#the person was so kind for selling to me and also OTHER folks were so kind for keeping an eye on dragon search for me

[shiftingexpanse]

DREAM DRAGON OBTAINED. IT'S A NOTN MIRACLE???

[micahulrichdraws]

I don't think self-deprecation or concern for the person's well-being is ever going to come across well to someone saying they like what you do. Maybe I'm missing something, but there are reasons to like your art besides being miserable. Even if only the truly miserable liked your work, responding to them by pointing out how miserable they must be wouldn't feel great for them. Your art isn't giving them depression, and it's not like you're contributing to net suffering by making art with ~themes~, so it seems unnecessary to bring up. You suggested that if you struggle to enjoy life, and you make something, anyone who resonates will also struggle to enjoy life. I disagree. Some people will like it for completely shallow reasons. Some people have empathy for others' suffering. You can have a decent life and no mental illness and probably still appreciate a well-drawn skeleton. I don't know what kind of art a perfect world would produce, but any world where people are mortal is going to have sadness, and some art will reflect that. Yours isn't uniquely dark.

Sorry if you've gotten 100 asks saying this same thing. I wasn't sure based on the ones you responded to, and I just found your blog. I know it's sort of a joke, bc you do still sell art prints and stuff, so you clearly are okay with people liking your art. Tbh, I /had/ depression for a few years, so I'm not exactly proof against the theory that your art somolehow only appeals to depressed people. It seems unlikely, though. And the way you talk about your art as "garbage" kind of gave me flashbacks to the sort of self-deprecating humor I'd use when I hated myself. I don't know you or how you're doing, but that feeling made me want to say something.

You didn't just miss something, you missed like, everything I've ever said on my blog about like, everything to the point I'm not even sure this was intended for me? Like I'd break it down, point by point and be like 'no what are you smoking' but that'd be a waste of time after the 'why do you think my art gives people depression!?' part of whatever this is. Like, this is offensive levels of trying to make me be someone I'm not for the sake of a hypothetical argument against a strawman. So if, you want to take offense to who I am in case you misclick and end up here again here's an asshole enough of a response to give you a legitimate reason to find me intolerable:

Welcome to my page! I make art, jokes, and bullshit with folks to make people happy. I started doing this when I was big sad, because cheering people up cheers me up. Now, here's the crazy part: some people are very sad, and sometimes they tell me it makes them a small amount of happy, which gives me dopamine and makes me do it again. The word 'some' means 'not everyone', or even 'a fraction of a percentage'. For example, in this case, it means 'most people just like my drawings but some people get an extra lil bit out of it'. I don't take myself seriously because I know that the art world is insanely intimidating to those outside of it, and sometimes artists tend to be egotistical and condescending, a word that means 'having or showing a feeling of patronizing superiority'. Naturally, I do everything in my power to avoid that, because I'm a very 'gates open' kinda person.

So, here's the WILD part: in my perfect world I would've never had depression. Now, I know, that would have been inconvenient for you as someone who passed by my page one time, and I do apologize. I also apologize that I don't make 'dark art', because I like frogs and mice doing cool shit. Finally, I apologize for my art having -~*themes and concepts*~-, I know good art only comes from ChatGPT and that was my bad.

Sike, I didn't apologize, my fingers were crossed behind my back when I said that. Fuck you for thinking me not wanting to be around for a decade is 'worth' because I drew a mediocre skeleton, and because somehow sadness is necessary. That line of thinking is so awful, here's a video explaining it:

PS: the reason my friends and I in these parts call my art 'art garbage' is because that's what my professors called it back in school for like 4 years, back when I started this shitshow. Much love.

[doomtrooper77]

I've got a story to accompany this image. You can read it below. It is not a cute romantic story; it is more like my images. So, if that is not your thing, skip the story. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Wrong Side of the Tracks

I had been in the bar for an hour already. It was one of those places off the beaten track where everyone went from what some would call the wrong side of the tracks. Mind you, this place wasn’t rundown. It just wasn’t fancy. The long wooden bar was polished, and the stools were worn but comfortable. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. In the back of the bar were some big couches and chairs in an open area. Every seating surface was made of that old-school leather that got patina but never grew thin, never ripped. It was all cushioned just right for sitting and drinking the night away. Behind the bar was bottle after bottle of every liquor you could think of. Cases full of bottles of beer and more than a few on tap. However, don’t come in asking for some fancy new-fangled Microbrew bullshit. This wasn’t that kind of place.

Most people who came here were working-class people who came in for drinks and bar food. People who worked with their hands or on their feet all day. You had some white-collar folks sprinkled in, but mostly people who grew up in the neighborhood who managed to get a job downtown but still came back to visit friends and family in the area. That’s not to say it also didn’t have more seedier visitors. It was also a place where locals on the "wrong" side of the law congregated. Depending on the day of the week and the time, there was little you couldn’t find here if you knew the right person to ask.

You need a loan. There was a table in the back where some gentlemen of Italian persuasion sat most days. They were happy to give you some money for a hefty fee. If you needed something to bring you up or down, there was usually someone you could talk to to provide you with whatever you needed. But they couldn’t sell it in the bar. Business of that sort was not allowed in the bar; discussing it was different. If you needed someone’s leg broken, there was someone who you could talk to about that.

The bar was situated behind several warehouses and buildings in an old light industrial part of the city. You had to know where it was to find it and drive a maze of access roads and streets to find it. The bar had an address but didn’t appear on Waze or Google Maps.  The lot was big enough for everything from Harleys to big rigs.  The lot is dim, with most of the light coming from other businesses outside its perimeter.

I was on my 3rd beer when I heard the Harley outside. It was cold in the Midwest in November, but the hardcore bikers rode in the cold air. I was sitting midway down the bar when the door opened, and the crowd started parting. People quickly moved aside, even to the point where they pressed against others to get out of the way of the approaching figure. I got a glimpse of him just as he passed. I thought, “Jesus, he's gotten even bigger!”  He walked past, and you could feel his aura move with him. Predator. It was the only way to describe it. Some construction workers were drinking a few feet down, and one of the bigger guys either didn’t see him coming or had decided he was the alpha in the room. The biker didn’t change his step; his massive shoulders plowed through the big construction worker, pushing him into his buddies and spilling his beer down his shirt.

“Hey FUCK WAD, watch where you’re going!” The big construction worker said. He was big, about 6’5, and easily 280-290 solid pounds. You can tell he was used to being the big guy in the room. The area around them quieted as the biker turned around and took two steps back. I got a good look at him then. He was about 6’2, so shorter than the construction worker. However, everything else about the biker made the construction worker seem small. He had actual doorway-wide shoulders.  Arms are truly as thick as a healthy man's leg. Massive pecs encased under the leather vest. His lats push his massive arms away from his body at a freaking 45-degree angle. A neck so massive that it seemed like his huge shoulders just met his head somehow.  The part of my brain that was pretty damn good at calculating a man's size and weight told me at least 375 actual pounds.

One of the construction workers whispered “shit” as he pulled on his friend's arm. The bigger construction worker was wiping beer from his shirt and shook his friend's arm off as he looked up. Both men’s eyes met, and something happened. Guys know the feeling when you are in a situation where you quickly find out that you are not the alpha in the room. The biker took another step forward and pushed his chest into that of the construction worker. The biker tilted his head to that angle some guys do when trying to figure out how badly they will hurt someone. Not if, but how much. Everything around them quieted and stopped.

I could only see part of the construction workers' faces, but I could see the anger drain quickly away to be replaced by fear.  The Biker saw it and stepped into him more, pushing him back on his friends. Something like a wave of heat seemed to pass over me, and I could feel the raw dominance coming off that biker. It was like being on the edge of a violent storm. You can feel the air pressure change and smell the lightning as it crashes just feet away. Or it is like being on the edge of a vast forest fire, watching a fire tornado spin feet away and your skin both dry and slick with sweat simultaneously.

I felt my balls shrink up and throb at the same time.  “Sorry. Sorry.. man, I’m sorry,” the Big Construction worker was saying. No longer meeting the biker’s gaze, he said, “Sorry I bumped into ya. My fault. Sorry, sorry.”  The Biker stayed crowded in his space for another 15 seconds, stepped back, and looked at the construction workers' buddies, who all looked away. He turned to walk to the back of the bar to the area where the couches and chairs were. There was a dangerous and knowing smirk on his face.

Within seconds, the bar's sounds returned to normal, and people moved on as if nothing had happened—except for the construction workers. Those guys threw money on the bar, paid their tab, and quickly left.

However, I was now intrigued—no, make that obsessed—with the monster in the back of the bar. Over the next hour, I made my way down the bar toward the back of the room. I could see he was sitting with several other bikers and rough-looking men. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing but could see them on the sly. He filled one of the club chairs, his mass covering it completely. He wore this leather vest, black jeans, and big black harness boots. Out of the group, he talked the least.

A couple in the booth was just on the edge of the sitting area, which had a perfect view.  They left when I almost convinced myself that my little spy game had gone as far as it should. Before they could get two steps away from the booth, I slid into it. The waitress came over, and I got another beer.  I took out my phone and pretended to be scrolling on it while I was sneaking peaks at the monster. My cock was so hard in my pants that I had to squirm around a bit to give it room.  Knowing I might never see this guy again, I discreetly turned on my camera and videoed him. I kept making gestures like I was scrolling and typing, but I was filming his every twitch and flex.

I ended up drinking another two beers while getting more and more footage. The angle I had the camera meant I really couldn’t see my screen. I might have noticed when he started looking at me if I had. Only when I looked up to sneak another peek I saw two pools of steel looking at me.  Eyes so bright and grey that they seemed to glow, and they were looking at me. Not glancing but staring at me. I could feel the weight of his attention. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck” was all I could think.  As nonchalantly as possible, I slowly angled my phone away, and while pretending to be texting, I shut off the camera. It was time to go. I couldn’t dare look up at him to see if he was still looking, but I knew. I could feel it—the heat and pressure of his attention.

I had two problems. My cock was still rock hard, and I needed to piss badly. So badly, I thought that if I tried to make it to my car, I would piss myself. SHIT. I took out my wallet and threw 50 bucks and an OK tip on the table. Every second felt like my bladder was going to burst. SHIIIT. Taking a deep breath, I causually stood up with my hand in my pocket, trying to hold my boner down, and started walking across the bar to the hallway with the bathrooms. My brain screamed don’t look at him, my cock, on the other hand, throbbed under my fingers and said, come on one last look.

Glancing in his direction as I walked past the men who sat in front of him, I saw his head turn and track me. Like some goddamn tiger or something. I got to the bathroom and made it to the urinal, and let out 5 beers worth of piss. My hard cock throbbing in my hand the entire time. When I finished, my cock had gone to semi-hard. Stuffing it back in my pants, I washed my hands, took a deep breath, and told myself to walk out of the bar. Walk out of the bathroom and straight out the bar, not looking at him or anyone. Out the bar and to my car.  Go home. Go home and watch all of the videos you took of that beast. My cock twitched and started to harden again.

I opened the door, turned to go down the hallway, and ran into a wall of beef. He stood there, his massive body filling the dim hallway, waiting. I bounced off him and stumbled back two steps. I looked up at his face and those eyes. My body froze. I can’t explain it. I FROOZE. He looked at me, his head tilted as if he were deciding something. My heart was racing, and my mouth was dry. For seconds, I couldn’t say anything. Then I remembered what happened with the guy up front. I quickly said, “Sorry. Excuse me for bumping into you.”  

He started moving toward me. I backed up a step, thinking he was headed to the bathroom. But he wasn’t. He kept walking past the bathroom, and now he was against me. His massive body pushes me forward, my backward pace struggling to keep up. “Uh wait, hey, umm, excuse me.” Every nonsensical word came out of my mouth, and he kept pushing me back down the hallway. I started to fall backward, and I felt this massive hand grab my shirt and keep me upright. With no effort, he lifted me on my toes and carried me down the darkening hall. I kept mumbling until he said, “Shut up.” He didn’t yell. He gave an order and expected it to be followed.

We turned a corner and went down another short hall. There was an exit door. He pushed me through it into the night. Behind the bar, it was virtually pitch black, only lit by moonlight and his eyes. He walked us 50 feet behind a brick shed and pushed me against the wall.  His beard split into a hard grin, and he said, “Phone.”

Stunned and terrified, I said, “What?”

I have never had anyone grab me by my throat and lift me off the ground before. His massive hand clamped around my neck; his other hand went to my pants pocket and ripped out my phone.  Still holding me up with one hand, his other expertly clicks the button to turn the screen on. It was locked. He looked at me and then at the phone. I expected he would demand the lock code. Instead, he turned my head to face the phone and held it up. Even in the dim moonlight, it recognized my face and unlocked it.

The massive hand that wasn’t throttling me expertly moved over the screen. His big fingers press and swipe my screen. The screen lit up his face. Harsh, rough, brutally handsome. In a few seconds, I heard the sound of the bar playing from my speaker.  His hand tightened on my throat.  I watched his face as he scrubbed through the video. His brutal features were darkening. The aura of potential violence made the air thick.

He turned the phone so I could see the video playing, which showed him staring at me and the camera from minutes ago. He pulled me down and leaned all of his weight into me, crushing me to the shed wall. He leaned in where our faces were touching. His steel grey eye was less than an inch from my own, staring into my eye like a laser beam. His beard rubbed against mine as his mouth was next to my ear. His hot, angry breath blew across my ear and neck.  It was intimate. Fear can be intimate.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you videoing me.” He said. His voice was deep, and his words were spoken normally, but the power behind them made me shiver.  My brain went blank. Words just tumbled from my mouth. Apologies. Explanations. Gibberish. I could see the rage ignite in his eyes as he pressed himself against me fully and repeated himself more forcefully. He asked again, and the anger and potential violence in his voice made my legs weak.

Then froze.  His eyes stayed locked to mine. His head tilted. He let go of my neck and reached down between us.  My brain may have been terrified and incapable of action; however, my cock was having the time of its life.  It could care less that this 390-pound monster was about to rip us apart. All it cared about was that 390-pound monster crushing and grinding me into the wall behind us. I felt the biker’s massive hand grab my hard cock.

The heat in his eyes was still there, in suspension.  Lifting my phone back up, I watched as he expertly tapped, swiped, and scrubbed through my phone. We stood that way for almost 3-4 minutes. I heard numerous videos I had saved to my phone from Leather sites, Raw Fuck Club, videos saved from Twitter and Pornhub. He flicked through them, and all the while, my throbbing cock was crushed by his hand.

Looking back at me, his eyes were still full of heat. “Is that it puppy? You getting some more jerk off material on your phone?” My fear is now joined with shame. SHIT. Shame giving me the power to look away.  His big hand squeezes my cock painfully, and he says, “I asked you a question, boy! You’re videoing me so you can jerk this thing off later?” His hand squeezed and pulled my cock roughly through my jeans. It throbbed and twitched with excitement.

I mumbled, “Yes.”

His face gets close to his mind, and the anger is back in his voice, “Speak up, boy! You got the balls to be filming me for your personal pleasure, be man enough to say it!”

“Yes, that is why I was filming you,” I said.

“Why me?” He said, his voice clearly expecting an answer.

I paused. Thinking of what to say.  Decided on the truth. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. As big as you are.  As tough as you are. As strong as you are.  As mean and scary.“ I stopped myself from going further.

He let go of my cock and pressed himself hard against me, crushing me more than before. “You like’em big and scary, huh?” His face was close to mind. “I’m 400 fucking pounds of the meanest and scariest motherfucker you gonna ever meet, boy.”  He pushed his mouth close to my ear and said, “I do mean and scary shit for fun. Are you sure you want that?” He fucking growled like a beast in my ear.

My cock didn’t give my brain time to think, so I quietly said, “Yes.”

He growled in my ear and crushed me even more against the wall. “Mean and scary it is.” He said.

Spinning me around, he pushed me face-first into the brick wall. He reached around, grabbed the front of my pants, and unbuckled my belt. He slid the belt off. Before I knew what was happening, he had made a loop out of it, put it around my neck, and pulled it tight. “There we go, puppy needs a leash.” He said. I was up on my toes. My skin was hot and cold. Excited and scared.

I felt his other hand grab the back of my jeans and yank. There was a ripping sound, and I tried to grab his hand to keep him from ripping my jeans. “Hey, I can take them down…” I never finished that sentence because I felt a fist hit me in the kidneys. Bright pain lanced up my side, and my legs went weak.

Pressing up against me, he said, “Understand this puppy. You’ve got three jobs right now. One, do what I say and nothing but what I say. Two, do whatever you can to make sure I enjoy using you however I want. Three, Survive. Do one and two well, and three shouldn’t be a problem. You fuck around thinking this is some date, and I can show you a whole other level of mean and scary. Do you understand me, boy?”

“ Yes, Sir.” I said.

He laughed roughly as his hand grabbed my jeans and ripped a big hole in the center. His hand reached through the hole to grab my shorts and grab one of the ass straps of my jock. He chuckled, “You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

I felt him step back and heard a zipper. He growled deeply again and pressed himself against me. I could feel his hot throbbing cock rub against my ass. He ground his hips back and forth and side to side. Fuck, it was huge. I could feel it throb and twitch as it moved across my skin. He slid it up my back and around my hips so I could feel how big it was.  I whimpered a bit in lust and fear. Leaning in, he growled, “Everything about me is big and scary.”

He slides his now hard cock between my ass cheeks, stretching the cheeks apart with-it’s size. I feel him let out a deep, growling breath as he crushes me between him and the wall.  I felt the big, veiny flesh slide up and down my hole. Yanking on the belt, he growls, “Open up.” He pushes his way in. Fuck its, huge. So damn thick. It just keeps sliding and sliding in. My breath is coming in short gasps. He chuckles as it pushes all the way in. I can feel his pubic hair and zipper teeth on my ass.  I want to yell, but the belt is pulled tight on my neck.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it. Take it all.” He says, grinding his massive body against mine. His cock throbbing deep inside me. Soon, he got a steady stroke going. His strokes are solid and deep. His powerlifting hips alternate from jackhammering into me to crushing me against the wall between him and the shed. He’s growling and breathing behind me like an animal. My legs are weak from the pounding.

I feel him loosen his grip on the belt, grab my hair, and pull my head to the side. I feel his thick beard rub across my neck. I moan as he rubs across that spot. The spot that makes me squirm when the right man finds it. He knows and licks across it. My body shakes. Then I felt his mouth bite down on that spot. Every nerve in my body cuts on and off. His hungry mouth bites and gnaws at my neck. Never breaking the skin. Holding me in place as his massive body goes into overdrive. Powerfucking me against the wall. I feel like a rhino is ramming into me. Time blurs and I don’t know if it has been 5 minutes or 15, but this monster has stamina. His pounding has never stopped.

I’ve never been used like this. I feel his stroke change, and by the 4th stroke, he explodes inside of me. Shot after shot, painting my insides. So much cum. So much I can feel it leaking around his cock and down my legs. He keeps his cock inside me until the absolute last twitch is done. When he pulls it out, I can feel more of it soaking my jeans.

I feel him step back and hear him say, “Turn around, boy.”  My legs are weak and wobbly. I feel like I have just lost a boxing match or been used like a tackling dummy.

He’s looking at me. Fuck he seems even bigger now. A huge fucking shadow in the moonlight.

I can barely see his face, but his eyes shine as he says. “You are not fucking done.” Looking down and then back up, he says. “Clean me up.” I look down, and his cock is still semi-hard and twitching. “You can get on your knees, or I can put you there. Get to work.”

Getting to my knees, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Just like when he was fucking me against the wall, his hands were soon clamped on the side of my head, and his hips were thrusting his cock deep into my throat. The more I choke, cough, and sputter, the more he likes it. By the time he was done, I was a messy fleshlight. He dumped three more loads down my throat. His big dick was like a firehose. I was so full, weak, and used that I just lay on the ground.

I felt his boot push me over to my back. His huge shadow was standing over me. He puts his boot on my chest, bends down, and shines my phone in my face again. He turns it back around, and I watch as he flicks through it again, stopping a few times.  “You didn’t do lousy tonight, boy. You managed to survive.” Putting real pressure on his boot and my chest, he repeats my home address, work address, and that of my sister. Nothing more, his threat was implicit.  “You better start working out more because next time, tonight will look like foreplay.” Then I watched his massive hand squeeze, and he crushed my phone like it was nothing. It sparked, and smoke started coming out of the cracked sides. I watch him lean back and throw the now burning hunk of glass and metal far further than anyone should be able to. “You need a new phone, puppy.” He says as he walks off into the darkness.  In the next few minutes, I heard a Harley start up and drive away.

Sometime later, I managed to get up and find my way to the parking lot. I smile as I gingerly get in my car, thinking about the cloud backup I have turned on for pictures and video on my phone. I do need a new phone. My dick twitches in anticipation.

[maintitle]

Gonna put this behind a read more because it may be a massive spoiler, or it may be me clutching at straws, but this will be a very rare speculative piece from me on DA:V:

So I've had the suspicion for a really long time that the betrayer in DA4 is actually Harding. I always felt like Inquisition was very careful with keeping Harding away from Solas, and while I don't think it was intentional I do think it's something they've commited too.

Folks can correct me if there's something in Tevinter Nights that I'm missing, but at the very least in the post-game comics stuff Harding has always been very quiet about him. She's there, she's helping hunt him, but she's always kind of quiet about her own involvement with him.

There's a really telling page from The Missing that I can't get out of my head:

One of Varric's most core character traits is that he knows people, but doesn't ever see the worst in them. He can identify a bomb that's ready to blow, but he's too close to it to see the fuse lit on the other side of it. He saw Anders was a ticking bomb, he recognized Solas was very quiet about himself, but he didn't think much of it because he figured these weren't things that were his business, and that the good traits they had outweighed the bad. He has had a terrible track record of knowing there's a knife coming to stab him in the back but not looking for it to come.

This, to me, is Varric identifying that Harding is sympathetic to Solas. He realizes she doesn't see him as the danger Varric knows she is. Problem is, he knows and likes Harding, so he won't admit to himself that it may be a problem. This is his way of warning Charter without having to admit to himself that she might be a liability, not because she's not talented but because she might buy what Solas is selling.

I'm not necessarily saying Harding is against Varric in The Missing, she is very commited to at the very least finding him there, and she does say at least once that they need to stop him. But she's really distracted throughout the journey, and the journey is one dead end after another.

The info on the characters revealed that Harding now has magic. I find that odd, for both the obvious lore reasons of Dwarves not having magic, but also because of the timing. We basically know what Harding did with her time right before Veilguard, unless they set that time randomly back several years. The only way we know of that a Dwarf could get magic is through the Titans. Maybe that's the excuse she'll use, but I somehow don't think she magically went down there for no reason and ended up with powers that made the only person we know for a fact get them never leave the depths again.

There's also the fact that the side content has heavily implied Charter may well be a mole, but at this point that just seems like way too obvious a hook to take. So if there's a mole in what remains of the Inquisition... I think we may have a winner in an unlikely place.

I don't know, it's just a gut feeling. But it gets stronger and stronger the more we find out.

[seat-safety-switch]

For as long as I can remember, really fast cars have also been really shitty cars. You can keep your mega-buck supercars, your exotic Panzarettis and your all-electric Edisons. If you want to go as quickly as possible for as few dollars as possible, you want to find the person roaming around the industrial yards with a stripper model daily driver in primer.

Street racers know where the bucks are best spent. They're not competing in show-and-shines, after all. You could give Big Paint a lot of your paycheque trying to get a colour-matched fender, or you could spend it on a fresh set of tires after you just blew through the last set of meats trying to get air on the disused rail spur behind the hot dog warehouse. I'll make it nice, you tell yourself, after this next set of speed parts. And maintenance parts. And a new kind of turbocharger just came out? I'll get that too.

Not that I'm endorsing street racing or anything. It's not for everybody. Just like the fuzz tells you, it's insanely dangerous to both yourself and other road users. What I'm actually endorsing is not spending very much money on making your car pretty. Let the BMW crew have that.

If I were to become especially rich, I would probably hire a lot of degenerate street racers to build cars for me. That's the kind of thing that rich people do, after all: hire folks with specialized knowledge and then exploit their labour. Then I'd get someone to actually paint and finish them, and sell them as million-dollar custom hot rods to other rich people, who would never actually drive them but instead sit around telling even more rich people stories about how cool they are until the value goes up. That would be really lame. So it's a good thing that I spent all my money on tires.

[lightofraye]

I had this as an ask--I think the person was going around a bit to get some folks' input, which doesn't bother me. But I decided to grab the full screenshots and point to the part that had sparked a conversation among some folks. I even had a couple of followers ask for my thoughts.

Now... this did come up in a little group chat amongst me and a few others. We all have thoughts on it.

Oh I should probably go to the part I'm talking about. My bad.

The tweeter--HanmeiCui--tried to capture all that was said during Radio Company's little BBQ dinner during AustinCon. And folks were intrigued by Number 8.

"Fans asked him what he misses most about Texas and he said, I don't? I am still here all the time. I am here now, I was here a few weeks ago and then a few weeks before that. My whole family's still here my mom and dad are in Dallas I often visit them."

HanmeiCui also added: "So I kind of… I didn't catch what he said after that but I got the idea that he thinks of himself more like commuting, instead of permanently moved out."

Given he doesn't have any property (none that we have to officially verify ourselves with public records anyway) in Austin or Texas as a whole... FBBC is... something. Sold, not sold, either way, the brewery won't be back. Maybe a small taproom to keep incompetent brother-in-law Gino busy after he ran FBBC into the ground. Ahem. Yes, there is a house on the FBBC property but... near as we can tell, no one lives there.

The Ackles sold the rest of their properties--the condo, the lake house, etc. Also sold the Colorado condo.

Near as any of us could tell... no properties in Texas.

It had been largely assumed that if Jensen did visit his parents, it was likely without Danneel in tow. So if Jensen does visit often as he indicated, he may just be staying at a hotel, a friend's guest room (Steve does have a place in Austin), or the like.

I mean, Papa Ackles is 75 now. (Oh dang, his father is just a couple of years older than mine.) I imagine Jensen would want to see his parents a bit more. And for a while, he had the free time to do so.

A lot of folks have interpreted the statements in a few ways. One was a kind of professional "He's trying to keep the ol' boy Texan persona" going. Another was "Maybe he's trying to get re-established back in Texas without the wife." A third was "Maybe he has a place in secret in Texas"!

My thoughts?

I want to believe it's number two--getting re-established in Texas without the wife. (Come on, you know I'm an anti-Danneel. Why are you reading my stuff?) He's certainly made a few decisions this past year and a half that have me poking at the game board of life and going "Hmm...."

Such as his Social Media changing from a mix of family and business to strictly work posts (and frustrating his stans in the process, heh); such as Danneel going completely radio silent on her IG (but still commenting on others, hmm); such as selling all of FBBC without a new location in place; buying a mansion across the darn country and so far away from most of his friends and family; to seemingly abandoning CMP to Danneel to destroy.

There's still a few things we're not seeing. A few things we're not aware of. I could speculate until my face turned blue. For now, I'm content to sit and wait and observe the chess board.

[muffinrecord]

I've been pretty positive about Yuu so far, but watching her magical girl story... hmm.

Basically I like everything about Yuu, but man that serial killer bit is the only thing that really sticks out as an overt bad choice. Having Nagisa stand around and watch Yuu kill people is such a weird choice, it feels more like fanfic than actual canon. Like this doesn't feel like something that could happen in Magia Record-- or hell, even in Madoka Magica either.

For example, Sayaka has a scene on a train where some dudes are being sexist assholes and it's left up to the viewer to decide if she kills them or not. It doesn't go: Sayaka killed them and also they were calling out for help the entire time while Madoka watched you know?

That said, this is something I can see in a bunch of the spinoffs (Kazumi, Oriko, Suzune), but I think everyone agrees that the spinoffs are of dubious quality. I love me the spinoffs but they're a hot mess.

I dunno. It's one thing to know that Yuu is a serial killer, it's another thing to have a character watch her go around and kill people and not intervene in any way. Especially in a story that goes out of its way to not do that. Walpy hitting Kamihama is noted to have no causalities at all (which goes a little too far in the other direction imo but it is what it is), Suzune isn't able to kill anyone in Kamihama and is dealt with by kicking her out (and not killing her), the deaths in arc 2 are mostly accidental and have massive consequences, everyone is forgiven in the end-- this isn't a story that really has "watch someone kill people and do nothing" in it's cards, you know?

I actually liked Nagisa's Wish for a lot of things. For example, I like that Nagisa didn't think she could be a magical girl until she saw Yuu, because she assumed that magical girls had to be good people-- aka, Nagisa did not think she was good. But that's not because Nagisa is a bad person. Nagisa is just unloved, and since she's a young kid, she's internalized that to mean that something is wrong with her, not that something is wrong with her mom. It's heartbreaking to see her go from "I can't be a magical girl," to seeing Yuu the murderer, to then going "oh okay if she can be a magical girl then so can I." Like sweet pea, your mother not loving you is not the same as being a killer. You've done nothing wrong. You are not a bad person for having Feelings and Emotions about the neglect you are experiencing.

However the serial killer/organ seller bit just goes too far for me and it kind of overshadows a lot of the better ideas present in Nagisa's Wish. Like how can you focus on the interesting ideas about justice or self worth when there is a serial killer/organ stealer walking around.

I think that the best qualities of Yuu are her design and how creepy she is-- having her actually go all the way and be a serial killer/organ seller actually makes her less creepy in my opinion. Yada yada, less is more, leave it up to the viewer's imagination. If she was just off, if we just knew that something was wrong with her and that people are disappearing but it's not outright stated what she's doing... I dunno. That would make her a lot more scary to me. A lot of fear can be found in apprehension and outright telling all the details will fill in too many gaps.

Like, the things that we all like about Yuu would be her voice direction, her memory issues, the way her Live2D is designed to be slightly off kilter from everyone else, the gap between her attitude and the darkness she engages in, the weird weaponry she uses and how it changes the way she walks/moves-- all of this is effective because it is offputting and different, not because the narrative is telling us "hey she kills people and sells their organs."

Basically I really love Yuu, but I do have some criticisms for her character and I understand why some folks don't like her.

That said, it did lead to this fantastic line from Kyubey so like,

You take some, you lose some.

[foxglovepng]

Mafia Eel Theory🌼🥀

Requested: Nope

CW: Mafia, Murder Mentions, Fish Racism(?), Kidnapping Mentions, Black Market Mentions, Selling body parts Mentions, Violence.

Characters: Floyd & Jade slight mention of Azul.

Some parts of this may get a little dark and deep however these are just my opinions and interpretations from other theories I have read.

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated :D

Not proofread

🌼

I personally LOVE this theory once I read a post about it I was in love and now it has me gripped by the neck.

The Leech and Ashengrotto family are DEFINITELY business partners. I will die on that hill

When it comes to the TWST universe I believe there is a black market (just like IRL) and well the black market is shady because you can quite literally SELL BODY PARTS. So I think you can do that with the non-human people in TWST.

I feel Mer-folk people are highly targeted victims of this especially since you can eat fish as well.

There is a mention that Floyd doesn't like shackles and I think that when he was younger he was kidnapped by hunters trying to sell him.

They obviously lost because it has been mentioned that their parents have a lot of connections, so they definitely did not get far.

Don't quote me on this, but I believe it was mentioned somewhere that when the twins were younger they started self defense classes I feel like their parents would be afraid if they were to go on land they would probably get jumped by some of their families enemies and also of course so they can protect themselves from harm.

Their dad most likely is the head of their buisness/mafia/mob whatever you wanna call it and their mom probably helps with deals and whatnot.

After NRC they most likely will help with their parents with the Mafia business and if Azul and his parents are involved they could probably dominate the whole world /hj

I feel like also because of their Mafia scheme they were probably exposed to murder and violence at such a young age which is kind of sad.

Like imagine 5-year-old Jade and Floyd wanting a goodnight kiss and going to their parents to see their dad beating in the face in of someone. Kinda traumatizing.

They probably also represent their parents a bit. Like for example Floyd might be more like his dad and Jade more like his mom.

Their mom definitely has a garden full of poisonous plants for their enemies and talks with Jade a lot about plants and mushrooms.

Their dad definitely roughhouses with them a lot maybe with Floyd a bit more. Like Floyd could be minding his own business staring at the wall thinking about what he wants to eat and his dad will just tackle him to the ground.

They tend to 'drop' people if they find them boring and won't hesitate to do so. This probably came from the fact that clients or potential business partners try to do business but their tactics are boring so they get dropped easily.

In theory Mafia Leech family is cannon in my heart <3

If you liked feel free to reblog and like. If you want to request something feel free to go to my requests page or if you just want to share your thoughts go ahead.

[cookinguptales]

I went to go see a movie a couple days ago at the Alamo Drafthouse in Manhattan and I've been to one of their locations before and enjoyed it, but I ran into something really frustrating at this one.

Sometimes I look at design choices and think, "oh, they really didn't ask any disabled people what they thought about THIS one." Like, for example, I see this photo bandied around a lot like some super creative accessibility integration but any actual disabled person would tell you it's an extreme safety hazard:

Steep grade, sharp curves, and very little to keep you from rolling down those stairs if you make one false move. Plus, as usual, disabled folks who don't use wheelchairs are being ignored because there are no railings or anything for them to use on the "accessible" path. It's just bad design, as much as able-bodied people go apeshit over it.

Ran into that again at Alamo Drafthouse. It was really, really clear to me that they thought they were doing something innovative with their accessible seats, but all they did was create an accessibility nightmare. There were several problems with their "solution", which I suspect was designed more to maximize profit than anything, but I think a lot of them wouldn't be noticed if you've never like... actually been disabled.

I reserved a companion seat at the theater, like I do every time I go see a movie. For the uninitiated, most modern theaters have an accessible row (usually in the middle of the theater) that is at ground-level. There are large gaps between seats to be used for wheelchairs (either to sit in or to park, if they prefer transferring to softer seats) and then "companion" seats next to those for their loved ones to sit in with them. These companion seats are also often booked by disabled people who need physical chairs to sit in (i.e. are not wheelchair users) but still need to be in an accessible row and/or need space for medical/accessibility devices, service animals, etc.

When I got to the theater, I immediately realized that no one at this chain realized that companion seats are usually used in this way by the disabled community -- because the companion seats were not accessible. I looked at the row (in the back of the theater, sigh) for several minutes in confusion, trying to figure out where the wheelchair seats were. There were no visible gaps and you could only get to the entire row by going down a step.

Then it clicked. Two of the chairs were removable. My guess is that staff would roll the chairs out and a wheelchair could be rolled into the gap that they created -- but to actually get to the front of the seats, you had to go down a step.

So in other words, you are presumably supposed to arrive early if you're a wheelchair user (something not specified on the tickets page) and get someone to remove a chair for you, and the seats surrounding you are not accessible for transfer or for people with other disabilities.

(I guess this is great for the theater, as it allows them to sell those wheelchair seats to able-bodied people if disabled people don't show up... but it kind of feels like actual disabled people are shit out of luck here.)

Now, I had some train trouble so I arrived about five minutes before the trailers started. Totally acceptable for able-bodied people, but I can't help but realize that if I had been using my wheelchair that day instead of just my cane, that wouldn't have been nearly enough time to get the chairs removed before the lights went down. So that's already one extra step for disabled people.

But the companion seat thing feels like an even bigger problem. It's what made it really clear to me that disabled people weren't consulted in the design of this theater because clearly no one ever wondered what someone who is disabled but not a wheelchair user would do in this theater. There were literally no accessible seats for a disabled person who didn't bring their own place to sit.

The best case scenario is... idk, maybe they'd pull the seats out, you sit in one, then they roll them back in? But it just seems like that would have a high potential for injury, especially because the seats fit pretty snugly into the row. And it's really not an intuitive solution; there were no signs explaining how these seats worked or anything, so it'd be hard to even know to ask for that.

And again, none of this was mentioned on the website. I wanted to go to this theater because it was close to where I'd been earlier that day and because I knew it was by an accessible subway station (not... always a given in NYC), plus I do like the vibe at Alamo Drafthouse. I liked the pizza and boozy milkshake I had there. I thought the vampiric preshow, what I saw of it, was fun. But I absolutely would've just gone to an AMC or something if I'd known that they would not have accessible seating.

Being real with you, going to movies is one of my favorite things to do when I'm having a high-symptom day. It's dark, it's cold, I can sit in a comfortable chair for two hours. It's a way to get out of the house and do something fun even if I can't move much. So... I know that one step might not have seemed like much to them, but I was there because I was already in a lot of pain. And that one step hurt like a bitch.

And idk, man, call me fussy but sometimes I just want to have fun without it hurting! Like damn, I needed that booze after going down the stair, then having to go up a stair and falling into my seat.

(And a hearty fuck you to the guy next to me who was like "WHOA, JEEZ" when I toppled into my seat. Like damn, you see a visibly disabled person fall after dealing with stairs that should not have been there and then you get judgy? Shit, dude.)

Anyway... I told an employee about my concerns when I left and he seemed fairly receptive but also at a loss as to how to fix things. I mean, I think putting a warning that the seats aren't actually accessible on the website is a MUST but I agree that I'm not sure how to fix the problem with the way that the theater was physically built. The whole design was flawed, which feels in some ways unforgivable in a movie theater built in... *googles* Jesus Christ, 2021?

2021 and still making functionally inaccessible theaters. What the heck.

So that was frustrating! Also, this part isn't Alamo's fault but the office building the theater was under was also super difficult to get around in if you're disabled. The entrances/exits I could find all had stairs, but one had a largely unmarked hydraulic lift. I've used these before, so I knew how to use it, but I bet a lot of people would be confused as hell. (Especially how to get the door unlocked, lmao.) There were no signs saying where it was or anything, either. I only found it by chance.

THEN, when I was leaving, I found out that the accessible exit had been roped off for... cleaning? Repairs? idk. All I know is that I got off the lift and suddenly realized that I was surrounded by caution tape that had cordoned off the stairs I had just bypassed.

But it was the only accessible exit (that I could find, anyway) and I was essentially trapped, so I had to just like... pull down some of the caution tape and go around it and try to stick it back up as best I could. I hope I didn't ruin whatever they were doing, but I'm not really sure what choice I had.

All in all, just a weird, frustrating, and unnecessarily painful adventure. So if you're disabled uhhh maybe find a different location.

[lordturkish-robomallcop]

Gimme 11, 7, 26, 27 and 28 (Drawing not required). For Ana and/or Marcel, but also for anyone whom you'd feel have interesting answers for these!

Taking that and and running with it straight under the fold!

11 for Marcel, Anatol and Roman because he's bundled in with the Ana package: Marcel was my first WoD pc, so he's largely a port of my main DnD guy (Dillup the Diviner) who also got blended with Midnight Gospel dissociative ennui and Mackgyver goofiness. Anatol... less fun and goofy, this one. Ana/Roman were originally built to be kinda a parable tackling my thoughts/feelings regarding to "trans widow/er" narratives and spiraled out from there. I haven't posted their full origin story outside of the snippets in Limits, but a lot dwelling in that uncomfortable zone of folks reaching for things they do not have language for, so they reach into the phantoms they construct of loved ones as mooring points and then freaking out when those points prove to be imagined/changed. Also just a general exploration of "toughing through" a relationship that perhaps has reached its sell-by date. Roman is married to an image of Ana that never was/will never be but has convinced himself that is a natural state that must be returned to. Ana is married to an image of Roman (the man who was disowned by his family to be with Ana, who despite being a bit of a patriarchal terror in his own right was one of the few folks who begrudgingly gave him space/grace outside of his own father) that Anatol has convinced himself is someone he needs to rebuild/is the touchstone he needs. This is also mirrored with Mihal/Kliment, except Mihal in a shocking twist is probably the only motherfucker in this generational pain cycle to recognize, in that one moment, that he was chasing a construction and just... letting go, letting that fixation die. Understanding it was making him and the person he claimed to do everything for worse. That he was unconsciously doing what his own sire did to him, and ooooh no if there's anything he hates more than being passe it's being reminded he's very similar to the Old Dragons. Also the fixation was immediately resurrected when Ana entered the picture, because pobody's nerfect but lil ruffly bugboi tried.

Wow I've already done a massive ramble anyhoot there's a healthy dose of Artemy Burrakh from Pathologic 2 in Ana as well bc I had Pathologic brainrot when I was first drafting him, lmao. He also got his last name Stamatin from that game.

7 for All Assortment of Lads: Marcel is a Divination Wizard, as was his Dillup Double! And like Dillup he'd def find a way to become a Hag. Ana would def be a Warlock of some stripe, likely a Great Old One patron. He'd be a human and be grumbly about it. Eliza is pretty straightforwardly a halfling Rogue. Roman starts as the lvl 1 Runescape farmer and ends up as a pretty bomb ass Ranger. Mihal would be the patron Ana's praying to, lol. 26 for All Assortment of Lads: Ana compulsively categorizes people he meets as different types of flora so this is the perfect question!! Ana- Venus fly trap Roman- Strawberry Blossum Mihal- Eidlewiess Kliment- Red Rose Eliza- Blue Hydrangea Marcel- Ivy/Kudzu 27 for Ana and Macel: Marcel is a Cuckoo Shrike bc he barrels in out of nowhere and completely wrecks other people's houses for his own ends. Like, look at this stupid son of a bitch, I hate him:

Ana is def some kind of weird lizard or stickbug. Part of me wants to say "do dragons count bc he's genuinely the type of kid who'd buy one of those Dragonology books growing up and also his grandfather was an Obertus Monk so Big Lizard Stanning is just a family tradition" but also another part of me feels like that's a cop out tzim answer lol.

28- Ana and Marcel: Marcel rolls with the skaters/burnouts smoking by the dumpsters after school before doing some light shoplifting at the Casey's down the street. Ana rolls with the theater kids to Perkins at 1am as the designated Butch Carabiner Haver of the department. Roman is the single jock at the end of the queer theater table struggling as the "Sure I Am An #Ally bc my S/O is queer but don't get it twisted I'm straight ha-ha" boyfriend. Maybe someday I will dig out the wacom tablet that I know to be existing in a desk drawer somewhere to do my own OC doodles but today is not that day lol.

[leebrontide]

This is not gonna win me a lot of friends on here but seriously a lot of y'all are irritating me lately with your gleeful piracy posts.

"Poor people deserve stories, to!" You're right. 100% Go on gumroad. There are a ton of authors, myself included, who are giving away free books there. Many of them are from the very marginalized backgrounds y'all claim to want to champion. Look for newsletter giveaways. there are literally so damn many ways to get books that come from creators who have consented to give them away. Oh, but you think anyone should be entitled to the exact book they want without paying for it? the popular book from the big publisher? That's a different thing. That's a different thing that continues to uphold ideas that the mega-corporations are the only source for good stories, that only stories vetted by the companies you claim to be rallying against have value.

"Piracy is archiving!" Archiving is archiving. I can't speak to how it works with indie videogames or what have you, but with books, this is absurd. Ok, say you illegally download a book. If it's from a huge publisher, this is nonsense cause a ton of those were printed. It is not in danger if vanishing. Say it's from a small publisher- you have now decreased that publishers chances of of continuing to print and distribute the book. You are making the book harder to locate in the future. You want to make sure a book doesn't vanish? Pay for it. If it vanishes utterly off the internet when the author dies or whatever, then yay, you have a copy and can maybe help get it back in circulation. Not paying for the book didn't help with that. You can help save an out of circulation book later just as well if you paid for it.

"Piracy is counter corporations!" See point 1. Also, a lot of the sites where you all are pirating fiction do just as much scraping of indie, self-pub, and small press books. Robin Hood wasn't stealing from the poor to give to the poor. I personally know an author whose publisher dropped them mid series because the book wasn't selling, who later found a piracy site with WAY more downloads of her book than there were legal sales. She gave up publishing after that.

This isn't sour grapes, folks. To my knowledge, my own books have never been pirated, and to be honest, over the years I've sold as many copies as a regular mid-list author with a pig publisher.

But I have watched so many authors- not wealthy people- have their work stolen from them. Many of them are disabled and really struggle with other kinds of jobs. They can do this work, but they can't make money, and this is honest to god a big part of why. I feel like people don't believe this. If you don't hang around authors maybe it's tempting to buy in to the hollywood idea of an author.

If you don't think you're entitled to demand free labor from a plumber, then why do you think you're entitled to demand free labor from an author or artist? Is it because you don't have to look them in the eye? Is it because you feel like you can get away with it? Is it because you've fallen for the fantasy that authors are wealthy people living glamorous lives, and their labor doesn't count because they're so lucky to be making a living with their art?

I don't know. And please don't defend this to me.

Just go read free books, if you can't afford to buy them and don't have library access. Or at least stop rubbing what you're doing in the faces of all the creators on this website who put a lot of hard work into the things they make.

Reblogs are nice, but reblogs accompanied by cheerful endorsements of stealing things which aren't freely given do not make for an ideal community.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

summary: you’re a cowboy like me.

pairing: cowgirl!reader x cowboy!din djarin

contents: 18+ content, loneliness, alcohol mention, smoking mention, typical Wild West violence & values (light torture, murder, stealing), pining if you squint

word count: 2.6k

an: the urge to write real recognizes real as the summary was strong. just a heads up that these two are NOT GOOD PEOPLE. they aren’t honorable or heroic and some of this will be pretty fucked up. with that being said, here is the first chapter! honestly i’m so excited to share this with y’all, let me know what ya think!

series masterlist | writing masterlist

Being a nomad of sorts has its perks, or at least that’s how you’ve always framed it. You’re slippery as a snake, sliding in and out of rich folks' lives just when they start to thinking you’ll be sticking around. It gets you a hoard of benefits; weapons and supplies for the never-ending road, bonds to sell, and stacks of money to hold you over as you sneak into the quiet of the night. You do your best to leave on decent terms— especially if you can imagine returning to some of these places— but some just can’t understand the way you live. You’ve learned to live with their disappointment.

Your life has been days and days of being misunderstood, what’s another?

It’s not the easiest way to live by any means and at times when the night is too cold or the afternoons too hot you wish that you could settle down like others do. But you are wiser than that. If you were to settle down somewhere, that loneliness that only rears its head every blue moon would become a daily occurrence. Yes, this life can be lonely, but at least there is some semblance of connection you find in learning someone so well that you wiggle into their heart. Charm takes intimacy, and you’re only equipped to handle that on a one-way street. The bridge to your heart crumbled and collapsed with the loss of your family, what feels like eons ago. From that moment on, this wandering shell of a person is who you became.

You’re settled just on the outskirts of a quiet, quaint town named Strawberry. There’s a little rundown shack near a stretch of wood that’s perfect for your party of one. Your first stop after securing the shack and leaving a few things behind is getting a hot meal at the saloon. There’s only so much foraged produce and rice cakes a person can live on before the belly craves more.

It’ll also give you a chance to scope things out— more specifically the people that seem to be in need of lightening their pockets from the tricks up your sleeve. This saloon is tinier than the ones you have been to before, but the mouthwatering scent of garlic and various herbs is mixed with cigarette smoke and the rowdy sound of nightly celebrations and poker chips. There’s a variety of folks here, women and men of all kinds, helpful in making sure you don’t stick out as you survey the place.

From what you’ve seen so far of the town it’s aptly named, the folks are sweet and welcoming. The guilt that used to sit in your heart about conning people like this has faded. You’re surviving, do what you can and must. It’s nothing personal, just the way life goes. But you do go out of your way to go for assholes, and the rich of the rich. Sometimes you even give back. There’s some semblance of honor you live by, even if it’s not much.

It's just a week later that things change— life changes, your path unknowingly transforming in just a matter of seconds. Because the moment you meet him, you know he’s the one.

Not like in those cheesy, bullshit stories girls at every saloon fawn over. Not like the love your mother and father used to spew, the love that was so genuine but as you grew felt more and more unattainable. But like you’ve always wanted— like you’ve convinced yourself you can handle.

He can be your partner, he can make this life a little bit easier.

A partner would make this game easier for you. As a woman in the West, the target on your back was bigger than the noon sun. No level of mastery can make being a woman less dangerous. But, with a man on your side? That could open doors you hadn’t dared try to rattle.

And him? Well when he’d asked you to dance, you were sure he was the one. Mostly because he hadn’t truly asked, partially because of the bright mischievousness in his dark brown eyes. How could his eyes show you the future with a color so deep? Contradictory pulled you in. He could do the impossible and that was exactly what you needed.

He walks in and right up to you, tipping his hat before removing it and placing it on the bar. His head is a mop of messy black hair, his mouth full and soft despite what you can imagine is a rough lifestyle. His hands speak to it, calloused and dry and strong. With broad shoulders and an expansive chest, he’s attractive, it’s impossible to deny it. But that’s as far as you’ll let yourself go, you must think about his ability, about his skills and practicality.

You can tell he’s airish, smoother than the finest leather money could buy. He’s you, but better. You’re good at what you do, and you take pride in it, but there’s something about him that just says he’s better. His competence hangs in the air and the way he holds himself.

His voice is soft, but firm, full of confidence, “Dance with me, girl.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Depends on what sort of dancin’ you’re looking for, boy.”

His expression stays stiff besides his eyes that somehow glow even brighter at your quip. “The kind where you put one foot in front of the other. Sway a little.”

“That’s not something I’m lookin’ for.”

His mouth twitches ever so slightly, “Don’t I know it.”

“Then why’d you ask?” You question, brows knitting together.

“How else was I gonna catch your attention? Been here the entire week and you haven’t even given me a glance.”

“Seems you’ve caught me at a disadvantage then…”

“Folks call me Djarin. You can call me Din.”

You wince, shaking your head at him like he’s just committed some sin. In the world that you live in, he practically has.

“That your real name?”

“You think I’m lyin’?”

“I’m sure you have some idea what I think about you. But what makes me so special, Din?” You challenge, tilting your head at him.

He shrugs– as nonchalant as ever as he says, “Takes one to know one.”

Try as you might, you can’t hold back the laugh that rises in your throat, “You’re callin’ yourself special?”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your mockery— not only has he seen plenty in his day but he can see you down to your core, knowing you don’t mean it. Knowing you see him just the same. “Don’t you think so?”

You can’t argue with that. Instead of saying anything, you throw back the rest of your drink, nodding your head towards the bartender as if to ask Din if he wants a drink of his own.

You and Din don’t dance, and it’s he who ends up buying you a drink. Din clearly isn’t much of a talker but the space that settles between you feels surprisingly…comfortable. The two of you sip and watch the happenings of the saloon, no doubt searching for any possible targets to sink your claws into. There are a few that catch your eye, though there’s one man in particular, clearly drunk and full of himself by the way he won’t leave some of the women alone even after they say no. That coupled with the way he flashes his belt buckle one too many times makes him perfect. You know solid gold when you see it, and just like that he’s on your list.

When he finishes his drink he leans in, voice so quiet you have to lean in too to hear him. His voice is deep, smooth like honey in your ear, “Tomorrow mornin’, meet me on the outskirts of town. The west side near that little quarry. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know it. What’s there?” You ask curiously.

“You’ll see. Just before dawn,” Is all he says before placing a few bills on the bar and leaving.

Soon after you take your own leave, saddling up on your horse and heading back to your shack. Before you slip into slumber, you realize that he never asked you for your name. You’d lie to him even if he asks, a rule of the trade— one he’d broken for you, though you won’t let yourself look too much into that. But until then, you suppose you’ll both be satisfied with mystery.

Sleep is easy and peaceful, filled with dreams of two horses walking down a long winding path to a hidden lake amidst a lush garden. They drink and lounge there for what feels like a sweet eternity.

A summer morning can be many things but this one is damp and muggy– the heat oppressive. The sound of cicadas and early morning birds fill the air despite the sun’s slumber. When you wake you wash in the nearby river before dressing in a lightweight button-down and jeans, ditching the jacket that kept you warm at night. You head to the spot Din had told you about.

You would be lying if you weren’t wary— some random man telling you to meet in a location he’s chosen the night after meeting him is a risky game. But you’re fully armed, even your hunting rifle slung along your shoulders instead of stowed on your horse. Dutiful Augustine. She never disappoints.

The first thing that you notice when Din comes into view is that he’s not alone. There’s a man restrained on the ground and by the way he’s laid, you know he’s unconscious.

Is this what he called you here for?

Din takes one last drag of his cigarette as you approach, flicking it and snuffing the rest of its ember out with his boot.

“You showed,” His expression is tame as before but you can hear the warmth in his voice. It makes your tummy tingle.

“Did you doubt me?” You ask playfully, dismounting your horse.

“Not one bit.”

You bite away your smile, pointing at the man who’s lying on the ground, “Who’s this?”

“A present.” He says simply. At your raised brow, Din removes the cover from the man’s head. “You were eyeing him last night weren’t you?”

The smile that spreads across your face is brighter than the rising sun and Din’s heart flutters.

“I was. How’d you know?”

“We’re the same, ain’t we?”

There’s him reading your mind again. You’re playing it safe, not wanting to get your hopes up or let your guard down so you shrug, training your eyes on the man who’s knocked out and typed up in front of you.

“Wake him.”

Din takes his canteen from his horse and douses the man in water until he sputters awake.

The man takes in his surroundings quickly, panic in his eyes, “L-Look, I don’t want no trouble. Anything you two want you can have.”

You stoop down in front of the man, smoothing the wet hair in his face back, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman today. Last night, now that’s a different story.”

You see the moment the man recognizes you from the saloon. He shakes his head, glancing up at Din as if he’ll be some savior.

“No, no, look at her,” Din says firmly.

The grin on your face widens at his deferrence and your eyes meet his briefly before you look at the man again. “What’s your name?”

“Kurt.”

“Kurt?” Din repeats, disgusted. It almost makes you want to giggle, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Where do you live, Kurt?”

“In Strawberry,” The man says begrudgingly.

Your brows raise at the man’s sass given his current predicament,“Well, I imagined that since you were in the saloon last night.”

“You don’t live here and you were there.”

You reach out, gripping his chin with a firm grip that makes him struggle with the restraints, “Did I say you should speak on me and where I live?

“N-no.”

“Good, then we’re on the same page. Now— where do you live Kurt?”

“Listen, my brother lives there you can’t just—“

Before Kurt can finish his sentence you slap him across the face, hard enough that when he looks at you once more there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. You reach to your hip, hand resting on the hilt of the knife you have sheathed there and Kurt’s eyes go wide.

“You’re mouthy,” You say, displeasure obvious in your voice.

“T-three houses down from the saloon. To the left if you’re facing it.”

You look up at Din, raising a brow at him.

He shakes his head, kicking the man in the back, “Wasn’t the way you were walking last night.”

Through a cry of pain, Kurt tries to rationalize with the two of you, “I was drunk, why d’ya think it was so easy for you to get me?”

“Shit-talking my partner and a liar? You’ve got plenty of nerve for a man at my mercy.”

Din shifts on his feet, his heart fluttering in his chest again at the sound of you calling him his partner. The two of you haven’t discussed a lick of anything. He was right about you— he knew he would be. His eyes are glued to your face, drinking in every sadistic expression that graces your features, every harsh word that comes from your mouth. He’s enamored.

“No, I swear, that’s the house.”

“Kurt. It’s early. Do you see?” You grip his jaw, turning his head towards the light that peaks over the horizon. “The sun is just rising. It is early— I hate getting up early, don’t I, Djarin?”

“She does.”

“And now, you’re making this early mornin’ worse by lying to us. You think that’s wise?”

“I’m not lyin’!”

“I don’t like it when people force my hand, Kurt. I value making my own decisions but look at you, you’ve done it.” You slip the knife from the sheath, pressing it to the column of his throat. “Tell me which house, and we’ll make this fast.”

Kurt’s seen your faces, there’s no way that you could let him live, even if part of you wanted to. This’ll be the test. You know that Din won’t fail, you knew that moment you laid your eyes on him. But, if there’s nothing your daddy taught you, it’s to be thorough. Din is a man after all, and all men fall short at one time or another.

“Wait a minute now— wait just one minute—“

“Shhhh, everything’s just fine, yeah? The house, Kurt, focus,” Your voice is kind, sweet and smooth despite the force you use to press the knife against his skin.

Kurt’s shoulders drop in defeat as he murmurs, “It’s the one across from the general store.”

“See, s’all I wanted,” You take the knife away from his throat before looking up at Din who gives you a slow, understanding nod.

“Now all y’all need to do is untie me, I swear to God I won’t tell a soul. And I don’t swear on God, I don’t take the Lord's name in vain.”

“I believe you, Kurt. I really do.” You pat the man on the cheek before standing. “Din.”

As you back away, Din steps forward, sliding his gun out of his holster. Kurt begs and pleads, he pulls on his restraints and even tries to crawl away despite the way his legs are tied together. Din doesn’t let him get far, not wanting to give him any hope or waste anymore time on the man. Neither of your horses flinch or make a sound when the gun goes off. Neither do either of you.

He bends to take the shining belt buckle from the man’s hips, holding it out to you as he asks, “How ‘bout we go check out his homestead?”

You nod, take the buckle from his hand and slide it into the sack on your horse, “Lead the way forward.”

ch. 2: like it could be love

taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur, @lesbianhotch, @ivyheliotrope, @campingwiththecharmings, @frogers, @juneknight

[onceamadhouse13]

The Gaylor Issue: An Attempt at Nuance from a Very Tired Queer

I feel like the Gaylor issue is so divisive and polarizing in the Swiftie fandom. I want to make space for nuance, acceptance, and a more relaxed conversation. And I want to make space for fans who don’t fit on either extreme end of the issue.

On one side, you have diehard Gaylors who insist that Taylor is OBVIOUSLY gay and that all her “boyfriends,” including Joe, have been beards. See also: Kaylor, Swiftgron, etc.

On the other side, you have the people who insist that Gaylors are delusional, her relationship with Joe is real, and Taylor is nothing more than an ally to the LGBTQ community. Side note: I really dislike the term “hetlor” because a) it feels mean and gross when said in a demeaning way, and b) believing she’s straight is the default so I feel like giving them their own term is in the realm of “straight pride.”

Sprinkled between these camps are the people who say stuff like, “It’s weird and gross to speculate about real people’s sexuality. Taylor is a private person and it isn’t our place to talk about her love life.” Or, “Speculating about people’s queerness is bad because it forces people out of the closet before they’re ready.” Which is very kind.

I feel like I don’t fit into either of these three groups.

Saying “Taylor’s relationship with Joe is fake” feels really dismissive of bisexuality. Bi people are the biggest segment of the LGBTQ community and somehow it seems like people forget they exist because they float in that middle ground. When we view the world through binaries, bi people seem like they’re full of contradictions. But, like all people, bi people just contain multitudes.

Saying Taylor is straight seems downright ridiculous, at least to me. The most obvious, “no heterosexual explanation for this” pieces of evidence are: the song Paris, the lyric “I swear you could hear a hairpin drop,” the 13 in northern Michigan in the Lavender Haze music video, and the idea that gay pride “makes me ME.” Here are some things I believe to be true: 1) If Taylor Swift were straight, she’d be too good of an ally to queerbait, and 2) Taylor Swift is too smart/well-read to make queer references accidentally.

The thing about the “don’t speculate about her personal life” argument is that speculating about Taylor Swift’s personal life pays her bills. Yes, she’s making and selling art. But she has chosen a life in the spotlight. She has consciously decided to sell her [personhood, brand, name, soul, whatever you want to call it]. She has chosen NOT to “take the money and her dignity and get the hell out.” She COULD choose the rose garden over Madison Square. But every day, she chooses not to. On the one hand, this “don’t speculate” argument is very noble. But there’s some part of me that wonders if the folks in this camp see themselves as potential future friends of Taylor and think that being speculative ruins their chances at that, ruins their chances of attending a secret session, etc. It’s sweet and kind AND it feels a little “pick me.” Here are some things I believe to be true: 1) If Taylor Swift were straight, she wouldn’t be offended that people think she is queer. 2) If Taylor Swift is queer, she’s not offended that people think she is queer.

And then there’s this weird, in-between camp that I fall into. Personally, I think Taylor Swift is a queer woman who is currently in a legitimate, long term relationship with her boyfriend Joe Alwyn. Do I think that she had relations of some kind with Karlie Kloss? Yeah, probably! Do I think that she is afraid to come out for fear of outing past lovers? Yeah, probably! Do I think she is afraid to come out for fear of alienating part of her fanbase? Yeah, probably! Do I think she is afraid to come out because she feels like her current relationship with a man will “delegitimize” her queerness? Definitely.

I want a label for people who have this opinion, because I see SO much hatred toward “Gaylors” from “Hetlors” and vice versa. I feel like I have a nuanced, reasonable, rational take on the situation. And I want to be able to communicate this nuanced take with a label.

Here are my suggestions.

Nuance Gaylor

Pro-Joe Gaylor

We Contain Multitudes Gaylor

Gaylor (Joe’s Version)

Please don’t be mad at me Gaylor

Anyway, thank you for reading this. Please feel free to chime in but please don’t send me hate mail.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

Hello, Anon, this is your Oldie Chinese Diaspora Anon™️. I agree that these are legitimate questions and I would like to thank you for posting them. But I can’t quite shake the feeling that there was something suspicious with the background preamble. Please do not consider this as me doubting your goodwill. Please consider this my attempt to repeat the information that I have come to understand.

I collect Nendöröids. My understanding is that they are made-to-order and they require the handiwork of actual human workers. There are prototyped (and some of them are made) in Tottori, Japan. And the rest are outsourced to qualified factories in China. (More details here:

). Any figure not made in these two factories are considered counterfeits, and there have been multiple PSAs from Good Smile asking people not to buy counterfeits. As far as I know, when it comes to customising Nendös, most artists either use pre-existing, legitimate parts or sculpt their own parts. I have personally seen legit parts for sale on the aftermarket in different countries and I do not see modders who publicly announce that they use bootleg parts. One thing that I do see, however, is that there are legions of collectors – across the world – who advocate against buying bootlegs.

In fact, the most common admonition for Nendö customizers is to not buy the Chinese YMY body because they were bootlegs of the Japanese Piccadö body. (This is a lawsuit that was recently concluded. The company that produced YMY was fined over the V1 body, which was proven to be a counterfeit.)

I don’t doubt that there are unscrupulous customizers who will buy counterfeit parts as a basis for their modded pieces. After all, if these pieces are going to be modded to an inch of their lives, few care (or will be able to know) where the original base came from. But if I was a consumer and commission a modder, I think I -would- want to know where the bases came from. I would feel extremely cheated if the modder charged me for parts and quoted legit prices and sold me bootleg parts. Similarly, since we do not know the composition of the bootleg material, I would also like to remind everyone that the plastics are not the same between the original and the bootleg (which is why the bootlegs tend to be shinier than the more matte finish than the originals). If even the original will bleed plasticizer over the years, I personally do not want know what kind of things the bootlegs will leak into the air around me.

Finally, since you’ve asked in good faith, I think it’s only fair that your questions are answered. Once again, this is just to the best of my ability. Your actual mileage may vary.

One: The “ban hammer” at DoA tend to be rather arbitrary; but they are – on paper at least – very recast-aversive. I do not personally know if you are at risk under the very specific scenario that you’ve set up, but the risk is never zero. You also run the potential risk of people not wanting to sell you their second-hand dolls if you are, at any time, been suspected of owning a recast. It’s a very small hobby, after all; words travel.

Two: This is a very person-specific question – some folks weigh their personal friendships heavier than general morality; others the exact opposite. We have had this kind of conversations in this blog multiple times over the years and there’s no real answer. Perhaps the better question is to ask yourself “why am I asking this question in the first place?” “Why am I afraid of this?”

Three: Yes! Bootlegs of any figure/model/doll/jointed doll seriously hurt the original creator. Honestly, nobody tells it quite like Mr. Savage:

Four: If you buy a full set but only use one part, please consider selling the rest to a legitimate-only after-market business so they can pay you a fair price for it and the rest of the pieces that you do not use can also be sold to folks who need them. What you don’t need might be something very useful to someone else!

~Anonymous

[decepti-thots]

i can see people discussing cohost as a possible tumblr alternative in the event the current shitshow continues to escalate, and as someone who lurks on cohost (lotta good game writer/crit folks went over there instead of bluesky after twitter tanked!) and has kept a keen eye on it since it began, i just want to offer some brief thoughts. not as a value judgement, just so people have a decent idea of what cohost actually like... is, and what pros and cons it has.

cohost is a tumblr-like experience which uses a very similar microblogging-and-reblog/share set-up, though it's a lot more 'static' than current tumblr is without e.g endless scroll on everything and scripts everywhere. (reminds me a lot of how tumblr was in 2010, tbh.) it has some things tumblr lacks (notably, its comment feature is much better) and lacks some things tumblr has.

it is run by a very small number of people. this is currently fine in terms of things like moderation, because cohost has a small userbase and has not attracted a general audience, but rather, mostly chill people in certain niches. however, in the event it has any kind of scaling-up of its userbase, they would need to drastically increase their moderation footprint, because right now it is skeleton.

related to that, being an ad-free site that is not funded by venture capital, their financials are... not amazingly stable tbqh! they have been very transparent about this quarter to quarter. they were bleeding money profusely until very recently. now, it has juuust about stabilized, though it is not "profitable" per se. cohost is a site that runs on a similar idea to dreamwidth; it strives to be a decently-sized site where a good chunk of its adult userbase voluntarily pay for monthly subscriptions to keep the site going, more out of a desire to support an independent platform than due to large feature bonuses that come from doing so (though there are additional features. small ones.). it is not, in short, a site designed to be used for free by 99% of its userbase like most social media; if any large migration took place to cohost by fandom, this would realistically only work for cohost if a decent chunk of us decided we would like to send them money each month to keep it going. (this can work; dreamwidth does it, and its skewing-older userbase does so. generally not at huge scale though.)

cohost is anti-metrics to a point that it is simply not a good choice for some people who are looking to use it as a way to grow a professional platform, because you functionally have no 'platform'. (great for folks like me; bad for folks using it as a freelance portfolio kinda gig, really.) it's much more a personal blogging site than a 'here is my Profile i use to get work!' deal tbh. (this is, to be fair, also kind of a reason tumblr has never been that great for this, but it's just sort of something artists etc have been observing.)

cohost is an interesting ongoing experiment, but one reason i have not moved there is it's currently in a very tenuous position. as a platform for specific fandoms forming up there, i think it's really promising, which is why i've kept my eye on it, but i think it's important to know it's not just a 1:1 tumblr replacement. no non-shitty platform is. as i said on my other blog talking about cohost yesterday, if you want an ad-free, algorithm free, no data-selling, no venture capital platform... you want a platform that requires people pay in at least decent quantities, which means you likely have a platform that will never match the scale of big centralized socmedia platforms which do exist as ad platforms backed by millions of dollars of investment.

[swallowtailed]

palisade 44

it’s so fun to watch the finale get built out. we’re back to the mirage!!!!! we’re in it!!!!!!!!!!!

solid arc to this episode. lots to chew on.

really liked the final beat of righteousness and mourning’s conversation—paraphrasing, but, “you came to me because you knew i’d agree.” “perhaps i did.” “i’ll back it if you give me command.” “done.” “done.” it’s especially good in the context of those same two people later being so reluctant to trust gucci to use clem. something about… being willing to make deals yourself that you think are too risky for others. individuals playing private power games in service of utopia.

keith raised a great point re what the principality even means to the bilats inside the mirage. the thing i’ve been turning over since last week is what this is like for members of the cause who just got slurped into the mirage. like, when you get to see the utopia (“utopia”) you’ve been protecting sight unseen for a year, and now you have the choice between living there for the rest of your life or spending years leaving, what… do you do? how do you value the fight outside? how do you value the chance to stay when you were never supposed to get to see the mirage in the first place? fuck.

hey speaking of mirage folks HOW ABOUT DRE’S NEW PC

levitation “levi” cascabel-gardner. wow i love this kid. i can’t wait for him and cori to meet. (like, has he heard of cori?? does he just know of the devotees as that weird religious cult??)

he is absolutely extremely mirage

there is a certain kind of suspension of disbelief required when a new character is joining the party and it just doesn’t play that well when taken seriously. with that said, clem was always gonna be a tough sell. like, a really tough sell.

i am not really interested in clem coming back in, tbh. we know her problems pretty well by now—doesn’t feel like there’s much more to say. she’s been defeated several times over. beat her to death with hammers already.

what does intrigue me is the blue channel interpersonal drama aspect. the reflexive kesh noble infighting is excellent, as is clem and gucci having weird tension and brnine finding out about the deal and getting upset. also very much looking forward to whatever conflict cori and clem are gonna have.

and also the drama in the way of… sometimes clementine kesh survives and your friends don’t, and you have to deal with that. grief has become really essential to this season.

so we’ll see, i guess! i feel like i say that a lot in these posts. but actual play is such a fluid way to build a narrative. hard to say what’s gonna be interesting in another two episodes.

other things i enjoyed in this episode: mustard red sidebar, brnine and gucci’s texts, levi’s feather covered poncho, jesset immediately vibing with levi, mourning’s comprehensive gossip intel, “a broken clock kills the right person twice a day”

kept hearing “mourning” and thinking “morning’s”. miss that guy