#vaunting is eh

[sezja]

Undercover

"I volunteer to sleep on the floor."

"Don't be daft; have you seen the size of that bed," Guydelot says, thrusting the curtains open to let in the beautiful island sunshine. He hasn't stopped grinning since they'd received this assignment; Sanson's almost sure of it. Under vastly different circumstances, Sanson might have also welcomed the chance to spend three weeks - or more! - in a tropical paradise, with his every expense paid for by the Twin Adder... but despite appearances (and in spite of what Guydelot seems eager to believe), they are on duty.

Matron save me, what a duty.

Sanson unceremoniously drops his bags on the cabin floor beside Guydelot's, and sinks heavily to a seat on one of the generously-upholstered loveseats. Idly, anxiously, he twists the unfamiliar gold ring on his finger, pretending his hands are only sweaty due to the island heat. Fighting nausea. Failing. He struggles with the urge to snatch up one of the pillows that he might scream himself hoarse into it, letting loose all of his bewildered frustration: at this mission, at this entire situation, at himself for accepting it-

"You don't have to be so glum about it." His bardly companion, showing none of Sanson's own reservations, drops himself onto the other side of the loveseat without needing any invitation. "How often do we get a mission someplace nice, eh? At least it ain't Ishgard again. Or Garlemald." Guydelot stretches, draping one long arm across the back of the seat. "Tropical paradise, a proper beach, ocean waves to lull us to sleep-"

"And a serial murderer on the loose," Sanson cuts in, waspish. "You do recall this is no pleasure jaunt?"

Unfazed by his partner's temper - and why should he be, after five years of working together; who knows Sanson's moods better than Guydelot? - the bard grins again, holding his hands up in playful surrender. "Aye, Chief; sat through the same orders you did, didn't I? I'm just saying..." His gaze wanders toward the window again. The warm breeze wafting in carries the tang of salt, and the cries of gulls in the near distance confirms it: they're far from the familiar boughs of the Twelveswood. "I'm just saying," Guydelot continues, letting his hand fall back behind Sanson again, giving a lock of his hair a teasing tug. "The Cieldalaes are a damn sight better than Abalathia."

Some of Sanson's indignation cools. He sighs, resting his face in his hands. Muffled, he says, "I know. 'Tis only..."

Gods, but it's only a dozen things, isn't it? Sanson has never needed to serve undercover before this, nor did he ever wish to do so; he is no actor, and this requires some skill at thinking on his feet...

But the Maelstrom required aid from someone not known to miscreants native to Vylbrand, for a hunt that's left even the vaunted - albeit dubious, to Sanson's rigid view of the law - Rogues' Guild stymied. And so they'd turned to the Order of the Twin Adder, desperate for fresh faces to put an end to the grisly string of gruesome killings happening in a most unlikely place.

A pair of retired adventurers had purchased one of the many desirable Cieldalaes islands... and industriously set about turning it into a couples' retreat, transforming their own considerable fortunes into comfort and luxury for lovebirds all across Eorzea. What had begun as a modest venture had evolved into a truly high-end experience, rivaling that of the Manderville Gold Saucer, or even the most palatial estates of Ul'dah - of a certainty, the sort of accommodations Sanson and Guydelot couldn't hope to afford without the substantial backing of the Twin Adder. It lured in wealthy couples by the hundreds from as far as Kugane, eager to bask in the romantic island surroundings, far from prying eyes...

But something very wrong has happened here.

In recent moons, those couples have been turning up dead - dead and robbed, divested of whatever wealth they brought with them to the island. Distraught, the owners had reached out to the Maelstrom...

And that's where we come in, Sanson thinks, his stomach in knots. A pair of naive Gridanians who, miraculously, haven't heard the first thing about murders happening in our beautiful vacation home.

If it were just that, if it were only that, only the murders to be solved and the murderer brought to justice...

"It's the part where we're supposed to be madly in love," Guydelot supplies, after the silence stretches a little too long. "Am I right?"

Sanson groans in response, still muffled in his hands.

Guydelot, damn the man, laughs, letting his head drop back against the seat. He'd laughed himself to tears when they'd been briefed on the mission, too, all while Sanson stared in numb disbelief at their far-too-amused commander. Surely there had to be a better pair of officers they could have sent - someone better-suited to detective work; someone tried and tested with this sort of thing...

But no, Commander Heuloix had assured him; no, there were no others, and Sanson and Guydelot's teamwork made them ideal for the mission. Which, Sanson supposes, must be a politic way of saying that Guydelot has a knack for getting people to say more than they intended, and that he has a knack for persuading Guydelot to focus on his work. And they do work well together. For the past five years, since their fateful hunt for the Ballad of Oblivion, they've been nigh-inseparable; the best of friends, the most unlikely of teams. They balance one another: the twin leads of Sanson's unit, and together, they've led that unit to victory time and again-

But that hardly makes them suited to pretend to be lovers!

Guydelot stops to catch his breath, letting his laughter trail off into quiet chuckles. He rests a hand on the back of Sanson's neck, gently tugging him back upright. Sanson lets his hands fall heavily into his lap with a sigh.

"I cannot do this."

"Sure you can," Guydelot says, reaching for his harp - of course he didn't leave home without his harp; he could no more leave it behind than he could his head. He strums a quiet, calming melody. "Shouldn't be all that hard, eh? You've just gotta convince everyone we happen to meet that you're in love with the most dashingly handsome elezen they've ever seen. Easiest job in the world."

Sanson casts the man a withering glare - wasted, of course, as the bard's eyes are on his harp. "It isn't so simple."

"Sure it is. You've never pretended to be in love with someone before?"

"No."

"Sanson the Saint," Guydelot sings with a grin, winking at him. Winking. Sanson stifles the urge to kick the man's shin. Guydelot sets his harp aside once more, studying his own hands... and the gold ring on one finger, matching the one Sanson's wearing. "The rings were a nice touch," the bard remarks, plucking his off to study it more closely. "This sort of place attracts honeymooners."

Sanson realizes he's been fretfully twisting his own ring again - he's worn the thing for only a few days, but nervous habits develop quickly. "Honeymooners," he repeats, dismal.

"Aye, but I'm thinking we ain't honeymooners," Guydelot continues, sliding his ring back on. "You and me, we've been married a while; a few years, say-"

"Five years?" Sanson offers the suggestion wryly, but the bard nods.

"Aye, sure, five years. Might as well. You remember what Celaine said; we bicker like an old married couple? We've got it down to an art already. But the spark's gone out, I reckon; we got married too young. And this trip's a last-ditch effort to rekindle the old flame, such as it is." He lifts his eyebrows, eyeing Sanson sidelong. "I reckon it's as good a reason as any for us being a little less cozy in public."

Sanson stares. "That... that's well-considered," he manages. The knot of anxiety begins to unravel. "Still-"

"Still, you're going to have to put in a little effort to act as though you want that spark rekindled." Guydelot drapes his arm behind Sanson again, letting it rest on the midlander's shoulders this time. "And for gods' sakes, Sanson, be a little less stiff," he adds, cheery. "You're meant to be on vacation! If whoever's doing all this killing gets one look at you, they'll see military man just rolling off you like a bad smell."

He wants to argue, but knows better.

Instead, he shrugs the bard's arm away, rising. "Help me unpack," he says. "We'll not be living out of our packs while we're here, and we'd best get familiar with our base of operations, such as it is. We won't want for space." Not with a cabin big enough for a small family - the bedroom suite alone is nearly twice the size of some apartments Sanson has seen, and the kitchen could serve an entire family. Doubtless many of the island's visitors brought retainers to tend to their every whim...

But they've only brought themselves.

And may the Matron help us.

[grandhotelabyss]

Also I wonder with all these low bro popculture obssesed video essaysist, if the problem is a lack of "education" or familiarity with "deeper stuff" or if there is just a type of person who fundementally cant engadge with things beyond genre fiction🤔

Like after watching the Napoleon movie, I wont get too deep into it cause its not relevant, but the fact that so many people cried about "historical inacuracys" seemed to me like there is some gap in understanding and imagination which cant really be bridged, as if it it is unthinkable that something can use historical cliches and archetypes for something which isnt just a factual retelling.

Idk, maybe me asking this in this way just reveals my own stupidity and eternal diletantism but eh it is what it is.

Yes, and I will get deep into it, because Napoleon in particular was ill-understood by that kind of literalist mentality, a very underrated film, even if you disagree with it ideologically. (I'm not English or French, so I don't really care on that level; I just enjoyed its inventiveness.) Even Anna and Dasha, despite their avowed aestheticism, didn't get it and said it had no consistent theme or through-line. But it begins with Napoleon's (fictional) presence at Marie Antoinette's decollation to introduce the governing motif of violated female power. This is the real power he's trying to usurp, though he's too autistic (in Phoenix's performance) to know this. It will menace him throughout the entire film from his early letters to his overbearing mother until Josephine's voice summons him to his death in the final shot. The film is a tightly-constructed British conservative send-up of Napoleon as barbarous upstart with bad manners and mother issues, a narrative based on Burkean and Austenian premises that middle-class gradualism is superior to aristocratic-proletarian revolutionism, that arch common sense will wear down superficially ingenious prowess, and that the domestic-erotic deserves to triumph over the very vaunting public ambition that seeks to escape from its clutches. As such, I thought it was rather witty and charming, a fantastical rejoinder to the oft-made criticism of Austen that she never mentions the Napoleonic Wars, as if to ask in turn, "What if she wrote a movie about the man himself?" To object to "historical errors" in the presence of such an intelligent piece of work is a total category mistake; that kind of point-missing nerdism, which in its obsession with facts does not even attend to the relevant facts, has no more place in the reception of art than in its creation.

[dalesramblingsblog]

Brief Look at Judge Dredd Novels, Part XIII: Eclipse by James Swallow

More than anything else, Eclipse makes a compelling case in defence of James Swallow's robust and storied career as an author of tie-in fiction for everything from 2000 AD and Doctor Who to Star Trek. This is, perhaps, something of a backhanded compliment, and it's rather telling that his sole full-length Doctor Who novel was a New Series Adventure, released in the period where the book lines were freed from the responsibility of carrying the franchise forward.

Make no mistake, Swallow's work is perfect for the world of science fiction tie-ins, which is, in the bulk of cases, the marginally more polite way of saying that a particular novel wouldn't especially hold up under the more exacting standards typically demanded of books outside that realm.

None of this should be construed as a condemnation of Eclipse, mind you. It was an enjoyable enough experience in the moment, certainly moreso than some of Black Flame's more troubled outings like Dredd vs Death. Sure, it might function best as a string of action sequences with functionally competent dialogue scenes to provide some linking tissue, but that's not exactly foreign territory for 2000 AD, and the fact of the matter is... well, those action sequences work.

The usual pitfalls of sci-fi tie-ins aren't entirely absent, however. Swallow may not display the apophenic, continuity-focused glee of a Gary Russell or a Craig Hinton, but this is still a book which consciously hearkens back to the very earliest days of the Judge Dredd comic strip, bringing back Luna-1, Chief Judge-Marshal Tex, and C. W. Moonie. Part of this can undoubtedly be explained by the nature of the book's genesis, stemming from the intense research undertaken by Swallow for The Rookie's Guide to Luna-1 a rejected supplement to the Dredd equivalent of that most fannish of tie-in artforms, the tabletop RPG.

Certainly, I'd probably find many of the key scenes here far more emotionally impactful if I had a greater familiarity with the mythology of 2000 AD, but I'd also be lying if I said that there wasn't something mildly charming about the zeal with which Eclipse plainly believes in the magazine's continuity as a rich mythological tapestry all of its own, in spite of (or perhaps because of) its relative irreverence.

At the time of the novel's publication in September 2004, the British science fiction scene was waiting with bated breath to see whether Russell T. Davies' vaunted revival of Doctor Who would actually manage to pick up steam, while the fourth season of Star Trek: Enterprise was due to premiere in a matter of weeks, finally seeing that franchise collapse under its own weight after eighteen years of televisual dominance. Even Star Wars was looking rather poorly off the back of the prequel trilogy, and whatever the questionable wisdom of a franchise-dominated conception of science fiction, I'd almost certainly prefer it be defined by the weirdness of 2000 AD and Doctor Who, even if that's almost certainly never going to happen (and indeed, it really didn't).

As for the actual characters and themes of the book, eh, Kontarsky was a pretty engaging guest character with a solid if basic arc, and none of the other Judges were egregiously awful. The notion of the Cold War, with the Space Race and the Moon as proxy participants, having effectively started up again and brought the imperialistic machinations of Mega-City One and East-Meg Two to the lunar surface, to the detriment of the satellite's inhabitants, certainly managed to provide a timely lens on the War on Terror, but it's still nothing groundbreaking as far as the popular culture of 2004 is concerned.

Eclipse is a solid middle-of-the-road Dredd adventure, and while that may be a tad disappointing, it's no crime. (Oh come on, I had to try a pun like that at some point, I'm just surprised I lasted as long as I did.)

The Ranking So Far:

Dreddlocked

Deathmasques

Black Atlantic

Wetworks

Bad Moon Rising

Silencer

Eclipse

The Medusa Seed

Dread Dominion

Dredd vs Death

Cursed Earth Asylum

The Hundredfold Problem

The Savage Amusement

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: 'Reborn as a Space Mercenary' #6

Reborn as a Space Mercenary #6 by Ryuto, Tetsuhiro Nabeshima, Benjamin Daugherty

science fiction

space adventure

My Rating: 4 of 5 stars

If not for the publisher's poor quality assurance and proofing work on this particular volume, REBORN AS A SPACE MERC v6 is another entertaining notch in the vaunted exploits of a mercenary with too much skill, too much power, and too many pretty ladies on his ship. Captain Hiro's much-anticipated (and comically loathed) reunion with Lieutenant Commander Serena Holz crisscrosses with a delivery mission for the Krisha as well as a conflict between the Imperial Fleet and crystal life-forms in a frontier star system.

This is a busy novel, which is a big improvement over the previous installment. REBORN AS A SPACE MERC v6 has lots of dogfighting with an array of clever tactical shenanigans across the Izulux System. The book also dedicates time to additional narrative hooks for future chapters and a few scenes that stabilize the awkward companionship/rivalry between Hiro and Serena. The oscillating nature of combat on the frontiers of space exploration suits this novel series extraordinarily well — fight, rest, fight, retreat, fight, rest — and one feels equally excited and relieved to see the author has discerned as much.

The Krishna earns its cash this time around through combat with crystal life-forms, the semi-sentient, mass-replication entities to which readers were introduced much earlier in the series. Hiro is recruited to help eradicate the crystal foes, and as anticipated, he goes above and beyond expectations to the point when other mercenaries are jealous, Imperial officers quickly turn into fanboys, and Lieutenant Commander Holz' blood pressure rises to a boil. Now, is it sci-fi nonsense for Hiro to navigate a maelstrom of life-forms at breakneck speed, pilot his ship backward and firing his flak cannon at random? Absolutely. But it works. And it's this crazy trick that earns him such high marks that a few spiffy awards are in the offing, too.

Hiro and Serena's awkward allyship takes center stage in this volume, and the author does a much better job exploring precisely how and why these two characters get on each other's nerves.

Serena hates that Hiro is talented, reckless, and only exercises his commendable skills during heinous and unforgivably dangerous, glory-hogging exploits. She admires his fortitude, but can't stand that he can't fall in line. Hiro, meanwhile, finds Serena patently "annoying" and codependent. He acknowledges her mastery of her military post and admires her noble beauty, but he can't stand that she can't view the world/universe beyond these two parochial lenses.

Surprisingly (and quite effectively), the author dedicates a whole chapter plus a bonus epilogue to deciphering the friendly rivalry between these two characters. Notably, Hiro earns a pair of piloting awards for his contract work (the silver-winged sword assault badge; the first-magnitude star's cross of brilliance). One wonders whether Hiro's success will nudge him closer to the grasping hands of the nobility, including Marquess Holz, who is, apparently, constantly braying that her daughter should settle down and marry.

REBORN AS A SPACE MERC v6 has a few other highlights as well. Hiro's piloting skills still gives his crewmates the jitters, but only when he plunges his customized starship into the heat of a nigh unwinnable battle, pulls a half-dozen combat stunts, and emerges unscathed (Hiro: "That was a thrill, eh?" page 124). Secondly, readers catch another tiny glimpse into the window of Mimi's possible extended family when Lieutenant Robertson, one of Serena's subordinates, mistakes the young comms officer for someone else (likely her grandmother, rumored to be a notorious mercenary herself). And third, Hiro shows some love for his perfectly imperfect maidroid, Mei, who expresses worry, doubt, and uncertainty at various points in the novel. One can only hope that Mei's role expands further, such that she is more than "the machine intelligence piloting the chunky mothership.")

On the downside, this book clearly lacked the quality assurance and proofreading of other titles in the publisher's library.

Errors throughout the novel include duplicated words/phrases or additional words (e.g., "I think you're as an ill-mannered and clingy..." page 83; "...the Imperial Fleet and a portions of the mercenaries continued," page 219), as well as words that are missing entirely (e.g., "It's all so specific that not sure how I'm going to..." page 188; "Unconcerned with collateral damage their comrades, the..." page 210).

One particularly egregious error occurs in a reflective epilogue, when the narrator refers to Serena as a "general" (page 255), despite acknowledging one paragraph earlier that the woman achieves the rank of admiral in the future, but at the time of the Crystal War was, indeed, a mere lieutenant commander. Whether as a result of managerial oversight, the post-pandemic employee time crunch, or lackluster work ethic altogether, the end result is obvious, and it dampens the overall reading experience.

❯ ❯ Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[asknarashikari]

Kiriko: How is Keiwa the sanest among you people?

Keiwa: I don’t know about being the  sanest…

Gou: Wha- Neechan, I resent that statement!

Kiriko: You all literally continued talking about topics people under 18 shouldn’t be hearing.

Kiriko: And the people who were just silent are as culpable as the others.

Ryusei: While I do agree with the statement, It’s a bit unfair for those of us whose works need to have radio silence.

Terui: My thoughts exactly.

Banjou: I can ask Sento to add an age block to the messages we send.

Kiriko: While I do trust that from you Banjou-kun…

Keiwa: I can do it.

Keiwa: I just need admin access to the group chat and the codes made for the chat.

Keiwa: I think I still remember the codes I studied for making age-blocking things.

Makoto: What?

Banjou: What?

Yuuto: What?

Ryusei: What?

Terui: What?

Blades: That is amazing Keiwa-kun!

Blades: You’ve even managed to conquer the vaunted obstacle that is coding.

Gou: How are you not in the Science group yet?!

Kiriko: Like I said, he’s sane.

Keiwa: I don’t think I am qualified for the Science group.

Keiwa: I just studied coding for four years as an IT, a business IT student.

Gotou: Right, you’re still in college.

Kiriko: And no one is going to recruit Keiwa-kun into the Science group.

Kiriko: Banjou-kun, I’m specifically tasking you at keeping Sento’s hands away from Keiwa-kun.

Gou: I think a certain fox and a certain cat will that for you, nee-chan.

Kiriko: You do have a point.

Eh, I wouldn't say Keiwa is the sanest of the secondaries. My own money would be on Gotou Shintaro, aka the 2nd Kamen Rider Birth. And Rintaro definitely has more mental stability than Keiwa does

Also, as far as putting in security measures for the group chat, that would be up to the creators of the app they use for it, which is to say, it's Sento and Philip's job since they were the ones who created it, in my hcs anyway.

(The Rider gc is not on a normal sns/chat site because they also use it as a secure communications platform for official rider business- not something they'd entrust to some Big Tech company.)

[minarcana]

Laurel scoffs at him. "I'm a vaunted hero, and I also don't want to think I see you as a means to an end." Their relationship is... not that. She doesn't know what she'd say it is, but there's not simple objectification as a striking dummy. Or not just the desire to spar? Who knows; she just only wants to be mean to him physically rather than verbally. He is a person, after all, if a deeply wrong one.

Oho, now there's an interesting fact. She's found a string to tug on, figure out where it goes. "Things people create, then." She hums. "You hunted for things people made and then ways people can be destroyed. You would probably be good at music, if you learned how to make it. Though I can't imagine your stories now would have much other than grandiose battles, eh?" She laughs.

' you, vaunted hero, concern yourself with acting ... mean when speaking with me. ' an eyebrow lifts, subtle amusement of his own crossing glass features. he remembers that day well, whilst also struggling to recall the exact feeling that clenched at his dying heart. it was not pity, nor the same carelessness. he'd intended on a chance to while the hours away -- but not then.

he allows a hand to ghost up her side, perhaps tugging her in a little closer to him. she carries so much weight on her shoulders, he finds need to carry some for her. ' i was not always bereft of flowers. ' his voice quiet, eyes resting on laurel's forehead. ' i sought out information, stories, music ... once, for my own amusement. there was little else to busy with. ' he freezes, finally looking at her again. ' mayhap i do not remember how. '

[sexydreamgirl]

hera for the past weeks ive been hyping myself, feeling like the main character and i could feel myself slipping out of it after 3 days bu i didnt give up. and then suddenly last night BAM IM OUT OF IT. i feel like i dont even want to try anything anymore. i need to get out of here as soon as i can but i feel like my attempts are pointlessl. im aware i'll get there someday but i want it now.idk how ppl stick w mental diet either. like i get angry so much and i try to stop it/control it but then i remind myself that feeling emotions is ok but i really dont wnana be angry but if you lived her u would be too.

i saw the thing in ur bio “the world around you is a mirror of the world within you”. so i thought to myself ok how do i change the world within me and i realised i struggle the most w this. ik thats what methods are for and the sec u affirm something your inner world changes but u just have to stick w it? i dont even wanna affirm cuz its boring, script cuz boring as well, vaunting is eh maybe and subs tire me out which i have no explanation for. methods are tiring but not doing them feels like im not doing enough. i just wanna be happy honestly but it feels like im asking for too much even tho i know i deserve it.

i really hope i didnt accidentally skip past anythung in your posts that can help w this but if i didnt, can you give me some advice please? thank you.

Primary problem is that you're still seeing yourself as someone who's "trying" to manifest, who's constantly having "failed" attempts. What if I told you there's no such thing as a "failed" manifestation? If you wanted to make fire but then you get tired and you choose to stop rubbing the two sticks together you wouldn't have a "failed" fire. You're supposed to continue until it's yours, because it will be yours. That's the beauty of persistence. It's what gets you from point A to point B.

A little secret? The best part about the law is the fact that you can assume its efficiency to your favor. If you assume that you only need to affirm once, that's all it'll take. If you assume you need to visualize for 12 consecutive hours then so will be. You get the idea. The only requirement for the crystallization of your assumptions is that you persist in them until they harden into fact. So yes, you do have to stick with it, but you also get to tweak it in your favor.

[chrysanthemumgames]

Hi Jess! Speaking of Poseidon, what did he mean when PC tried to save Hades from him, and he said "Surely you mean at" (Sorry English is not my first language 😅)?

Ah so I believe your question refers to the following exchange:

Steeling yourself—it's not every day you approach two of the most powerful gods in existence—you hold your posture straight and stride towards them like you know what you're about.

"Your pardon, Patrigenios," you say, cutting deftly into a break in Poseidon's anecdote with a polite smile. Using one of his more vaunted epithets to allude to his high status might not be strictly necessary, but you figure it can't hurt. "I hope you do not mind, but I've need to speak to Lord Hades."

Poseidon blinks, whether taken aback by the boldness of your approach or something else isn't clear until he replies. "To? Surely you mean at, eh, brother?"

Hades grimaces in a way that might be an attempt at appearing to smile. It is remarkably poor if so.

In this case, Poseidon is suggesting that the 'to' in the sentence "I've need to speak to Lord Hades" should be replaced with 'at,' making it "I've need to speak at Lord Hades." This is idiomatic in English. Speaking 'at' someone rather than 'to' them implies that the conversation is one-sided instead of being meaningfully reciprocal. This means either the speaker is the kind who just likes to talk for the sake of talking and doesn't care what the other person thinks, or the listener isn't very good at responding and engaging. Poseidon is implying the second one; it's a dig at Hades's awkwardness and general tendency to be quiet rather than talkative.

I hope that clears it up, anon. :)

[superbloblevel]

@devouring-hive

“Eh-he-he! Got you!” ...and swish. Air.

Ever since Remilia pointed out the strangeness behind the surprise appearance of snacks around the mansion, Flandre had been observant. She may of been unperturbed by these events, it did pique her interest! An intruder so stealthy that she even evades   Remilia’s vaunted abilities?  Well, she hadn’t been so excited since that one goat...

Of course, how did one find an invisible person?... With great difficulty, Flandre is finding out.

[heliosoll]

what are some good shifting self concept affirmations?

oh fun! i'll list the ones i usually use and then some more!

i have the best self concept

shifting is so easy

i am god

i am god and god never fails

i can't wait to see everyone again

shifting is so easy for a god like me

god is everywhere (hope this one makes sense? it's essentially about how our consciousness is everywhere so we can go anywhere)

i am safe (more for anxiety but eh yknow)

i will wake up in my desired reality

so these are some general affs that i like using! i also do vaunt affirming! if you don't know what that is, here's a really good post about it (there are tons of others too). when i do vaunting, i also visualize that i'm talking to someone from my dr!

[theoutcastrogue]

“The Song of the Young Prig”, a broadside ballad in thieves' cant

“Frisk the cly, and fork the rag, Draw the fogies plummy, Speak to the rattles, bag the swag, And finely hunt the dummy.”

This ballad was printed c.1819-1828, and collected in Musa pedestris, three centuries of canting songs and slang rhymes (1536-1896). Among the many ballads of that period which “engage juvenile convicts as their narrative voice”, this is an example of the satirical type (the other types being valedictory, betrayal, and confessional ballads):

In order to create a satirical representation, ‘The Song of the Young Prig’ is written entirely in ‘flash’: a form of argot or cant supposedly used by the beggars and thieves. The idea that a criminal class had its own unique sublanguage was often cited as evidence that they existed as a subclass to the rest of society. The exhaustive list of definitions at the bottom of the broadsheet, however, invites the reader to share in the humour of the language rather than be excluded from it. The list of crimes in which he jubilantly proclaims his skill, is mostly the writer’s attempt to demonstrate the humorous breadth of cant. [i]

V. A. C. Gatrell assumes it was reprinted from an earlier broadside, because it has "antique references to Tyburn and to transportation to Virginia". However, its language combines early thieves' cant with contemporaneous slang: prig is cant for "thief", dating from 1566 and the very dawn of English rogue literature, but rumbler meaning a carriage of some sort is strictly 19th century. So I think this version of the ballad is indeed from the 1820s, though of course it could be inspired or adapted from older material.

Gatrell also writes:

Although the highwayman and Tyburn tradition in balladry became attenuated or romanticized in time, reflections of its subversive postures survived in crowd behaviour right to the abolition of public execution in 1868. In blackguard ballads [...] we find a refusal to be defeated, a compulsive cockiness, a vaunting celebration of cleverness. To triumph over affliction, to refuse surrender, to reject mediocrity, and still to mock and laugh was to achieve the main distinction plebeian life could offer. [ii]

"The Song of the Young Prig" is indeed very cocky, and rather cheerful. It doesn't bite, like others of its kind, it remains happy to the end. And in the prospect of the gallows, which never fails to make an appearance in these ballads at least as a possibility, it simply shrugs: there's no queering fate, sirs (what a phrase!). Which means, you can't cheat fate, lads. So eh. Que sera sera.

Reading today a ballad written wholly in thieves' cant is a bit of a hassle, since going back and forth from text to definitions kinda spoils the rhythm, but if you stick with it, you'll be rewarded. The lyrics have an incredible swing to them. Enjoy.

The Song of the Young Prig

I [1]

My mother she dwelt in Dyot's Isle, [2]  One of the canting crew, sirs; [3] And if you'd know my father's style,  He was the Lord-knows-who, sirs! I first held horses in the street,  But being found defaulter, Turned rumbler's flunkey for my meat, [4]  So was brought up to the halter. [5]

                         Chorus:         Frisk the cly, and fork the rag, [6]            Draw the fogies plummy, [7]         Speak to the rattles, bag the swag, [8]            And finely hunt the dummy.  [9]

II

My name they say is young Birdlime, [10]  My fingers are fish-hooks, sirs; And I my reading learnt betime, [11]  From studying pocket-books, sirs; I have a sweet eye for a plant, [12]   And graceful as I amble,  Finedraw a coat-tail sure I can't   So kiddy is my famble. [13]

III

 A night bird oft I'm in the cage, [14]    But my rum-chants ne'er fail, sirs; [15]  The dubsman's senses to engage,  [16]    While I tip him leg-bail, sirs; [17]  There's not, for picking, to be had,    A lad so light and larky,   [18]  The cleanest angler on the pad   [19]    In daylight or the darkey.  [20]

IV

 And though I don't work capital,  [21]    And do not weigh my weight, sirs; [22]  Who knows but that in time I shall,    For there's no queering fate, sirs.  [23]  If I'm not lagged to Virgin-nee,  [24]    I may a Tyburn show be,  [25]  Perhaps a tip-top cracksman be,  [26]    Or go on the high toby.  [27]

Notes

Notes in italics are mine, I’m mostly drawing from the invaluable Green’s Dictionary of Slang. The others come with the broadside or were written by the compiler. [iii]

Said to have been written by Little Arthur Chambers, the Prince of Prigs, who was one of the most expert thieves of his time. He began to steal when he was in petticoats, and died a short time before Jack Sheppard came into notice. Internal evidence, however, renders this attributed authorship very improbable.

Dyots Isle, i.e., Dyot St., St. Giles, afterwards called George St. Bloomsbury, was a well-known rookery where thieves and their associates congregated.

beggars | canting crew = the underworld of professional thieves and beggars

hackney-coach | rumbler's flunkey = a footman who runs for four-wheeled cabs (rumblers) in return for tips 

halter: the noose used in a judicial hanging

pick a pocket; lay hold of notes or money

steal handkerchiefs dextrously

steal a watch, pocket the plunder

steal pocket-books

Birdlime = thief or thievish, equivalent to the metaphorical “sticky fingers”. In the Newgate Calendar we read that birdlime could also be a literal thieves' tool: “While a merchant in King Street was counting some money and bank-notes on a counter, a staff or small rod, overlaid with birdlime, was suddenly thrust in at the door, which having touched the notes, two of them were thereby carried off; and, before the merchant could pursue, the ingenious actor had made his escape.“ and "Again, he was very expert at the "whalebone lay," which is having a thin piece of whalebone daubed at the end with bird lime, and going into a shop with a pretence to buy something, make the shopkeeper, by wanting this and that thing, turn his back often; and then take the opportunity of putting the whalebone, so daubed with bird lime, into the till of the counter, which brings up any single piece of money that sticks to it. After which, to give no mistrust, they buy some small matter, and pay the man with a pig of his own sow.“

"Pocket-book" = reader.

an intended robbery

skilful is my hand

lock-up

gaoler

rum-chant = a song

run away

 frolicsome

expert pickpocket

night

To work capital = to commit a crime punishable with death. Previous to 1829 many offences, now thought comparatively trivial, were deemed to merit the extreme penalty of the law.

weigh one’s weight = to commit a capital offence [under an act of William and Mary the reward for the capture of a highwayman or coiner had been set at £40]

getting the better of

 transported [to Virginia; this couldn’t happen after 1776, however there’s another version of the ballad that goes “lagged to Botany B.”, i.e. Botany Bay. Penal transportation to Australia started in 1787 and went on for almost 70 years.]

be hanged

housebreaker

become a highwayman

Sources

i. Cameron Nunn (2015) ‘Come all you Wild and Wicked Youths’: Representations of Young Male Convicts in Nineteenth-Century English Broadsides, Journal of Victorian Culture, 20:4, 453-470

ii. V. A. C. Gatrell (1994) The Hanging Tree: Execution and the English People 1770-1868, p.144, Oxford University Press

iii. John Stephen Farmer (1896) Musa pedestris, three centuries of canting songs and slang rhymes (1536-1896)

[second-chance-stray]

RP Log: Dorn and Cravs talk over a campfire.

Cravendy Hound - Weather and the coming of night would interrupt Dornn and Crav’s training session, though by the time they stopped, they had already been beating each other up for several bells. With rain at their backs, they would find shelter underneath a rocky alcove and watch as the sky steadily went from blue to black.

Cravendy Hound had kept an eye out for firewood and, by the time they settled, she had gathered a sizable pile. For now, she simply dumps the wood onto the ground and takes a seat next to it, exhausted.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn had just about finished the wrapping of his old bandages--his ivory bicep now surrounded with a pristine, new layer of cloth coddling it warmly. Once the lass found her footing back, the male planted himself on his knees, dipping his chin approvingly of her yield. The brittle clink and brutish thud of the wood, as it piled together, prompted him to wind his palm lower, diving it into the confines of his pocket... And withdrawing a moderate pouch from within. Fishing thereonafter inside, he finally plucked out a diminutive, crimson crystal, before chucking it haphazardly into the midst of the wood, and gripping each piece of lumber readily, assembling a proper pyre upon a circle of stones. His runic palm danced alight anew, as he bore it before the hearth--and with the ignition of the runes, so too did the crystal within the wood grow saturated with fiery aether... Until a spark came to life, rupturing from its breast. Clapping his palms together, he drew back, exhaling profoundly. "...Aye, there we are."

Cravendy Hound takes half of her hair in hand and wrings it out like a washcloth. A line of water drips down between her fingers and falls from her wrist. It seemed every outing she went on resulted in her becoming absolutely drenched - perhaps it was Llymlaen? It certainly seemed that the gods had some beef with her. With a sigh of relief, she sidled up to the fire and warmed her palms.

Cravendy Hound: “I’m gonna be feelin’ this for days, ugh...” She gives her arm a painful stretch, sure of the bruises that were hidden underneath her glove. “Guess I should’ve expected as much, given that ye’ve been trainin’ on rocks for who knows ‘ow long.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn gripped the loose end of his bandage betwixt his fangs, straightening it firmly, as he tied the remnant around his arm until the runic light was snuffed out from beneath. A wholly entertained rumble stirred within his breast, hinting at his approval of her predicament. Shuffling on all the closer, he'd rip the bandage's end off with a jerk of his burly neck, before planting both of his paws atop his thighs, wistfully exhaling. "...Mm, not too long. Should be 'round two moons now, dependin' on what day it be t'day..." Admittedly, the lattermost part infused his voice with a lasting confusion, only to be broken by a raise of his palm behind his head, idly scratching away at his pelt. "...Eh, apologies fer the sudden downpour earlier. Seems I let loose on me control a tad too much, so do try to dry up now, aye?"

Cravendy Hound shifts forward, arms wrapped carefully around her knees. Now that her body had time to relax, it was like all her soreness could now be at the forefront. Cravs lets out a hiss as she moves in just the wrong way for a split second. “Well, when did ye start? And don’t tell me ye’ve been out in the wilds this entire time. Don’t ye come back to town for supplies?”

Cravendy Hound - Dornn’s second claim goes unnoticed at first - she’s too busy warming up by the fire and licking her wounds to notice his odd statement immediately. She makes a sound of agreement but, after a delay, tired contentment twists into confusion. “Whuh? Are ye claimin’ control over the weather? It did get stormy back there but...”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn appeared all too befuddled by the erstwhile sentiment, prompting his furred noggin to turn sideways in a quizzical tilt. "Nay, I... Hunt fer my supplies? Y'can find just about all you need in the wild, from berries t' meat an' lumber alike. The Shroud is known fer its rich game, 'fter all." The Aerslaentean tint to his voice swelled with pride, as his Northerner accent grew all the bolder. "Not that the Lohengarde will tell ye aught different. Twelve know me life's condemned t' their company more oft than not, as it seems..." A fond smile washed those words down, before his palm swatted the idle recollections away. "Bah! I claim no mastery o'er the elements, nay. 'Tis one of the highest staples of our people to possess such skills to command the weather... Yet it comes with some ease, with a clear plateau at yer disposal... As well as the teeny-tiny presence of the Red Moon's vast aetherial reserves amplifyin' me command o'er the weather. Blame me uncle fer puttin' me on this path." With a somber shrug of his bulky shoulderblades, he peered up at her, inspecting her thoroughly. "So, a vaunted... Drunkard an' ne'er-do-well, then? Strange track record ye've claimed so far, accordin' to that runt from afore."

Cravendy Hound mouth curves into a smile. “The Shroud is also known fer, what’re they called...the Elementals? So ye best be careful, unless ye want a swarm of bees to be sent yer way for takin’ too much honey. That, and I’ve never found a good bottle of drink in the wilds.” With that, she pulls out a metal flask half full of liquor and unscrews the top. After taking a hearty sip herself, she offers it to him over the fire. “‘’Ere ye go, weather boy.”

Cravendy Hound: “Seems...dangerous to be tappin’ into that aether. Ye must ‘ave a good reason for seekin’ such power,” Cravs muses, gaze shifting over towards Dalamud’s general direction. “Ye best be careful to not let it taint and control ye.” She raises a brow.

Cravendy Hound then stares back into the fire, red refractions dancing in the pit of her sea blue eyes. A somber mood takes hold. “That’s a good way of puttin' it. A lotta folk get riled up by the way I live, or the fact that I’m still livin’. Or both.” She lets out a prolonged breath. “And it’s fair, most of the time.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn hoisted an index digit aloft knowingly so, waving it up and down as he spoke. "Somethin' akin to that. The Elements 'ave yet to catch me, alas an' alack. All you hafta do is know how to conceal yer aetherial print with that of earth, wind and stone." Though, the mention of honey /did/ make his ears perk up at attention. "Kind of ye t' remind me, I could go fer fetchin' a comb or two right 'bout now..." Regardless, the offered flask made him rumble with even more curiosity, yet his customs compelled him to accept the offering, gingerly grabbing it out of her palm's domain. "Many thanks, yet I be 'ardly a -boy,- tsch." Peering over his shoulder as he pressed the drink to his lips, his concealed hues scoped out the outline of the lesser Moon. A generous chug or two, and he'd take abandon of the lid, handing it over with a hearty sigh. "...Aye, I ain't got plans t' mingle meself with whate'er that abomination behind me be. As fer ye, lil' munchkin..." His keen hues refocused upon her form, pondering over her own aetherial stream. "All the more of a reason t' piss 'em off with spite, I'd say."

Cravendy Hound takes back her flask. Without hesitation, she finishes off whatever’s left and shoves the thing back into her pocket, not bothering to cap the now emptied container. “Oy, if yer gonna be callin’ me shite like munchkin, then I can call ye whatever I want, -weather boy-.” She chuckles to herself. Both names fitted terribly, like a baby’s glove on a hulking beast. But that just gave her more reason to use them.

Cravendy Hound: “I’m done bein’ like that....or at least, I’m tryin’. Only so far ye can go til ye find the ‘ole ye’ve dug is too deep to get out.” She shakes her head. “Maybe it’s already too deep, but one can try to make things better anyway.”

Cravendy Hound: “‘Aven’t figured out the logistics, though, of ‘ow to make up to someone who wants ye dead without givin’ up my ‘ead as an peace offerin’.” Cravs shrugs.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn kept a valiant vigil over her form as she spoke her case, his lips twisting into a half-smirk as she insisted on the nicknames. His barreled breast soon slumped thinner, as he exhaled a generous gale... Though her story had him issue no sentiment until it was fully told. At length, he'd plant his palms back onto his thighs, a timid growl rumbling in his chest. "Mm... Matters are e'er as simple or as complex as we think 'em to be. The truth is always somewhere inbetween." Nodding sagely, his digits patted against the plate of his legs, ere her resumed. "Northerners value deeds o'er empty words and silvery tongues. It has proved a grand solution t' solvin' disputes--either by trials by combat, or by feats o' heroism t' redeem one's name. Sometimes, all ye hafta do is look back to tradition, an' a simple solution may present itself, lass."

Cravendy Hound cranes her neck downwards and places her hand above her neck, each finger balanced on a boney ridge. Face hidden by untamed locks of hair, she lets out an even longer sigh. “But we’re not in the North, brother. We’re ‘ere. And specifically, we’re where Ul’dahn influence can reach, and the games they play in court are far beyond me.”

Cravendy Hound lifts back up and pulls her hair back behind her shoulders. Her eyes remain downcast, haunted. But the moment passes. “So, son of Hyrtfyr, ye claim to be a captain but I don’t see any crew. It seems clear to me yer in some kind of trouble. What ghosts do ye ‘ave locked in the closet?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn balled up a fist proper with the might of his right hand, his pale, bare thumb stroking over the index digit next to it. "Ul'dahn courts, huh..." He mused to himself, seemingly drowned in a deeper well of thought. "We be not in the North, aye--but peoples' hearts dance the same, even if a few scores more cowardly they be. Though, I be curious as to who 'zactly ye've stepped on, now..." On the subject of his own ghosts and mates, he momentarily fell quiet, only to wave a dismissive paw away. At length, he'd raise it to his breast, pressing the fist against his collarbone. "Eh, I'm 'ardly worth talkin' 'bout, as are me... Ghosts. Still, if ye've a mind to visit me crew, they live in no mountains, I promise ye--fancy a lil' hideout in the Mists, even. Can show ye 'round one day, if ye'd like."

Cravendy Hound is taken by a bout of incredulous snickering. “What? Ye claim to be hardly worth talkin’ bout, but then ye go around introducin’ yerself as Captain and throwin’ around some oldblood names. Yer an odd one.”

Cravendy Hound: “W-who I stepped on isn’t yer concern. All ye need to know, is that while wounds are things that’ll ‘eal, a man’s pride is ‘arder to put back together. And I may as well ground my victim’s into mincemeat,” Cravs waffles, arms crossed and lips lifted in a pout. She dips her head in thought. “Crew in the Mists? Guess I wouldn’t mind meetin’ them but do they know yer out ‘ere?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn rebutted with a simple, affirming nod of his chin. "Aye, I'm but a simple Sea Wolf man, no more, no less." He took vast pride in his heritage, that much was certain--yet he also did his best to shy away from her further prodding. Still, he managed to pursue the subject until she would yield no more answers. "Aye, pride is a bloody fickle mistress t' please. I'd know, 'tis me prime vice." A slight smile crowned his lips, as he confirmed her suspicions. "They be used t' me fleein' out an' about unannounced, worry ye not. I make sure t' leave them in proper care an' situated ere I sod off t' train me runic brawlin', 'fter all... An' apparently that entails bumpin' into fledglin' lil' she-Wolves in the wilds. Not e'en the Styrm whispered any o' that, aye."

Cravendy Hound: “What an introduction that’d be...oy, crew. ‘ere’s some random, wanted lady I found in the wilderness while I was out wagin’ war against rocks.” Cravs smirks somewhat, though it’s quickly brought back down into a snarl upon hearing his next few words. “F-fledglin’?! Oh, think yer a smart one, don’t ye? Call me somethin’ like that again and I’ll give ye a new ‘ole right between the eyes, ye oversized snowman."

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn presented both of his palms before himself, raising them in a surrendering fashion near-like. "Now, now, fair's fair... Those mean rocks had it a-comin'. Standin' 'round there, all... Menacingly... An' gray..." He hissed under his breath; the mere thought of rocks sent his blood to near-boil. Or so. Regardless, her reaction elicited a far more amused one from his end. "Somethin' like what, an itty-bitty she-Wolf that be by the fire sitty?"

(Cravendy Hound) the mere thought of rocks sent his blood to near boil.............. (Cravendy Hound) I am living (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Heph. Heph. Heph.

Cravendy Hound hates this. SO MUCH. But as much as she wanted to grab her gun and turn her smug companion into swiss cheese, she had -just- spoke on not wanting to dig herself deeper into holes. And murder over sassy remarks, while something she had done in the past, was no longer acceptable. Think happy thoughts, Cravs. Think. Happy. Thoughts.

Cravendy Hound can’t. She instead gets up and menacingly steps (for the second time today) into Dornn’s space. If there was scruff to grab him by, she would’ve tried to lift him onto his feet and over the fire. However, his size and armor made such a gesture impossible. Frustrated, she simply puts her hand over his hat and pulls it down.

(Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Down as in off or down as in one of those comfy ear-warming caps that you just grab by their dangly things and pull over your eyes-- (Cravendy Hound) the second for sure (Cravendy Hound) bonus if this messes up his hair too xD

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn || The pale giant stood--or sat, rather--oddly calm in his perch, even as she abandoned her own lodge to assault his. Watching her near-boil over, then attempt to pacify her own thoughts, then inevitably fail and fall flat on her proverbial rear seemed of great amusement for the lad. Yet, as the rather fluffy, warm pelt of his head was tugged lower, he squinted momentarily up at her, only to grunt something fierce. Without a second thought, his ivory paws latched onto her wrists, commanding her to stay her movement in an instant. "Grh. Now'en, ye've had yer fun--don't make me make roasted cinnamon rolls from the cinnamon roll o'er this fire, 'ere."

Cravendy Hound winces from his grip, her body still tender from the training that had happened less than an hour prior. But like a wild animal caught in a trap, she didn’t know what to make of the situation. When you can’t bite anymore, the only thing left to do was bark. “Tch. ‘Hope ye like yer rolls with salt instead of sugar.”

Cravendy Hound - As Cravs rages on, tendrils of fire sputter from campfire, pulled thin from its source by an unknown magic. Like swirling threads, they reach towards the small of Crav’s back, eliciting a surprised yelp from her. “Bloody ‘ell! Dornn, I didn’t think ye were serious about roastin’ me, gods! Pull me out afore I melt!”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn knocking his helm back into place with a stern jerk of his noggin, the man's lips, ever-confident, now equally proud, bent upwards in his trademarked, half-smirk. At once, his feet collected beneath him, elevating him to his natural, imposing height. At eight full fulms he stood, towering and proud--but still, he clutched onto her wrists, this time invading -her- personal space--snout to snout, nearly. "Lass... I'm a Sea Wolf. Salt runs in me veins." He appeared wholly entertained by her antics, going as far as to smirk right into her own face. Regardless, the proud brawler only tantalized her by the fire for a spell longer, intent on the innocent torture for just a few more moments.

Cravendy Hound: “When ye finally croak, I ‘ope ye dry into a piece of jerky, saltblood, and get eaten by the gulls,” Cravs tells Dornn off, the fire behind feeling like blazing flowers blooming along her spine. She sweats under the collar and then finally shoves herself free of his grasp. When she turns, the campfire has gone back to normal, and despite the sensation, her armor remains unscorched.

Cravendy Hound brushes herself off. “I don’t know if I should ‘ate ye or like ye. But, by the goddamn twelve, does bein’ around ye wind me up like a pissed off cog. Bah, I’m too sober for this.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn seemed in higher spirits from the ordeal indeed--as she wrung free of his grasp, he gestured with a free palm before him, while its twin saddled his hip in earnest. "Would ye -really- prefer t' see me in such a state?" He inquired with an innocent smile donned upon his lips, and a puppy-like tilt of his noggin to boot. "Sounds t' me like ye welcome someone bein' straight with ye... Even at the cost of it bein' infuriatin', eh lass?"

Cravendy Hound narrows her eyes at him, and if looks could kill, this one could’ve sent a primal whimpering back home. But despite that, he had hit the nail on the head. A small part of her enjoyed his company. “I’d pay a premium to get front row seats. But unluckily for me, ye seem the type to cling onto life like a bloody determined tick.” She slouches over, wrung out by his sass. In a much smaller voice, she speaks to no one in particular. “Lucky for ye though...and. For me. I guess.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn maintained his good posturing and hearty attitude to the extent of planting his large paw upon her shoulderblade, issuing no small amount of comrot through a tap upon her shoulderblade. "A premium, aye? Ye honour me, lil' she-Wolf. Though ye don't stray far from the truth o' the matter--ain't allowed the Sea t' swallow me up yet, despite its efforts. Yer tongue, while a fierce contender fer it, shan't avail ye either, am 'fraid." Giving off a tender squeeze, he'd mull over her previous sentiment, his own shoulders now rumbling with a baleful storm--that not of thunder, but of bones crackling, as he stretched prim and proper. "Mmh... That be 'nough trainin' fer the moon, methinks. Parched o' throat, are ye? Care t' join me on the road back? Y'seem like ye bear a good tale or two on yer breast."

[cncobby]

Fluffy ABC’s series: Joel

happy new years my loves! i hope 2019 is good to all of us (its still 2019 in california but eh close enought)

so this is a new series (maybe) that i’m thinking of starting!! i got inspo while browsing through tumblr and i saw a couple other fandom writers for marvel do this so I wanted to do it for Joel at least bc he my baby but if you guys like this i’m thinking of doing it for the rest of the boys?? lmk what you think!!

i thrive on positive (or any) feedback so hearing what you guys think motivates me and lets me know how i’m doing so i can write more!!

A = Attractive: what do they find attractive about the other?

For you its definitely his hair, you love running your hand through his curls and playing with his hair while you guys are all cuddled up. He loves your smile, the way it lights up the room when he makes you laugh and how your nose scrunches up just slightly when one of the boys tells a bad joke.

B = Baby: do they want a family? why/why not?

He most DEF wants a family with you. We know homeboy wants seven (why this specific number I have NO idea) but he always daydreams about this all the time. Sometimes you guys will just be sitting on the couch, cuddling and watching Netflix or something when he’ll suddenly be like “so when we have kids do I have any say in their names?” And you’re jokingly like “boy who told you I’m giving you kids” he’s like “um duh we’re having seven. Three girls and four boys ... We’ll have to buy a big house since they’re not gonna wanna share when they’re older.” 

C = Cuddle: how do they cuddle?

Like a fucking koala. Literally wraps you around him like a blanket. His head below yours so you can play with his curls. This is his favorite when you guys are lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, or just waking up. He’ll hold you against his body if you try to leave “five more minutes baby, then we’ll get up”

D = Dates: what are dates with them like?

They're super lowkey, but that doesn’t mean they’re anything less than special. You both love nights in since he doesn’t get to spend much time at home with you, so any chance you guys get to cuddle up and catch up on tv while eating your fave foods is always a good time. Its also a good idea so you guys don’t end up getting mobbed/bombarded by fans or paparazzi. Even though most of your dates are at home, he goes out of his way to make them special and surprises you every time. Whether it be ordering food from you favorite restaurant, or hiring a private chef, or sprinkling rose petals on the floor, he knows exactly how to bring a smile to your face.

E = Everything: “you are my ____” (e.g my life, my world…)

“You are my sunshine.” He always compares your smile to the sun. 

“Why do you always say I’m like the sun?” 

“Because you’re the biggest star in my solar system” 

“that was so cheesy” 

“yeah but you love it”

F = Feelings: when did they know they were falling in love?

I feel like it’d be super random and unexpected, like he was having a bad day so you spammed him with goofy pictures and videos and he just felt his heart burst with this overwhelming amount of fondness for you. He looked at your face with that stupid filter on it and just thought at how sad he’d be if he wasn’t able to see that everyday.

G = Gentle: are they gentle? If so, how?

I feel like during sex he’d def be more the slow and sensual type. He loved taking his time with you and seeing all the different sounds and expressions you made when he’d kiss you in certain places. Not to say he wouldn’t be rough at certain times, but I feel like he’s the more gentle love making type.

H = Hand/Hold: how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?

He likes to hold your hands, but a lot of the time he’ll grip your waist while your arm is slung around his. He likes the closeness of this since he doesn’t get to walk around like this with you all the time.

I = Impression: first impression/s

So you were a low-key super fan of them, like running a blog about them super fan but when you saw him randomly at a coffee shop you were like “oh fuck do I ask him for a picture?? Do I respect his privacy?? WHAT DO I DO” but u ended up like just sitting there and not picking any solutions. 

He saw you sitting there alone and was like hooooly who that be. A part of him hoped that you recognized him and were a fan and wanted a picture so that you’d come a talk to him but after he stood around for a few minutes he was like “fuck she has no clue who I am” so as he was walking towards you someone accidentally ran into him and his drink spilled. All . Over . Your . shirt. You were like “holy fuck” and his brain went into panic mode and was like omg I’m so sorry are you ok?? Here take my jacket and legit stripped off his jacket and put it around you.  

And then it was like a really awkward period where you were like silent and petrified and he was panicking bc “oh fuck i spilled a drink on the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.” But then you eventually were like “...well this wasn’t how I was gonna ask my favorite singer for a picture, but...” And he feels such relieft bc OMG she doesnt hate me. You end up getting your picture (and his number!!) and leave smelling like coffee, but with a cute new hoodie and potential boyfriend.

J = Joker: are they into pulling pranks?

He’s not that big of a prankster. The only reoccurring prank he does is surprise you by showing up randomly at your work/school/house when he’s supposed to be on tour. He prob tells super corny jokes ESPECIALLY when you’re having a bad day so you smile at how bad they are.

K = Kisses: how do they kiss?

Lots of quick smooches, one quirk is that he loves to kiss the back of your hand. Every so often, he’ll steal your breath with a slow, deep kiss that leaves you dizzy.

L = Love: who says I love you first?

Well after he realized that you were a fan he knew that you loved him but you were afraid to say it too early out of fear that he’d think it was just fangirl admiration. You don’t officially say it until he does, but he hears you whisper to it after you thought he had fallen asleep.  

M = Memory:  their favourite moment together

When he brought you home to his family for the first time, and you just fit. His mom loved you (thank god you were both freaking out over this) and his brothers instantly bonded with you as if you were their sister. His brothers teased him to no end, but were happy they finally had a sister to love and care for.

N = Nickel: do they spoil? 

He looooves spoiling you. But not only materialistically, even though he loves to buy you gifts. He knows you prefer smaller more meaningful gifts than extravagant ones, so he’ll always buy things with your name on it from all the countries he visits, or sends you one of his hoodies with his cologne sprayed on top so it’s like he’s home with you.

O = Orange: what colour reminds them of their other half

For some reason, he has a habit of buying you things that are yellow. Once you asked him why, and he said  that it reminded him of your smile, the way you light up a room when you laugh or giggle. Also goes along with how he says you’re his sunshine.

P = Petnames: what pet names do they use?

Lots of babe/baby, especially when he’s whining for your attention. 

“hey babe what hat should i wear?”

“baby come cuddle with me”

“look at how cute you are look at how cuuuute my baby is”

He calls you angel on certain occasions, like if you’re mad at him or when you’re having a bad day and he’s trying to cheer you up.

“angel whats wrong?”

“i’m sorry angel, you know I didn’t mean it like that”

“look angel!! this is how happy you make me”

Q = Quaint: what is their favourite non-modern thing?

He loves black and white silent movies. You guys will often call/facetime each other and watch these movies together, making stupid comments throughout the movie to each other.

R = Rainy Day: what do they like to do on a rainy day?

You guys loved to cook/bake on rainy days. Lots of reenacting scenes from your favorite musicals and doing lots of duets of your favorite songs together. (This results in lots of burned cookies)

S = Sad: how do they cheer themselves/each other up

Lots of times he’ll just call you because he’s on tour and will go on a long rant about whatever’s bothering him. But if he’s there with you, you’ll instantly be able to tell if he’s upset bc he’ll just look really pouty and in those times the thing he loves is when you lay his head down on your lap and just gives him a scalp massage while asking whats bothering him.

T = Talking: What do they love to talk about/hear you talk about?

He really likes it when you talk about school/your job because although he loves his life sometimes its nice to feel like a normal person. He likes to talk about all the dumb shennanigans the boys do when on tour and all the beautiful places he’s seen. 

U = Unencumbered: What helps them relax?

Sounds corny and predictable, but singing. He loves doing covers of all songs, and when he’s feeling stressed he likes to cuddle and serenade you.

V = Vaunt: what do they like to show off? What are they proud of?

He loves to show off your couple pics to all the boys. They often find him just scrolling through his photo albums looking at the pictures you guys took together. “Look guys, look how photogenic we are.” “Bro we know you’ve shown us that picture like a million times”

W = Wedding: when, how, where do they propose?

It was about two years after you guys started dating, and you were talking to him about which job offer to take, the current job you had allowed you to travel with him if you wanted to go on tour with him, but the new job you were offered was a definite step up from the one you had, but wouldn’t give you as much freedom. He obviously wanted you to take that one, but you were worried that it’d put a strain on your relationship since you wouldn’t be seeing each other that often and your trust issues started to creep into your mind when all of a sudden he was like “Well would being married make you feel better?” 

And you’re like “…did you just” 

A smirk starts to creep up on his face, “Did I just ask you to marry me? I think so, what do you think angel? Wanna get hitched?” 

You low-key wanna smack that smug smirk off his face but you’re too stunned and just nod. “Yeah I’ll marry you dork” 

Later you guys are cuddling after you ‘celebrated’ your engagement and you’re like ... “You do know your mom is gonna kill you for proposing like this though” and he’s like “FUCK you right”

X = Xylophone: What’s their song?

Sun and Moon from Miss Saigon. The lyrics represented your relationship so well, and you’d always ask him to sing this to you if you weren’t able to fall asleep

Y = You the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

He’s a dork so he’d prob make some corny joke like 

“You’re the bomb to my diggity” 

The boys overhear him say that to you and are like bro PLEASE never say that again

Z = Zebra: if they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?

We know his family already has three dogs so I’m sure he’d get another dog! Especially to keep you company when he’s away on tour or doing band stuff!! Bonus scene: I can so see him coming home randomly like “…I got us another dog” and you’re like 

“JOEL WE TALKED ABOUT THIS” 

“ok listen but I went to go get more dog food and he just looked SO SAD”

i hope you guys like it!! its longer than most of my headcannosn and is a different style but i had so much fun writing this and its dear to my heart so show her some love <3

[thesportssoundoff]

“Is Brazil prepared for a Dragon, a Phenom, Rocky, an Alligator and potentially some good old fashioned Lineker violence?” UFC 224 Preview

Joey

May 7th

These long UFC breaks are a real sore, aren't they? After what feels like a much longer than it actually is week and change; the UFC returns and it's coming straight to PPV with a very...strange card. The main card isn't perfect by any stretch but it's a) good enough to be respectable and b) filled with everything you'd want for a modern day PPV except for the main ingredient I suppose. You've got a quality competent high level title fight, you've got a legends fight that's years in the making (since at least 2013 when Machida made his decision to drop to 185 known), you've got a guaranteed action fight brawl between John Lineker and Brian Kelleher, a phenomenal prospect getting the vaunted third fight treatment and a #1 contender fight at 185 lbs assuming that Chris Weidman's broken hand/shoulder/neck/knee/everything is still on the mend. From there though I think the card really suffers primarily from a lack of one big defining fight that can tie it all together and make it a deep card. It's fine; it's a Brazilian level UFC event. I feel like it could've benefitted from a Iuri Alcantara sighting basically or some Brazilian of a high level who you could see as a prelim headliner.

Fights: 13

Debuts: 0

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 0

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC):  7 (Amanda Nunes, Ronaldo Souza, Kelvin Gastelum, Lyoto Machida, John Lineker, Thales Leites, Cezar Ferreira)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC:   1 (Thales Leites)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC:   5 (Alberto Mina, Raquel Pennington, Amanda Nunes, Elizeu Zaleski, Nick Hein)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2016 (in the UFC):  25-9-2

Amanda Nunes- 4-0 Raquel Pennington- 3-0 Ronaldo Souza- 3-1 Kelvin Gastelum- 3-1-1 (really 4-1) Amanda Bobby Cooper- 2-2 Mackenzie Dern- 1-0 John Lineker- 4-1 Brian Kelleher- 3-1 Lyoto Machida- 1-1 Vitor Belfort- 1-2-1 (1-3 reaaaaaally)

Too High Up- Davi Ramos vs Nick Hein

In truth everything on the main card is pretty much what it should be. The prelims are such a grab bag of "decent but not thrilling" that it's hard to pick one fight that maybe has the capacity of being out of place. That belongs to this fight where Nick Hein returns from an extended absence to face Davi Ramos on the middle of the FS1 card. I have no beef with Davi Ramos but Hein is a notoriously slow boring fighter who more often than not has fights that tend to sap the will of viewers like they're trapped in a RNC. It's also worth pointing out that Hein is 33 and he hasn't fought since 2016. Put this on Fight Pass, man.

Too Low- Alberto Mina vs Ramazan Emeev

This is a touch hypocritical given Emeev stunk up the joint and Mina hasn’t fought in a year and change either. I get it but listen. Alberto Mina is a pretty fun fighter to watch who has finished 2 of his 3 UFC fights, racking up wins over Yoshihiro Akiyana and Mike Pyle if you're looking for "names" to get excited over. Ramazan Emeev is coming off a win at 185 lbs vs Sam Alvey in a dumb fight but Emeev is figured to be a fighter worth keeping an eye on at 170 lbs. It's a far more intriguing fight on paper than Hein/Ramos.

Stat Monitor for 2018: Debuting Fighters (Current number: 9-14):  

Short Notice Fighters (Current number: 10-4):

Second Fight (Current number: 12-12):  James Bochnovic, Markus Perez, Ramazan Emeev, Karl Roberson, Mackenzie Dern

Cage Corrosion (Current number: 5-10):  Alberto Mina, Sultan Aliev, Nick Hein, Raquel Pennington

Undefeated Fighters (Current number: 15-10):  Mackenzie Dern, Karl Roberson, Alberto Mina

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- Let's talk about the card real quick, eh? Amanda Nunes is under 30 but she'll be over the dreaded "RB decline age" shortly. How many other Brazilian fighters on this card are under 30?

John Lineker- 27 Junior Albini- 27 Warrley Alves- 27 Markus Perez- 27

Now Mackenzie Dern is 25 years old but she was born in the United States. If you want to give her to Brazil for the sake of continuity then you're more than welcome to but the point remains. What's more? Albini is coming off a loss, Alves is 1-2 in his last 3 fights, Markus Perez is coming off a loss and while we all love Lineker, I feel like the ceiling on him at 125 and 135 lbs has been somewhat established. People make a lot of talk about the lack of Brazilian champions but that's not a massive problem. I was there in 2012 when everybody was panicking about the lack of American champions during the Brazilian boom period of MMA. The problem is Brazil lacks a fresh young core of new talents under 30 who can make waves in the UFC. I mean stop me if you've heard this one BUT the hope when the UFC decided to invest countless dollars into Brazil was that at some point they'd find, cultivate and develop a bumper crop of young stars for when Anderson, Shogun, Maia, Machida, the Nog Brothers and Vitor were gone. It hasn't happened yet and each attempt has been in vain. That's why Thomas Almeida was received with open arms; it's not JUST that dude was a tremendous fight finisher and all violence fighter. It's that his youth and upside made him a product they HAD to try and develop. It's why Paulo Costa's development as a fighter is so vital; the 27 year old middleweight is a glorified unicorn at this point. Brazil doesn't need one last glory run from guys who are already established. What they REALLY need to do is to find new guys who can carry the banner.

Now the rule of thumb as always is that it only takes one to do it. A fighter like Michael Bisping is considered to have opened the door for other fighters and then the door was reopened by Conor McGregor for European fighters. It's hard to find a Hawaiian fighter who didn't get into MMA through BJ Penn fandom. Fedor is probably more responsible for the current influx of tremendous Russian born fighters than anybody else. The hope is 5-10 years from now, Ronda Rousey's lasting impact on MMA isn't the million buy PPVs or the out of the cage wackiness but the hundreds of women she'll have influenced to get into MMA.  There's no way to tell who it is and what it's going to take for it to happen. We've been waiting on Canada to find the heir to the GSP throne for quite some time now. Eventually a new fighter to capture the hearts and minds of the people will come----but time's ticking. Brazil isn't hopeless but it has to be getting to the point where the UFC is simply running out of draws for the market. No Nog, No Anderson, soon no Vitor, eventually no Maia, Werdum or Machida. Cyborg isn't going to be around for the UFC much longer either. The time for somebody to step up has NEVER been more immediate. Maybe this is why there's going to be a most convenient case of amnesia on where Mackenzie Dern was born.

2- There's an MMA fan theory I've seen on a few forums about the # of WMMA fights on a card relating to buyrate. The general feeling is that like flyweights, the more WMMA fights you have on a main card the less likely you are to pop a significant buyrate.  I decided to go back to 2016 and take a peek at the rumored buyrates for shows with TWO WMMA fights on a card.

UFC 196 (Nunes/Shevchenko, Holm/Nunes)- 1.3 mil UFC 205 (Joanna/Karolina, Tate/Pennington)- 1.3 mil UFC 219 (Holm/Cyborg, Esparza/Gadelha)- 300K UFC 222 (Cyborg/Kunitskaya, Vieira/Zingano)- 260K

So obviously we're not blessed with a tremendous sample size. We've got four events here and two of them with McGregor as the headliner did McGregor level numbers. The other two? I mean they're not bad! Mighty Mouse would sell his gaming rig to headline a PPV that did that kind of scratch. A WMMA headliner outside of Ronda tend to do alright-ish I suppose. I mean Holm vs GDR did in the 200K+ range and again, that sort of number would be something Mighty Mouse would hunger for. I guess the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think this card is DOA. So what MIGHT it draw? Well....we can start by acknowledging that Brazil is where PPV buyrates go to die. Outside of Ronda making a pinch hit appearance to spruce the market (and secure a new deal for the UFC), these shows normally top off around the low to mid 300Ks. Now in today's PPV market that sounds pretty damn fine but that was with Anderson Silva in the height of his GOATness headlining. Jose Aldo PPVs from Brazil routinely did awful bottom of the barrel type numbers. The last time the UFC did a PPV in Brazil; the general thought was that it topped off around the 250K+ range. Not awful of course but probably not the best either for a unification bout between Aldo and Holloway. This card is a lot better than people are giving it credit for but Nunes vs Shevchenko left a sour taste in people's mouths plus Amanda Nunes is just genuinely unpopular. In today's PPV market, it takes more than just a card of really good fights. It has to be "an event" more than just "a fight." If this card drops below 200K, I think that's probably a bad deal.

3- I feel like this is going to answer more questions than Nunes/Shevchenko II re: Amanda Nunes and her long term success going forward. If you drew up a fighter who could prey on the things that have been of woe to Nunes' success, it's a fighter who has SOME of the Rocky Pennington attributes. The sort of person who doesn't get overwhelmed by pressure, who can dish it out and take it in return, who hits surprisingly hard and relies on durability and patience. Pennington is really crude but she makes it work for her and she's one of those fighters who fights better when tired. Amanda Nunes has struggled with people who don't fold vs her pressure and her cardio remains a question until I see her in a fight where it's truly tested. Her vs Shevchenko was a low output high leverage staring contest which didn't really force her to exert much of anything. To this point, Nunes deserves fantastic credit for making sure cardio isn't an issue by just running through people. This is still a very unique test for her.

4- I just wish Pennington hadn't been gone for over a year. This year I started tracking performances of fighters who take more than a year off and the 5-10 number is not pretty. What's more; Nunes is arguably the best first round fighter in MMA today and so if Pennington is rusty (which she will be), she might not even get a chance to test what Nunes has in rounds 3, 4 and 5.

5- Kelvin Gastelum vs Jacare is such a weird fight for me. It's a fight where logic dictates Gastleum should have no shot given the size difference but one where he remains a credible threat. I lack a defined way to describe Jacare other than to call him perhaps history's most undervalued commodity; one of the best grapplers with really good striking backed by one of the games most active fight IQs. Like Damien Maia, he just isn't athletic enough to really get over a certain caliber of fighters. Guys who he can't get down he often struggles with and against Whittaker and Romero, he was taken out of his gameplan early due to a speed and athleticism disadvantage. Like Whittaker, Gastelum will give up size in exchange for speed and the cardio advantage. The key difference is Whittaker is insanely hard to get down and keep down whereas I can't get Weidman taking Gastelum down out of my head. Gastelum CAN be taken down but on the ground he's really great at neutralizing offense and getting back to his feet. I'm just not sure Jacare is the right person to want to try to show that off against. Jacare also does some of his best work securing takedowns against the cage and Gastelum does his best work practically leaning on the fence. This is a really good fight with the winner leaving no doubt as to who the #1 contender is since Chris Weidman has evaporated into the ether seemingly.

6- Have the expectations become too much for Mackenzie Dern? It's beginning to feel like if she doesn't steamroll ABC in the first round then the scrutiny on her performance is going to be pretty crazy.

7- It's a little bit bittersweet that Lyoto Machida vs Vitor Belfort is potentially a double retirement fight. The fact we never got Anderson vs Vitor II or Lyoto vs Shogun III will always be bummers to me. On the other hand, we've hit "No mas" for Vitor Belfort like a full two years ago and Machida is either at that point or quickly approaching it. This is a rare acceptable legends fight with the right market to engage in it.

8- Since they're fighting we might as well ask this; whose legacy is more vital to the history of MMA? Vitor Belfort or Lyoto Machida?

9- There are going to be actual human beings walking among us breathing our air and drinking our water who will not watch Lineker vs Kelleher based solely on their height and weight. These creatures exist.

10- If you haven't seen Yoshihiro Akiyama vs Alberto Mina yet, I recommend you do so. One of the wilder and crazier fights in recent memory which is forgotten since it happened at like 8 AM Eastern.

11- The best prospect on this entire show is not a Brazilian but an American in Karl Roberson. He trains out of a tiny gym in New Jersey, was thrown into the fire of kickboxing vs Jerome LeBanner and Dustin Jacoby and before his sixth mma fights, he was already in the UFC. After ONE fight in the UFC, he was already trying to step up to fight Vitor Befort on LESS than 24 hours notice. He's the rare good example of guys tested before they're ready in that he's already faced a fire storm and come out stronger each time. He's got Cezar Mutante in the FX prelim headliner.

12- Elizeu Zaleski has been in five UFC fights. Three of them won a FOTN bonus and the Dalby-Zeleski fight should've won a fourth. He is all action all the time and while Sean Strickland is not the right opponent if you want to have an action fight, I get the feeling Zaleski will drag him into one kicking and screaming.

Must Wins

1- Amanda Nunes

Simply put this show is all about her. She's getting a bit of a stay busy opponent in Pennington with the right kind of strengths to test what have previously been flaws for Nunes. The show is all about her and it's being built around her returning to Brazil as the UFC's top Brazilian champion (at least over the long haul).

2- Jacare Souza

Kelvin Gastelum is really young for 185 lbs so the opportunity to be a contender/champion is always going to be there for him. This is about 38 year old Jacare trying to finally get a UFC title shot after scrapping and scrounging for over five years in the org plus an MMA career that feels like it spans well into the 19th century. The last time he was this close; her an into a fighter similar to Kelvin Gastelum who wouldn't get taken down and just pieced him up in striking range until Jacare just couldn't take it anymore. Lightning strikes twice?

3- Mackenzie Dern

Take everything said about Nunes and then put that in here minus the champion bit. Dern is Brazil's top prospect for the UFC now that Thomas Almeida has sort of settled into a bit of a mid level range.

Five Can't Miss Fights

1- Brian Keller vs John Lineker

2- Lyoto Machida vs Vitor Belfort

3- Kelvin Gastelum vs Ronaldo Souza

4- Elizeu Zaleski vs Sean Strickland

5- Junior Albini vs his diaper

[leorexfilius]

"Are you finished with your childish tantrum? If you are, go to bed Mordred."

“Ah, yes. The vaunted charisma of the great king knows no fucking bounds. It’s easier t’ write someone off as childish, and immature, and whatever else comes to mind - as long as you don’t gotta talk to ‘im directly, eh?”

“No. My answer is no. What are you going to do, King of Knights? Threaten me? Belittle me once more? Draw your blade on me?”

“You are neither my father nor my liege, and so I am beholden to you none.”

[its-a-lark-blog]

(Art by Carlos Amaral.)

Otherkin; As in, Not Your Kin

Cor, look at that sexy beast! Anyway, I wanted to write this as a message to non-otherkin to explain both why we're here, why there'll always be more of us, and why we aren't going anywhere. This is aimed at trans folk especially who wrongly believe that we exist to torment them.

Buckle up, it'll be a ride.

An emotional one, probably.

This is a tricky topic to talk about. I think the problem is is how does one talk about deep-seated, emotional pain without foolishly inviting the melon collies?

It's a pickle.

The thing is is that I absolutely do have to touch on something that I know will make most people uncomfortable in order to move forward. You see, as a disabled person who's both physically scarred and deformed, I've known nothing but the hatred of humanity for the apparently grotesque sin of my birth.

Your privilege, in this case, is that you'll never know what it feels like to live day to day with a crushing burden of guilt over actually having been born, and choosing to stay alive. As I covered in my prior tirade about vaccines and cures, humans don't really like that which isn't like them -- they respond unreasonably with fear or hatred.

Therefore, if I am the target of this, then surely I'm not human?

I believe that imprinting is a thing humans do. However, if the only home you've known is broken and your parents have only one of two modes -- absent, or abusive -- then you're unlikely to imprint upon them. I imprinted upon dogs. You see, my youngest self found that dogs were patient, kind, and loving. I didn't feel all this rampant hatred that wracked the minds of others, so am I a dog?

I don't have any illusions about my otherkin status. I don't think I have a special soul, I don't believe there's anything to it beyond my disocnnect with humanity.

Just as a trans person identifies with a different gender, I identify with a different species. I know -- for a fact -- that for some trans people, the reason they're the way they are is due to self-loathing of their own gender for one reason or another. It's not that different, really. It's just that I loathe my species. Humanity isn't particularly special.

This might sound like misanthropy, but that's an incorrect appellation. That would require that I hate people. I don't. In fact, I bear people no ill will. I'm an emotional baby who'd never want anyone to suffer, I'd cry. The difference is that I'm not sold on the laughably overestimated illusion of our greatness.

In fact, I look at humanity and I don't see greatness. I see people behaving in tribal ways. There's greed and supremacy to be seen wherever one looks. We're systematically destroying our world because humans only relate to humans, so if an animal's habitat is crushed underfoot, what does it matter? I have mused, in the past, that if you could put a smiling human face and skin on a tree, without making it some kind of body horror, then people would care about trees being felled.

Humans are so, so self-obsessed. Our species has its head so far up its own arse it can't see anything else. It has its head so, so far up its own arse that it actively hates anything that isn't like it or doesn't worship it. There's a hierarchy to humanity, and that hierarchy always reads 'how similar to the ones in charge are you?'

For black people, it's that they weren't white enough so they had to endure slavery; For women, it's that they don't 'man up' enough, so they're met with institutionalised sexism. The thing is is tha tthere's supremacy in every facet of humanity. Every part of it. Everywhere.

A white person hates a black person for being black; A straight person hates a gay person for being gay; A gay person hates a trans person for being trans; A straight man hates a feminist for being feminist; A feminist hates a trans person for being trans; A trans person hates an otherkin for being otherkin; And so on, and so on, ad nauseum.

It's fucking ridiculous and terrible.

In order to achieve happiness you have to destroy someone else's life? I know trans people hate otherkin most of all, so it's they who're most invested in destroying our lives to benefit themselves. And that's how it goes, isn't it? It's all about supremacy and greed, look at for your own herd, and just fuck everyone else. They can go to hell. Right?

I don't like humanity. I don't buy the spiel we're selling. I'm really not impressed, humanity. I'm really, truly not impressed.

This is why if I were handed a box with a button on it that I knew where if I pressed it it would exterminate human life without causing any suffering whatsoever? My mind would be flooded, overloaded to breaking point with very sound, logical, well reasoned arguments as to why I should push it. There would be very, very few dissenting voices. One of the few questions would be whether it'd also include the rejects forced to endure human form as well, as they don't deserve it. Only actual humans possess enough hatred to deserve that.

Why would I sanction that? Humans are awful. Let's be honest, if they ever made it to space there'd be campaigns of genocide against any species that wasn't advanced enough to fight them off, and they'd be stupid enough to pick fights with those more powerful than them as well just because they don't look, act, and/or sound like they do.

Humanity is awful. I've known that since day one.

I was born into this world forced to feel guilt for my very existence, from day one. I wasn't the perfect child, I wasn't what they wanted, I wasn't 'them' enough for my parents. I was too deformed and ugly to fit into society. I was a 'monster' just because of how I was born and the hardships I'd endured. It's worse because some of the welts on my hide are from the hatreds I've known.

And I'm just not impressed. I don't see the vaunted kindness, I'm not seeing the open-mindedness, I don't very often witness the awareness. Now, don't get me wrong, I think that humans are very clever creatures. They're certainly architects and builders, they can imagine and create things and that's worthy of praise, to be sure. There are, however, factors which are much more important for a sapient species to be truly considered advanced.

And humanity doesn't yet possess them.

It's an astounding feat of narcissism that we believe that just because no one has bothered to reveal themselves to us, that we must therefore be alone in the Universe. Only a human could come up with an idea so solipsistic. It could just be that aliens aren't impressed with this world of self-obsessed narcissists. Just perhaps, maybe.

I mean, if I were an alien, I wouldn't bother. And I do feel like an outsider. I think humanity can be, for the most part, untenably terrible and monstrous.

So, consider the child who's imprinted on dogs, reviled by humanity for his disability. A story any truly disabled child can attest to. Some more than others. You grow through this sea of hatred, it's all you've known, humans never saw fit to welcome you as one of their own. So you're an outsider, you don't belong to the herd. You're othered.

Throughout my youth, I looked upon horror and 'monsters' with very different eyes. I knew monsters to be peach skinned, human shaped things. So if I saw a hairy beast with claws, I knew it had to be like me -- it was a creature that these awful things had hurt so terribly, and it was just trying to survive.

I felt a kinship with it.

Whenever I saw a dragon beset by a group of four of these peach-skinned creatures? I didn't see four 'heroes' who'd set out to lay low some fell beast. No, no no no. What reason would I have to believe that? It's not like there's any form of fantasy forensics to try to ascertain guilt, is there? No, it's nothing more than home invasion.

You have these four evil, greedy bandits who'd lie through their teeth to justify breaking into someone's house and stealing all their shit. I felt more and more for the dragon. Anything that humans would respond to with fear and hatred? I, in turn, would feel an increasingly strong bond with and connection to. As time marched on, that feeling of becoming more distant from any human identity had grew.

And here I am. Humans are monsters. They disgust me. I feel self-loathing over being stuck in a human body. Why? Isn't that obvious? All of my life other, 'normal' humans have made it clear that I'm not like them. I've been made to feel unwelcome and othered.

They've told me I'm not like them, rather vehemently. I've felt that I'm not like them. I don't identify as human. I identify as that which humanity hates. That's what I am.

I am the creature you made me.

If I am that which humans hate, I will call myself werewolf. I find the aesthetic attractive, both beautifully and in a physical sense. I'm sexually aroused by werewolves, not by humans. It's the way my mind is now wired. This is who I am. This IS who I am. I'm sorry that only stokes the fires of your hatred more, though considering that that's all I've ever known... You'll forgive me if I don't care much, eh?

The thought of being a werewolf and being with a werewolf provides me with comfort. I feel safe. They scare away the disgusting monsters called 'human.' Moreover, these undeniably wondrous creatures can undo the curse called 'human' and unlock the truth within. This, of course, humans call a curse. I call it freedom.

I don't know if werewolves actually exist, mind you. Speaking probablistically they likely don't. The narrative is there, though, and by any means I had I would choose to become like them over the evil homunculi who call themselves 'human.'

You see, I don't hate like a human. I don't hate feminists, gay people, trans people, or anyone. I don't have a hierarchy of that which is more similar to me or not. I don't want to be superior and actively avoid that entitlement in any way I can.

The end result of all this is that I feel genuinely detached from humanity. To them, I am a monster. To me, they are the monsters.

The difference? I've never beaten, tortured, broken, or scarred anyone. I wouldn't. I couldn't. Like I said, I'd cry. All I know from humans is that they're these bipedal creatures who're in an unending war of supremacy, they always want to strive to be so superior to one another, so much better, no matter whom they've crushed to get there.

I'll just be over here, being a werewolf, identifying as a werewolf, and not having any truck with that.

And here's the thing? I'm hated for embracing this, too! It's truly remarkable. I'm told that I'm a joke, a troll, that none of my feelings are relevant. I'm told that I'm a construct invented to torture trans people despite probably being older and thus having suffered longer than any of the trans people I was supposedly invented to torment.

This is the thing with humanity. You'll even weaponise myself and other otherkin to hurt your own. It's incredible. You're so fucked up. You're so completely fucked up.

And you wonder why aliens haven't taken notice of us.

It's because of all of the HATE.

Like I said, I'll just be over here, not hating. All your hatred does, really, is just convince me of how utterly correct I am to not identify with humanity in the first place. It serves to illustrate how correct I am about how you're fuelled by hatred first and foremost before anything else. And that I -- and any sane person -- would have every reason to not identify as human.

No one who's free of hate should identify as human.

And that's all otherkin is. It's being hated so much, by so many people, you come out the other side as something else entirely. Not something better, not something worse, just something that's different. Something other.

And that's why the world has otherkin. Because you're so narcissistically self-obsesed. Becasue you hate.

And as long as you hate, there'll be people who'll end up so detached from humanity they'll have no choice but to be otherkin. That's just how that works.

And detached as I am. I choose werewolf. It's a construct I identify with. A creature that doesn't hate, that's immeasurably compassionate and kind to their own, and is feared by humans. Speaking of? It always amused me so much that folks believed that otherkin werewolves picked werewolves because of the 'beauty and nobility of wolves' or whatever else. In my case, I picked them solely because I like dogs and you hate 'em, and there's kinship in that which is hated by you. Today, you hate them now more than ever due to the furry-/otherkin-connections they might have, which means my kinship with them is stronger with them than it's ever been.

And no, I don't hate you. I just wish you'd stop hating. Until you do? I'll just be over here in my non-human club for non-humans where we can be free of the hate. Because that's what we are, right? Non-human. You told us so. At length.

What else were we supposed to think? We're your most despised rejects. We were never a part of your glorious species to begin with. So we might as well be werewolves, dragons, or elves. And that... that really opens your mind to all of the possibilities. Once you're outside of the human bubble, you learn you can love anything. Anything. There's something special about that that you'll never understand.

I love werewolves. I'm a werewolf otherkin. I'd be a werewolf any day over a human. I'm aesthetically attracted to their feral beauty. I'm sexually attracted to these hairy were beasts with mottled skin, bulging veins, and giant claws and fangs. I'm emotionally attracted to them as protectors who'd keep me safe from hateful humans. They're great!

It's a laugh, really, because I guess werewolves sort of an expression of my disabilities. Of my autism, the shakes, my PTSD, my physical deformity and scarring. I guess it's just me coming to terms with how it's okay to be me, even if I'm despised for that. It allows me to be comfortable with myself and to find strength in that. That you'd hate me for that or you'd want to take that away for petty reasons? That you wouldn't want me or any other person to identify this way in order to find happiness, stability, and peace?

Well, that's kind of sad.

And honestly? The hatred you'd feel for my love of werewolves (aesthetically, emotionally, and especially sexually) just serves to make me stronger. It only serves to strengthen the bond I feel with non-human creatures. So... Bring it, I s'pose!

Being an otherkin is rad. So... Fuck your hatred, I'm a werewolf!

Let me leave you with one, closing thought: If I woke up tomorrow and I was a giant insect, I'd shrug it off. No worse off, right? Just another form of life. Besides, compound eyes are quite lovely, I think, and I'd be able to fly! Whereas most humans would likely commit suicide as an act of final, narcissistic defiance.

"Oh no, I'm not beautiful any more! Goodbye, cruel world!"

Humans. Sigh. I don't identify with you any more. Your self-obsessed narcissism leading to the exclusion of any and all that don't share a certain prerequisite verisimilitude with you has made you an insufferably insouciant, unempathetic, and belligerent species.

There's nothing to like. At least, not from the outside. From the inside it must seem lovely, where everyone who meets that prerequisite quota is looking out for one another. Still, mine is an outside perspective. Humanity's repugnant self-obsession has made it an ugly species.

Let's be honest, the only 'care' you have for those unlike you is a selfish expression of your desire to 'cure' them to make them more like you. That's not a kindness, that's a hatred.

Good to be otherkin.

Addendum

I guess this is why I feel so strongly about six-limbed dragons as well. I secondarily identify there but it's more, I think, that I'd want dragon friends. I think the world would be a more amazing place if giant shadows were cast from large wings on high, knowing that there are these giant, truly magnificent creatures watching out for you.

Except we're not allowed to have that, are we? To make a dragon four-limbed? It takes away their hands (which are on their forelegs) and their minds. They're now feral, slavering monsters fit for glorious humans to slaughter. We're not allowed to have them as our friends.

I don't know. It's like humans are so uncomfortable that we relate to non-human sapience that they want to take that away however they can. Dragons had been on this constant track of progression toward being the gentle protector that we know and love, you can see that with instances like Draco in Dragonheart.

Can't have that, though, can we?

If it's not a human it has to be a monster, a true evil. This narcissism where we're not allowed to have our non-human friends just because it makes self-obsessed people a little bit uncomfortable is unsettling to me and just drives home how unwelcome humanity makes the 'rejects' like myself feel.

So what happens to our six-limbed friends? They're amputated, we get to watch them writhe around on their bellies like dogs who've had their forelegs removed. I know people say it's for realism, that they look like bats, et cetera. I also believe we all know how that's completely untrue. I've worked at a bat sanctuary, I've seen bats walk and run.

If you don't believe me, look up 'bat walking' and 'bat running' on Google. I'll belabour this until I'm blue in the face becasue as someone who's lived with this bizarre prejudice for a long time, I know what it's really about. It's about people being generally uncomfortable with non-human sapience, as it might 'upstage' them and show them up by being kinder, more patient, and sweeter than they are.

You don't have to worry about that with amputated body horror dragons though, right? Yeah, you get to be comfortable now, at the expense of those of us who miss our dragon friends.

Is it any wonder I don't identify with humans, for the most part?