#this isn't even worthwhile rambling this time

[gu6chan]

maybe its sample bias but i think it's kinda funny how most people I've seen who've played drakengard because of nier are making ending e THE endgoal and more often than not the main if not only reason they're playing the game at all and when they finally get it they're like "this is it the single most impactful, greatest moment of all gaming. im wiping tears from my eyes this is it" and then you see the drakengard fans who've played drakengard because they like drakengard and you ask them about ending e and they're like "eh. it was okay, i guess"

[artdcnaldson]

yknow those wives who have affairs with men they meet at the gym? yea so that but its art fucking the pretty, young thing from the yoga class his trainer signed him up for. something about mindfulness and old joints, honestly art wasnt listening, too busy thinking about how embarrassed he would be trying to do yoga in a public gym, a nice gym, but public nonetheless. but the first time he goes he picks the matt next to yours, youre no professional but youre a hell of a lot better than he is, as is everyone else but he's not looking at them. you end up chatting afterwards and it just kind of become routine for you to share those classes when you're both there. grabbing a juice together afterwards. and before either of you really understand whats happening, juice turns to lunch, one class a week turns to 3 or 4, a cup of coffee on the weekend turns to regular dinners. and suddenly he's fucking you in the back of his car in the parking lot of your building, all the yoga really paying off with the ways he's bending you trying to make it work in the cramped space. he was really just going to drive you home, like he always does, but you're just so pretty and he swears he saw tashi texting a number with the name "p" last night... so he kisses you and then hes rutting into your pussy, begging oyu to cum around him, let him feel your pussy get tight like that, strangle his cock.... many a thought

-🐞

GODDDDD <3 <3 <3

He isn't going to cheat, he isn't going to cheat, he is NOT going to cheat. It runs through his mind every fucking class after that first one. He's there to improve mobility, to help him get out of his head and be mindful, to kick the horrible anxiety that he's developed since the injury, that's worsened since New Rochelle.

He's not there for you. Even if you're the only person there he talks to. Even if he looks forward to seeing you every morning when he wakes up. Even if he suffers through gross pressed juice after each class because it means more time with you.

You make him happy, in a way he hasn't felt in a really long time. Desirable, interesting, worthwhile. You smile at him across the table when you go out for lunch, and sometimes you duck your head to hide giddy little smiles when he says something sweet. He'll reach across the table and his fingers will brush against your hand, and you won't move away. Your fingers stretch out, feel his, and that's good, that's fine.

It's not cheating. Coffee on Saturday mornings when there aren't any classes scheduled isn't cheating. Texting with your name replaced with a single letter to be discreet isn't cheating. Getting dinner isn't cheating. Watching movies together in your cute little apartment isn't cheating.

Surely Tashi knows. But why would she care when she's got a secret of her own? He know's she's texting Patrick. She has been since the challenger, working out the minutiae of what her coaching him will entail, and it makes Art's stomach turn. That incessant buzzing in his ear like a gnat, the constant question of if Patrick is fucking his wife. Again.

Art had said he would try. He would try to keep playing past the open, and he'd try to fix their marriage. But that was an optimistic promise made in the aftermath of a great fucking game of tennis. It wasn't until later that the resentment and anxiety reared its ugly head.

And then there's you. You don't watch tennis, you don't care about his ranking, you don't expect anything of him. All you expect of him is the pleasure of his company. And god, you look so sweet, sitting in the passenger seat of his jeep. For the past ten minutes, you’ve been rambling on and on about the new show you started watching, how you swear he'd like it, really.

"You're quiet," you say once he's pulled into the parking garage and killed the car. You reach across the center console and put a hand on his arm. "Everything okay?"

No. He's thinking about Tashi and Patrick. Of a text that flashed across her screen that morning from a contact that's just P, "when are you telling art?" He's thinking about affairs, about how he wants one thing to himself, and why can't that be you?

So he kisses you, and you can feel the desperation and need in the rough press of his mouth against yours, in the slow lave of his tongue, licking into your mouth like he wants to savor the taste of you. And you just take it, moaning into his mouth, soft and pretty.

"You're married," you pant as you both climb into the backseat. You say it like you haven't been craving this exact moment since you first saw him walking into the class with an overfull gym bag and a plain gray mat slung over one shoulder. You say it because if you don’t, you’ll feel worse.

But he just silences you with another hungry, desperate kiss that you return in kind. You paw at his shirt, trying to tug it off without breaking the kiss. Art laughs against your mouth and sits back on his heels to peel it off.

He likes the way you look up at him, like he’s the best thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s never felt that from anyone before, never felt like much more than a second choice. A consolation prize. Your hand is small, sliding along the plane of his chest, dipping down to his abs. It’s like you’re marveling at him, appreciating his body the way you’d appreciate a work of art.

Your hand slides down and you palm him almost timidly, feeling the hard length of him in your palm. He groans, a low, masculine sound that makes heat bloom in the pit of your stomach. You’ve heard something similar, when he’s stretching out a particularly tight muscle, or when you’re doing partner poses in yoga class— a hot, panted groan in your ear due to the proximity. But this is entirely new— addicting in the best way.

You don’t care that he’s married. Well, you do, but you just want him to be happy. You can make him happy— can give him something more than what he has. Doesn’t he deserve that?

Your clothes are shed quickly, easily. Peeled off smooth skin, discarded into the floorboard. All of your senses are flooded with Art’s hands, the way they grasp at your exposed skin, feeling, holding, possessing— His mouth, searing hot where he laves at your throat, over your tits. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and it makes you mewl. Arching into his touch.

“I want— fuck— I want to do so much to you,” he mumbles against your skin. He nips at the plush skin of your tits, promising bruises that will remind you in the morning you hadn’t just dreamt it all. “I just need to have you.”

You’d let him do anything. You’d let him carve you open and replace everything inside with him, him, him. And he does, in a way. When he lines up with your cunt and drives in, burying himself deep inside, it feels like he’s all that’s left of you.

The car rocks on its axels as he fucks you, deep and slow. It drives gasps and moans from your lips each time he bottoms out, when you feel his cock deep in your cunt, when his balls press tight against your body.

Art moans a desperate, masculine sound, his breath coming hot. The windows fog, dripping condensation in slow trails. “I think I love you,” Art groans, the words slipping out as he gets closer and closer and closer.

He’s married. He’s probably only saying it in a fuckdrunk haze. It’s a bad decision, you’d both regret it in the morning.

“I love you,” you tell him, softly. Earnest as he’s ever heard it said. He cums hard, grinding slow and deep so it’s as deep as possible.

He walks you to the door, kisses your cheek, tells you he’ll see you at the studio soon. When he gets home, he doesn’t tell Tashi, but she can sense it on him. The secret seeps from his pores. Good for him. It’s about time he does something for himself.

His next tournament is beautiful— his best tennis in a while. And maybe it’s best for Tashi to turn a blind eye while Art’s winning again. Maybe.

[ford-pines-lover]

Delicate

Isn't it... Delicate?

Wild that we completed at the same time! Here's Delicate @chillinglyadventurous! This one is so fun :)

Tags: SFW, drinking

Stanford Pines x Reader

This ain't for the best; my reputation’s never been worse so…

“Come on, Poindexter! This is your chance to meet the ladies!”

“Stanley, no, there’s no need for me to go find a ‘lady’ when I have everything I need right here.” Which wasn’t particularly true. Ford would have rather to have someone to share moments with. Either of the platonic or intimate kind. He had always had a sense of loneliness that had set in after coming back from the portal. Ford felt like he wasn’t needed for some big expedition anymore, so what was left? There was no ‘finding the secrets of Gravity Falls;’ there was no ‘end of the world’ anymore that needed saving. Was it time to slow down? No, of course not. He still reveled in his work, his research. But sharing it with someone could be something worthwhile. 

“I know you won’t go out by yourself, and locking yourself in the basement is sad. You don’t even have to meet a lady; you could just sit with me and drink.” Stan gives Ford a defeated look. He hadn’t had his brother in upwards of 40 years (if we don't really count the 30 minutes before the portal incident), and finally he has his chance of being Ford’s wingman. Stan leans against the doorway to Ford’s lab, where there are papers scattered about. 

Ford sighs and gets up from his desk. He doesn’t make any effort to clean up his space. Probably betting on the fact that he will be back sooner rather than later. “Fine, I’ll go with you. No promises though." Secretly, he was hoping to find someone to talk to. Hoping is the key word. 

Stan smiles and walks back up the stairs, getting ready to go out. He was planning to go to a bar, or if they were feeling ballsy, maybe a club? Doubt Ford would be up to that, though. A club is full of lights, people, and loud music. The opposite of the brother he had very narrowly convinced to come with him on this adventure. Although surprising, Stan was optimistic that Ford had agreed. 

A few minutes later, Ford emerges from the basement wearing an outfit similar to what he used to wear in college. Now, since he is 40 years older than college age, he was filling out the clothes quite nicely. It was a pair of khakis, a grey button-up, and a nice sweater vest. It made him look dapper. There was a certain confident glow to the man that is rarely ever seen. 

“Heh, you really clean up nice, don’t ya, Sixer? Tryna impress some ladies?”

“Stop it, Stanley, before I take back my agreeance.” 

Moments later, Stan drives them to the nearest bar. Nothing fancy, but it was a Friday night. There was bound to be many people there. Hopefully someone for Ford to talk to. Ramble about his life that he had lost, or perhaps learn what this new person was like. The idea of human interaction was daunting but exciting. 

They both sat down at the bar, and Stan ordered them both a rum and coke. Just something to start off the evening. It was bustling with people like Ford had imagined. There were groups of people sitting and talking, and there were people that were relatively alone as well. Stan was scanning the room for people to push Ford into talking to. 

“There!” Stan pointed at a lady that had some sort of what seemed to be a fruity drink in her hand. She looked bored, sitting on her phone. 

“Stanley, I can’t just go talk to her,” Ford side-eyed Stan with a hint of embarrassment. 

"Sure, ya can! Just a few more drinks and you’re all set!”

“I—no, I don’t need any more alcohol in my system.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Ford sighed and looked over. “I guess nothing." He got up and walked in your general direction.

“Don’t forget your wallet, Poindexter!” Stan shouted over the music and the chatter of the bar. 

You must like me for me.

Ford sits down across from you. He nervously smiles. “Hi, um, can I sit here with you?”

You give him a confused look, not sure what this older man, silver fox for the matter, would want sitting next to you. He seemed visibly nervous, too.“Um, yeah, sure! Of course!” You fidget with the straw of your drink as he sits down. You were curious about the man sitting by you. This was odd; not usually people decide to talk to you, let alone sit by you, especially at a bar. “I am Y/N” You reach out to shake his hand. He hesitantly took it. You noticed something odd about his hand. You decide not to say anything.

“I am Stanford Pines, but please call me Ford.” He smiles sheepishly. There was something enticing about the man in front of you. It almost seemed like he was full of stories, full of a lifetime, yet he also looked like a brand new man.

“So,” you gave him a curious look, “what’s your deal?” You knew there was something that he was hiding. Men never just come up and talk to you. Unless they want something from you.

Ford looked taken aback by the question. He was for sure not expecting that question. “Excuse me?” 

“Well, I go to this bar often, and no one ever sits by me.” You giggle. “I’ve never seen you here before, so again, what's your deal?” You lean over the table, hands clasped together, under your chin. You smirk at him. Okay, so he doesn’t seem like a creep. Probably isn’t, but you can’t be too careful.

“Well, I am just looking for…” He pauses and thinks about the answer. “Someone to talk to? Human connection perhaps?” 

You give an amused huff at his answer. “Well, I think, Mr. Stanford Pines, that I can give that to you.”

We can’t make any promises; now can we, babe? 

“Actually, it’s Doctor Stanford Pines.” He smiles proudly. There was something in his smile that was faltering, though. His confidence wasn’t sharp.

“Oh ho ho! Mr. Dr. Stanford Pines, eh? Well, for your knowledge, I am also a doctor.” You smirk at him and raise your eyebrow. He laughs and smiles.

“Yes!” He sips his drink, realizing it’s running low. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“The medical kind”

“Yeah? What field exactly?” He studies you as you look off to the side.

“I study gynecology and obstetrics.”

“That’s awesome! I personally study the anomalous beings here in Gravity Falls." He wiggles his fingers to have a “spooky” effect.

“That’s pretty cool, Mr. Dr. Stanford Pines." You give him an honest smile as you notice his now empty drink. 

But you can make me a drink.

You grab his glass and go up to the bar, asking for another drink. You assume he would want a whisky old-fashioned, so you buy him that. You buy yourself another dirty shirley. You return back to the table and hand him his drink.

“Here, I realized your drink was running low, so I bought you a new one.” 

“I—no, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, of course I didn't have to. I wanted to. Big difference, smart guy.”

He laughed and sipped on his new drink. “What is this?”

“A whisky old-fashioned.” 

“It’s pretty good.”

“So, what kind of anomalous things are here in this small town?” You asked sincerely. You had lived there for 6 months and hadn’t noticed any “anamolous” beings in this town. You honestly just lived here for the work. Gravity Falls hospital was hiring; it was a small town, and it was in a state with no sales tax. So hell yeah. 

His face lights up when you ask this question. He pulls out a maroon notebook (journal?) that has gold embossed into it. It looked pretty professional, yet also worn out. “You’re lucky I brought one of my old journals.” He looked to the side, almost embarrassed. “I was really hoping someone would ask about my studies.”

“Well, that’s great!” You prop your elbows back on the table to lean over to him. “I would be more than happy to listen to your tales and adventures.”

Another half an hour goes by with you two chattering away. Ford was explaining how there are things that live deep in the woods that are extraordinary, while some things can be seen while taking a walk around town. You honestly had a new curiosity for this town. This town may have been a place of convenience for a job, but now you have made a new friend. 

“Would you ever like to come mystery hunting with me sometime?” Ford asked.

“I would love to!” You beamed, excited that this guy you had just met an hour ago was already wanting to see you again. 

“Hey, Sixer, it seems you’ve hit it off with a lady." Another older man was standing at the edge of the table, giving you a smirk. “Well, it’s time to go; it’s my bedtime.”

Ford looks over to you and sighs. He scribbles on a piece of his journal, rips it out, and hands it to you. “Here’s my number in case you ever do want to come with me on an adventure.” He winks at you and leaves.

Well. You’re never going to forget about him.

[datastate]

I've always been really intrigued by the contrast between his social mask and the obvious signs of... what should I call it, dishevelment? The more you find out of his character or take a close look. One thing being that his haircut is a bit uneven and seems roughly pushed away from his face in his sprite, both in flashbacks and in the main game. I find the same contrast interesting in Mishima too, especially since in-universe he seems to have a harder time being perceived as put-together or reliable until one gets to know him despite, in my perception, trying very hard to keep up a "responsible" image to people in the same way. <- rambling because it remembered that it likes YTTD

[ @prizefigures ]

yes!!! it's so interesting to me - you see them both try very hard to keep up an (effortless) act that would poise them as, well, reliable people! as you said. despite them both still being very supportive and compassionate people beneath the appearances they put on, neither of them really seem to recognize that as worthwhile (or at least, not as typically palatable, which especially applies in kazumi's case despite his best efforts :[ poor fellow...)

i actually spoke the other day on how these two's speech patterns in particular were almost... the inverse? of one another as well, which plays into what you mentioned here too. all sorts of things help them form their social masks...

kai does seem to speak very straightforwardly in his mind - with some silly similes to spice it up ("kai, your mood is as unusual as the autumn sky"). but aloud, even though he's concise, he will usually softens his words with phrases like 'may, might, perhaps' or preface with questions to reaffirm what he's been told before he actually approaches an answer/response. he's rarely brazen unless he believes there's danger (the only times you'd even see him raise his voice in-game is when he's trying to get sara's attention, at the threat of death) - he tries to keep himself composed for the most part!

but like you said, as you learn about kai or get closer to him (ytts is really good for this), you do start to see the cracks begin to show. he's still very much learning how to... be a person, not just an extension of asunaro. it's what contributes to that subtle disarray, because you see the him wear his asunaro uniform (which he couldn't discard, because it still feels to be an intrinsic part of him despite years spent with the chidouins), contrasted with the apron (which he wouldn't discard, for it is cherished). and while he's clearly grown to accept and even enjoy having long hair now, he hasn't yet learned how to take care of it.

it really is interesting seeing these small signs of him still piecing together what his life, who 'kai', could be! and when people like kazumi, reko, nao dig a bit deeper because they want to know kai, they see more of those uncertainties that he learned to mask. it's really touching seeing the moment where kazumi begins to unveil him in a very kind way and kai ends up asking him to stop, because it's such a large step in trust that kai wasn't prepared for...

that scene always hits me :'] yours are hands filled with affection toward another... ahhh.

& then you see what kai does for kazumi in return too... because, despite the occasional 'you really are a bit [intense] aren't you' -- it isn't necessarily a bad thing! just an energy that kai wouldn't usually match, but is nonetheless unique to kazumi himself. and for that, kai insists to him that perfection isn't what he should be seeking out, but rather he should concentrate his efforts foremost on his skills and passions; hone in on what only he can and present that to the world irregardless of people's more superficial reactions toward his appearance or how he presents it. which is really what kazumi needed to hear, considering he started out the event with:

I wish I were a truly fine teacher, the kind who could answer any question I'm asked… Right now… it feels like I'm just barely managing to teach art and how to study…

which, getting back to how they phrase things... for kazumi, you can see the shift of how he phrases things when spoken aloud, highly influenced due to his career as a teacher. people will always be looking to him for answers, and he tries his best to provide them with confidence so they will 1) take his words to heart, but also 2) consider him reliable. because he wants to be able to support other people, and he's clearly very compassionate. even his questions are typically directed to hear out the other person's perspective. if he doesn't know something, he will of course need to ask, but typically he still prefers framing himself as someone who is knowledgeable. where even in that, he implicitly emphasizes the importance of listening to others to make sense of the world.

while he doesn't exactly try to completely conceal his past or his mistakes, because he understands he still needs to utilize them to connect with students to reassure them that he understands (like with nao), he is still disappointed if it seems that this is... all that someone sees within him. you see this especially with sara commenting that he's a good liar, along with how frantic he gets over the cigar/cigarette issue, that he feels he has a duty to uphold being a responsible teacher. but it's especially interesting seeing that even with people like kai and keiji prodding at him for this, he still typically denies himself that indulgence before other adults.

that reluctance is actually partially what has brought me to believe that he's a recovering addict. so alongside the teacher persona, which he easily grasps onto to excuse this, he could even be using that to kind of. conceal himself behind too. with keiji, and implied with nao, you see him mention how time is the only thing which helped him heal from the mistakes of his past -- and it could very well be that the solution he found at the end of that, to become a teacher, is the thing that truly pulled him out of that. perhaps privately, he still seems to associate himself as irresponsible when he doesn't have the weight of being a mentor. which is what leads him toward boasting such confidence, using white lies (i do feel like, bc of this, it was particularly significant for him to admit how much he still didn't know to kai), and doubting himself...

i do wonder how difficult the start of the school years always seems to be for him in this case. even if he knows it simply takes a while for the students to understand who he tries to be, it must be so stressful/demoralizing to bear that at the start of every year. but he does get back into the rhythm of things! he's very good with people... probably one of the most socially-adept people, up there with joe's skills.

it's funny that, even after going on about all this. i wouldn't consider either of them to be necessarily... insecure people. more than anything, i'd say that they're just. uncertain, and are scared to admit that. for kai, being uncertain is to proclaim that he isn't fully living, isn't cherishing that gift granted to him. for kazumi, it means admitting that for all he says, he doesn't have an answer for himself as to whether or not he can really accomplish what he's dedicated his life to after fumbling with it for much longer than the average person. they're both trying to understand where they go from here after practically... rebuilding themselves from the ground up. (kai with asunaro, of course; kazumi with the whole. ego death lol)

but when they look upon each other, they're still. very kind. and they offer what they believe the other wants or needs. there's a lot of trust between them, because they're trying to show that... it's safe to let those masks fall aside; that doing so won't mean losing the respect and love they'd want to harbor, things that feel as though they're at risk if they can't keep up appearances. but having that comfort with each other is really... special :']

[ceilidhtransing]

Here to once again sing the praises of Duolingo (and go on a long ramble about language learning)

I see a fair bit of criticism of Duo that essentially begins and ends with “Duolingo alone won't make you fluent”, stated as if it's obvious that this point alone is enough to totally condemn the app.

The thing is, “Duolingo alone won't make you fluent” is true*, but also a) pretty obvious to most dedicated language learners and b) not nearly enough to automatically render Duolingo not worth using.

[*It's also worth pointing out that “fluency” isn't really a single coherent concept: people can have radically different fluency levels across, for example, reading and speaking; different levels of proficiency can count as “fluent” in different settings depending on the needs of that setting; and not everyone learning a language is even aiming for “fluency” in the first place - though this also leads into a huge can of worms about the somewhat prevalent idea that fluency is the only worthwhile goal for learners and if you're not aiming to be fluent then it's a waste of time, but that's a discussion for another day.]

The value of Duolingo varies a lot by course, but my experience is that even though Duolingo alone won't “make you fluent”, the bigger, better-developed courses can take you a long way. Yes, obviously not to C2 “basically a native speaker” level, but pretty far. And that's personally where I find the app's real value: giving enough of a grounding in a language that other learning materials - short stories, podcasts, conversation groups, etc - become accessible. Of course Duolingo alone isn't going to make you fluent, but for a lot of learners it's an irreplaceable early tool on their journey towards proficiency.

Early on, when your level of knowledge of a language is zero or near-zero, so much of the struggle of learning is a feeling of total overwhelm as you try to figure out how to learn and find a method you'll stick to. Independent learning can feel like walking blindly through a maze of disparate and sometimes contradictory resources, some on grammar, some on vocab, some that say “start speaking immediately!”, some that say “get to grips with these grammar foundations before even trying to speak!”, some that insist there's no replacement for immersion, some that argue that immersion is like being thrown in the deep end and expecting yourself to swim, and this is where so many people burn themselves out. You can't read short stories or listen to podcasts when you know literally nothing of a language, and if you use a random unstructured assortment of materials then you'll probably end up learning grammar concepts in a very random and disconnected and confusing way. Duolingo bridges that early gap between “zero proficiency” and “some proficiency”, providing a structure that says “just keep doing this and you will watch your ability grow”.

Really, I think it's in precisely what “doing this” means that the disagreement arises. It's a very YMMV app, depending on how each person uses it. Someone using Duolingo for >30 minutes a day, making rapid and intense progress through their course, and seeking out alternative sources to clarify bits of grammar that they're confused by is having such a different experience from someone who does one lesson a day just to keep a streak going. Of course someone doing the latter isn't going to be “made fluent” that way - because there is no language-learning material on earth that is going to produce genuine progress with that little time and attention (and frankly there is no material on earth that is a 100% comprehensive standalone course from beginner to fluent and doesn't require any supplementation). Regardless of which material you're using - Duolingo, Babbel, Rosetta Stone, LanguagePod101, a YouTube series, a university course, a textbook, or any of the many other miscellaneous methods - time and attention is basically what it comes down to, and personally, in the beginner-to-intermediate stages of language learning, I've found Duolingo to have a pretty good ratio of “time and attention” to “language progress”.

Ultimately, Duo can be excellent at holding your hand through those early months of language learning, getting you to a point where you don't use “Duolingo alone”, because you now have enough confidence and grounding to supplement with things like short stories and podcasts and conversation partners - things that you would have found unbelievably daunting at the beginning, but that are now accessible to you thanks to a free app that guides you through a clear learning structure. I think that's great.

Zu lang, ich habe nicht gelesen - vielleicht bin ich noch nicht fließend, aber ich kann viel mehr mit Duo als ohne Duo sprechen :)

[dufferpuffer]

OKOKOK

I read your post on Remadora yesterday and stumbled on this today on instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/C-S1DTwq6dZ/?igsh=cHRtcTEyMXYxbDht

IT JUST WORKS SO WELL WITH WHAT YOU SAID. I am a sucker for Remadora (and Snupin). What you wrote about them is so true. Please tell me more 🥹

that is such a sweet little comic there's my man, there he is!! He'd need a drink after doing that... I cant stop laughing though the last picture gives this energy

IDK what to say, so I'm gonna Remadora ramble, aight? B^) I actually like how their relationship in the books progressed - but is only glimpsed at. It's nice when romance takes back seat. Their relationship issues felt grounded and adult - when even most adult media has romance feeling immature.

Harry wouldn't have been able to understand what was going on with them anyway. He didn't even suspect it, when all the adults were dealing with it all the time. He was a kid. It's a good reminder of his immaturity that he didn't pick up on it until Tonks was literally grabbing Remus by the robes and shouting her love at him.

I don't wanna too personal on here, I guess... but I like how Remus reacts to Tonks' love. Having lived that - twice - I suspect the author has lived it too. I have two boyfriends, both of them are older than me (9yrs and 17yrs older) and love was scary for them!!! The societal prejudice we have faced adds more pressure on them as the older males... and they aren't even werewolves, or pariahs. Positive representation really does feel nice, yknow?

That makes the tragedy of Remadora hurt so much more. I like that HP isn't a story that pulls its punches. That it's not a narrative about fixing a broken world, just surviving it. But so much about the way HP ended... feels hollow. Like quickly tying up all the threads without much thought to the themes.

I am a firm believer that Tonks should have lived. Remus can die - as much as that hurts my soul - to tie up the 'previous generation'. He shouldn't be the only one to survive, thematically. If anyone that should be Severus. If Teddy was supposed to be a mirror to Harry, but gets to live in a more hopeful future with a huge family... that should have been shown in the Epilogue. But it wasn't. He is brushed over.

Tonks' story would be phenomenal: a young widow who chased a doomed love that changed her, who will make a better world for others like her husband in his memory... A talented mother balancing a tough career and her son. The last Black - who rejects the name. The widow of a werewolf. Teddy, who grows up so much like his mother - with a complex connection to a father who is both a hero and a monster... who ran off and died rather than survive with them. His mother's love protects him, but its his father he years to understand.

I just think??? That's wonderful??? And it's such a fucking waste to kill her off for... what??? Just to make an orphan to ignore???

Tonks herself is fine. I like her. She doesn't interest me heaps, she feels custom-fit to Remus... and I suffer from cishet-woman syndrome of obsessing over men because horny. Oopsy. But LIVING would make her amazing. Remus wouldn't DEFINE her - but it'd show how worthwhile his love was to her life, that she keeps living it as a wolf rather than a rabbit. As it stands... Remus' fear that he is bad, that nobody should know him or love him, came true.

[ca-suffit]

This is just fandom rambling, but this place is really lonesome if you're not part of a clique, especially if you're not a black person seeking white fandom validation or not a black person seeking black and non-black POC fandom validation. It's one of the most toxic spaces, and not only because of book fans and racisms, but also because it is an echo chamber of big blogs pretending their massive voices in fandom are actually marginal, reblogging each other's same takes in the same pretentious, sardonic tone and saving the sincerity for cooing at each other. Even in the cliques with the "good takes," if you cross some arbitrary line or piss off one of them, you're out. There's no free floating discussion, no mixing, none of that. I blame Fangs for that fandom PSA and feminizing Louis in fanfiction shit that went down--the kind of participatory culture that makes fandom, not necessarily fun, but worthwhile atrophied after that. I don't think it has recovered, and I don't think it will recover because now, as we move into s3, mainstream fandom will be insufferable as their self-insert occludes all else.

First of all 🫂

I know this account isn't fixing all of this, but hopefully it provides *some* comfort otherwise.

I think it was a combination of the Fangs PSAs, the length of time between seasons airing, and that extensive time period (and ppl leaving the fandom bcuz of it) making the shitty, racist book fans feel bold to get louder again. That made everyone else feel defensive about sharing *anything* and/or engaging with certain characters or plot points and now we're at where we're at.

At least they've stopped, to a degree, being *as* public with this shit since this account showed up, but the divide in the fandom is still obvious and it fucking sucks. I don't want to be running this account either tbh but what other choice is there here?? Anyone vocal about racial issues gets blacklisted anyway so why bother doing anything else but this. I didn't expect this to get popular but it's also not been v surprising bcuz ppl have been pissed off and hurt for a looong time. It hurts more bcuz there's literally *no* reason for it. Ppl just destroyed shit cuz they needed to feel superior.

[windienine]

ugh soulsov on the brain again. spoiler-laden ramble time.

-

i think my favorite part of the game's story overall so far is the really clear dynamic between "person who passively lets himself die" and "person who really, desperately, actively yearns to be alive"

that yearning is ysmé's core character trait. all of her really jarring traits-- the lies, the pageantry, the honest and open disdain for everything about the mosaic-- it's because she desperately wants something better for herself. when she's asked if she's here to save the world, the "yes" that comes out of her isn't mocking or trying to get the moment over with. she wants to save it! the mosaic isn't in imminent danger, but it's rotten from the inside and it makes her angry and desperate enough that she'd do anything to change it!

loïc has a lot of that exact same disdain, just... quieter, kept to a few polite words or his internal monologue. he doesn't like living in a rigid theocracy, and even before things with lia escalated to the point they did the game makes a point that he is not a practicing religious guy, he saw the beating heart of what the mosaic lives on and thinks it sucks.

the difference is that loïc's honest response to this is "the world is a terrible place (though i won't say that openly, it might discourage somebody) and i hope i can make it a bit better-- for somebody, for anybody, for you-- before everything eventually crashes down."

and ysmé's is "fuck you. fuck this. fuck the Church, fuck the tower, everything has to change and if that means setting everything that makes this world recognizable on fire and building something better out of the smoldering ashes then i will be all the happier for it."

loïc lived pretty comfortably in polite society for most of his life until losing his kid made him abruptly fuck off to nowheresville in search of a cure (or, rather, to carve himself up to give to people piece by piece until there was nothing left to lose, yay suicidal tendencies) and whatever the hell is up with ysmé she doesn't even have a surname. girl's a wanted criminal who has gone total scorched earth on everything, even if she hasn't held that status for very long.

and you can't really have positive change unless you have a little of both of these attitudes. loïc's got this understanding that people are worthwhile just because they're people and violence should be avoided whenever possible, and ysmé has a powerful will and an ability to imagine a future where things are better (even if only for her/by her standards.) i want to learn more about what she actually wants out of freedom as a concept. (girl, why are you wanted by the Church? what HAPPENED to you?) the two of them already have a lot to learn from and gain from existing around one another, in terms of compassion and drive, respectively.

alternatively, because things will inevitably get worse with these two before they get better, ysmé fully has the potential to force her (often impersonal and cruel) worldview onto loïc and force him to bloody his hands when the going gets tough, and loïc can sit back and let it happen with a smile on his face because inaction is so much less painful than taking the reins and making his own decisions that will inevitably accomplish nothing and go nowhere like they have for months now. besides, he's already committed to helping her. what's he going to do if she goes too far and actually kills someone this time? decide helping her was meaningless, too?

the prelude's narrative needs you to be in loïc's head, hearing his thoughts, and generally sharing a good deal of his ideas for most of its runtime, but i feel like that's going to change in future chapters as we see more of ysmé's past and perspective.

[ask-the-crimson-king]

The Erebus Short Story

And no, it's not Child of Chaos.

This is "Visage" by Rich McCormick, the advent short story that got released earlier this month.

Welcome to my lore post/review of it. Spoilers are under the Read More.

I will say I do think this is a worthwhile read. For the basic premise, it focuses on Erebus in the aftermath of his face being skinned off in Fear to Tread by Horus, a piece of lore I never thought would get any explanation other than "he's Erebus, how do you think he got his face back?". I won't give much detail other than that, so if you're interested in learning how it was done, give it a read.

I'm going to dig a bit deeper into the story itself, so as said before, spoilers under the cut. This post also became huge because of the quotes, so I apologize.

Hello and welcome everyone who has either read this or don't care to and would like to read my ramblings on the story.

This is not going to be super concise or may not even make a lot of sense; this is mainly going to be me going over the passages I found interesting and talking about them.

First off, this scene;

‘My… lord…’ the chirurgeon managed through a constricted windpipe. ‘I am pleased… to see you have stabilised.’ He squawked – an attempt at a breath – as his face reddened to the colour of the XVII Legion’s armour. ‘Please… rest… that we may begin the process of repairing your wounds.’

Erebus’ lipless mouth was locked in a rictus grin, as if he found the situation perversely amusing.

‘No time,’ the Dark Apostle said, tendons in his cheeks visible as they worked his mouth and tongue. ‘The athame leaves its mark on those it touches.’ He raised the dagger, still clutched in his left hand, its edge hissing gently even now with its master’s own blood. ‘It is simple, chirurgeon. I need a new face,’ Erebus said, as he pulled the man closer to the ruined mask of his own. The chirurgeon could smell the Dark Apostle’s breath, hot and rancid, even over the metallic stench of blood. ‘I will take yours,’ Erebus growled.

‘But, my lord,’ the chirurgeon stammered, falling backwards as Erebus loosened his grip on his neck. He rubbed at his throat, his voice still hoarse. ‘I fear such a procedure would kill me.’

‘Then you must give thanks to the gods directly,’ Erebus said conversationally to the cowering man as he sat up on the stone slab. ‘That your sacrifice may be in my name.’

This initially caught me a bit off guard. My gut reaction was "uh. Hey, Erebus? Don't you have sorcery or something to put your face back on? Also, this is just a human. Isn't this face, y'know, not going to fit your skull??"

And luckily for me, all of these questions get answered.

Erebus examined it. It lacked the full range of intricate tattoos that had decorated his own face, but he could address that later. He could feel the athame’s effects coursing through his body: a grave-cold touch flash-freezing nerve endings as it slowly severed his physical connection to reality.

The mutilation was symbolic, as well as agonising. Stripped of his face, he was stripped also of its web of warding tattoos. Between the athame’s wounds and the constant attention of the Neverborn that he attracted, Erebus knew enough of the diabolic to understand that waiting much longer without those wards would put his life in jeopardy.

This solution would not last – a mortal’s face was not only physically smaller than a Space Marine’s, but also lacked the dense web of blood vessels – but Erebus had ensured that his acolytes were all marked with the same basic warding tattoos as he had been. The face would buy him the time to craft a more fitting solution. Perhaps he could even coerce Fabius to help him, he thought; the Chief Apothecary of the III was a skilled fleshcrafter.

First off, warding tattoos. That's cool. Also gives a bit more purpose than "this is done when one is devoted to the gods/their faith", which I also enjoy, especially because it's just more practicality. I'll definitely be incorporating that into my own lore with my Word Bearers lads moving forward.

Also, what better wards than ones literally etched into your flesh? That's metal as fuck.

Second off, hey, even Erebus acknowledges the face is too small and probably incompatible! And also he thinks about approaching Fabius again which probably would never go well for him. I don't know if he still has the leverage he thought he had now that Horus openly disgraced him. If I remember correctly, the leverage he used against Fabius in Fear to Tread was basically "I'll tell the other Legions you've been experimenting with them, too" and genuinely I don't think Erebus will be listened to by anyone at this point. Lorgar was basically done with him from the first minute he shows up in Betrayer, Horus literally flayed his face off, I think he's fallen from grace here.

And also Fabius is Fabius. I don't think he'd put Erebus's face back on unless there was a really good deal for him or truly at all as a means of

But then we get this, which is both comedic and a bit ridiculous:

For a moment, as the last needle left his body, there was no pain. Erebus allowed his hand to move to his new face, and touched its skin. It was too tight, already splitting along lines of pressure, the capillaries and blood vessels strained to bursting. Erebus smiled, or tried to; his new lips could not move.

‘Behold,’ he said. ‘The new face of your–’

Erebus screamed as his face caught fire. Black flame sparked under the new skin, turning fat and flesh to ash in an instant, a total rejection of the unwilling donor’s gift. The Dark Apostle clawed at his skull, tearing stitches and skin alike as he fought to free himself from the torture.

‘Too late!’ Erebus howled, and he ran from the agony, springing from the stone slab and staggering out of the apothecarion, still scraping with wild fingers at his flaming skull.

It's just funny. The flayed face literally bursts into flames. I don't have much other commentary other than this is ridiculous and hilarious and feels completely on-brand for Erebus. I cannot explain why. This genuinely made me laugh out loud when I read it.

He cannot smile. He can barely speak. He tries to say "behold the new face of your master" or something along those lines and it immediately catches on fire. That's hilarious. Amazing.

Afterwards, he plunges his face into a vat of old and congealed blood from Legionnaires at Isstvan [because of course it's taken from Isstvan, everything will be taken from Isstvan because Isstvan is important. Remember that from now into infinity. Black Library certainly wants you to] and then we get the Blessings of the Gods Any% Speedrun WR attempt as set by Erebus.

Now, I will say before I start yoinking a few more passages, I do not know how to fully feel about this entire thing. On the one hand, I do very much enjoy some of the descriptions used, as I will highlight, but on the other...

The first portion with him dealing with the Lord of Change [assumedly] was something that I liked. Not just because I do very much enjoy Tzeentch, but mainly due to a few key descriptions:

‘Then lend me your eyes,’ Erebus asked.

No, a million voices said. They screamed it and shouted it, bellowed it and whispered it, laughed it and sneered it and spat it.

All except one. Small, quiet, almost imperceptible in the cacophony of its peers, it spoke a different word.

Yes, it said.

If he had a face, Erebus’ mouth would have slid into a predator’s smile.

‘See, daemon? There is always another path,’ he said.

[. . .]

A bird, flying impossibly through the void, so small, so fragile against the infinite black. It beat its wings to escape, but Erebus knew the realm of daemons better than any other alive, and he caught it easily. He cradled it in his tattooed hands. It was tiny in his grasp, like a child’s toy, and he could feel its heartbeat: an irregular rhythm that was never the same twice. The bird looked at him with eyes like gemstones, one the purest blue, the other topaz yellow.

A name.

‘Your kind cannot resist sharing your knowledge,’ Erebus said. ‘So you hide it, somewhere small, somewhere hard to find.’ He stroked the bird’s plumage with his thumb. ‘But I am very good at finding things that others cannot, and I am very patient. I also know the most important question to ask.’

He asked that question now, and held the bird to his ear, to hear its answer. It spoke a single word with a single voice, as quiet as a wish.

Erebus would have smiled, had he possessed lips. Instead, with a skull’s rictus grin, he snapped the bird’s neck with two fingers, and spoke the word it had told him.

I love this description. I love the frailty of the tiny bird, I love the instance of "quiet as a wish", I love how Erebus calls out the daemon for wanting to spread information, it's wonderful. I love all of the above.

What I don't really like is that the majority of this Tzeentchian venturing has been done before. Winged Astartes through a daemon realm? Mephiston did that on Sortiarius in City of Light. The many paths thing? I think there's been at least five or six different instances of that happening. And while I do like how Erebus is presented as being a bit more savvy than others would be -- actively saying "No, I'm not choosing a path cause that damns me" -- he then kinda goes back on this?

‘You seek to contain me in a trap of my own making. I know this trick, daemon. I have walked such paths many times before, with others of your kind,’ Erebus said.

No trick, the voices chorused in return. A path to what might be – a path to what has come. We can show you the possibilities, but you must make the choice. You are the instrument.

‘Entertain me, then. How will I play your game?’ Erebus asked.

This is just weird. Why include this if he's immediately going to just... go along with what the daemon wants anyway?? To show the reader "oh he's done this before"? Maybe I'm nit-picking here, but I do consider myself a Tzeentchian connoisseur when it comes to 40k lore, and I would've liked to see something a bit different to just "walk the paths of fate, ooOoOOo" yet again. It feels a bit one-trick and, ironically enough, pigeon-holed.

I think what I would've liked to see would maybe be Erebus thrown into a facsimile of a library on Colchis, probably one of Vharadesh's archives if we want to keep the whole "your first choices were here" thing going on. Have him peruse the volumes and dig for the answers he seeks that way. It's something more associated with the Thousand Sons, but I think it could work as a better motif than the exhaustively used "walk the paths of fate and see how you failed ooga booga".

Again, might be nit-pickish, but I like Tzeentch content. And I don't hate all of this section, I do enjoy the descriptions as mentioned before. I also think the library or archive would work better since Erebus is calling out the daemon for some part of itself always wanting to share that secretive knowledge.

SOMETHING. I like playing to the knowledge aspect of Tzeentch, and I'd like to see it used outside the Thousand Sons for once.

I've gone on long enough about this, so I'm going to move on.

From Tzeentch to Khorne as Erebus comes face-to-face with a massive Bloodthirster guarding countless skulls on Terra. I don't have a lot of notes on this other than the Bloodthirster reads a lot like one of my player's character from a Black Crusade game I ran and that felt funny to me.

Also, brief aside, from basically here-on Erebus is constantly referred to as "the instrument" and due to me being strange and having internet brainrot at times, I keep associating it with the TOOL from Petscop. If you know you know.

Another aside, Erebus is completely naked in the scene for reasons that I don't really get. Maybe to show he is vulnerable? Is this a subversion of the armored warrior thing? Is it to get Erebus to admit he is vulnerable in the face of this massive daemon? It's probably something along those lines. I found it an interesting enough detail to log in my mind as he talks with the beast and eventually gets its name. I don't have much else to really say, Khorne stuff isn't my forte.

Now, I will comment before continuing; on my first read through, I thought this was not only filling in the gap of "how did Erebus get his face back?", but also filling the gap of "who are the four princes/greater daemons he summons to use against Erda in Warhawk?". I'm still 30/70 on whether these daemons are the very same, but leaning more on the "probably not, it's just a coincidence" side.

Still an interesting thought.

Okay. To preface what is next, it's time for Slaanesh. From the heavy handed, "I know many secrets", it's probably a Keeper of Secrets in the form of a snake. Hurray for fellow snake enthusiasts everywhere.

I have a lot of thoughts over the following scene, which I will try to articulate as well as I can. Due to the length of it, I'm going to showcase it in screenshots instead, with appropriate image descriptions attached.

There's a lot to go through. First of all, Erebus is told all men desire and then gets shown Horus.

That is simply funny. Erebus does like the Warmaster. But I don't buy his "he's chosen by the Pantheon so I trust him as their champion" thing. I don't think that's the true reason why he doesn't strike here. For one, he knows this is an obvious test of wills and limits, and he knows that he can't fail it or else he's probably done for. For two, if we take all that he is into account, Erebus isn't really... super into power grabs for himself. He likes to play the role of manipulator, he likes to pluck off the limbs of scorpions until he gets stung. That's how I've been reading him, anyway. He still absolutely wants power, but he knows how to get it without necessarily centering everything on him, if that makes any sense.

He says it in "Child of Chaos", how everyone will eventually turn back to him again. He KNOWS people will still need him and his abilities and expertise and that they'll always come back eventually. He'll always have a seat of power that is greater and grander than many others, they just won't know it because he knows how to veil it in the glories of another.

No idea if that made any sense, but there's more to this scene I want to unpack.

I do like the detail of Erebus's new eyes also assisting him in clearing his head. The athame -- or really the daemon -- is trying to push him to get vengeance for all the humiliation Erebus has suffered, but the eyes he received from his time with the Tzeentchian daemon helps him to see things more clearly. I like that a lot. Using the gifts of the others to better survive the next trial ahead.

I also like how Horus just completely goes for the throat with Erebus. It speaks to all his assumed insecurities, that Horus never needed him, that he's so far beneath the true chosen of the Pantheon, etc. etc. I can't really tell if these are genuine insecurities for Erebus or whether this is just the daemon assuming they are, much like we the reader may. I think Erebus is a bit more assured than this, but we don't really get much of a peak behind the curtain to how he's really thinking or feeling. I do think this is a deliberate writing choice, however, so I won't knock on it too much. Would I have liked to see a bit more of what he was feeling in this moment? Sure, but Erebus as a character would never show that. Leaving one guessing is the best outcome for him.

Afterwards, Erebus shuns a gift of some weird... blood? in a cup, grabs the serpent, gets the name and obtains a tongue. We also are given this description:

‘I grant you my tongue, that you may savour this gift,’ the serpent whispered, euphoria in its voice. Erebus felt the organ flick against his ear, the softest touch of breath on skin.

And the mental image of a pink snake going blelele against Erebus's cheek is adorable. Also, "the organ". I don't know why but that made this all the more funny.

Moving past the snake, we come to the last of the Big Four, Nurgle. And this is the one place that surprisingly almost overwhelms the Hand of Destiny.

But how? You may be asking. Well, dear reader, it is through a most enticing luxury few others can afford:

‘Lost, are you?’ the helmswoman asked. ‘It’s easy to get lost out here, traveller. Come with me, I can give you a place to rest.’

Her voice was warm and comforting, at odds with her appearance, and he found himself drawn to it.

‘This place is my test,’ Erebus said.

‘Hush now, traveller. You must be tired. You have come such a long way.’

[. . .]

 a cabin that rose from the swamp on teetering wooden stilts. Its interior was damp, and clumps of quivering moss could be found clinging to several surfaces, but Erebus found it strangely comfortable. He decided he would heed the woman, and rest a while before continuing his travels, and he took residence in a spare room with a cot that seemed uniquely designed for his proportions. He fell asleep quickly.

When he awoke, the woman was in his room. Her skin was pockmarked with sores that wept a thin yellow liquid.

‘Did you rest well?’ she asked in her warm voice.

‘I did,’ Erebus said, and he meant it. His sleep had been so deep, so pure, that it had cleansed his mind of his previous trials, wiping it clean of pain, of anger, of impetus. So deep that he found it difficult to recall how he had arrived in this place. ‘I came here for a purpose,’ he said slowly.

‘It cannot have been important, if you have forgotten it,’ the woman said, a wide smile spreading across her bleeding lips. ‘Come, drink,’ she said, and offered a wooden bowl of viscous liquid. Erebus accepted the bowl without question, and tipped its contents down his throat. The liquid was as warming as the woman’s voice, and he felt his concerns slide away as its effects reached his limbs.

It's the power of a very good nap and a homemade meal. And he stays here for a very long time. He just naps and rests and is given good hearty Nurgly stew.

I very much enjoy this depiction of Nurgle. This could've easily been a "walk through the Gardens, become wracked with pain that the Grandfather can alleviate" or something, but instead it takes the comforting aspect of the Grandfather's influence and really goes a very good job portraying it.

And yet Tzeentch got the cliche "walk through the paths of your failures past and future" no I am not going to be spiteful and petty I am NOT biased I promise [lies].

What eventually breaks him out of this state is his hunting trips -- he goes out to find food for him to eat, having forgotten what else he needed to do. He gets told to stop his hunting and to just let go, and after he awakens from sleep yet again, his companion is missing. So he decides to go through the kitchen, and eventually finds his face:

He was prepared to return to his cot, when he caught sight of a red mess of a shape in the reflective copper surface of a saucepan hung from a hook on the wall. As he moved, it moved, and he realised that it was his own face. His face, mauled and mutilated, maimed and disfigured.

He saw the Warmaster, his talons red with transhuman blood, and the contentment that filled his soul dissipated. It was replaced by a cold fury.

The woman returned a moment later, a crop of mushrooms clutched between her fingers. Erebus manoeuvred his bulk to bar her way.

‘You cannot hold me here, daemon,’ he thundered, staring into her milky eyes.

‘I do not hold you here,’ she said, her voice as clear as ever. ‘You may leave, if you have somewhere else to go.’

‘You think that I will forget my calling? I am Erebus – the Dark Apostle, the instrument of the gods.’

‘Names are meaningless,’ the woman said. ‘Death carries names beyond remembrance, and death conquers all.’

Erebus then makes an attempt to kill her, but this being the realm of Nurgle [and also the warp], such thing is meaningless. But he's gotten his clarity back. He's not a nameless traveller staying with a decaying granny in a swamp, he's Erebus again.

Mostly. He does offer to try and help her, if he is here for all eternity, and she tells him of a rare plant on the edge of the swamp. Of course, Erebus has trouble finding it without a nose, so he asks for one and is granted it.

Which then leads to a scene that I found funny for all the wrong reasons:

Under moss and dirt, beneath dead leaves and dying wood, Erebus uncovered a well.

It was built from bricks, their edges rounded with age, and he wasn’t sure if it was still functional, but as he slid the metal covering back, he saw the reflection of his mutilated face staring back at him in clear water. He reached in and cupped a hand of that water to his mouth. It was fresh, cold and sweet – a sliver of purity in a tainted land.

He filled a canteen with the water, and returned to the cabin. When the woman appeared with her own liquid, Erebus rejected it, drinking deep from the well water instead. The sight of it made the woman screech in fear.

‘What is it?’ she howled.

‘Water,’ Erebus said.

‘No!’ she screamed. ‘It is poison!’

He turned the canteen over in his hands, watching as the woman recoiled in fear. He allowed a drop of the water to fall from the canteen’s cap, watching intently as it fizzed and popped against the slime-green floor. As the smoke cleared, Erebus saw a tiny circle of brown amongst the green: the rotten wood returned to health.

The woman cowered in the corner of her hovel, a shivering corpse of a creature made somehow more pitiful. Erebus laughed.

‘Now, daemon, it is your turn to drink.’

Water is poison. Clean water is poison. In a Warhammer short story.

This is just hilarious. Completely unintentionally so, probably, but it is very, very funny that water is being used as a way to defeat a daemon in Warhammer. Something something the rule for showering in Yu-Gi-Oh! tournaments.

I do like that the well even exists, and that it took getting the gift to use it against the very daemon who was trapping him there. After days of bathing her with well-water from the canteen, eventually he gets the name from her, and he's finally out and free.

And he's got a new face:

He brought his hand upwards, feeling at the meat of his face, and found a shifting, squirming mass of flesh. He rose, and called to his acolytes.

‘Mirror!’

A hooded figure returned with a jewel-embedded mirror, its silver handle carved with runes. Erebus looked into its depths, and saw the reward of his trials: not just the services of powerful allies, but the power of the Four, represented in the visage of one.

He had seen this before – as a child, in the deserts of Colchis. Now that prophecy had come true.

Eyes that could see futures yet to pass. Ears that rang with the beat of the Blood God’s war drums. A mouth that ached for the rarest tastes. A nose for death in all its forms. With his new face, Erebus smiled.

And that ends the short story. I like it, overall. I do have my gripes with it, but I think one of the things that really stands out for me is the use of description here. I really enjoyed the word choices used.

I think this story could have handled a couple of the god-things a bit better, but I'm also a bit nitpicky when it comes to Chaos aspects. I would like to see some more diversity in the representation of Chaos as a whole, because a LOT of it does feel a bit one-trick-y, and we saw a bit of that, which I will take.

I would have liked to see a bit more into Erebus's head. I know this is third limited, but even through that lens we can see a lot about someone. Here it felt a bit more like physical reactions than mental ones. It felt like we were barred off from seeing more, but I also think this is probably by design, as I mentioned before. Erebus, as a character, wouldn't want anyone seeing more than just surface level. We see what we want him to see. He doesn't want us to know how he really felt during his trials and tribulations, we have to make those assumptions ourselves and live with them. Same with all the decisions he makes through the story.

Overall, not bad. I liked it well enough, and I think this is some competent writing and a good enough answer to a question I think most people shrugged off.

I hope you enjoyed my various ramblings and nit-pickings, I'm terribly sorry this post got so long. There was a lot I wanted to talk about and I'm curious to see if others agree or disagree or what their thoughts were about it.

[achillesreborn]

my tips for uni! <3

psa: whilst I am both loving & succeeding at my university, I am by no means a perfect student or top of my classes; take everything I say with a pinch of salt & realism <3

attendance is everything; this is incredibly hypocritical of me, as my current attendance is really low (mental health & sads mostly), but if there's one thing i've learned it's that nothing can quite match the feeling of a lecture hall. even if you're not taking notes or plan on catching up later, go to the lectures. at least you'll get out of the house for a bit!

stay on top of work; fairly obvious, but so important. with the increased workload, keeping up with lectures & assignments can be really overwhelming. schedule yourself, give yourself breaks & try to complete everything before the deadline to minimise stress. but remember, late work is better than no work.

take care of yourself. seriously. not just skincare & smoothies, actually look into who you are & what keeps you going. take the time to understand what you enjoy, what calms you down & what keeps you focused. sometimes self care isn't easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

try not to obsess over what comes next. univeristy is a short time, mostly 3-4 years for the average student, but that time is so intense that it'll feel like forever. your school wants you to succeed after you graduate, it looks bad when you don't, so talk to your academic advisors & professors, but don't panic.

push yourself to make friends. it isn't easy, it can be really hard to get yourself out there, but attend some clubs you find interesting & fake that extrovertism until you make it. trust me, the loneliness & isolation has driven away plenty of incredibly competent & strong students. be kind to those you meet, you might be the only one trying.

keep a diary & an academic planner. the planner to stay up to date, to structure your life, but the diary for rambling, venting, poetry, etc. get it out of your head, it might help you sleep. be vulgar, be messy. it's yours & yours alone.

sleep is vital, protect it. it'll be the first thing to go, so be strict with yourself whenever possible.

you're better than you think. struggling is normal & the worst thing you can do is pretend you're not. ♡♡

[noisytenant]

i guess in the hobbyist-but-paid creative space i would like if there were some standard of "professionalism"--Nothing to do with acting like an office drone, but still establishing clear expectations and values, especially when you're doing something that involves someone's time and/or money

Among things like labels and event organizers, there's already several groups that fail my expectations for simply failing to deliver what they set out to do: not paying out, not publishing albums on time/correctly, producing low-quality or delayed physical releases, not preparing for events, not communicating updates with artists, etc.

I really feel like if you can't deliver on these expectations you should reconsider starting a semiprofessional initiative. a lot of things can be done for the love of it, so this isn't to say you can't just dick around, but you ought to make it clear whether you're playing or you're actually trying to build something even if you never expect it to achieve any meaningful scale. i think being mindful of peoples' time, energy, and money is worthwhile in both professional and social contexts.

then there's the whole issue of interpersonal troubles and managing them... i feel like certain folks are very quick to cut ties with artists, deleting or reconfiguring albums, in the worst of cases boosting or referencing callouts on highly public/semiprofessional channels, and i think that's not really something that should be done lightly (and some of it shouldn't really be done at all). if you can't keep yourself from idolizing or vilifying people on a dime, you're probably not a good fit to be running something like a label or event group where you affect peoples' creative connections, schedules, and money.

all this said, i generally feel safer within a more "permissive" space that leaves the sorting of interpersonal conflicts to constituents, but it can be hard to feel "at home" when you don't really get to choose the people you're bumping elbows with and might actually really dislike and disagree with a lot of them.

i guess what i wish would be made clear is that while a lot of people working together creatively are friendly or even friends, there's a line between the "professional" and "social" settings. it isn't that odd in a "professional" context to be kind of blunt or to keep people at a distance, but in a social setting it's perceived as a greater slight and a mood killer.

perhaps autistically i wish that people would pick one: are you trying to make a "community of friends" who happen to do creative things together, or are you trying to make a "creative space" for people who might become friendly with each other?

this is a ramble without any specific conclusion, i guess i just wish it were easier to collect people with common interests and establish expectations without being overly prescriptive or punitive. i've been in some small spaces where i feel decently about the folks, but then it's onto my own personal problems with relating to others. who knows. maybe someday i'll figure it out

[lastoneout]

you absolutely do not need to respond if you don't want to but how does the "everything feels worse because i'm finally healing" differ from "everything feels worse because things really are that bad currently"? i always wonder if there's a way to tell them apart. glad you're getting recovering!

Imo the difference so far, is that back when I was still in an unsafe place that was making my trauma worse, between the hysterical sobbing meltdowns I just felt so....normal. I would freak out and break sometimes, but after that I would feel weirdly fine. Or even at times like I didn't have emotions at all? It was like my brain was going "there is no war in ba sing se" to protect me and keep me from freaking out too bad, and like it kinda was! My major coping mechanism has always been ignoring my emotions and shoving them all in a box until they aren't bothering me anymore. And when I was in those shitty situations that was helpful, because I needed to keep myself alive and I wasn't going to be able to do that if I was a sobbing mess all the time.

Also, the one time it got really, really bad, like I was so deep in a traumatic situation it was clearly just completely destroying me, I really did feel like that part in Inside Out where Riley's console just goes dark and none of her emotions can press any buttons. There was this overwhelming sense of dread and misery, and I could barely take care of myself at all. I stopped going to school and showering and I barely ate anything, I didn't talk to my friends, and tbh I did some stuff that I am SUPER not proud of, bcs my brain legit wasn't working at all, and it wasn't until I got out that I started feeling like a person again.

The pain of healing never feels like that. Yes, I am in a bad mental space a lot of the time, I'm depressed and I have nightmares that make me legit so depressed I spend the whole day crying, but there's like...idk this undercurrent of function and focus that wasn't there before. I can keep doing things WHILE being sad(for the most part), instead of only being able to function when I am repressing everything. And tbh it really does feel like I don't have a choice in the matter, which sounds bad but it's kinda nice? Like my brain is done repressing things and isn't going to let me do it anymore. Every time I try it's almost like there's a firm but kind voice in my head saying "no, we can't do that anymore, you have to face this, it's okay".

It's kinda weird too bcs the deeper into healing I get the less my old coping mechanisms help. Hell most of them don't even work anymore. As an example my mom got into a car wreck recently and she was in the hospital for a while, and when I found out I tried to go into my "no feelings no nonsense we have to be strong now" mode, but it didn't work?? I spent the whole time I was there crying, and like!! I actually was happy I was crying!! Because I've never been able to do that!! It's such a weird thing to be happy I'm upset but like, it means I'm making progress.

And that makes every single moment of misery bearable because I know I need this. I've needed this my entire life, and it hurts and is scary, and sometimes I do have to just zone out and play video games or spend a day in bed being sad, but I just...know it's the right thing. Idk how else to explain it, I just know.

It also helps that now I know what a happy, safe life looks like and I know it's there waiting for me. I know this work is worthwhile because I don't want to live my life the way I used to. And I am in a happy, supportive relationship that actively inspires me to work on myself and be a better person. I know not everyone has that, but framing it in a way where I am trying to be better not just for myself but for the people I love helps give me that extra bit of strength I need to keep going.

Anyway this is kinda rambly, sorry, but I did want to answer. If anyone else has any advice for anon feel free to add it on!! I have to go to therapy now lmao but when I'm done if I think of anything else I'll add it!

[daily-art-think]

Hello and welcome! Here's an introductory Q&A with info about me and this blog:

Who are you?

I'm Jekyll, an independent artist and general weirdo. My degree is in sculpture (BFA), but I also do a lot of digital art, and dabble in crochet! I won't ramble about myself too much since this is only a sideblog, but some things I like besides art include D&D, horror, and a wide variety of fandoms. I'm very friendly and always down to chat (though fair warning, I'm terrible at timely responses,) so feel free to message me!

What is this blog for?

The description sums it up as well as I could manage, but to elaborate: I love art, and I love thinking about art, and want to encourage those qualities in others. I think there's a lot of value in slowing down and taking time to consider things from all sorts of angles that you might not normally, and sometimes it can help to have an external prompt to get the ball rolling. So I'll be posting a piece of art here every day, (not my own, just pieces I find, with credit of course,) along with some suggestions and questions to chew on.

Why does the description say "practice"?

In our fast-paced, often overstimulating world, it can be genuinely tough to choose to do things that don't provide instant gratification. On top of everyday life, I personally am a triple threat of having autism, ADHD and OCD; my mind is VERY fast and VERY loud, often in ways that are unpleasant or inconvenient, and mindfulness/slowing down doesn't come naturally to me. To me, and many others, it's a practiced skill, that requires conscious and consistent effort. But I believe it's a worthwhile one, and I hope running this blog will help my mental health as much as others! :)

What if I HATE (insert type of art here) with a burning passion and you post an example of it?

I chose the word "appreciate" specifically for a reason; in the art world, that word doesn't automatically equate to "love" or even "like". It simply means you are acknowledging aspects of the art- the skill applied to make it, how looking at it makes you feel, the materials used or left out, the artist's goal in making it and the impact it ended up having, etc.- and nodding and going "yup, that sure is A Art." You don't HAVE to like the art! I have art pieces and artists that I despise! But at the very least, it's good practice to consider it thoroughly so you can point to specific reasons you hate it.

I think you're pretentious and classist because you have an art degree, and I want to argue with you about why this blog is pointless and half the stuff you post isn't even REAL art.

Not a question, and if you don't like me or my blog, go right ahead and block me. I'm not here to start fights or engage in them, and while I certainly hope people don't think of me as pretentious and try not to be, I can't control people's opinions. I'm just a guy trynna share art and promote earnest conversations.

That's all I can think of for Q&A, but a couple additional notes:

- My ask box is always open for questions or comments, and if you have a favorite art piece you'd like me to post that I haven't already, feel free to submit that too!

- I put this in the description too, but some works I share may contain sensitive themes or artistic nudity; I won't mark this blog as flat-out 18+, as I highly doubt I'll post anything that's truly explicit or offensive, but just bear this in mind when browsing, and proceed with caution, especially if you're underage! No one can tell you what your comfort level is but you, and there's no shame in walking away.

Slow down, stay awhile, and enjoy some art!

[climeslover]

I was tagged by @mootmuse:

rules: make a poll with five of your all-time favorite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. see which character is everyone's favorite.

I was given leeway to choose characters based on my own criteria, which I did, but it's not very unified. I tend to think of characters in relation to the people around the stories. Like, what purpose does this character serve? Others are actually just specific characters that I loved growing up that helped me out of bad times. So, I guess unifying theme is, 'Top Five Characters that Taught Me Something Valuable About Life'. I would tag people, but I dread tagging people... so if you are a mutual and you'd like to do this, you can consider yourself tagged by me and tag me in your replies. Personal rambles about my choices beneath the cut...

Death here can be considered Discworld's DEATH, because I do love him, but it's also just my love for humanity's need to personify death in storytelling. It's Charon the Ferryman, Grim from Billy & Mandy, the Angel of Death, Death in Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey, from Supernatural, City of Angels, Meet Joe Black, and it's a black or red skeleton dancing in the streets of paintings to represent horrible plagues. It's a little twisted, but as a child without firsthand experience with death, I found the concept very reassuring. That one day everything ends, your pain and even the people that hurt you aren't able to escape it. That we're all equal in death.

The Trickster is because there are so many characters in this archetype that I love, that I had to trace it back or it'd be just a list of tricksters modern and mythological. The Trickster has information, and masterfully uses it to shape the story; usually with some comeuppance in the end that feels cathartic for the audience. (Hermes, Loki, mythologies from everywhere.) For their own amusement, sure, but it often serves a purpose in the greater story. (This is also, in part, why I love some detective/law stories regardless of how ridiculous they are; Sherlock, Columbo, Perry Mason, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, CSI...) The Trickster taught me what he taught many others that answers and justice aren't black and white. That morality isn't an immutable law. (Even though this is perverted for TV Copaganda with the idea that justice isn't immutable, so it's whatever we make up on the spot BS.) Sherlock Holmes was first introduced to me through the original stories, but later the Granada TV series where he was played by Jeremy Brett. I loved him because he gave me hope as a child that there were adults that functioned on reason. That reason/logic was a worthwhile thing to pursue with worthwhile material gains. As a child raised by reactionary adults, it was a very soothing idea. (As an adult I see now there are many 'logics' and they do tend to serve a purpose, even if against my own.) Sherlock Holmes is everywhere now and I enjoy seeing more interpretations of him. Willow Ufgood (from the movie Willow) was one of my first movie crushes. He was loved and kind to his children. He helped a child because his own children asked him too. If you're still reading or been here a while, you've probably noticed I have some issues with how children are treated. Anyway, this was probably one of my first times seeing a male (patriarch of his small family) care for a child, and defend the decision to the rest of his community. That there were men out there like that was a revelation to little me. It didn't matter that the baby was supposed to save the world or whatever, cause at first Willow didn't know that. Just that she was a lost baby. (Also liked the stop-motion animation... AND that the final showdown was two old women wrestling in the rain.) Ellen Ripley! A woman with a job! In space! Getting all grease smeared like an action hero! Legit, as it is for many people I'm sure, Ripley was a realization for me that women are hot. Like, I had inklings... Anyway, she was also a person stuck in an unbelievably horrible situation and instead of being crushed by it completely was like... well... no one else is going to do anything about it... so she just did it. This mindset helped me a lot. As you can tell I personally had horrible role-models, so I borrowed from stories. (Alien also hit a lot of other things that are interests for me: Artificial life/Androids, Monsters/Biology/Physiology, Practical Effects, Visual art in general, and story-telling especially as the franchise added more movies.)

[shamebats]

"Im scared about posting my work.

Greetings, I am an artist who has recently completed a drawing that required a significant amount of time and effort. My intention was to share it publicly for others to view, but given the prevailing significance of AI, I am apprehensive that AI may utilize my work for its algorithm. Currently, I am disinclined to proceed with this and am contemplating the decision to refrain from posting my work. I am struggling to identify methods to prevent AI from assuming control without extensive effort. I have reached a point of complete exhaustion. What is the purpose of sharing creative work or engaging in artistic endeavors when a program can produce a significantly larger quantity in less time? What is the point of pursuing art when artificial intelligence can exceed its capabilities?"

Reply: "Cards on the table, I am ardently pro-AI, so if you're not looking to hear that angle, give this comment a skip. But I'm also a professional writer whose father was a professional artist.

On the subject of the training data: while billions of images are included in a prospective dataset, they are extensively curated. This is not a slight against your ability, but there's no guarantee that your work would be considered desirable for the dataset - lots aren't, for multitudes of reasons.

For instance, while my published poetry might have been scraped to train ChatGTP etc. because it exemplifies a niche, I doubt my long and rambling passion-project of a blog was what they were looking for. Likewise the Mass Effect fanfiction I write on the side. There's no guarantee your work'll go in.

Most essentially, I think it's important to explain that AI art bots don't just create a 'collage' of artworks they've seen - this isn't a copy-and-lift kind of deal; it's much more complex and vastly more transformative (which is why I don't believe AI art is theft). Unless you have produced enough art to have a distinctive style, and the bot has been trained on all of it, and they've trained it to recognise that text prompt, you're not going to see recognisable elements of your own work in the output.

So, if you disagree with it being used on ideological grounds, that's one thing. But if you're concerned about replication, there's little to worry about. It's like dumping a bucket of sand on the beach and then trying to find your individual grains - you contributed to the beach, sure, but you'd never pick out your sand. Mike Mignola could, or Frank Miller, but outside of the really Big Leagues, no.

On your last bit, the 'what's the point' that is afflicting many artists and writers over this - the point is love of art itself.

Just because the AI can create masses of output in minutes does not, in any way, invalidate nor belittle your artistic endeavours. Artistic, creative, human effort will always be king. It will always be worthwhile just by existing, just for the painstaking effort and passion taken to translate it into reality. It will always, always be essential.

ChatGTP can't quite write a cohesive, competent novel on its own - yet. It's only a matter of time. But even when it can, and even if the world is full of 90% AI-gen novels, I'll still be writing, just for the pure joy of it. It's what I do. It's who I am. I'll keep sharing it with people no matter what they do with it. Because I love writing. And going from your exhaustion over this, you obviously love art.

My advice: forget about the AI 'tug-of-war' and just make art."

Exchange taken from r/aiwars.

[creepy-crowleys]

Venting, rambling, you know the drill, I'm sure.

I’m scared.

It feels ridiculous to think about when there are so many seismic, life-changing, world-altering events going on in mine and so many other people’s lives. This is all so minor and selfish in comparison.

My aunt abused me for most of the time I lived with her.

Ha… I doubt that’s much of a revelation to a lot of people here but… It’s hard to say. She could have been so much worse than she was. She… Well. Mostly she didn’t like me very much, haha.

It feels small and stupid to complain. But.

She abused me. I was abused.

Nothing I did would ever be right or enough in her eyes. I was ruined and ugly, an expense she’d taken on because nobody else would have bothered. The least I could do was be grateful and try to make myself useful.

When my family and I were attacked, after everything happened… I cracked my head open pretty good. There were concerns that I wouldn’t be… ‘Right’ after. I know I struggled sometimes; I couldn’t always keep the real world separate from my nightmares and I got confused and lost easily for a long while.

It was difficult. And I'm fighting myself even now to not say that it was difficult on her, like it was perfectly fair and normal for me...!

I've never seen her angrier than the night I tried to kill myself. And then we never left again. I couldn't be trusted to take care of myself and not to abandon her. She hated me so much, haha!

I want to be better than she was.

I don’t know where to start.

I thought maybe I had an idea once, and I thought I was doing the right things. But. I don’t know. Everything ended so badly, and I still can’t identify what I should have done better to even begin trying to fix myself.

So... I'm scared.

I don't want to be looked at the way he did the last saw him by anyone I love ever again. I don't want to be caught up in this cycle I've ended up in. I want to be able to promise something worthwhile if... if my family ever wants something more. If 'family' is even what anyone wants.

But wanting to break the cycle isn't enough. Loving someone isn't enough. And if I ever let myself think that maybe something is enough, then I'm probably ignoring something important and I'm going to fuck it all up again.

I don't know how to begin patching holes I can't even see.

I don't know where I'm going with any of this either. Ha.