#this was written just before midnight

[kodyfae-the-1st]

A response, i guess

Alright so I saw this pretty shit post recently, and I cant help but say I'm a little pissed. I will not be sharing the name of the blog that posted this, as i do not wish for them to be harassed.

So here's my response.

An open letter to you who wrote this.

"Hating endos is lame, hate on us instead ! We’re a DID system that believes people shouldn’t have to have their own entry in the DSM5 to be respected , apparently a controversial opinion these days !"

So though i agree in part that hate is lame as all hell, i do believe that listening to science is more punk than throwing it out the window. Yes system diversity is important as a working point in the community, it is still important to listen to the science.

Though some may not fit the diagnostics 100% doesn't mean they aren't valid that is true, but even so, there have been no scientifically supported exception to one. trauma is a necessary part, and the mind cannot and will not fracture like this without it, that should be without dispute.

"Being unapologetically plural is punk, ESPECIALLY if you don’t fit the “scientific” idea of what a real system should be."

You are right that science is not all inclusive, but i will say being anti science seems pretty conservative for a self proclaimed punk. but asides from cheap digs like that, id really recommend reading a couple scholarly articles if you are ever in doubt of the science, there is a lot to learn, and a lot left to be learnt.

"Systems should support other systems regardless of where we come from. The world doesn’t understand us and they don’t want to have to understand us, if we want to have a future where we are proudly and loudly ourselves we have to work together to make it."

Yes systems should absolutely support each other, and i do feel we fight too much sometimes. And no. the world does not understand us, but that does not mean it is ok to spread misinformation. Im sure you do this with good intention, and i too do my part with good intention. but we are fundamentally opposed, and i do not wish to support endos in a journey for recognition.

Some may genuinely have it, i do believe that, and others may be suffering from something else, so similar it may be difficult to know the difference, but i do not believe that they can be systems without trauma.

"I have to fight to be accepted as gay, i have to fight to be accepted as polyamorous, I have to fight to be accepted as trans, I have to fight to be accepted as non human, I have to fight to be accepted as autistic, I have to fight to be accepted as plural."

A lot of us have fought those same battles, i at least have, and a lot of systems still fight for this, and i do not believe that it should be a thing everyone goes through. And we still fight to accept ourselves in this, But i do not support endos fight for recognition. But i will fight with all i have to get them the help they need, because a lot of them do desperately need help. and i think that the fight to give them a support system and help is much more punk than this fight to support misinformation.

"I do not want anyone to have to fight me to be accepted as who they are, I want to fight alongside them because we’re fighting the exact same battle and it’s hard enough without us stabbing each other in the backs."

There is absolutely too much backstabbing in these communities. And i am willing to fight here alone to get them help, im not saying here that they aren't systems, some may very well be and have forgotten the trauma, but i do not wish to stand beside them in a fight against science. Im sure we'll all know more in the future with more studies made, and maybe itll turn the view on systems upside down, but until then i stand with the science, and with those that want and need help.

I do though want to mention lastly that as per the dsm-5 trauma is not noted as a criteria for diagnosis, and thus i am open to read articles of exception to this rule if they can be provided from credible sources.

I will also ask that if ever i said something incorrect i hope youll tell me and ill do my best to make amends. Please do also feel free to share your opinion, id like to hear more perspectives, and learn the faults of my own.

Well wishes.

-Kody, and a very tired system

[leverage-ot3]

silly episode idea but hear me out

okay well the first part isn’t silly! so the episode is based around a con they are doing where a polyam triad wants to get married and have been writing to senators and stuff for years but nothing has happened. maybe there is a time element that leeway has to happen soon (not sure what that would be yet, maybe someone is sick???)

(obviously polycules aren’t only and are often more than just a closed three-person system, but I’m saying triad right now bc I feel like that would be an easier and more ‘socially acceptable’ gateway into more accepting legislation for diverse relationship dynamics)

the leverage crew, of course, can’t outright change the public perception of poly marriage, but they can use the ‘enemy’s’ tactics against them and slip stuff into legislation without people noticing like they do. it’s slimy and it’s not a permanent fix, but it’s a start, and it gives people the opportunity to see poly marriage in action and that it isn’t as terrifying or pearl-clutching-inducing as they think it would be. there’s a long way to go, but the seeds of change have been sown and they will make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible

this is one of the cases that they will monitor on the back burner over time. some cons can finish within a few hours (the bottle job), and some things they will follow over time and make adjustments when needed- amplify voices and expose corrupt politicians etc

and then it’s just after 3/4 of the way through but the con has been finished? what is going on? this is where the silliness comes in

the camera turns to the ot3 and…

hardison, pulling out three individualized rings: I know it’s not legal yet, and we have the necklaces, but I think rings would be a nice touch

eliot, pulling out an intricately carved box that also has three self-handcrafted rings: dammit hardison (with feeling and tenderness, and damp eyes)

parker, pulling out three very stolen rings from her pocket: does this mean we’re getting triple married if we all have three rings???

harry pops into the conversation (practically vibrating) excitedly just casually mentioning that he’s a notary and would be honored to marry them to each other if they wanted to

(they do)

wait, did I say silly? I meant unwaveringly tender and heartwarming

[black-and-yellow]

Stupid doodles I did because I couldn't get them out of my head

[khufiya-khaufnak-antariksh]

So earlier today I introduced some of my WIPs to some new people, and I realised that many people might not be familiar with those two WIPs.

Kriya Petri: fantasy (with body horror & dystopian elements). Setting: A country called Fillor on a planet called Thuluke. In Fillor, to bind yourself to the one you love, you require a trinamate potion to seal the bond. 'Trinamate' is marriage (though that is a rather crude translation of the word). But to get a trinamate potion legally, the couple needs to be… acceptable. A man and a woman who plan to have at least one child. Yes, it's been 1000 years since the global apocalypse, but 'sufficient reproduction' is still a concern among the Filore people (plus it's a moral virtue for the Divine Monarchy, who reside on the cloudlands, with an iron grip on the institutes of Fillor). A potioneer wants to elope with their lover, but the pair is, let's just say, not acceptable. So what are they to do? The potioneer brews a trinamate potion on their own, finding the closely guarded methods & ingredients for the potion through who-knows-who, bunch of shady people. The potion explodes. The potioneer knows the punishment for something like this. They'll be condemned to Kaewoe (so will their lover, if anyone finds out), a realm so deep below the ground that it's close to the core of the planet. Kaewoe, where the mind & body are destroyed by the horribly high concentration of magic. Kaewoe, the names & lives & loves of all who enter it, all slowly turned to unknowledge. Good thing stealing identities is absurdly easy in Fillor! The potioneer wipes all memory of their crimes & love (or else the Thought magicians would know), flees to the city of Naebo. Their name is now Kriya Petri,

.

Welcome To The Real World: scifi, fantasy, surrealism, horror, tragedy

This one's in very early stages Inspired by Frankenstein Setting: The Great South Asian Rip in Reality, where physics (time & space both) is just completely twisted. The year is sometime in the 2070s. Sometimes it's the 2040s outside the Rip. Depends when/where you step out. Moh-maya, reality's very fabric & everything that keeps up the illusions that comprise reality, are very malleable in here. Main character: Kabir aka Moksh. A closeted Indian trans man who lives a double life, perhaps even a triple life. One in which he's a cis woman & a regular bright STEM student (STEM studies also include study of moh-maya). Another in which he's just some guy with good friends (the most authentic of his lives), where he goes by the name Kabir & uses moh-maya to present as his true self. If only temporarily. (it's painful, mentally & physically, whenever he has to revert to the female form). The third is some mad scientist bullshit, he's going by the name of Moksh among his fellow mad scientists & his main project is a moh-maya Frankenstein's monster that others can share their consciousness with, such that they can experience shape-shifting more easily & go where they physically aren't, do things they physically can't. Let's simply call it the 'entity'. Due to many reasons, creating this entity is pretty illegal. Hence the new name & collaboration with fellow shady people. the plot, put shortly: he starts doing vigilante justice w/the entity & then goes far & gets more & more consumed w/work & things go verrrrrrryyyyyy wrong despite starting with (dubious but) good intentions.

in this second one i neglected to mention the fact that you, as the reader, get front row tickets to the main character's spiral into madness & justifying murders thru the entity + the entity is a whole person & has opinions + a whole lot of other stuff, I DID mention that this WIP is in very early stages but holy fuck i could go on & on about it (just not in a way that can be packaged in a structured & sensible introduction)

[mirrortouchedsea]

My piece for @enstarsbb !! Super excited to finally get to share this with everyone! Mission complete!

(Pssst you should check out the artist I worked with too over at @alkaloidalypse /@/zacizach on twt/insta)

[golden-buddle]

Please I am begging for you to give me your creepypasta Au lore and headcanons 🙏 absolutely info dump on here❗️❗️

Oh god hi sure!

First things first, I’ve made a ask blog called @ask-the-operators-voice

It’s still in construction, but when it’s ready y’all can see the storyline semi play out in real time!

But for now, here’s the first part of the story:

My own AU is centered around Masky and how the Operator is a entity that just wants to spread.

For as long as people know about him, his roots on this realm are solid. And the more that know about him- the more his power grows.

When Tim was young he slipped from his dad’s view into the woods near the park- there, he found a old well.

Said well had a single candle on it, and as he was investigating the well, something (Kate) came by and lit the candle.

Tim was right there when the portal to Der Großmann’s realm opened, and he got a face full of static and eldritch energy.

With Tim’s memory of Slender fresh in his mind, Slender was able to gain a stronger foothold into the earthen realm-

And Tim started to get stalked by Slender.

Der Großmann watched the entire time. Learning, growing. And he grew oh so attached to Tim.

Tim suffered- in and out of mental hospitals as he dealt with the Operator’s sickness, he gained somewhat of a immunity to it-

And with the help of pills, he eventually was able to completely ignore and mostly forget about the Operator.

Time passed, he went to college. He met Brian, he met Alex-

Marble Hornets kicked off- and the attacks were brutal.

By the end of it, Many people were dead, and from Jay’s actions of uploading the tapes- many people knew about Slender and the infection spread.

But with the infection came a side effect-

With so much energy flooding Slender, some.. floated away. The magic in the air grew attached to strong emotions-

And those who suffered.

Jeff was one of the first. Toby followed. Sally. Clockwork. Morgan. Both Eyeless and Laughing Jack.

Filled with magic they couldn’t control, the magic surged through their emotions and gave them a cruel bloodlust.

Meanwhile, the Großmann broke the silent barrier between him and Tim.

He offered Tim something he couldn’t deny- Brian back.

Due to the fall, Brian died, his soul moved on- but Slender, he wanted his first child back. So he took Brian’s corpse. Resurrected him, and brought him to Tim.

Brian, Hoodie, held no memories of Tim. His throat was too mangled by Alex and the fall and was unable to speak.

But Tim couldn’t lose his first and best friend again.

So he went with Slender and fell under his control as a proxy.

With both him and Hoodie marked as proxies, they went out to do Slender’s bidding- and they quickly discovered what had happened to the world.

New entities, filled with the magic that didn’t go straight to slender, filled with madness and rage and so much bloodlust they couldn’t NOT attack anyone who they saw-

Tim, now Masky, and Hoodie collected the first one they found- Toby- and brought him to Slender.

And slender found a new source of magic. The effected human’s rage were a beacon of magic, all energy flooded to them instead of Slender-

But by keeping them close by- Slender could drain the magic- return them to sanity- and, essentially, use them as auto refilling bottles of magic.

Slender liked that. He wanted that.

So he sent the twins, Masky and Hoodie, out to collect more. Meanwhile, Slender built a mansion to house his new pets.

To him, the humans were nothing but bugs. Sure, some humans keep them as pets- and for Slender, he is the eldritch equivalent of that.

[uitzinnigmp3]

damn this google doc got hands

[moonlit-orchid]

Normal people: vent about their feelings in a diary or blog post

Me: makes a whole ass zine at nearly midnight

[pagesofkenna]

not Midnight Mass Erin and Riley talking about their different visions of death and the afterlife, seemingly not realizing that they were using very different words to describe exactly the same thing, and making me openly cry at my desk while doing so

[maximura]

omg ur tags but also sza should've won w sos 😭😭😭

If they've never given AOTY to Beyonce they were never going to give it to SZA. I knew they were just a board of petty sycophants when The Weeknd's After Hours wasn't even nominated. Do they really expect us to take the AOTY category seriously anymore? LMAO.

[universestreasures]

@blasterdiablo (Yet another Club drabble for an idea I had to get out that you do not have to respond to but tagging you anyway LOL)

Dreams were a weird thing. At times, you could wake up remembering every thing in vivid detail as if it really happened to you. Others, you could recall nothing at all what you saw. Though, surely the dream Asaka was having right now would fall into the former category, a dream that seemed so intense and real it was as if it was a memory.

The college student finds herself in an unfamiliar location, one where silver weapons decorated the walls and It was a dark space that's only light came from the few candles from fixtures on the walls. She shifts her head to further examine the place, quickly realizing she wasn't alone in this strange room. Yes, with her right now was...

"Ren...? What are you doing here? And where is here?" She questions, being unable to get a good look at him. Much of his body, other than his red locks, were being concealed by the darkness that surrounded them, after all. Slowly, she approaches him, being careful where she steps, but eventually stops once she makes it in front of him and is able to see him clearly as the room suddenly becomes brighter with the addition of more candles being lit.

And what she sees before her icey blue hues is an image she never wished to see. It was a sight that can only be best described as her worst fear brought to life. What she sees is her love, the person she most treasured in this world, covered in blood from head to toe. His eyes were wide, his body covered in bruises and slash marks that could be seen through unfamiliar clothes, and most shockingly of all, his stomach had been peirced with a black sword, one that resembled the one Ren had hung up over their bed in their bedroom.

Worst yet...that sword wasn't stuck in there. No, it was being held there by something. As soon as Asaka's gazes follows the end blade to the handle...she realizes just what or rather who was holding it. The one who had presumably stabbed Ren, who presumably caused him great suffering was...was...

Herself.

"W-What?! This...This can't...This can't be! I wouldn't...! I couldn't...! I'd never...!"

It's then that his body finally limps and falls on her, bringing both her and him down to the cold stone ground. His blood now stains her own body, both now covered in the red substance that to vampires symbolized life and to humans symbolized death. A hand is swiftly placed on his neck, checking it for the sign of a pulse. However, it just as quickly goes limp as soon as she feels nothing coming from it, a coldness now surging through her body like it had just been hit with a winter breeze.

Ren was...dead because of her.

Ren had been killed...because of her.

Ren had been killed...by her.

Just as she always feared might happen to him one day...

"No..."

"No..."

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Her cries of agony echo throughout the dark room and back in her shared dorm room with Ren. They were so loud that they were probably heard by those in the floors below them, such as Aichi and Kai. Her eyes then shoot open, sweat dropping down her face as she quickly sits up and breaths in and out heavily trying to process everything. Though, her concern quickly switched from her own well being to search around her room, looking for the person who she had just witnessed being killed by her own hands.

However, Ren wasn't...in the room with her. She checked the closet. She checked their balcony. She even checked under the bed to see if he was trying to prank her or something. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere she looked. And that fact...made her body start to shake, Asaka's knees buckling as she sinks to the floor in the center of their shared space.

Asaka had a reputation of being strong and beautiful, the person who knew how to hold it together and get things done. She was the one who started the Pale Moon Club in the first place. If it wasn't for her efforts, her kind wouldn't have a sanctuary in this human-run university. The club president she prided herself on being was far from the horrified woman who was on the floor now, the one who was slowly starting to cry as panic and worry took over regarding the current fate of her beloved human.

"Ren...Ren you can't be...You can't be...dead... All because of me...Because of a miserable creature like me...A creature who doesn't deserve you...or the love you've given me..."

~

[finnickodaiir]

Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but does anyone else feel like this song might have been written after Midnights was finished....

[gloriousmonsters]

they/them with the torture scene and the (i do not use this word lightly) disgusting electroshock murder scene, midnight scenes: from the woods with a PROTRACTED electricity torture scene--can we please ban people from having scenes of queer teens getting tortured with electricity for like, 5 minutes? for my health?

[anne-lida]

Rebirth

(written by me 6 years ago, posted as it is)

---

My life has ended.

How could this damned little shrapnel destroyed me?

Even before my hand reached it, the pain shot my right eye again. Each pulse felt like my eye was about to explode. Yet it was still there. My right eye was still in the socket. The shrapnel didn’t took my eye, yet it took my sight.

This damned little shrapnel kept taunting me.

The cold night air caressed my right eyelid and I quickly pulled my hair to hide it. Oh, Lord, I felt like a coward now.

I took a very deep breath, puffed my chest and filled it with as many braveness as I could take.

This is just a scar. It’s not different compared to what I’d got before. I survived more fatal injuries. I’m stronger than those arrogant soldiers.

But photographer’s life is in their eyes.

I wanted to squinted my eyes in cringe at that thought. But the pain from the shrapnel kept my eyes open on the truth, brought me back to the moment when my passion died in front of my eyes.

God, I wished I could laugh on that one.

And who the hell put my camera on my left side?

In great annoyance, I turn my back against it. I pressed the bundled blanket to my chest, pressing back the frustration.

My right eye’s throbbing again.

I only could gritted my teeth and still failed at easing the pain. How could this damned little shrapnel make me hate the thing I loved the most?

I still loved it.

I was tempted to grab my camera, to hold it like what friends supposed to. But my camera used to be friend with my right eye. They’ve been through a lot of moments and dangers together.

Could my left one replace it?

No.

I sighed. I stared at the pale white ceiling and blinked both of my eyes. The right one still hurt, and the left one somehow felt it too and hardly blinked.

So my life really ended now. My job was done, like he said. My passion died prematurely.

The melancholic thought pulled my attention to my camera, my old companion. Broken in the ‘eye’, just like me. And Papa said he bought it right after I was born, to immortalize the day I was in this world. We lived together and we died together. How poetic is that?

How tragic is that?

I took the camera and I had just noticed how much damage it took from the explosion. No wonder some parts of it managed to get in my face. I looked the back of it and sighed in relief. At least the film was still protected.

The last film.

My hands suddenly felt limbless. The camera dropped on my stomach and the broken glass shook with audible sound inside the case. But my fingers tried desperately to reach the camera—the film—and protect it. And I agreed.

It was mine. The last one is mine.

The traumatic hate tried to push back the intention, kept reminding me how the explosion nearly killed me, repeating the doctor’s sentences of how my shrapnel couldn’t be taken off, repeating everyone’s words of how my job ended, of how my passion died.

I couldn’t deny it. But it wouldn’t push me away from trying to respect the days of my dedication in war photography, from respecting the death of my love.

The wounds all over my body were already healed. It wasn’t hard to get up from bed and walked to my darkroom. But when the dim red lights were turned on, the damned little shrapnel was killing me again.

The opening of the film case was flooding me with painful moment. But afterwards, everything was as smooth as it supposed to be. My hand movement had been trained for years to produce dozens of photo in a day. This time, a particular part of the film halted my usual reflex.

I usually moved swiftly in this part and started to enjoying the making of the image—soaking the print in silver nitrate and whatnot—because there was no use in figuring out the result that soon. But now I was intrigued by this enlarged shape on the paper. The unclear blooms in black.

It was from the last part of the film.

It felt like the first time I really wanted to figure out the picture in this “too early” step. My mind was excited to decipher it, yet it only get a shape of usual fog of explosions until it gave up—my left eye gave up—and I continued the process.

After washing all of the photos, I hanged them on the rope. My heart—my feeling—was tired but satisfied. I sat on the nearest stool and slowly closed my eyes. The dry skin around my eyes felt so refreshed. Small proud slowly rose in my chest.

When the photos were dry, I gathered them in order and tried to not look at them, hoped that the last is the best. Then I settled myself on the couch and looked at the result one by one.

Most of it are usual pictures of the casualties, the corpses and property damages, or the “behind-the-scene” part of the soldiers that I took at the camp. Even though I was pretty selective at which one that should be sent and not, I adored each one of them. No matter how dull it is when people see it, it was you who knew the entire story—the entire adventure—of its taking.

But these photos had different future, for my job has ended. None of them would be sent to anyone, for these were my last memorabilia.

Each picture that I flipped, my heart thumped and followed by eerie smile, mild disappointment, or utter loss. Until I reached the last photo, I froze.

I hardly remembered who was in this last picture—and probably I couldn’t find out—but the moment and the story behind it will be immortal in mind.

The explosion that blinded my right eye, blown this soldier and I captured it right when it exploded.

It was in black-and-white, but the composition of splashing blood and flesh and clouds of dirt is overwhelming. The movement of the soldier was so dynamic and so precise, just before the light was gone from his eyes.

The very last moment of a life.

It was so pure compared to other pictures. No forced smile or pose. The captured moment was so rare and magnificent. It happened so quick that even I didn’t know it at that time, and yet I captured it, immortalize it in silver nitrate.

I walked back to my room with proud and content smile to my camera. That thing was magical. No wonder Papa adored it until the end of his time. And now, in the end of its time, its magic inspired me to not end my time yet. The photo cured my wounds, gave me vision. I could felt my passion rebirth in new purpose.

It is time to show it to the world.

[tschulijulesjulie]

happy easter, apparently Toe broke up...

[blu-s0da]

i love what my writing does to people