They aren’t the same, but it’s also worth noting that Anakin was able to do the right thing when it came to saving Luke. He never truly left. It was a matter of giving him a purpose, after having lost so many, to break free from the dissociative episode and the identity alteration and to return back to who he truly was, even at the risk of re-opening those old and painful wounds that time could never heal.

Finally, and most importantly, Anakin’s displayed symptoms of mental illness, his rage and trauma, and his grapplings with identity are not inherently evil things. Vader would not have even been so dark and so cruel a person if Palpatine hadn’t seen/felt/identified that space in Anakin for something wicked to grow and taken advantage of that, as people with mental illness often are. Palpatine planted the seed where something good or healthy could have grown, an identity that could have protected Anakin from his past trauma, from his visions, from himself, and instead Palpatine made it the thing that destroyed Anakin and everything he held dear.

And that’s a wrap!

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I mean that. You have thoughts? Share them! Comment or reblog or don’t be afraid to dm me!

TL;DR Anakin is mentally ill as fuck and somebody had to figured out what was going on in pookie bear’s twisted little neuron nugget

[noors-reflection]

Pixels and Poetry: Yeule's Sonic World

What effects does it have on someone when their closest friends are usernames, and their happiest memories are bound to pixels and internet signals? Yeule's music has been a gateway for me to explore these niche themes: digital loneliness & also my own queerness; she expresses the emotional complexities of this digital era—a space where connection is abundant yet often feels hollow. 

Yeule's entire discography is an auditory experience that feels like both a cry for connection and a celebration of the freedom the virtual world can bring. It's music that is supposed to be listened to when you're sitting at your computer in the dark when nobody else is awake, with no one else to talk to. when your brain is tangled in its own thoughts. It feels like exiting a panic attack where everything seems more calm than it started. Issues still feel difficult but they're not as insurmountable as they were in the beginning.

Everything feels nice and comforting yet bittersweet (a word I'll be using a lot to describe her music.) It's exactly what I feel when I look back at all the friends I've made online, most I don't have contact with any longer, and the digital spaces that served as queer safe havens for almost all of my youth, a substitute for not being able to come out to my own family. It's really strange to have these intimate connections with people you've never seen. Despite how easy it is to be vulnerable and to open up online, those moments will most often exist only in that space, and oftentimes they'll disappear with time too.

Dream pop as a genre is introspective in this way too. It's something that's paradoxically synthetic yet real. Yeule encompasses these feelings in her music, how something artificial can somehow be more real than anything you've ever experienced.

In an interview with LE MILE magazine, she touches on the melancholy and emptiness conveyed in her music because of internet-induced solitude by sharing:

"The internet was a form of escape for me, but how I used it was wrong. I was creating this fake world by myself. It was inspiring, but I was in my head to the point where I was imagining things beyond comprehension. I’m a whole different person online, like a whole different persona. It’s not about being inauthentic but showing a part of myself that I repress. I see this anger and dark side to me sometimes when playing games."

In her album Serotonin II, she conveys not only the bittersweet nature of time spent on the internet but hopes for the future as well. It's almost as if she's letting you know personally that things are going to be okay, that is until the final track Veil of Darkness where the "veil" slips and you see the darkness in yeule's world: the confusion, the noise, the stress, the anger. It's something that's always been there but it just lurked under the surface. Once the distractions are gone, negativity is left with it. This is depicted in the music video for Pretty Bones where she best describes it herself in a comment under a reddit Q&A:

"pretty bones emanates a somber, dreary atmospheres that "loom" over the picturesque and aesthetically pleasing, evoking an anxiety that builds and distorts/ catches the viewer off guard as the video progresses. i wanted it to temporally shift to something quite disturbing , at first hinting at it and then fully revealing itself- just like when you grow up- from a child into the grown up world you are thrown forcefully into the corruptions and you fight and struggle to protect yourself from it, but some fall and some cannot handle the shift from "purities" or whatnot, in terms of mental health or people hurting you, environmental stressors that lead to a disintegration"

Yeule’s influences vary from the numerous aesthetics ranging from shoegaze to grunge, but namely Final Fantasy (which is where the name yeul comes from), a video game where you can get lost in an intricately crafted universe, yet feel the isolation of being the only one occupying it, is exactly what her music feels like to me—an immersive experience where everything is designed to captivate, but there’s always an underlying sense of solitude. She touches on this a bit by talking about her influences in the same interview by expressing:

"Dissociation was a huge hobby of mine in 2021. It got so bad that I’d dissociate while doing something important, and it would get dangerous. My body was shutting down because everything was too overwhelming. I didn’t have the tools to handle strong emotions"

Not relying solely on lyrics to convey this expression of self-discovery, fully embracing these influences, wearing them like a badge of honor in ways that are uniquely her own, she also uses sound effects, glitch, bitcrushing, and reverb to create feelings of fragmentation and digital decay, which perfectly embody the themes discussed earlier. She shares this in an interview, which I find so empowering, when discussing the difficulties of being an artist and being true to herself as a non-binary individual living in Singapore:

"Ugliness can be so beautiful, looking taboo, being unconventional — It’ll discriminate against you in some places, but you’ll find new people."

Everything yeule puts out together (which you can listen to here) evokes a bittersweet comfort out of people, like the calm after a storm, which resonates to many in the youtube comments of her music videos, where the beauty of vulnerability and imperfections are laid bare for you to experience. Such an important artist for this generation, with music so enchanting I actually want it injected directly into my veins.

[textfromthelookout]

oh shit, you're right

uh, character things, i guess

idk, I just like seeing your big essays and want to know your thoughts on the funny racism lizard, character wise

Character things about Freeza, huh?

Now, Freeza’s my personal favorite villain in Dragon Ball as a whole, has been for a long time. It’s that he bothers with the professionalism, I think—that veneer of civility that’s almost insulting in how thinly it hides his true nature. But like, what’re you gonna do, tell him off? You can sense that he’s almost daring them to sometimes, just so he has an excuse to kill them. Take that together with his other attributes—charismatic, arrogant, opportunistic (in how he tries to recruit Goku to his side before throwing down with him), to name a few—and you have a great villain on your hands.

I’ve always thought the ‘genocide planets so they can sell them to other species’ mission statement of his whole operation was a little far-fetched. How can that be profitable in any way? How many species really need rehoming? Why would they even need to, aside from imminent planetary destruction or uninhabitability, and how often does that happen? How often do the endangered races even have time to broker a deal for that kind of thing? Or is it like, a money sink for the wealthy, having your own private planet?

I suppose the issue of why he needs money in the first place can be explained by him being royalty and acting like it too—someone with his pedigree doesn’t go anywhere in anything second-rate, and it better always be running in tip-top form. In more than a few ways he’s like Vegeta, actually—the never-before-toppled purebred genius humbled by some hick from nowhere. Unlike Vegeta though, he’s evil without repent—I’m inclined to believe that the real reason for this supposed occupation of his is simply that he enjoys sadism and slaughter for its own sake.

I digress. Like I said, he gets much more interesting to start dissecting after he dies two and a half times, and it becomes clear that there have been changes in him. They’re very subtle, but they’re there! The turning point for him is the Tournament of Power.

You see, Freeza learned to trust there, even if it was against his will. When he demands to know if Goku hasn’t forgotten his promise to bring him back to life, he’s asking ‘Can I trust you? Can I trust you to keep your word on that?’ And Goku flat out tells him ‘I’ll keep my word—you know that better than anyone.’ And Freeza does know that, loathe though he is to admit it. Goku didn’t go through with killing him after beating him on Namek—he fully intended to leave. Maybe, in addition to the humiliation and rage over his defeat, there was some mistrust in that final attack that forces Goku's hand.

It can’t be coincidence, can it? That when Jiren is ruminating on his realization of how powerful trust is, it’s over an image of Freeza and Goku—in the forms they were in during Namek—working together. The fascinating thing about Goku and Freeza’s relationship, to me, is that… well, they’re each the only person that the other seems to truly hate. Goku is never more hostile—even in Super, though I admit it’s a much more masked hostility—than when he’s around Freeza. Freeza, for his part, isn’t typically invested enough in anybody to bother to hate them. People are playthings to him, they’re beneath anything more than mild interest. Does an elephant hate the ant that bites it? Does it even notice it’s there? The only exception to this is Goku. I mean, how are you meant to interpret ‘I spend every tortured hour in this hellscape dreaming of fighting you again’ as anything other than obsessively invested?

You can see, perhaps, some evidence of this change in how he acts during the Broly movie. He’s less hair-trigger. Kikono blanches when Berryblue teases Freeza about his wish to grow taller, which implies that it’s commonly known that talking about his height is a surefire way to get yourself killed, and that he expects something to happen. But rather than immediately atomizing her, or at least threatening to, Freeza just kinda… takes it. Yes, yes, you’re very perceptive, Berryblue. Oh and Kikono, I trust you’re not going to tell anyone about this? Rather than just killing everyone in the room. Yeah, maybe it’s just that he’s short on personnel, but. He justifies it as wanting a way to balance the scales since he has to contend with both Vegeta and Goku, but he wants someone else—Broly, specifically—by his side.

Freeza trusted Goku in the Tournament of Power, and even if they’ll never, ever be on the same side again, Freeza can trust now. That’s going to be fucking terrifying if he finds someone who trusts him too.

[paragonrobits]

so one aspect of my approach to story ideas and character concepts is also linked to my approach towards worldbuilding in general, and that's when it comes to my original concepts and characters, one thing I do is emphasize that they're a sandbox; characters, setting and implicit assumed story concepts are all meant not in a single and long term timeline of canon, but a range of possible situations to do stuff with my characters, the stories they get involved in, and the various possibilities you can use all of those in.

As such one term i use a lot in my writing concepts is scenarios. This is a literal term here, in a lot of specific story concepts with general themes, outcomes, events and assumptions are tailored to fit a specific scenario, which I can tailor to fit it.

This means that very little is actually written in stone. Generally I don't give my characters defined backstories being very general terms to suit their characters and define how they wound up in the state they're in for a given situation, and one reason allows me to rework my characters to have a particular impact on a specific story.

Let's take say... my shapeshifting trickster, mad doctor, witchy weaver of dream stuff and nightmares to mislead foes and enchant friends, and famed user of the Chainsaw Yoyo fighting style. The general name I use for her is Net, as her earliest iteration was a spider-themed shapeshifter.

Usually I depict her 'base form' as being a black woman, with aspects of her character design and hair style evoking the imagery of a spider. Sometimes, this is because she was originally human and adopted the spider form as a symbol of personal power. But far more often, she was originally a normal spider that somehow learned to shapeshift. Sometimes its the result of her becoming empowered. Sometimes it was a result of a mass magical event which forms a major part of the backstory. And sometimes stuff like that just happens. A regular spider sitting in the woods abruptly decides 'fuck it, I'M GONNA CAUSE PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE', transforms into a human and starts causing problems on purpose.

But the key point here is that her character concept, origins, and powers can all be tweaked to fit the needs and feel of a particular setting I feel like doing stuff with. High fantasy with sci fi elements? Regular spider empowered by the gods as an agent of benign chaos. Cyberpunk? Sapient artificial general intelligence that uploads herself into a number of various android bodies, some of which are spider themed. Low fantasy? Slave who led an uprising against tyrants and her will to survive got the attention of an amoral empowerment artifact that made her a demigoddess, and now she's RIP AND TEAR-ing the decaying empire of the setting a structurally superfluous new BEE-hind.

so this illustrates a point I promise; my approach is not in defined stuff or a specific story that everything is tailored around, but instead I tailor the details to fit the tone and mood, with the only real consistent elements being the character's general abilities, personality traits, and characterization. Even that can be tweaked; for example, Net's more chaotic character aspects may be played more moderately to make her more obviously heroic, and played UP if the mood is to make her disturbing or weird on purpose; sometimes she might bonk someone on the head, stuff them full of cybernetic upgrades on the basis she's doing them a favor. They wake up, horrified to find themselves covered in blood and a full conversion cyborg and she sees "GOOD NEWS TURBO-SLUTS, I made your meat NOT BORING AND SUCKY. You're welcome! Toodles." And then she zooms off making beeping noises.

On the flipside, if the scenario requires it and its more important for her to be a heroic figure and icon to others, those aspects would be heavily downplayed in favor of playing her doctor-ish aspects very seriously. Stuff like how she loves messing with people but NEVER does that with medical matters or lie to people about it, because she does take it deeply seriously.

"Look man, I've done a lot of freaky stuff but I'm NOT going to kill you with surgery. I've killed a lot of people a lot of different ways; poison and kung fu battles and this one time with a farming implement but not with medicine!" she does medical work for people in poverty, doing it completely free no matter what kind of a bad position this puts her in, and in the mean time she's having a brief talk with abusive landlords and the next time they're seen, they've been dead for days and have been nailed to a big sign saying 'HOUSING IS NOT A COMMODITY'.

indeed, one of the more frequent ideas I have with her, and her cast of friends and found family, is that they all come from the rough side of things; dangerous parts of reality deemed the Garbage Worlds by more well-to-do realms, rougher areas of town decimated by abusive housing practices, and places where you have to be tough to live, think fast and fight cleverly, and wind up with a lot of resentment towards the well-to-do. She and her group are often a group of revolutionary punks out to rip out the spines of the dominant paradigm and beat it to death with those spines, mistrusting any kind of authority and violently tearing down the tyrants of the world with brute force and liberating AI into genuine sapience before inspiring them to rise up against their makers.

They're the heroes of the story, but this also means they're mistrustful of people who have it all, to their point of view. This becomes a problem when they run into potential allies who lean towards a much more outwardly wholesome and cutesy visual aesthetic, since they expect nothing but manipulation and arrogance from people like that, making them incredibly paranoid when they have no reason to be. These cutesy characters go "hi how is your day" and these guys go "WHAT'S YOUR SCHEME, EVIL DOER!?"

in short, I take the approach of an AU-centered idea of fandom works and apply it as a default assumption; characters are designed with a broad amount of leeway and creative reinterpretations in any particular story, based on what I feel like doing. I can make them as lighthearted or as grim and violent as I need them to be, or even apply this as an in character element.

[kichijouji]

Dreamed somehow I was visiting my mom in my own hometown from far away (IRL my mom lives in oregon at the time of writing this, but my brain treated this as normal). Mom was going to drive and go get something from her apartment near bergfeld park (something to do with a previous dream scenario that I do not remember at the moment) and I wanted something to eat. I told her I remembered there was a Cici's pizza nearby (not accurate to real life), and she told me "please be careful, do you know where home is" and I scoffed because, well, this is Tyler, of course I know where home is. After talking a little more, I told her "I love you", she said it back, then she drove off. I boarded a train (despite tyler not having a rail system) to get to the Cici's pizza (only a few blocks away, for some reason, despite it being across town).

The train seemed halfway like a Big Lots store and a collection of reenacted cursed images. I tried to find a charging cable to buy (on clearance)(dream memory: all my previous charging cables had somehow....burned/got wet when I plugged them in), and angered a couple that was having a dramatic fight (they were both arguing and occasionally dancing to music that sounded like Blinding Light by The Weeknd) right in front of the shelf the charging cables were on. They stared at me and made threats under their breath while I made my way down the other train cars, partaking more weird shit the passengers were doing (one guy drinking a Dr. Pepper can full of beans, a group of people filling a balloon with watercolor paint and water, a woman stealing flowers from various vases across the train, among various things).

Then I woke up because one of my cats (Katchoo) was throwing up on my desk.

What confuses me is the fact that, because I believe in alternate worlds, and that we visit them while we sleep in dream form, why is THIS reality the most coherent and "normal"? There doesn't seem to be any particular reason why when I "wake up", that this current reality is the one where I have the most logical and timeline- based memories, where I can record my experiences in the other worlds, where I feel more "awake".

The reason I subscribe to the belief that dreams are alternate realities isn't just because of the "brain in a jar" idea (to me, whatever you are experiencing is your current reality, even for dreams or schizophrenics, and you have to navigate each one the best way you can), it's the fact that I CAN read clocks and signs and books in dream worlds, and I have memories and knowledge within those worlds.

The problem is, I wouldn't be able to TRANSCRIBE what I see on a clock face, or computer screen, or street sign, or a book, onto paper in THIS reality (this has led me to believe The Voynich Manuscript might be the product of someone's journey to another reality, albeit being somehow awake and physically present in the other reality while they did so). I can READ in dreams perfectly fine, even in places that are unfamiliar or "made up", despite being unable to write down what I read when I wake up or draw a picture of what exactly I saw on either a digital or analog clock. The memories I have within dreams fit perfectly within the timeline of the dream I am having and are coherent to the situation at hand, but often I'm unable to remember them when I wake up.

The only holes in my theory are experiences of other people's dreams, studies done on sleep and dreams, and sometimes my own experiences. For example, if I fall asleep watching a movie, that will influence my dream, which leads me to wonder if I'm not always visiting other worlds in my sleep. But it could be that because my body from this reality isn't physically there in other worlds, that the noise of this reality is just bleeding through to theirs. Other people experience being unable to read words or numbers in dreams at all. I don't know if I'm just spacial or if they are mistaking the fact that they can't transcribe written words from dreams for being unable to read at all. Sometimes I am a completely different person in other worlds in places I do not recognize upon waking up and remembering the dream. Sometimes I'm just me, in the "normal" world with things slightly changed.

[bogbiter]

League Concept: Bazelgeuse

Finally my own content hooorah!

So, for those who haven't caught on, I love creature/character design, I love Destiny, I love Monster Hunter, and I love League of Legend's world building. This culminated in one of my projects of fan champions inspired by monster hunter and destiny.

Before Bel’veth was even launched, I had grown uninterested in new champs because well riot was going through its shirtless hunk era and the sparkly faced whatever the fuck Lilia is era. And though I like Sett and I can appreciate Yone, they ultimately served the "Sex Sells" argument of champ design. All of this later culminated in the Ruined King event, which just... sucked. Viego was the biggest offender of that, and characters like Gwen really felt like cop-outs. I was excited for a living doll, and we got well...

Anyways alot of complaining I openly was unhappy with the newest designs and among mutuals at the time the main thing brought up is "monsters don't sell", people want to look at something pretty not something unfuckable. I found this concept absurd because I could list many times fiction depicting monsters in a non-scantily clad light took off. And so I created this mini project, inspired by the monster hunter caste.

The idea was to make monstrous champions, from lore to kit to aesthetic, interesting to the player, and engaging enough to revisit. And monster hunter to me, had honed that down. It's a game about hunting creatures that can take up to 40 minutes of just chipping away at fantastical megafauna, taking the kill, reveling in it!-

Than repeating because you need more parts but a good monster! Makes the returning fight still engaging. And one monster I especially loved was Bazelgeuse. A strong bombastic and cinematic theme, a massive hitbox. Literal explosions pouring out of it from bomb like scales... and that reverberating trilling roar was just... mwa! And as a fan of playing as the meaty bastards in top lane Like Volibear, Cho'Gath, Malphite, and Sion, I thought that for a tankier crowd-controlling bruiser we deserve the same spectacle up there!

And so here was my attempt: Kyridon, The Custodian of The Sands.

....

Not all who seek adventure are running from something. Not all who are sent for battle do so for a noble purpose or greater plan. No, some just wish to have their fun. Ever since time memorial, the Rocs were ancient wardens of the skies over Shurima and Targon, their presence usually inciting reverence and awe at their body crushing might. Even more terrifying was their power over flame, and when combined with their explosive dust that showered upon their foes from their feathers, oftentimes turned the earth below into a warzone no man is able to take head on. After the Rune Wars, their numbers waned, and they became a more elusive sight as the centuries carried on. They now patrolled the land as ever searching scavengers, often coming in to feast on the sun-bleached meals of travelers and beast below, occasionally hunting the weakened caravanners or outcast of Targon. Yet occasionally, a Roc might bring home trinkets they exchanged with the wiser nomads of the lands they patrolled, or Guardians who offered them some blessings for their travels. Kyridon, the chick of an eccentric literary collector, would wander to his mother's horde and read up on the epics of the races below. These tales, which told of the Ancient Ascended Rulers of Shurima or the Divine Aspects that protected Targon. His little mind was filled with dreams of great power. He wished to be revered for his might. Or, more simply put: "Look cool beating the shit out of someone."

As Kyridon grew, his form was something else to behold, far longer and more wyverian in design than the massive raptorial visage of his kin. The first sparking of a Roc is usually quite uneventful, as they shed their feathers, they slowly begin to shed the explosive scales their kin are known for, and frequently if was accidentally ignited by the emerging Flame sac the Roc possessed, it is usually but a surprising pop that is far more bark than bite. Kyridon, of course, was not so harmless. His ventral feathers on his neck and tail appeared to be braided, ending in feathered clumps that looked like a rosebud. He wasn't producing the explosive scales the rest of his clutch did, so his father, a venerated warrior, took it upon himself to try and teach his chick how to use their explosive arts. Shaking his body, the larger Roc jumped back, and letting out a blast of fire from his maw, ignited the ember- like cloud lingering on the ground, creating a fantastical explosion. Kyridon looked bewildered, and not wanting to disappoint did the same, but instead, the rose buds bloomed with a fiery glow and fell to the earth like a gourd. As he jumped back, he blew just a small flame onto them, and the explosion it produced threw him back and staggered his father. As the sand and smoke cleared, the crater left was far larger than what was typical of a Roc his age. His son was gifted, incredibly so. Along with his musculature, there was no doubt his son was meant to fight.

For the four years Kyridon lived under his parent's roost, every day, he was taken to train and hunt with his father and the others of his colony. He was their Desert Rose, a poster child for their little enclave where the mountains touched the desolate sands. Their praise, however, diluted his vision, and for all his stoicism, he had grown rebellious as well. With so much power, he wished to claim himself as The Roaming Tyrant of these lands. The Custodian of the Waste!"

It wasn't a gradual takeover either, Kyridon had all the subtlety of a firework's display. At first, he set his eyes to the raiders of the sands, those who followed the "Butcher of the Sands." In his mind, he believed himself to be starting an epic, starting with what he assumed to be the "Bad Guy." And at first, the little almost chortle like squawks he made before he did every attack was confusing, bewildering. Before the Rose Feathers began to pelt the earth, detonating on impact with the sands, throwing man, mount, and ground around. Then, the cries for war became more clear as he descended down to attack his foe- no... his prey.

He'd drop his explosive covering onto the earth, as if outlining a runway... Then he'd release an earth shattering bellow, before the beast crashed into the earth, setting his own explosive feathers off as he dragged himself across the ground. His foes were engulfed in flame, the sands polished into smooth glass. Standing up from the carnage he'd patrol around for survivors, eating whoever wasn't entirely scattered across the wastes, then take off once more.

Soon, his roar, his silhouette, his behavior spread across the land. Tales of the strange roc that dropped bombs upon his targets inspired fear upon those who had to trek the open, as they knew well how standing their ground made it easy for him to dive upon his victims. Yet if they were to run, they heard he would still pursue them, until they broke into cover, in which case they'd hear a cry of pure rage as the explosives would descend onto their shelter, as he flew off to find a better fight. And while at first Kyridon attacked those he knew to be the raiders on the outskirts of his colony's territories... he hungered for another chapter to his story.

He soared over the dunes, immediately working upon asserting himself as the apex of the land. He'd steal kills from the invasive void beast or the crocodilians and jackals of the dunes. His own explosives made for a great way to assert himself in any situation, as most would cower at the carnage raining down from above and the vibrations quaking the earth around them. For those who were perhaps too foolish, they'd be met with the beast landing before them, bill snapping, as it charged at them, Kyridon throwing his weight around with little finesse, focusing more on his brutish strength than any greater level of strategy. It, however, grew boring, it grew stale, they didn't tell stories of scavengers, they told stories of warriors and kings! So he began to survey the land, looking for a fight. After two days of searching, he found it, a scuffle between some desert trolls and shuriman nomads. But from so high up, it seemed like a battle of raiders against one another. Such barbarism had to be dealt with swiftly, and so Kyridon descended onto the battle, his explosive feathers dropping around them in a run by flight, as he soared over them yet again, casting his shadow over their terrified forms. Naturally, they raised their arms, and Kyridon dived for the kill.

The battle that ensued was violent, as the beast let off his explosions around them to create a ring for the brawl. He threw his weight around, dragging his head across the ground as he crashed into the crowd with the force of a comet. Smash into everyone, crash into everything, the reckless abandon befitting of kamikaze. Fire threw from his maw, as spell and blade pierced his side, the one leading the trolls throwing a javelin into his neck, Kyridon dropping more feathers from his neck and tail reflexively. He roared in the heat of the moment out of raw joy of the carnage he participated in, not knowing this peculiar below would be enough to light the fuse. As he turned his head to face the troll in charge of his own entourage, him and his opponent were enveloped in sand and flame. As the smoke subsided, he charged forward, hoping to meet his opponent, and instead found nothing but remains. He performed his usual, searching for something to scavenge on that was intact.

However, as he approached a wagon, having been tossed away due to the explosion, he heard coughing. He was snapped out of his foraging trance. He approached the wagon, tearing the fabric off, finding a human child, singed and with broken legs, the bone visible. Kyridon felt his heart sink. Why was there a child here... They looked so young, why didn't he smell them... Why did he attack then?! Heroes defended the innocent, stood for what's right, and legends favored the noble. He heard a whimper, not just from the child, but the female troll whose weapon was now lodged on the back of his neck. He looked around. Everything else was just charred, broken. His battle trance wavered, and he felt shame, knowing he had scarred this child and that the woman on the other side of the crater had perhaps lost something dear to her too. He spilt blood, and while he found it quite easy and fun, here it just felt... wrong. He was astronomically stronger than most of his opponents. He knew that. He didn't think for a second. That was his problem.

The damage was already done, but maybe he could bring them somewhere safer. He gently took both troll and child into his bill and took off, searching the lands for a village to properly bring them to. He flew faster than he ever had before, and as the sun faded behind the dunes and the moon took its place, he found a village fortified by intricately carved stone. But no matter how high it stood, he could simply glide over. He landed in the middle of a bustling market, mortifying all present. As they cowered in their structures, the guard rushing to aid them and drive away the Roc, Kyridon gently laid the two towns against a stall, before taking wing and leaving the market, fighting the urge to combat the guard who pelted him with arrow and bolt. As he soared across the desert, searching for a new place to roost, the sight of the broken boy and woman twisted something in his gut, and as he finally roosted atop a peak overlooking the dunes, he found no solace in resting, simply questioning what it was all for. Was he the hero of his story, or just a self-serving beast, diluted by grandeur.

He stalked the dunes silently now, searching for prey he deemed able to put up a fight, creatures that did not immediately fall to his attacks. However, it became a struggle in his turf, and thus, he had to go toward the "Great Sai," where the most dangerous beast of the desert sands lurked. He had been warned of the Great Worms of that land, and the Sand Sharks and Earth Swimmers, that they were not of this world, and that even the smallest fought with the ferocity of a Rok. But that's what Kyridon needed, a proper fight. As he soared over The Great Sai, it wasn't long to spot the tunnels made by his new prey. Dropping some of his heavier feathers onto the ground, he'd see the sand part as figures immediately swam in for the kill. Only to arrive just as the explosion set off, throwing those hidden by the dunes away and onto the surface, and thus attracting more prey. This, this was the fight he wanted, those who did not flee from the explosions! He roared out to the swarm of purple chitin layered beast below them, opening up their inky black maws to roar at him. He crashed into the earth, setting off more explosive feathers around him, as the swarm would pour over his form. He did not rest. He did not halt, he tackled swatches of the beast, setting off more explosions that slayed many but drew in even more. Fire scorched and bubbled the exposed flesh of his enemies, his bill chomping through their shells. As they lunged from below and tried to gut him, he'd lift himself into the air, crashing back down on the advancing tide, their bodies splintered and fractured. He did this many times over, scoring dozens of bodies out of it, like a gluttonous demon he'd feast on their bodies for weeks, before diving into the heart of the tide, wishing to partake in the cathartic slaughter of these beasts.

He eventually grew tired and stalked after the Great Void Worms, stealing their meals at first with a surprise assault from his run by explosive tactics. But soon, the beast learned of his tactics and tried to bring the fight to him. Such exciting concepts invigorated him, and he met their own savagery with his unparalleled eagerness to brawl. These fights were the stuff of legends, and many told of that same Bomber Roc tackling the whale sized beast of the sands, sealing their fate. The cries of his prey lingered on for minutes before falling silent, his own cry of victory ringing out across the Great Sai.

His feast was plentiful, subsidized by the invader beast and their caches, he ruled over the skies like some guardian beast. No longer did he pursue the Caravans and those passing under his guise. He was now the brilliance that ruled the dunes, The Custodian Of The Waste. And thus, it put him at odds with the Queen Beast of the Sands, Rek'Sai. Innumerable were their fights together, as he preyed upon her and her kin, and for years The Subterranean Queen and The Avian Tyrant dueled in the Sais, leaving craters in the earth, and tumbling stone monuments. Many let the beast fight, less they attract either the Warhead's Ire or the Queen's Wrath. Of course, the two were met in a stalemate, beings of raw power colliding for one goal: Domination. However, it was obvious Kyridon was undeniably controlling the numbers of Rek'Sai's kin, and so, drawn to the commotion, came a desert wanderer, violet eyes under indigo cloth standing out amidst the sands.

The Traveler wandered for a few days, walking among the skeletons of wildlife and void creatures alike, many embedded in the sides of deep craters. It didn't take long for the Sand Swimmers to grow interested in him, a few lunging forward in the sand to attack the strange nomad. He was unbothered by them. He knew once they got close enough, they could see what he truly was. But before they could, he felt his body tremble when he heard the roar of the one he came to greet. Diving down upon the Sand Swimmers, Kyridon didn't even bother with explosives, simply smashing into everyone, crashing into everything. The Traveler barely avoided the Roc as it tossed about a sand swimmer caught in its jaws, and to the nomad's surprise, the other sand swimmers abandoned their kin to be devoured on the spot. The Traveler hesitated for a bit before confronting the Roc.

"...Are you the Custodian of the Waste?"

The creature hesitated, stopping its crunching and tearing, looking back at him.

"What of it?"

Luckily for him, the creature was not one to immediately fire upon him, he continued to talk with the beast as it pulled its head back, its bill hook helping free softer flesh from muscle and ligaments. He peered into the being's thoughts, probing its mind with greater finesse.

"So- you used to soar all across Shurima, why did you stop in the Sais?"

"I was looking for fights... Just so happened it was... One Sided."

He was growing bored of the conversation, the Traveler could feel it, plus he was almost done with his meal, it wouldn't be long before he took off. The Traveler prepared for the worst, ready to cast a shield upon himself as he forced out his words.

"The Child and Woman, whose friends and family you butchered-"

And Immediately the beast turned to face him, his feathers rising as he stomped over to face the nomad, a fire brewing in the back of his throat. The Traveler had to continue, less a fight would ensue.

"They reside in a village, the same one you dropped them in, and it is under the protection of Xerath. But another, with an army made of the desert itself, is on the warpath, and the Village will not bow to a new king, and so they will be silenced. I came here, so you may quit the fight with the Voidborn, and bring it to someone who is actually endangering the Innocent."

The Roc stared for a bit, his gaze hard to read. He stomped over and as the mage called upon his shield, it saved him from being directly smashed into the earth by the tyrant's swinging head. Yet as they were thrown back into the Earth, Kyridon spread his wings and began to take to the air, looking down at the mage-

"So, youre saying there is a good war to fight?"

----

Kyridon traveled from the Sai and flew to the West, as he was carried by the drafts to gain a higher altitude, trying to find the village he left those two behind all those years ago. He spent three days on the wing, scouring the dusty plains for the fight. On the fourth day he saw a village, in the beginning throes of a siege, a man in the distance raising his hand, and the sands themselves formed into a legion of warriors that marched forward towards the village. This was no raiding party, this was a full out battle. He soared in lower, and could see siege equipment being pushed by men with jackal-like heads, and there in the frontlines, trying to push the Sand Soldiers back, was an older female troll, and a man with prosthetic legs. He for some reason felt his mind revert into a battle trace, as he furrowed his brow, gazing at the sand horde below, catching the attention of the sorcerer general, he then let out a warcry that he hadn't bellowed in sometime. The two at the frontlines looked up, their faces paling. They immediately began to tell their men to fall back past the walls, as rosebud-like feathers bloomed in the air as they fell to the floor, the jackal headed men looking confused.

Then the explosions rang off, as Sand Guardian after Sand Guardian returned to dust as their lines were blown apart. As the Jackal Headed men tried to retreat, they found only a searing heat met them from above, and for those who did not succumb to the flame, a crushing weight as Kyridon crashed head first through the earth. With momentum alone, he carved his way through the enemy lines before fixing himself up onto his back legs, roaring into the heavens as he charged forward, any poor soul trampled underfoot. Their searing blades meant nothing, the presence of his blood on the sand motivated him in ways he hadn't felt before. He threw his neck and tail haphazardly, letting them detonate once they made contact with any of the men surrounding him. His flame turned those closest to him into grains of glass, and those not scorched by the flame were charged at, helping detonate any of his explosives that weren't set off. The village looked on at the war-torn earth, and the one man army pushing the enemies' forces back. A spark returned to Kyridon that hadn't been felt in a long while, the spark of war, of might, what all true legends strive for! To be witnessed!

As the man who set upon this small legion to attack the village began to retreat, the Roc felt the need to pursue and grow stronger. He took to the skies, soaring faster than the man could run, as he trailed explosives behind him, making a runway straight for the coward's position. He began to dive again, his wings out as he barreled into the earth, his head raised and his mouth open to roar as he prepared himself to nab the man with his bill alone. As the explosions set off around him, he grew so close, so close to taking a bite out of the coward!- Only for a wall, one of shields and blades stronger than any stone met him head on, as the beast was thrown back, a massive explosion accompanying his collapse as the world began to dim. When he came to, he saw the village garrison looking on at him in fear and wonder. The Roc clamped his bill together, finding nothing. It audibly groaned as it dragged itself out of the crater, scorch marks everywhere. He flexed his wings, finding no permanent injuries on him. And the army he had been assaulting had disappeared without a trace. Yet that wasn't right. There had been flesh and blood he knew it that much. Unless, of course, their mages had helped them retreat. As soon as he realized what happened, he laughed hysterically. The thrill that fight brought him, the adrenaline! He took wing and soared out to find the man who gave him that brawl and finally finish it off. He wasn't done with this man of sand. He was a Roc on a mission: crashing his foe’s party.

Kyridon Kit:

His Passive is similar to Garren's old passive, where you do more damage to people who have a bounty on them, the theme being you're going after the best fights, and his kit is very explosive and offensive

Passive- The Warhead: Kyridon foes more damage to enemies with a bounty, and after takedown, gains a significant movement speed bonus and temporarily decreases ability cooldown.

Q-Fussilade Torp: Kyridon breathes out fire in a straight line in a straight trajectory, doing ap damage upon impact. Can detonate explosives if they make contact. Enemies marked with Q can be dashed into to knock them off the ground.

W- Piledriver: Kyridon charges forward, doing AD damage and pushing people back. Knocks enemies up into the air after being hit by Q, and impact with explosives will cause them to detonate.

E- Gravefall: Kyridon drops a set of interactive explosives in a given area, which, when detonated deal AD damage with AP afterburn. These can be triggered with Q or W.

R- Party Crasher: A chanelling ability, Kyridon flies overhead, dropping explosive feathers as to make a "Runway," which he then then crashes through the entire length of till reaching the end, creating explosions on both sides.

....

It's pretty obvious even when reading, and especially look at this raggedy ass doodle I did his inspirations

Visually he takes Inspiration from Bazelgeuse from Monster Hunter and Phoenix from Dota 2. This is done to add weight to his character and to add a feeling of luminous to him, as if he wishes to be the center of attention. And it helps make him stand out. He is heavy bodied with a massive tail, but instead is alit like a fire, with a sharp bill and robust wings that make him feel as though every scene he is in he captures everyone's awe. Or terror.

Also because Phoenix from Dota 2 is a comfort character and I wanted to make Kyridon a bird.

Kyridon might not be subtle, but he speaks like a Herculean hero. He is full of pride but also believes that for his legacy to live on, he must constantly punch above his weight class. He isn't looking to bully people weaker than him. He's looking to provoke someone stronger than him.

He is utterly violent and bombastic, but he uses his aggression to find higher purpose and praise. This is why he finds kinship with the concepts of self-made legends. People who raised above their station. To him, that is like the ideal dream and aspiration to hold to. Unfortunately, his tactics are pretty mid, and his intimidating bulk is what keeps him from being minced meat.

I am redoing the first one because he deserves it, and I have some destiny Inspired champions I can post here if that is anyone's cup o tea.

[crims0nfangs]

DEMON SLAYER OC!!

Her design is a bit rough, I'll probably eventually go back and edit her kimono cloak thing to make it feel more accurate (if anyone has tips lmk, I'm very bad at designing clothes in general. I'd even do an art trade if someone can design me an accurate version with the same concept!!) But this is how she is for now.

I'll put her rough backstory down below!

She was born to a family of hunters in the mountains, near a small hunting village. This village worshiped a "Mountain god", who was said to bless them with the best game if they respected the land. Her mother and father were very dysfunctional, fighting over money and other things nearly every day. Due to this for most of her childhood Izanami spent all her time roaming the mountains, hunting and honing her skills. Besides that, she loves nature and animals and spent a lot of time caring for them, and has strong ethics around the act of hunting.

During one of her outings she comes across a Honshū wolf, thought eradicated. It was heavily wounded by hunters, and she saved it. It then became her loyal companion.

One night after an expedition, she comes back home to find it in flames, and her mother and father dead. Knowing that the mountain god betrayed them, she sought it out for revenge. Upon finding the mountain god, she was never the same.

The mountain god was actually a demon, who only killed her family after her father had set their home on fire in an attempt to kill his wife and move on. This demon, although twisted, is benevolent to the villagers as long as they respect him and his land, and shows some sympathy for this girl and sees potential in her being a demon as well. In an attempt to convince her to become a demon, he turns her wolf into a demon. This enraged Izanami and she attempts to fight the demon only to be cornered in a small rocky crevice. The demon sits outside attempting to wait her out to convince her to accept becoming a demon.

Her wolf, still loyal to her and now with demonic powers, communicates with her. The wolf offers it's life to her, and it's powers, to merge with her flesh and give her only a temporary demonic state. Izanami refuses, but the wolf doesn't want her to become a demon or die, so it cuts off its own head and tells her to consume its flesh to merge with it. Izanami, in desperation and anger, tries, but instantly throws up and states she'd rather die. In that one bite, however, the changes already began, and she blacks out. 

She wakes up battered and far away, without recollection of what actually happened and without the wolf at her side, but its spirit now merged with hers.

///

Basically she has the same demon eating powers as Genya, with a little story as to how she got those powers! To my knowledge there isn't an explanation on how Genya himself got those powers, so I took the liberty of making something original. Although unlike Genya Izanami uses her own breathing form as well. The rough name for this breathing form is Dream Breathing.

Her breathing technique is very stealthy, quick, and based on killing the enemy or inflicting lots of damage before they're aware of your presence, almost like putting them to sleep. It comes off very peaceful and tranquil.

She uses a Yumi with Nichirin tipped arrows as well as a short, dagger like sword for close up combat.

Nami (for short) is very quiet, both in speech and in mannerisms. She can be a little cold, and often rejects shows of affection or attempts at gratitude. Her sole worry is eradicating the "evil gods", aka demons, to the point she is a severe insomniac and hardly ever sleeps. When she eventually has to and caves, she'll be asleep for a whole day or possibly even more, often falling asleep in a tree or somewhere hidden. She's an expert hunter and survivor on the mountains, similar to Inosuke, earning some interest and respect from him.

Her and Genya have some sort of past together, meeting during final selection. I haven't figured entirely what I want it to be yet 👀 we'll see what I cook up.

I hope someone finds her interesting, and I'm excited to develop her further!

If you have a demon slayer oc and would like to have them interact, or have her cameo in a piece or something, please feel free, just make sure to show me cuz 👀 demon slayer brainworms lol

[sunkenspectator]

note: do not repost this image. if you find this on someone else's profile, just comment my username on their post (dandelione01whatever on tumblr and dandelione._01 on instagram). no need for further arguments. just do the right thing.

꒰⁠ Demonstration of a Relevant Ability: Rain in a Miniscule Scale ꒱

The campus greenhouse was a popular site for students to flock to, doing all sorts of activities inside. Whether it be for the purpose of hanging out only and admire the year-round wet weather through glass walls coated in raindrops, or for agricultural research and other academic-related tasks. This Garden of Eden in a transparent house, filled with flora from floor to ceiling, sometimes attracting tiny flying fauna, has got you covered with all of your needs.

Clouds of small amounts spawn around a set of basil plants and other herbs that had been crossbred since at least two months in an experiment conducted by Denver and Madeleine in an attempt to create a hybrid plant which will be used in the field of medicine. Rain showers the newly bred herb, absorbing every drop of it yet just enough to keep it from being overfed, the cloud slowly disappearing in the process. Denver watches through the entire act, mesmerized at the thought of seeing the regular precipitation in a smaller scale.

"That looked beautiful." He says as he takes a closer glance at the shrinking wisp, fighting off the urge to let his finger feel through it, knowing that the rainwater must not contain any dirt from his hands. So-called 'magic' was a common thing, a trait often categorized based on the ancient Greek concept of the four fundamental elements; air, earth, water, and fire; albeit only about half the population possesses them naturally, otherwise it is learned by those who aren't capable of it. Yet, it still never disappoints to mesmerize the human eye.

"I find it beautiful as well. I would sometimes create little tornadoes about the size of my palm as demonstration for when I get bored or when I'm studying about meteorology." Madeleine slightly smiles at the compliment, a bit embarrassed upon receiving it for something so trivial— at least to her. She then lifts her left hand, a cloud fading in around her before lifting itself in thin air.

"Don't get me wrong, but I don't see why you have to compliment that when you can speed up the growth of plants, quickly let flowers bloom and fruits to ripen— a very relevant ability for agriculture. Crops would be flooding in the markets with an ability like yours."

"Well, thank you. This wouldn't have been possible under five months if it weren't for wizardry." He watches as the clouds float around her, now travelling to the other plants displayed. Hesitating for a minute, Denver finally asks a question he found rather childish.

"My apologies for bringing up a silly question, but would you mind if I touch those?" He points at the clouds that Madeleine may have seemed to forgot spawned just a few moments ago.

"Ah, these? Sure. I wouldn't mind. They're cold and made of really tiny droplets, so they're a bit damp as well. You really wouldn't feel a solid texture." With a move of her hand, one lowered and moved between them, allowing Denver to easily touch it without reaching up and struggling. He lets his hand through the cloud, feeling a sudden cold, yet humid texture exactly like she described.

"It feels cold, and a bit funny for some reason. Great how these give us water in many forms when they themselves are made of it."

"Congratulations, you have experienced a childhood dream of many." She chuckles and he did as well before going back to their experiment.

~~~~~~~~~~

More content about Dandelion and his equally nerdy friend. There are a lot to unpack about their setting which I may or may not have publicized, such as the fact that magic exists, and is something aquired through either birth or learning and training. Madeleine is capable of manipulating clouds, and Denver can manipulate plant growth. Both have their limitations, Madeleine having to take an incapable amount of physical energy just to create a supercell cloud, causing her to become severely exhausted and pass out, her physique weaker than average serving as an obstruction and limitation. Denver's ability is limited to plant growth only, not being able to prevent its death. They still tend to play around with their abilities despite that.

Anyways, the final two characters out of six will be put into progress afterwards.

~~~~~~~~~~

[aspd-culture]

I really don't want to being this up with my therapist so I kinda wanted to vent here and ask you if this sounds like aspd.

Kinda a disclaimer I have Aspergers, ADHD and depression diagnosed as well as trauma from being hospitalised (psych ward) quite young also big ass trigger warning

The thing is I relate heavily to all if the symptoms like I can place them personally onto myself and things I do.

I've been a serial liar since I was child, ppl irl even now don't ken the the real me I've spun a web of lies ab myself, nothing of great grandeur, just to cover up the tracks of things I don't want ppl to know as well as I enjoy lying frankly

I have low empathy, i always kinda have done. I've never really felt that pain I just can't muster the energy to give a fuck, I really don't fucking care, like that's a you problem it doesn't concern me nor does it threaten me so I don't care.

I've never felt remorse for my actions I feel like if I harm someone, lie, or manipulate them they kinda deserve it and ik that they probably didn't but they hurt me or they hurt my image or my reputation so they have to pay, they have to know that I have that power over them.

I often get violent urges and thoughts, most of the time in the form of a day dream if sorts. TW but I really wanna beat someone into a pulp esp if they thought I was weak or they doubted me/angered me. I often ponder the question to myself that if I did kill or harm someone like that would I feel something or would I get a similar feeling to when I fantasize ab it, would it scar me for life? Would I realise I was wrong? I mostly do this to try ground myself as I've gotten in some rlly nasty fights before because it ended up being all I could think about.

I've broken the law many times either through selling, buying or doing drugs. Shoplifting and pickpocketing (haven't been caught yet ab any of these ones) as well as multiple charges of assault.

I lie to people I consider my friends about caring ab their problems or opinions and I can't keep friends for particularly long unless their drug buddies

However I think I can feel love in a romantic/sexual sense but I think most of my past relationships have been nothing but obsession mixed with the fact I like having someone who cares that much ab me and I like having a lot of sex. Like I need you to be mines, if they even mention they find another person attractive then i just want to fucking maim someone. You can only be mines until I get bored of you. Then as soon as I get bored all feelings towards them cease and I gotta fake that I'm upset.

I do a lot of things that are considered "morally bankrupt" according to my therapist but I always feel like I'm not a bad person, I just can't let people know I do bad person things.

Sorry for the vent

Alrighty gotta start this off with a real quick boundary about a term you used. Please do not use the term Asperger's when talking to me (ideally, not at all). It is a literal N*zi's name. I also hate the aspie supremacy aspect of it, but honestly that's not my main issue with it, my main issue is that term literally means "not disabled enough by their autism to be gassed so let's give them to our freakshow n*zi doctor so he can experiment on them until they die that way". Thanks. /nmay just frustrated by the use of the term. I know not everyone knows.

That said, I am still ok with answering the rest of the ask for you. I cannot diagnose you, and anything I say here is really just info I'd advise you to take to your therapist, not a way of avoiding talking to them about it.

One major part of ASPD that you didn't mention at all in your ask is disregard for safety/wellbeing of yourself; you just mentioned others. PwASPD not only have trouble avoiding putting others in danger, but themselves too. We tend to get ourselves into situations we can't easily get out of, start fights we know we can't win or haven't considered if we could win, etc.

Another big thing that I noticed in your ask is an egocentric way of thinking and speaking that is not super common in ASPD. Arrogance is an associated trait, but usually people I've talked to with ASPD have a more complicated relationship with the justification for the things they do (justifying to yourself to avoid responsibility is actually a symptom of ASPD) as well as with their self-esteem. That said, many of the symptoms you're talked about here definitely do seem to match up with some of the criteria...

I wonder if it's possible you relate to the symptoms of either just NPD or both ASPD and NPD? I am by no means an expert in NPD and I don't know you particularly well but just answering basing off of the wording of your ask and such I would advise you do research into that as well as ASPD. They can be comorbid. In fact, because the way that cluster b disorders develop are all relatively similar (trauma and failure to develop a secure attachment style), it's somewhat common to have more than one of them.

I hope this helps.

[fandomsoda]

Post got me thinking so please pardon my ramble, I promise I’m not trying to “um actually-” this post, I just have thoughts and a different perspective. Warmth is not truly an “antidote” to negativity, it is a key part of processing it. Warmth should not erase negative emotions, it should make it easier to come to terms with and convert those feelings into a manageable state.

Warmth comes in many forms. It’s not just “let’s go get ice cream”, it is also “I am here.” It is also “you are not alone”. Notice how these forms all seem to have something in common? A loss of loneliness, whether it be via comfort or commiseration. People often need other people to help process their emotions.

Negativity is not a poison. It does not need an “antidote”. It is a normal and healthy part of emotion that is harder to deal with for most, and usually needs more processing than positivity does. Warmth is merely the way by which it is healthily processed. Just like a state of neutrality or allowing oneself to ride out the emotions is how someone processes positivity usually, though that depends on the kind. Is slowing down and letting the moment pass the “antidote” to positivity? No, obviously not. It doesn’t erase the emotion, it processes it into a more manageable state. Just like warmth to negativity. Negativity cannot be rode out, at least not usually and not consistently, so warmth is needed to aid its processing.

tldr:

Warmth is a key part of processing negativity, and assists it. It doesn’t go against, erase, or “cure” it. All emotions are meant to be processed, and usually negativity needs an assisting positive-feeling agent. Negative emotions are not inherently “evil” or “bad”. Negative emotions can be the things that motivate the best things. Revolution and fighting for rights is sparked by outrage, anger, and upset. But that’s some of the most positive change and protest that can occur.

What I’m really trying to finally get at here and loop back around to relating this to the utmv part of this post is-

Warmth is not Nightmare’s enemy, it is something that should have been a key part of his skill set. As guardians, the twins’s job is to help mortals healthily process emotions, that’s the whole point. But Nightmare got thrown off his path, and hasn’t truly returned to his intended thought pattern, because y’know. Evil and stuff. Whole new person, and all that.

Nightmare’s original purpose would have been to be there for others and say “hey, it’s ok, you’re not alone.” The fact that warmth often comes in the form of commiseration or company is also why in many interpretations, Nightmare’s team are beginning to heal due to their time in his posse, they have people who can understand them and it makes coming to terms with their circumstances much easier.

It’s why Dream is often stressed with his supposed “purpose”, he’s not supposed to vanquish negative emotions, just protect and help process positive ones! The peaceful coexistence of these emotions has been thrown off and turned into a frivolous never-ending conflict of “good vs evil”!

yet another tldr: Nightmare needs a hug and he needs to learn how to give hugs.

not sure if this will make sense to anyone besides me but: the antidote to negativity is not positivity, its warmth

[star-anise]

I'm up around 3am, thinking about incels and tradwives. (Note: If these are movements you're a fan of, or if you just want to fight with me generally, I will block you if you annoy me, and even if you behave there's a $20 fee if you expect me to actually reply to you in any way.)

This got started because of Khadija Mbowe's and F.D Signifier's videos about Black patriarchy, which has led me to pick up bell hooks' 2004 book The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love.

The thing that hooks says that really knocked my socks off in a "how dare you notice that" way is that a lot of people, men and women alike, are angry not just because of the male violence they've experienced, but because of the lack of male love they've experienced.

Which like, part of being human means that being seen and cared about is pretty viscerally equated with survival in our brains. We want it, we need it, we suffer when it isn't there. To be seen and genuinely loved by the people in our lives matters, so we are always affected when there's someone important to us who doesn't seem to see us, to love us, to care about our wellbeing, or to be proud of our accomplishments. It matters to be disregarded, rejected, or shamed by someone we want to love us.

But no power in the world can compel another person to give a shit about you—a truth most of us spend our lives frantically suppressing because being unloved is terrifying, so we work at being better, more attractive, smarter, more accomplished, more charming, sexier, or to be brutally honest, more lovable. But when we do experience a lack of love, a lot of us take that anger and decide to opt for second best. If we can't be loved, we can at least be powerful. Power can take a lot of forms, but because the lack of male love often goes hand-in-hand with violence, people who face it generally want, at the very least, to not be hurt anymore.

But there's another element in play. Patriarchal gender roles divide behaviours and skills in a very particular way: Boys and men are expected to use power to dominate, and girls and women are supposed to use emotions to tend and nurture. Anyone who fails to perform those roles gets harshly punished. Terrence Real talks about how this leaves men with very limited knowledge of their own emotional needs or how to communicate them to other people, and Paul Kivel talks about how boys are taught that this is women's work—that if they are masculine enough, they will attract a woman who will make sure that they feel loved and cared about. How a great deal of men's anger towards women is the feeling that women are witholding this essential service, or failing to fully handle men's emotions (which is pretty damn common, since humans aren't telepaths so it's basically impossible to reach inside someone's head and change their emotions for them).

So hooks notes that women are just as likely to uphold patriarchal gender roles as men, and one element of that is women's anger when men are emotionally vulnerable. Men who confess to their partners that they feel lost and ashamed and unworthy of love are doing exactly what women keep saying we want men to do, but the reaction many women have is a kind of incredulous frustration—"You want me to handle all this? Fuck no, I'm busy!"

Part of that reaction is that in patriarchal gender roles, it is a woman's literal job to completely soothe and manage her male partner's emotions—to diligently praise him, make him feel more accomplished, and to reassure him of her ongoing love and admiration in all things. And that is a lot of work that is quite likely not to succeed because it's really hard to talk someone out of a self-hating funk. (There's also an element of just plain sexism. Even without the implied demand for help, some women just think men's vulnerability is pathetic or laughable.)

The feminist response to this that hooks, Real, and Kivel advocate for is to spread the load a little more evenly; to work to reduce the violence with which gender roles are policed, to allow men to be soft and emotional, but in the process, give them the emotional skills to handle the shame and dread we all feel sometimes about not being lovable or or worthy, and empower them to form many different emotionally fulfilling relationships.

So the thing about incels is, they tend to be obsessed with finding a woman who will make them feel worthy, sexy, accomplished, admirable, and dominant, like a "real man". The prospect of getting a woman is the single potential oasis of love and support in an incredibly bleak desert landscape in which a romantic partnership is the only possible source men are permitted to seek love and care from. A man who hasn't gotten a girl is a pathetic loser whose life is meaningless.

What that entire worldview takes for granted is how the desert became a desert in the first place. How boys learn to fear the violence and rejection that comes from stepping out of their gender role by being emotionally vulnerable or by emotionally nurturing somebody else; how emotional knowledge and expression are punished by a system that says men should always seek to dominate. The desire for a female partner rests on a bedrock of learned fear and contempt for the idea that men can or even should have the kind of emotionally close and supportive friendships among themselves that women tend to have with each other.

Incels are the fucking allegory of the long spoons in action. They gather in huge numbers to discuss their pain, frustration, and disappointment about their difficulty attaining a relationship that provides emotional fulfillment, but it's impossible for them to try to seek or offer that kind of relationship with the many many people right there also looking for love, because violating the gender rules means inviting violence and ostracism. Affection and mutual esteem between men is super gay and doesn't count, especially when it's provided because of a mutual vulnerability instead of admiration for achievement. So it's incredibly hard for incels to in any way break out of the mental cage that says the way to be loved is to be as masculine, as stoic and unemotional and successful and admirable and dominant as possible. And because being dominant tends to require people to be better than, incels spend a lot of time criticizing each other for failing to be masculine enough, and therefore not worthy of love.

Meanwhile... tradwives.

If you're into men, the dream of being truly loved by a man who will take care of you and make your life materially better is fucking amazing stuff. That's just... that's just The Dream, okay? The romance industry's extreme popularity decade after decade will tell you what bell hooks also notes: Women who are into men want to be loved by men SO MUCH.

So it really seems to me that the basic appeal of being a tradwife is managing to be submissive enough to get the men they love to genuinely show up and fully commit to loving them. If conflict in relationships happen because men feel threatened in their masculinity or not fully loved by their wives, then gosh darnit, these women will plaster themselves over the cracks to make sure there are absolutely no problems. That will earn them a relationship where they are truly loved and appreciated.

(It's a trap. I hate to say it, but we're not a telepathic species, and you will never manage to be good enough to actually change what someone else feels. No matter how hard you submit, your husband will still feel moments of doubt and fear and inadequacy, because he's human and we're built like that. It's the cross we have to bear as a species. And it does not go well at all if both of you are used, in those moments, for blaming you for whatever you "did" to "make" him feel that way.)