#we have these neat little boxes for our experiences now

[leonardcohendaughter]

Sometimes I think the modern terms and frameworks we have created for things make those experiences so much worse and more like clinical and unhuman, and emotionally inaccurate.

My situationship ghosted me (clinical, decidedly terrible with no room for the complexity of human relations, we hear this and picture an identical dynamic between an identical set of people every time we hear it) VS I had a summer love but we parted ways and I never heard from them (still super painful! But leaves room for humanity .. am I .. does that make sense to anyone?)

[karmaphone]

singlets stop presuming that everyone is multiple to some degree, actually challenge

[artigas]

I’m really happy that Black Sails is experiencing a bit of a renaissance, but (predictably) some of the takes I’m seeing online are so busted. It’s wild to me that anyone would complain about the fact that Anne Bonny kisses Jack after she’s developed this life-changing relationship with Max. It’s absolutely wild to see anyone roll their eyes or feel uncomfortable about the fact that Flint has sex with Miranda when he returns to her in season one or that Max is most likely a lesbian but actively has sex with men for pay and knows how to make that pleasurable. It’s crazy to me that some of the very audiences who claim to want queer representation feel so discomforted when they actually see the mess and seeming inconsistencies of queerness that they asked for.

The reality is that there are lesbians who have had (and will have!) meaningful, mutually-gratifying, and deeply sexual relationships with men. There are gay men who’ve enjoyed having sex with women, who are gay as the day is long and nevertheless feel sexually attracted to a woman or two and are nevertheless gay men, full stop. There are gay cis men who are happily married to trans women. There are femme dom tops and butch bottoms and there are mascs afab people who like femme boys. There are non-binary people and trans men who actively identify as lesbians. There are ace and aro people who enjoy thinking about and engaging with sex — sometimes in fiction and sometimes in real life. Queerness, in fiction and in reality, defies neat categorization. That is the beauty, power, and (perceived) unorthodoxy of queerness.

Now, I’ll say this — do I think the straight men behind Black Sails were actively thinking deeply and insightfully about the paradoxes and fuckery of queer identity when they wrote Black Sails? No! By their own admission, Steinberg and Levine have owned up to the fact that some of the writing of the show was really hinged on their own blind spots as people who are not (to my knowledge) members of the queer community. If I want to be generous, I think that the beautiful mess of Black Sails is that, in not feeling like experts enough to designate specific identity labels to any of their characters, the writers stumbled their way into more authentic representation of lived queer experience, which is to say that the notion that James Flint was actively thinking of himself as a gay man was anachronistic. As many lesbian archivists and theories have noted, the notion of a queer identity — as in, queerness is who you are, not what you do — was patently unthinkable for most cultures in the past. In other words, the idea that Anne Bonny operates in the eighteenth century as a lesbian and thus would not willingly engage in relationships with men is not only untrue of the series, but untrue of most recorded lesbian experiences in the real world. The notion that a lesbian would operate her entire life without engaging sexually or romantically with men, for instance, is a very new privilege that some of us are very lucky to enjoy, but it is not true for the vast majority of human history — hell, it’s not even true of our present world.

This is all to say that think that there’s something really funny about how we want queer characters to fit into neatly organized boxes. This isn’t a new problem, either. When the show was still airing, the BS fandom would get itself into tizzies about wether or not Flint is gay or bisexual, wether or not Anne Bonny is a lesbian, wether or not Silver is queer when his only canonical relationship is with Madi, etc etc. We’ve been having these discourses for years and I don’t know. I get that much of it is fueled by how badly some people want to see themselves represented in media, but . . . well. The siloing of queer characters and queer narratives into neat little boxes has never felt very authentic to me and nine times out of ten, it’s also just so damn boring.

[indestinatus]

The silent art of gif making

The gif above has 32 layers plus 6 that aren't shown because this is part of a larger edit. I wanted to share it to give everyone a glimpse of the art of gif making and how long it usually takes for me to make something like this. This one took me about an hour and a half but only because I couldn't get the shade of blue right.

I use Adobe Photoshop 2021 and my computer doesn't have a large memory space (I don't know what to call it) so usually most of psds get deleted because I'm too lazy to get a hard drive. It doesn't really bother me that much because I like the art so when it's done, it's done. Off to somewhere else it goes.

Here are the layers:

Everything is neat and organized in folders because I like it that way. I prefer to edit it in timeline but others edit each frame. There's a layer not shown (Layer 4 is not visible) and it's the vector art. Here it is:

Now it is visible. I don't plan to make this a tutorial, but if you're interested I'd love to share a few tricks about it. I'm pretty new to the colors in gifmaking but the rest is simple to understand. Here, I just want to show how much work it takes to make it.

I opened Group 2 and here's the base gif. I already sharpened and sized it correctly but that's about it. Let's open the base coloring next.

Yay! Now it looks pretty! The edits are in Portuguese but it doesn't matter. There's a silent art of adding layers depending on how you want the gif to look but you get used to it. The order matters and you can add multiple layers of the same thing (for eg. multiple layers of levels or curves or exposure).

This was pretty much my first experiment with coloring so I don't know what I'm doing (this happens a lot with any art form but gifmaking exceeds in DIYing your way to the finished product) but I didn't want to mess up his hair, that's why the blue color is like that. Blue is easy to work with because there's little on the skin (different from red and yellow but that's color theory). I painted the layers like that and put it on screen, now let's correct how the rest looks.

I was stuck trying to get the right teal shade of blue so yes, those are 10 layers of selective color mostly on cyan blue. We fixed his hair (yay!) we could've probably fixed the blue on his neck too but I was lazy. This is close to what I wanted so let's roll with that.

BUT I wanted his freckles to show, so let's edit a little bit more. Now his hair is more vibrant and his skin has red tones, which accentuates the blues and his eyes (exactly what I wanted!). That lost Layer 2 was me trying to fix some shadows in the background but in the end, it didn't make such a difference.

This was part of an edit, so let's add the graphics and also edit them so they're the right shade of blue and the correct size. A few gradient maps and a dozen font tests later, it appears to be done! Here it is:

Please reblog gifsets on tumblr. We gifmakers really enjoy doing what we do (otherwise we wouldn't be here) but it takes so long, you wouldn't imagine. Tumblr is the main website used for gif making and honestly, we have nowhere to go but share our art here. This was only to show how long it takes but if you're new and want to get into the art of gif making, there are a lot of really cool resource blogs in here. And my ask box is always open! Sending gifmakers all my love.

[schizosupport]

Psychosis and schizo spec experiences are messy, and complicated, and often don't fit the societal narratives.

Many psychotic people have experiences that look like symtoms of other disorders, and strict categorization and separation between symptoms and disorders often don't take schizospec and psychotic people's experiences into account.

Schizophrenia, as an example, is commonly classified as a neurodevelopmental illness, and comes with a range of experiences of neurodivergency that do not neatly fit into any one box/neurotype, yet can be both very disabling and very profound. Similarly, most schizospec people are prone to dissociation, and there's an overlap between plural people and psychotic communities.

For this reason and others, I'm not a fan of separatism in the neurodivergent community, which too often targets psychotics, by focusing on proving that this or that group is not "crazy" like "those people".

Occasionally this takes on some insidious forms within the different communities, where "deviant experiences" of odd symtoms that don't align neatly with the narrative of the associated disorder, are dismissed as fake, problematic, harmful - occasionally as ableist in and of themselves. This narrative is actively harmful to psychotic people.

I'm not a fan of arguments that hinge on the notion that large numbers of people are lying or mistaken about their lived experience, and sincerely, as someone who has read an unreasonable amount of research throughout my studies, psychological science is interesting, and useful, but it is never exact, and it is full of biases, blind spots and bullshit science hidden behind statistics and overreaching conclusions. Pointing out bad research is not "anti science", it is in fact pro science. I am a scientist.

I consciously reject the notion that the diagnostic manuals are anything more than a semi competent attempt at making a comprehensive classification of symptoms. This doesn't mean that these constructs aren't hugely influential, or that they don't describe real symtoms, but it is important for Mad and Neurodivergent activism to move beyond this reductive understanding of mental diversity.

So while I'm happy to provide info on the definitions of various disorders etc, because it has real world applications, I am more interested in what we all have in common, and in finding solidarity across diagnostic borders.

In the end, my solidarity is with the weird kids. The quiet ones, the fucked up ones, the ones who don't feel like they belong or fit anywhere. With symtoms and experiences and diagnoses like an ill-fitting set of clothes.

I want to fight the stigma, but I don't want to fight it by assimilation. It is not our job to be "normal" or "easy to understand and categorize".

I want radical inclusiveness, and I want it now. I want the judgement of harmless odd behaviours to stop, I want the mental health communities to stop fighting each other and throwing each other under the bus in the name of being palatable.

We don't have to be palatable to be worthy. We don't have to fit into a neat little box to be taken seriously. We are all deserving of non-judgemental love and support.

Our goal should not be to be neurotypical, it should be to live happy and fulfilling lives within the circumstances we were dealt.

Us psychotic weirdos need better options than to be monsters, or to be invisible.

[badsassitude]

The Boyfriend: Why Shun Needs Hugs (Deep Dive Part 1/3)

My brain does not want to shut up about the dynamics on this show, and I am ready to fight everyone talking smack about Shun.  Look, that boy needs to be hugged, not shamed, and that is a hill I am ready to die on.  

Emotions are complicated and messy. Sometimes the things we want the most are the things we are the most scared of, and sometimes we desperately struggle between wanting to connect and wanting to protect ourselves from pain and doing neither well. It’s a bit like trying to go left but also go right and just pacing back and forth and not going anywhere. What was meant initially to be a simple reflection of exploring Shun’s behavior through the lens of attachment theory took on a life of its own, and now we have parts.

So here is part one, in which we look at Shun's behaviors through the lens of anxious attachment and I draft adoption papers 24 years too late.

Shun as presented in episodes 1-6 of The Boyfriend, has anxious attachment written all over him. **I think it is MASSIVELY IMPORTANT to understand that I am not saying Shun has an anxious attachment style.** First and foremost, what we as watchers see is only a series of filmed interactions edited together. Even if we could see 24/7 unedited footage from the moment Shun stepped into the Green Room, we would still only be seeing a small part of Shun’s life, during a time where he is outside of his normal life and environment. Secondly, we can only see what is outwardly observable, so at best our perspective is based off of guesses and interpretation for which there is no way to validate, elaborate on, or clarify.

For context, in a super brief, overly simplified cliff notes version: anxious attachment is one of the insecure attachment styles included in attachment theory.  Attachment theory describes common behaviors and characteristic of 4 primary attachment styles (of which anxious attachment is an insecure attachment style).

Second note: attachment is not static, remember, emotions are complicated and people don’t fit into neat little boxes. How we attach in different relationships with different people at different points in our lives is unique to that relationship and that context. 

Now back to Shun (well, my interpretation of the Netflix reality TV edited version). Some behaviors I have seen demonstrated by Shun in the show that characterize anxious attachment include:

fear of rejection 

Frequent need for validation, reassurance, attention 

Low self-esteem 

Intense desire for intimacy and closeness, but afraid of abandonment- contributing to the push/pull of clingy to pushing away

Difficulty trusting others 

Jealousy 

For children who grow up feeling as if their needs are not met, with inconsistencies in caregiver responses and an environment that feels unpredictable and perhaps unsafe - they have a higher risk of developing an insecure attachment style (such as anxious attachment) because they did not experience secure attachment bonds. 

Think about what Shun has shared of his story:  Shun never knew his parents. Most likely they abandoned him, and he doesn’t know why. He grew up in a children’s home/orphanage. He was raised by caregivers who took care of him because it was their job. It is reasonable to infer that there was likely turnover in staff at an unknown frequency, and there was likely inconsistency in how staff treated him. It is possible that other children came and went, possibly were adopted. There was nothing stable or secure in that environment, and the even the most loving of caregivers weren’t family and could leave at any time. 

Additionally, he made two comments that set my trauma spidey-senses tingling. Per the Netflix translation, Shun said “Even there… I went through a lot.” Quickly followed by, “And… well, after a lot happened, I ended up coming to Tokyo on my own.” He then added that since coming to Tokyo he has been free, which was said with a little smile and a nod that pierced me to my core. The way he presented while telling his story, so matter of fact with a level of detachment, is very consistent with how I have experienced many trauma survivors telling their stories. 

Now add to all that what he has shared about his past relationships - primarily that he had experiences with “player types” that were clearly painful enough that seeing whatever pictures he saw on Dai’s phone triggered him to the point of tears. He described one relationship as horrible, he “couldn’t get out of it.”  

When you think about what that man has been through, is it that strange that while he may desperately long for love and intimacy, that he’s also terrified of being vulnerable in the way you have to be to get it? 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[cowgurrrl]

OKAY WAIT

late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉

thank you harry styles <3

I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea

UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT

She’s got a book for every situation

Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader

Summary: this ask

Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??

Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.

“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.

“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”

“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.

“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.

“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”

“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.

“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.

“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.

“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.

You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.

“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.

“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.

“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”

“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.

“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.

“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.

“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”

“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”

“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.

“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”

“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”

“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”

“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”

“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody’s publishing me.”

“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”

“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.

“Do what?” You ask.

“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.

“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”

“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.

“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.

“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.

“You won’t fail.”

“But what if I do?”

“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”

“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”

“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”

“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.

“One thing at a time, lover boy.”

Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.

“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”

“Oh, yeah? What was that?”

“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.

“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.

“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.

Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.

[essaytime]

Thank you so much for the links! I’m not going to answer the asks so I can keep them in my ask box but I will be checking them out when I get back from London. Also do you have any recommendations for things to see at the British Museum or London in general?

- @iron--and--blood

The last time we were in London there was really only one day for sightseeing, the rest were too busy - on top of that, we had three hours in the British Museum and the Roman section was closed due to some issue, so besides that I only have hazier and hazier memories from April last year and the other two times, when I was a child, but I'll try my best.

BRITISH MUSEUM

The Ea-Nasir tablet is, you know, itself. Iconic. You'll have to watch out for it though, it's pretty small (Room 55 or 56, I think 56) and it's just titled "Complaint about delivery of copper" or similarly. Next to it is a piece of Hammurabi Code and on its right some of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In the same room - or the next room? - there are figures of Mesopotamian doggies and they look insanely cute, very unfitting for the very serious names they have

There's also a neat little swallow on the Egyptian section

The ever-present ghost of my dad most noble history teacher would politely encourage you to take a look at Ram in a Thicket in the Room of Our Lord 55, next to the Standard of Ur

When you exit the Egyptian section upstairs, not the Rosetta Stone one, the other one, there is some fresco (I think it was a fresco?) and it has a fantastic cat. I forgot to take a photo the last time

You can find very funny-shaped drinking cups in Ancient Greece

You are, as well, allowed to touch the copies of the reliefs on Ancient Greek section, a privilege which my friends gladly utilised to sort of immoral extents. Dignity aside, if you'd like to live your Alcibiades in a symposium dream, that's the occassion. I do wish I had the photo with it taken like I was offered to, but we had to go find the teacher. I regret. It was a fun team activity.

South and Southeast Asia is amazing, very pretty exhibits

I don't really remember the rest of the sections because I was a child then and I was very tired. This miserable occurence shall be fixed. I've heard the Enlightenment section is great.

In case you intend on buying something, the shop is most wonderful and you can find all sorts of objects in it. I bought myself a nice medieval-styled brooch, but boy, did I have a hard time choosing. Watch out for the Japanese frog pin.

EVERYTHING ELSE

I profess a great love for the National Gallery, though the last time I was there I was ten. Titian's paintings will forever remain in my heart. I suppose seeing Holbein's Ambassadors is a great experience, but frankly, I don't remember them at all from visiting. Maybe I was too little.

The Wallace Collection is so pretty! They must have closed the exhibition about dogs already, but it's very pleasant to look at. I think that's also where Fragonard's The Swing is.

Natural History Museum is undoubtedly good, though it's not really what I'm interested in, except for the animals. On top of that, the last time I've visited it I had a Zoom meeting and had to frantically hide in corners trying to be as quiet as I can and still explain my view on a Marcus Aurelius quote.

No clue what is going on at V&A right now, but they always have something good.

Never been in the Westminster Abbey, only seen it from outside - and it's already impressive. However, my history teacher says it's stunning.

Same goes for St Paul's Cathedral, only seen it from outside, but it's beautiful

Trafalgar Square is a classic for me, I love this place, and if you visit the National Gallery you're going to be there anyway. Horatio is watching.

I don't like the Thames that much, it's always so dirty, but that's where most of the famous buildings are. They're really close to each other, closer than I thought, most of them. The London landmarks are pack animals.

Watch out for the sculptures near the Parliament! I wanted to take a photo with Fawcett, but I didn't have time.

Chinatown was very fun to visit for me, but I was over the moon anyway, so I don't know how much of that was really Chinatown.

Pray think warmly of all the exhibits from me (them, not the means of obtaining them), and if you happen to see anything from the Shang dynasty, I don't know if there is, think thrice warmer:)

[ornithia]

lmao i got blocked for this

i, a living, breathing, real-life existing aroace individual, a literal example of the very category you specifically attempted to white-knight, asked a genuine question regarding the puritanical "white-washing" of the general identity to which i and several of my peers belong to - but i suppose confronting your own bigotry was just too much to handle, eh?

let's go over your "values":

so you're not a "radical inclusionist" (w/e that means) ... but by your own logic, excluding certain marginalised groups (such as the select "undesirable" and "dirty" asexuals that do not fit the pure stereotype mold) precisely means you're also not a real leftist, but a "Republican in training" (this is literally YOUR own definition in YOUR own words)

so ... people like you, then? also awfully convenient that all of this info that constitutes blocking was hidden below a read-more, btw. (also, you commented on someone ELSE's post. i'd say that's fair game - maybe DON'T comment publicly at all if you truly don't want to engage with anyone, especially not if you're requiring them to read a whole TOS essay of your "voids" and "warranties")

this one was a little further down ... buddy. MOST people who ship alastor are asexuals themselves, safely exploring their identities and analysing their experiences through a fictional proxy. i can ASSURE you the majority of us are not aphobic, we're simply diverse, as human beings are wont to be. trying to fit us all into a neat little box and weeding out those who do not fit your standards or rhetoric, on the other hand - now THAT'S aphobic as all shit

going over the DNI list now and:

lmao WHAT. please research the history of humanity and the arts, i GUARANTEE you that most people who've written/created analogs of terrible things (since the very dawn of human creativity) have not PERSONALLY engaged in horrific deviancy so much as commentated on it, in order to make a point about its horrors and use it to tell a greater message. (also "predators in the making" is literally a dog whistle used in right-wing circles, specifically the ones that embrace terf-rhetoric, are homophobic, anti-feminist, and pro-censorship with the intended goal of resetting society to the "nuclear family" aka institute a social order in which the queers don't exist, women exist purely to spread their legs and pop out babies for their masters Men, children are DANGEROUSLY isolated and taught to be ignorant of the world that exists beyond their neighborhood so that when they eventually grow up they end up xenophobic Adults unable to cope with the notions of Different and New and far less able to creatively relate, empathise, or put themselves in others' shoes, for better or worse.

also, THIS is why ACTUAL critical thinking matters, and not just lazy broad strokes of some supposed "general morality", like holy shit you'd think you'd realise this given you consider yourself a "💜Beginner Satantic-Pagan Witch" and all the maligned things that THAT would imply based on a surface-level understanding of satan/lucifer's origins without actual research into the religion, like - based on the name alone, most people would assume you have a sadistic and LAUGHABLY disproportionate desire to see humans suffer due to a petty and envious "sibling rivalry" over the fact that god doted on humans just a little "too much" for lucifer's personal liking (per the canonical texts of the abrahamic religions)

OBVIOUSLY that's not the case, as there's ALWAYS more to the picture; you criticals should try applying this philosophy more often, you all seem so miserable all the time it's hard to imagine how this COULDN'T help

as for the rest of the list ... honestly, it isn't terrible. MOST of it is reasonable. pity, as we could've potentially been friends - had you just chosen to NOT speak on behalf of ALL asexuals with 0 consideration for our varied and complex nuance and spooked yourself into blocking me over a reality check

[vesselandmoon]

Choking on keys

There's a part of me that wants to start by saying what I hope to get out of this. What I hope to gain. But really, I think it's more about what I hope to lose. Get rid of some of the experiences and emotions that I choke down either for the comfort of others, or for fear of what will come of admitting them. Admitting the issues, the dark thoughts, the sense of isolation.

I know, I know, lots of Sleep Token imagery here. Wish I could post other things that they have inspired in me other than the need to cast these feelings into the aether, but I don't want any connections being made. Keeping the mask on, as it were.

There's been a lot of thought, a lot of turmoil lately, concentrated around Sleep Token. I've listened to them for awhile now in the background as I create, trying to push my brain to use it's full capacity because my hands being busy often means my mind can settle on topics I'd rather avoid. But then I heard Euclid. Something in it broke away the desire to distract as I have done for the past year. Things happened. Things I'm not willing to break down yet. That's the Moon. My Moon. The dark side of which I never got to see though I longed for it.

In that way, my Moon is like Vessel. A being I know I'll never be able to reach, though for completely different reasons. People I wish knew how much they inspire me, not just to create, but on some level, to live. To keep moving.

Call me delusional if it's easy. It's a an easy title. A simplified one to fit into. Those neat little boxes help us feel understood, yes? Or, at least they're supposed to. Until we realize that those boxes overlap and spill into one another... ah I'm rambling. Ignore these words if you wish. Call me another crazed fan. From the outside I understand how it looks. On the inside, it's a tangle of wires and I can't find the end to even start unraveling them.

But if you understand, or project that you do, even in some small way, then welcome. Come and spill your souls here. In the end, for all our isolation, we are never really alone.

[assarivanguard]

fuck you *transes your tav* because I am Who I Am

and you're so Fucking Real for that. we stan a consistent woman

okay so a while back you reblogged a post, this one to be exact, which lit a small fire under me

kohara is a little bit of expression about my Gender Woes, but (cult)ure shock was obviously not directly about kohara, so this fic is

originally i wasn't going to touch this entire topic with a 10ft pole because of the nature of how kohara would choose to present -- she thinks of herself as a woman, but Not Like This. she's gnc, but due to the nature of how she (and i) want to change our bodies, i didn't want to deal with the whole fetishizing chaser allegations, nor tread on other people's experiences of being transgender, and other bullshit i do Not have the energy for. especially with the accursed f*ta kink thing

it especially doesn't help that a huge chunk of this is smut, like i'm writing pure fucking filth. (but if i got the body i wanted, i'd be so fucking ecstastic it'd roll right over into confidently horny, lbr.)

but seeing that post i just. got the confidence to go for it -- it's my character, it's the story i want to tell, yeah her gender doesn't 100% make sense or fit into a neat box but that's kohara baybee!

it helps that nocturne is a great anologue as she is "traditionally" transgender and she's being Very Supportive of her big butch gf for the fic

as a bonus, have the opening paragraphs (not yet edited as i'm still writing):

It didn't start as a realisation. A sudden epiphany of something being wrong, and knowing exactly how to fix it. None of the sort. It was gradual, a slowly increasing feeling of wrongness, so gradual it'd sooner kill her in her sleep than be detected. Kohara knew she was incredibly butch, found comfort in her skin when dressed more masculine. She was born a woman -- but had never felt truly a woman. Not in this form she currently had. She supposes she really never had time to think about herself like that in detail. Becoming orphaned by Sharrans, becoming an ordained Selûnite cleric, travelling the Sword Coast, defeating the Absolute… it was only now, enjoying her cottage life with two beautiful girlfriends and more animals than a druid grove, that Kohara began to feel off. Maybe she always felt off.

[satoumafuyuss]

I saw your fandom rant and god I agree so hard it makes me so angry.

I hate how gender stereotypes are now dressed in progressive trans inclusive language to pretend they're not just harmful stereotypes.

I hate how characters (especially female ones) have so little wiggle room for their gender. And if they do anything else than being ultrafeminine they get immediately headcannoned as trans.

I hate how trans art also somewhat follows that too. I don't wanna get called a terf or anything, but you can draw women as fat! As hairy! As tall!

I think transness magnifies an issue in how femininity is represented in media. I truly hate how it's only the skinny white boys who get hced as being trans women.

For the love of god, stop categorizing everything into neat tiny boxes. Stop saying that characters who dont fit them MUST be trans and their behavior/appearance couldn't ever be cis. You're just upholding our awful beauty standards.

I hate how widely loved this practice in fandoms it is. Headcannon everyone as trans, have more fun with your concept of gender presentation you all...

YES OH MY GOD ANON ILY. There's nothing more I can even add to this you just worded it so well, thank you!!!

And as a fat gnc trans boy myself, yes please start hcing the fat characters as trans too. People limit themselves to only making/hcing white skinny passing trans people and it starts to paint a specific picture of what a "presentable" version of trans people for that person looks like. Especially when they are cis. They don't think they're being transphobic cause "look at me! I'm making/hcing a character as trans!" while literally only thinking that cause the character doesn't fit their idea of what a man or woman "should" be.

There is of course character who have heavy trans-coding that people will pick up on and THAT is different. Such as Scaramouche from Genshin Impact who is heavily implied to be transmasc. But for that character, his coding doesn't come from.. liking sport.. or having short hair! it comes from ACTUAL trans experience and feelings and emotions that we can relate with and see in the media. Trans coding is not when a female character is uncomfortable in skirts, its not when a male character grows his hair out, no, it's about the feelings associated with identity and feeling out of place and wrong, breaking free from the chains of the identity imposed upon you. THAT is trans coding.

Also, if you don't mind, could I use this anon ask in my video script? I'll credit you if you want it but otherwise I can leave it anon! :D

[yokelish]

A sin in two parts (Second part)

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Nakajima Atsushi, Dazai Osamu, Armed Detective Agency ✏ Part 1. ✏ Warnings: someone will die! of shame!

Dazai was a clever man indeed. He understood things instinctively, immediately, interminably. His mind was a sharp blade, a steel trap, a machine of incredible computing power. Yet if you asked him what the meaning of life was, define the value of living, he wouldn’t be able to measure it. Despite the weight of existence he experiences each and every grueling day. The same dilemma was posed by his relationship with Fisher. It was light, it was ephemeral, natural and instinctive as breathing air. It was heavy, it was complicated, ever-changing as the moon. There were days it was a beautiful flower blooming. There were days it was needles in the collar. Extraordinarily rare it was for him to encounter a person he couldn’t define, place into a neat little box, and unravel like a simple ribbon. The complexity of Ryōshi wasn’t their fault, after all, the fault couldn’t be placed solely on them.

“We can’t force you to join,” Dazai said, sounding rather accepting of the situation, “but then I can’t help but worry for your future. You’ll need to vacate the room company got for you, and you don’t have any special skills, or friends in the city, so a job will be hard to come by. Not to mention—"

He could tell Atsushi was half-listening ASDbut that was half the point. Overwhelming the newbie would only help achieve the outcome desired. He had to start fretting about his future not because of having to worry about shelter or food, but because of his newly discovered ability. And the value it held.

“Shot dead?!” Nakajima screeched, leaning forward.

“Now, if you were with our agency, that would be a different story,” the dark-haired man offered a signature smug smile. Hook, line, sinker.

“Then that means…” Atsushi gripped the bomb tighter, closer, and fell against the back of the chair. 

Naomi stepped in first. She was always quick to read the air. “We look forward to working with you, Atsushi!” She threw her hands around Jun’ichiro. “Don’t we, brother?”

“Follow the rules, brat,” Kunikida added flippantly.

Dazai had to take the reigns of the conversation again, “Well, not that the matter was settled—”

The door to the office opened with a swing as a new person entered the office. “Is the newbie here already?” they asked, excited. They too were always quick to catch up.

It was a mystery to Dazai still. How can a person understand him so well, play into his hands like a loaded dice, without prompt or instruction. It was rare for him to have such synergy with a person. He had only ever experienced it twice before. It was similar with Fisher, like having a partner he could depend on no matter the circumstance, they had unique submissiveness to them. As he said, it was simple, it was light, like a beam of sunlight. And equally unique stubbornness and strength of will. Ryōshi tossed the dice with him just as much. It wasn’t that he gained their trust or was forced into it. They allowed themselves to trust him and his schemes just as easily as they defied them. As he said, it was complicated, it was ever-moving like tides obeying the moon.

“Ah, you are just in time,” Dazai welcomed them.

As ever, Ryōshi had a certain aura around them. It always seems to fit in with whatever air surrounded them. Calm in the face of adversity, welcoming when least expected, distant when seeming within reach. When they first met, Dazai assumed it might have been an unexpected side-effect of their ability. What is the mood if not a probability? But he was wrong to assume. This effect was simply Ryōshi. No greater mystery behind it.

“Meet the newbie, Ryōshi,” he spoke, bemused, offering his hand to them. “We’ve just finished his employment paperwork.”

“Yeah, no,” Fisher shook their head, “I was standing behind the door for a few minutes now,” their touch against his skin light and gentle, fleeting as if startled. But before it could end, the bandaged hand trapped their fingers between his, “I know that was more of a blackmail than employment negotiation.”

He could feel it, the balancing of the scales, the impossible trapped between their fingers. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Yet here they both were, destroying.

“It was nothing but negotiation, right, Atsushi?” Dazai looked at the boy again. The shared touch lingered for a moment longer before finally breaking. Atsushi took a deep breath in.

Ryōshi directed their attention to the white-haired boy and smiled. One thing about Ryōshi that was as constant as anything can be is the smile. Never fake, never treacherous. Always genuine, always. They introduced themselves first.

“I’m Nakajima Atsushi,” weretiger said, sounding dumbstruck.

“You have a lucky name, Nakajima Atsushi.”

Atsushi was following Dazai as they were supposed to help Ranpo back to the Agency after solving the case. Today was a productive day. Not a successful day. He didn’t manage to drown. He never did manage it. Perhaps drowning wasn’t destined for him? Perhaps it’s a fateful sign that he is destined to leave this dream-like world by other methods. He found the weretiger. Then, he arrived at a crime scene as planned. The only issue was Atsushi mentioning anything about a suicide attempt in front of Fisher. That would certainly complicate and taint matters for a bit.

“I get it now,” Atsushi said, contemplative. “Ranpo doesn’t have an ability, but everyone else does, right?” Dazai hummed in agreement. “Then, do you know what Ryōshi’s ability is? Can I know what it is?”

“Oh?” Dazai flashed a grin. What a curious question posed. Revealing. Atsushi could only disclose more if he made an outright confession. “Why the sudden interest in my partner?”

“I thought Kunikida was your partner,” the boy replied, confused.

“Kunikida is my partner, but Ryōshi is…” the man thought for a moment. How could he describe something so complex and wonderful and damning? How could he define something he himself contemplated often and came up with a different answer each time? Is there a way to describe the beauty of a storm without installing fear of it? Dazai couldn’t think he could find the right words, not concise ones. Partner is too professional to be applied to the touches they shared; friends was misjudging the sort of trust they shared. Everything was a misnomer. Everything was a contradiction. A smile appeared on his lips, growing wider and winder.

“Haha! Nevermind!” he shook his head, still smiling. “Anyway, yes, I do know their ability, and, no, there is no reason you can’t know. You are a member of the Agency, after all.”

“What it is?” Atsushi sounded too excited.

“Probability manipulation,” Dazai offered a flippant answer. He long had lost interest in Fisher’s supernatural ability. There are many other things he found intriguing now. Things unspoken. “Or, simply put, luck is their ability.”

“Huh?”

“What, don’t get it? Ryōshi manipulates probability. The odds are ever in their favour. Imagine a deck of cards, shuffled between you, me, and Ryōshi. They would be the one with a royal flush, every time.”

“Woah. That’s…That seems like a very powerful ability. In a casino, especially.”

The bandaged man shrugged. “Luck is zero-sum. Once Ryōshi draws a royal flush, all other bad cards must go into someone else’s hands.”

Atsushi stopped in his tracks. “What?”

The man stopped two steps ahead of him. This odd sensation began to bother him, nonetheless, he provided an answer. “Exactly as you heard it. When Ryōshi gets lucky, it always means someone must receive a dose of bad luck. Zero-sum, equivalent exchange.”

“Why would someone like Ryōshi be in the Agency?”

The questions didn’t stop. Nakajima was being greedy. And greed is a known sin.  Dazai could understand the curiosity. It was, after all, very rational to question things, people around you. But the frequency of the questions irked him right now, deep inside he could feel a single needle prodding at his sternum.

“Protection,” the man replied. “Such an ability could be viewed as highly beneficial by many powerful people who would like to have even more power. Politicians, businessmen—”

“Port Mafia?”

The man smiled mischievously, “Alright, I’ve told you quite enough about my Fidus Achates. If you want to know more, ask them yourself.”

Perhaps Atsushi committed a sin of coveting. Just for a moment, he gave in to the temptation of greed. Dazai later reflected that he was no pious man either. He had committed the very same crime.

It was nice to see familiar faces, visit familiar dungeons. But every game ends, and time for reminiscing and walking the memory lanes was over. He got what he wanted. He infiltrated Port Mafia again, now as a traitor, and came out of there a victor. And the suicidal maniac would rejoice in his easy victory if not for understanding the complications that came with it. He had been toying with a line for some time now, almost ritualistically. As if he wanted to summon divine retribution upon himself. He had no doubt with this little stunt, he had succeeded.

Once he returns to the office, there will be consequences to face. Ryōshi will not welcome him with a smile on their face. There will be no smile at all. Those eyes would be filled with anger and with hurt. And there is no stopping a storm, only weathering it.

There were days when what they shared — whatever its name was — was like a feather’s brush, a sea breeze, a fire in the hearth. There were days that were reminiscent of stormy seas, thunderous skies, and raging bonfires. The calm weather is lovely. Tempests have their beauty and purpose. He has called upon a storm himself.

It’s not as if they didn’t trust each other. Trust was there. They could turn their backs to each other, knowing no knife would come. They’d put their hand in his, knowing the grasp would be gentle and easy instead of entrapping. He’d speak the first wicked thought that crossed his mind, and they’d merely tell him to think again. Perhaps they cared too much. Perhaps they both didn’t care enough.

The moment Dazai showed his face at the office, Ryōshi asked for a private conversation in the infirmary. There was no escaping just like there were no hiding. The sheer absence of any tangible emotion attached was deafening. Just like that, the two of them were gone behind a closed door. And only they will know the weight of the words they’ve shared. Only they will know the sharpness and cold steel of it, the gentleness of the hands that swung the sword.

Only Dazai will know the accusations, but everyone would confirm it to be true. He was no gardener; he knew nothing of nurturing. He was an observer. He’d watch whatever came his way — sunlight or rain — he’d weather it with nothing but entrapment of life.

Dazai watches his subordinate’s blank stare with unbridled curiosity. It’s like reading a novel. Every thought projected on Nakajima’s face like an old film. He contemplates, remembers, analyzes, and tries to understand. He covets. Dazai appreciates inquisitive minds. He, too, is often perplexed by his complex relationship with Ryōshi. He, too, tries to explain it, define, and explicate it. It’s not Ryōshi alone that pulls him like a moth to a flame; it’s what they create together. No, they do not work well together, their skills aren’t complimentary in the slightest. They both rely on the same weapons: schemes, wits, and human faults. Their abilities are about taking something away from another. Yet, despite their likeness, they are just as equally different. It’s not opposite forces at work when it comes to the two of them. It’s complimentary. Ryōshi is guarded, wanting nothing but peace of mind. Whether they are alone or in company, all is an active choice. Dazai enjoys indulging in the idea of their unusual harmonious cooperation as natural, but he suspects that, too, is a choice. And he covets it. For the odds to be in his favour, for luck to be on his side, to draw a good hand each time he plays, to manipulate the probability.

“At-su-shi,” the bandaged man says in a joyful staccato.

The boy flinches at the sound of his own name. “Yes?”

“You are not eating,” Dazai points at the plate.

“Ah, sorry,” the boy mumbles, “not hungry, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. It’s not hard to read his thoughts that are so shamefully unhidden. The boy doesn’t care about the food being taken off his plate.

Dazai reached into Atsushi’s plate without asking. “Yen for your thoughts?”

The man doesn’t need to ask. He could tell every thought Nakajima conjured in his head. But that would be tactless and embarrassing for both. Then their eyes meet.

“Go on then,” the nullifier prompts, picking up a strip of grilled meat with chopsticks, “I can tell something is on your mind.” He offers a knowing smile. “Or should I say someone?”

Atsushi recoils in his seat, face turning furious pink. He chooses to look at anything but his mentor. Dazai would tease the newbie about age-inappropriate crush but then again, he could understand it. An orphan who never received affection meeting someone who had no qualms about giving it. Rationally, the suicidal man understands the innocence of such a sin as coveting. Just as he could understand the lack of innocence in his own. He covets the same things, just grander, greedier.

“They are a good person,” Nakajima says still averting his eyes, “that’s…”

Dazai continues to regard his subordinate with an intrusive stare. “Mhm.”

Atsushi drops his head on the table, pressured under a scrutinizing gaze and the weight of his own thoughts. “That’s why I want them to be happy.”

The man cannot help the smile forcing its way. “That so?” What an innocent desire. Perhaps that’s what keeps Atsushi from corruption. Nakajima is doomed and saved by selflessness.

“I don’t want them to hurt, Dazai-san.”

Something stirred in Dazai’s mind, but he couldn’t say anything to that.

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 9.8

She took a detour, past a children’s area with about twenty kids sitting, reading, and spinning the rotating mini-bookshelf, while two old women looked on and knitted.

that seems like amazing turnout for a town this size, the library must be doing some great outreach programs

“Not a puppy, and I want you to leave the librarian alone while she helps me.” The kids ventured outside. A few other curious kids also came out. One of the librarian tormentors spoke up, “We’re supposed to stay in the library until our moms are done shopping.”

...or this isn't an activity, kids are just being dumped here

“I would have murdered one of them if I thought I could get away with it.  Kccht, pen to the neck, maybe while one of them goes around back to the washroom by the break room.  Drag one of them out to the dumpster behind the movie theater.  The dumpster always smells, I think there’s a fifty-fifty chance nobody would smell the body, even in weather like this.”

okay, I get you're frsutated, but this is disturbingly vivid to tell a teenager you don't know

Why did I wink?  That was lame, Avery thought, as she walked to the corner.  Where had that come from?  Was it because Snowdrop had winked?  Had the wink infected her?  The librarian was seven years older and had a boyfriend, what was she doing?  Why?

She probably has a master's in library science, so I'd say at least ten years older actually. Also, again with getting a crush on an adult. Which makes sense for how much Avery wants support and recognition.

A badge of a flag, with two bands of orange, a band of white, and two bands of pink, densely and imperfectly hand-stitched.  The lesbian pride flag.  There was a trans flag in the lid too.

wildbow taking a stance in the lesbian pride flag discourse, I see

Someone out there had reached out, trying to put something good out into the world, like flares shot into darkness.  And it caught Avery off guard because she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed a flare.

:)

On impulse, she flipped over the trans flag in the box, and took the pen from the counter, penning down a note on the firm material that backed the little blue and pink flag.  ‘♥ from Avery too’.

awww

She’d gone through four hockey sticks, which included hers from last season and the spare ones her brothers had once used and then abandoned.  Now she was plundering another supply.

I think this is something the Kennet Others should be supplying. Unlimited supply of cheap but heavy hockey sticks, paper, and chalk.

“I’m not so good at the poetry of this stuff, but I’m a tiny bit Lost and I’m a Finder, I’m an arriver and I’m a departer, and I need you to be my barometer. Change as I do, in a way that makes those changes clearer. How’s that?”

I think you've got the poetry down :)

The piece of antler was suspended in the air, as if connected to her head.

neat!

Avery got to her feet, a phantom pain at her shoulder reminding her of the gouge America had given her, her stomach still a bit raw from the fall against the edge of the bridge, and the rest of her a bit sore from the fight at the station.

Avery keeps getting beat up. Lucy's currently got her arm injured, and the nettlewisp marks sticking around. I think Verona's physically fine, which makes sense for her basically being a support caster

“I wanted to make my eyes flash every time I turned on my Sight. So I was experimenting.”

tapeta lucidum would be so cool

As goblins scrambled, getting bags and pulling out junk, Avery cinched a knot tight.  Verona did the same.  Avery had had a headstart and Verona had beat her to it.  Of course.

Avery does not let up on herself :(

“I thought about Goobpecker, like woodpecker, but goob is too big a word, too deep, belongs to a bigger goblin.  So… similar idea, but smaller.  Peckersnot.”

Naming goblins: a task that Verona is uniquely suited to among the girls

“Cool, great, good to know.  But we should do a sit-down, after.  Regroup,” Verona said.  “Go over the gifts, prep extra stuff, get spell cards, glamour, anything we can get from Montague giftwise…”

I'm guessing this will be an extra material. And probably one I'll end up referencing as I read further.

Above her, Verona took to the air as a crow, Lucy as a cardinal.

sticking to the color theming of their masks

She texted the others her theory.  They were tracking the invading Other by the Carmine influence, the war, the combat, the bloodiness.  Something, situated toward the southeast end of town, was interfering with that signal.  Slowing down the compasses.  Possibly something Carmine related. The furs? Which raised a question: were the furs to the northwest? In the upper end of Kennet, and the invading creature was somewhere southeast, muddling the signal? Or was the beast to the northwest, the signal indicating the way to it, and the furs somewhere southeast, interfering with the compasses?

oooh. Looking at the map, the northwest would be the downtown area, while southeast is more residential. I can't remember where Matthew&Edith or the other suspects live exactly.

They’d seen something weird at the Arena when out in the Ruins with Alpeana and Miss. They’d seen something to do with the beast when Clementine, Sharon, and Daniel had come tearing through. Both times they’d moved on, because of other pressures and concerns.

I don't think those could have been engineered to keep them distracted (except in a broad, karma-based protections way), but it must have been very convenient.

[hippolotamus]

Fanfic Origin Story

tagged by @blackandwhiteandrose @stereopticons @jesuisici33 Thank you, friends 🥰

What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

For reading: Gilmore Girls. I was so WTF over the ending to A Year in the Life, I needed something. Schitt's Creek was the first fandom I wrote for.

What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it?

TBH I don't remember much of anything I wrote before AO3 and I'm not sure I want to??? So for this, I'll go with How will I know? This fic came about because I had this idea in my head that wouldn't leave me alone. It started out as looking at the lyrics of that song (how will i know?) from David's POV in regards to his relationships with Sebastien and Patrick. But then, as fics do, it took on a life of its own and became what was published.

What’s a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self?

You don't know it yet, but this is gonna be some of the best therapy you've ever experienced in your life. The things it's going to teach you - about yourself, about others - and the life experiences it's going to help you through, is going to blow your mind.

What’s an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)?

There are seriously soooo many moments that have made me go 'ahhhh! this is soooo cool!'. A few that stick out: 'I'm an admin for a small Discord server. I can send you an invite if that's something you're into.' / 'Let me know if you want to brainstorm. Maybe we can piece together some ideas to help both of us out?' / The first time someone took me up on my offer to come yell at me on Tumblr. It was for Warm Hellos and Our Last Goodnights and just made my day. But especially that time @patrckbrewer wrote a follow up to let the rain sing you a lullaby and made me cry.

Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).

I did more than 1-2 lines. Raise your hand if you're shocked.

Older Fic: He had spent the better part of three decades playing by the rules and sorting his life into neat little boxes. Only when he was willing to stop playing by his self-imposed rules did he discover everything in life that finally made sense to him. By dropping the pretenses of keeping up an image that no longer fit, he had gained everything.

Newer Fic: “I didn’t know how to put words to it – this feeling – to define what it is. I’m not sure I know any better now, either. The thing is,” Eddie continues, “when I’m with you, I’m safe. When we’re out with Chris, holding hands and just… being together, it’s ordinary in the best fucking way. The three of us being a family is easier than breathing. There’s nothing to think about, it makes sense. I don’t feel any different. I’m not any different. I’m still me and yet with my parents I’m… not me? Like I’m continually locking a piece of myself away for their benefit and holding my breath until they’re gone. Does that make sense?”

I'm behind on this, and I don't know who went, but I'm tagging @shortsighted-owl @alyxmastershipper @sarahlevys @vanillahigh00 @ajunerose @fatedbuck and anyone else who wants to play 💙

[doubleddenden]

Yall wanna see some cringe?

I decided to try creating pokemon variants or similar that one might find in my home state of Ms. I'm still working on more but it's a fun thought and doodle experiment

Blurb under cut. Please try not to take it all too seriously lol, this was just for funsies.

I'm also indulging my younger self. See a long, long time ago when I was a kid, I used to see my home as a place you could easily find pokemon around the corner. Tauros in the fields, Noctowl in the trees, the wasps were angry Beedrill, you get the idea

It was magical, a time before greed and capitalism caused rushed and unfinished games with questionable decisions by game freak higher ups. A time where I could just kinda look at the tall grass or the woods and see pokemon just living naturally without feeling a ton of responsibility or guilt for existing.

Recently I've decided to try exploring that AU, where states and such have their own dexes. Obviously some would overlap, like I'm very sure the Gulf Coast would have very similar dexes, but my idea would be that could start out with different starters that have different variant evolutions- and heck, you could even cross state borders to get theirs if that's what you wanted.

But for now, without getting way too deep, I decided to make variants based on critters that either exist here or have some sort of cultural tie in.

Let's go:

Typhlosion, Fire/Ground, low temp fires but also used for welding and construction, trusted with kids because they don't tend to start fires they don't quickly put out. The original line is already kinda mixed of badgers, weasels, moles, etc, but I think there's plenty of those here, and if nothing else Cyndaquil IS the fire mouse pokemon, and by God we got mice. Favoritism put it here admittedly since Cyndaquil was my very first pokemon in the games, and I'd want the same irl.

Blastoise, Water/Rock, basically more of a mobile tank people ride on. Uses the bubbles around its legs as wheels. Based on box turtles that live here

Chesnaught, Grass/Steel, based on various loggers and blue collar workers from here, helps with those sort of jobs and is pretty intelligent. It can form shields or slice up trees easily with its arm saws.

Yanma, Bug/Flying, based on dragonflies I see around the house

Yanmega, Bug/Steel, evolves while knowing Steel Wing. Tends to eat rusted metal from old farms and junk yards, very quick

Salandit, Ice/Electric, based on blue tailed skinks I see around my house often

Freezard, Ice/Electric, evolves from male ms Salandit. They take things by force if they want and their tails can be used as whips. Usually the females keep them in line though.

Corvilich, Flying/Rock- actually a cross over from a fan region I dabble in during my spare time. Lots of crows and corvids here, so naturally I think they'd be here too. Evolves from Corvisquire. They fight each other over nice bones and are great fliers, and are very intelligent, may or may not have good and bad omens associated

Miltank, Water/Normal, based on cows I see often taking dips in local ponds. Ms is a very farm heavy state, so I could see us having our own moomoo milk market. The arms and legs act like floaties.

Dragonite, Dragon/Fairy, evolves from Dragonair with high friendship. I wanted a psuedo legend, and then I found out Ms has its own dragon stories (even a town). I also thought it'd be neat to make a friend you'd maybe see in a forest, so I also added butterfly elements to it from the Great Purple Hairstreak.

I'm still making more, I'm progressing and getting a little better as I go, but I don't wanna get too crazy making a bunch. I'm thinking maybe about the same amount as Legends Arceus introduced. I do want to try making a full, balanced team, though, so I'll probably make more for that. So far though I could see myself with Typhlosion, Corvilich, Freezard, and Dragonite. Looking for a water type and maybe a doggo.