#...sort of

[fixing-bad-posts]

but in all seriousness, please watch my favourite performance of this monologue of all time

#fixing-bad-posts #blackout poetry #...sort of #shitposting #shitpost #julius caesar #ides of march

[egophiliac]

Hello! Sorry to bother but do you have any digital art tips? I’m quite new to it and any tips, tricks or advice would be helpful! Your coloring style is very beautiful and I love it a lot!

thank you! 💚💚💚 sorry this is a bit late, hopefully there's still something helpful in it!

(also, it got pretty long, sorry!)

I think the biggest thing is to just take things slow -- digital art feels different than drawing traditionally, and it's SUPER easy to get overwhelmed by the billions of cool features that the digital world offers. (I say, as someone who spends a lot of time downloading cool brushes and textures...and then never using them ever.) there is a ton of really cool stuff you can do digitally, but because there's so much, I think it's really important to take time to figure out what is and isn't working for you. spend some time doodling without any intent to do a finished piece, figure out how you like to hold (or not hold) your tablet, what keyboard shortcuts you end up using a lot (and therefore might want to map to your pen/tablet buttons for quicker use)...that kind of thing!

everyone's workflow and preferred program and style are different, so it's hard to give hard-and-fast general advice. but the things that I think of as the essentials for learning digital art programs, and what I think of as a good order to focus on learning them in (although YMMV, especially depending on what kind of art you're doing):

brush customization (e.g. flow, opacity, softness)

layers and layer masks

selections and transformations (e.g. scale, rotate, flip horizontal/vertical, skew) (skew is underrated and I will die on that hill)

blending modes (e.g. multiply, screen)

adjustments/adjustment layers (e.g. hue/saturation, curves)

and I think most stuff after that is gravy! often very good gravy though! but yeah, as overall advice I recommend just taking things one little bit at a time, spending some time just drawing and messing around with each feature and what you can do with it. whether or not you end up incorporating any of it into your workflow, it's always good to try things out and just see how they feel! :D

and just so there is at least a little more concrete helpfulness in here, here's a few more specific things that I think are super important to keep in mind!

use! your! tablet/pen buttons! I mentioned this earlier, but they are extremely useful for keyboard shortcuts that you use often! most programs will also let you create new shortcuts for other things -- personally, I use the magic wand tool to fill in big color blocks a lot, so I made shortcuts for 'expand selection' and 'fill' and then mapped them to my tablet buttons.

flop your work horizontally often! when you're working on something, you get used to the way it looks, so seeing it mirrored is a quick way to see it with fresh eyes! in my experience, it often feels like this:

(a common thing is to find that everything is sort of 'leaning' too much one way, which is where skew really comes in handy!) (seriously, I love skew, it is my savior)

if you're working with color, keep a hue/saturation adjustment layer (or a layer filled with black or white and set to Color) on top and toggle it on occasionally to check your values! a lot of people who know a lot more about color than me (and are better at putting it into words) have written about why values are so important, so all I'll say is that the rule of thumb is that your image should still be readable in greyscale:

there are some exceptions and grey areas (do ho ho), but it's a good general rule to keep in mind! (some programs also have a colorblind mode, so you can check to see how your work will look to someone with colorblindness!)

and finally, here's some digital art programs I recommend, if you're still looking for a good one!

free: krita, FireAlpaca

paid: ClipStudio, Procreate (iOS/iPad only)

#art #...sort of #horizontally flipped mal isn't my favorite drawing i've ever done of him #but it's up there #anyway i do personally use photoshop #but i absolutely do not recommend it when there are better and free-er art programs out there #it is the equivalent of texting with a giant 90s-block phone that has been jury-rigged to somehow install whatsapp #because i don't NEED a new phone i KNOW how to use this one it's FINE #(oh god i've become my dad) #someday i will have to actually switch to clipstudio and learn new keyboard shortcuts :(

[on-holidays-by-mistake]

Les Misérables (1982)

#les miserables #les mis #les miserables 1982 #courfeyrac #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #bossuet #bahorel #barricade boys #happy barricade day! #...sort of #i'm sorry #tw death

[bread--hood]

Butt Hood

I did it for science... really...

#I'm sorry #...sort of #jason todd #jason todd gotham knights #jason peter todd #batman #gotham knights

[skyward-floored]

Pup

I was looking through my fics since ao3 is back up, and realized I never put this one on tumblr?? A crime. But here it is now. Bapy Twi and protective Hero’s Shade Time for your reading pleasure :)

Ao3 link

————————————————————

There’s a child crying.

A sharp golden ear pricks as the sound of it flits past, soft cries interspersed with hiccups that are desperately trying to be muffled. It’s a fair distance away, the wind carrying the sound of it through the forest, and the ear’s owner glances around and twitches his other ear as the sound continues.

There shouldn’t be anyone in this part of the woods.

A frown tugs his mouth, as much as it can in the form he’s currently in. He’d felt he’d be needed soon in the land of the living, the cure for his spirit’s restlessness drawing nearer by the day, so he’d drawn closer to the kingdom he’d once been the hero of, settling into the form of a divine beast as he’d padded through the woods, waiting and watching.

And then the crying had begun.

He raises his head, his ears flicking, and listens intently, following the quiet sounds towards their origin. Brambles tug his golden fur, but he pulls his way past the thickets, certain that if his hearing wasn’t so sensitive, he likely wouldn’t have heard the child at all.

He hasn’t been walking for long when the crying abruptly goes quiet, cutting off with a fearful whimper. He freezes, sharply pricking his ears before lowering his nose to the ground instead.

He filters out the smells of the forest, ignoring the fresh plants and musky scents of other beasts, searching instead for that of a child. It takes a moment, but a soft, young scent finally wafts into his nostrils, hints of pine and soft hay spiked with fear throughout it... but there’s something else making up the scent of the child that makes him start.

A faint musk of horses, and milk too.

A scent he knows intimately.

He quickly finds the direction where the scent of the child is coming most strongly from, and takes off at an even faster pace than before. The crying had concerned him, but the absence of it worries him even further, and the realization of who this child must be has him trotting rapidly between the trees.

All of a sudden a cry rings out, sharp with fear, and he bolts, paws pounding against dirt and moss alike.

He nearly trips on the roots that stick up from the ground, and mud tries to slip him up, but he ignores them all and runs even quicker, grateful for his long, powerful legs. His fur stands on end as he suddenly enters a clearing, and the reek of monsters hits his nose, but the beasts aren’t what he focuses on.

He only has eyes for the small child huddled on the opposite side of the clearing from him.

The boy can’t be older than two, dirty brownish-blonde hair brushing his face, blue-grey eyes widened with fear. Tears shine in his eyes, and he’s trembling where he’s cornered solidly against a large tree. The sight of him is almost entirely blocked off by monsters, all with weapons drawn and malicious grins twisting their already grotesque faces even further.

But what most sets his hackles rising and a growl rumbling through his chest, is the sight of the tip of a blood-red blade pointed at the child’s neck, held by a foe the golden wolf knows well.

A Shadow.

He growls, and the shifting darkness turns, glancing towards him with a startled look in his eye. But the emotion is quickly smothered, replaced instead with an amused smirk.

“Now this is a pleasant surprise,” he remarks nonchalantly, as if he’d suddenly dropped by for tea rather than found him about to murder a young child in the middle of the woods. “You’re looking quite a bit older than last I saw you. But I suppose regret does weigh a man down, doesn’t it?”

He lets out a deeper growl in response, and the Shadow chuckles.

The darkness making him up abruptly shifts, settling into something less formless. A broad form with a pelt draped across the shoulders slips into view, a normally kind face twisted into a smirk. Tattoos glowing a faint red as bangs brush across his forehead, and the golden wolf almost takes a step back at the familiar face now looking at him.

But he checks himself, standing his ground with a snarl.

“Perhaps it was forward of me, but I went ahead and introduced myself to your descendant,” the shadow says, smiling down at the young boy he’s still pointing his sword at. The child shrinks away, and he laughs again. “I must admit, I don’t see much of a resemblance.”

He suddenly dips down and snatches the boy up by his tunic’s collar, eliciting a startled cry from the child.

“Take a good look at what you become, Link,” he says in a low voice, ignoring the boy’s struggling. “Because this will soon be a future that doesn’t exist.”

He draws his blade up again, pressing it to the child’s throat.

Link whimpers and the golden wolf grows dangerously, but he’s unable to do anything without risking his descendant’s life. There are simply too many weapons pointed his way, things that could go wrong, and the wolf darts his eye around for an opening.

“It’ll be quite fascinating to see what happens to this time period without you to save it,” the Shadow says mildly, teasing the blade closer. “Eternal Twilight sounds rather intriguing to me. I wonder what will become of Hyrule?”

He glances back at the wolf, who feels desperation start to sink into his chest.

“What do you think, Hero of Time?” the Shadow hums, and the golden wolf feels his heart clench when the red blade draws a single bead of blood from the boy’s throat. “A snap of the neck, or a sword through the chest? I’ll let you decide.”

He lets out a fearsome snarl, blood roaring in his ears.

The Hero of Twilight cannot die now, he is too important a player in future events, too important to the fate of Hyrule. He plays an integral role in history, and killing him now would damage the flow of time irreparably, both in the Twilight invasion and later in their quest to take down the Shadow.

Not to mention the fact that this is his descendant, the only living remains of his family, of his wife, of his children—

Twilight cannot die now.

The Shadow waits for him to make a move with a smug grin, certainly expecting him to try something. The wolf recognizes the look in his eyes though, and knows that if he so much as takes a step in the wrong direction his descendant will be dead before he can even think about attacking.

He glares at the Shadow as a terrified tear escapes down Link’s cheek, feet burning with the desire to get the child out of his clutches and somewhere safe. But the darkness only smiles at him, a satisfied look in his eye as his descendant continues to struggle.

It’s the look of someone who believes he’s won.

And the thing is, he likely would have too, if not for the fact that the hand of the child in his grasp suddenly begins to glow.

Blindingly.

The boy’s hand flashes, and the shadow shouts in surprise and drops him. It’s the only opening the golden wolf needs to leap forward at the nearest monster, tearing it’s throat out without any provocation. The beast lets out barely a gurgle as it falls, and the wolf leaps at another, tearing through the group that stands in his way. It doesn’t take him long to fight his way to the middle, and he leaps forward, standing protectively over his descendant.

Their Shadow hisses in anger, and the golden wolf matches it with a growl of his own, the two taking stock of each other.

He can hear Link’s heart thudding nearly out of his tiny chest behind him, and glances back at him just once, taking in the tear-stained cheeks and trickle of blood on his neck. Then he turns his attention back on his old foe, who should be long gone in this era of history.

“Obviously I should have gone after you first,” the Shadow snarls, eyes blazing. “I’ll kill you both, Hero of Time, and I’ll make you watch as I rip your descendant to pieces in front of you.”

Instead of replying, the golden wolf launches himself at the Shadow’s throat.

The movement is startling enough that his teeth connect, though not as solidly as he would’ve liked. He bites as deep into the thick, dark magic that makes up his foe as he can, ignoring the familiar visage the Shadow is still wearing, and the darkness shrieks.

He lurches backwards from him, black blood spraying down his front as he swings his sword, and the golden wolf goes to attack again despite the stinging cut now marring his cheek.

He fights with a ferocity he usually doesn’t give into, claws gouging and teeth snapping as he protects the child behind him. The Shadow is no match for one as skilled as he, even with his tricks and skills of his own, and soon the golden wolf is standing above him, shadowy form barely held together.

Black blood seeps into the forest floor, and while the golden wolf sports a few injuries himself, none are overtly dangerous. Blood trickles down his snout as he steps onto the Shadow’s chest, and he levels the darkness with a terrifying glare.

“LEAVE,” he roars, and with one last look of pure hatred, the shadows disperse, sliding back to whence they came.

The golden wolf lets out an exhausted huff, and sits down for just a moment.

He takes stock of himself, and makes sure the clearing is completely void of any more dangers before turning around to look at Link. He pads slowly over to the boy still shaking against the tree, aware that the sight of him will likely be frightening due to the fight he just witnessed. There’s blood in his fur and he’s still panting for breath, but Link merely stares at him, a few tears still rolling down his cheeks.

His blue-grey eyes, so familiar to the wolf, flit across his face, fear still bright in them. But they also shine with an odd curiosity, and wonder along with the terror.

He supposes that makes sense. Twilight always had loved dogs.

The golden wolf stops a few paces from the child, sitting down and allowing him to make the first move. After a long moment, the boy inches a little closer, and reaches out a trembling hand towards him. It alights on his muzzle, and he allows the child to run a few shaking fingers gently down his snout, which seems to convince him he’s not a threat.

The boy then launches himself at the wolf, snuggling tightly into his fur as he begins to cry again.

The golden wolf lets out a soft whine, meant to be comforting, and Link sniffles loudly as he presses his head against his neck. He seems content to stay buried in his fur a while, and the golden wolf breathes in slowly, allowing himself to once again taste the familiarity that lies in his boy’s scent.

The child doesn’t have the exact same scent as home, or even the same as when they traveled together. But it’s there, and as he gently nuzzles the tears from his cheek, that old familiarity both soothes and pains him.

“This is all natural strength!”

“I’ll uh, heh, look into getting him a proper rod...”

“Any chores that need to be taken care of? I’m familiar with farm work.”

“Oh, this means our little ones will have families of their own, and them after— oh I’m getting ahead of myself!”

“Win this fight! Show us that courage can fight in every battle!”

The child lets out a wet hiccup, and the golden wolf curls himself around him, trying to exude as much comfort as possible. The boy crying into his fur shouldn’t have to worry about monsters yet, about Shadows that attempt to destroy and kill, or the hero he’s going to someday become.

He‘s too young to have to worry about his future.

He sits curled around the boy for as long as it takes him to calm down, hiccupy sobs gradually slowing. The sniffles continue, but at some point they’re accompanied by the growling of his stomach.

The wolf pricks his ears at that, and pokes Link with his nose, making him startle a bit and raise his head. The boy wipes some tears from his eyes and looks at him with a confused expression, and the golden wolf gently pushes him towards his back, hoping the young boy will get the hint.

Link takes a minute to realize what he means, but once he does he easily clambers onto his back, still sniffling a little. The wolf feels his hands clutch at the thicker fur by his neck, and he carefully stands up, beginning to trot off through the woods again.

He knows exactly where he needs to take the boy.

The trip to his destination isn’t too far, but between making sure his charge doesn’t fall off his back, and avoiding the occasional monster that dwells in the woods, it takes longer than he’d prefer. By the time he reaches the spirit’s spring, the sun is nearly set and Link is fast asleep on his back, nestled into his fur with little breathy snores escaping him.

The sun is low in the sky, but a few orangey rays of light still shine through the trees, making the water almost glow as the wolf settles down next to it.

As he quietly waits for the boy to stir, a fairy flits by, pausing upon seeing him. She greets him with a chime, which he acknowledges with a nod, and she zips over, jingling worriedly at the injuries he and the child have sustained. He shakes his head at her to tell her not to worry about it, but she spins a few tight circles around them both anyway, and the handful of stinging wounds the golden wolf had been ignoring fade quickly away.

He gives the fairy an grateful look, and she chimes warmly as she continues on her way, disappearing into the fading light.

He watches her go, then gently slides the boy off into a soft patch of grass, pausing when he lets out a murmur in his sleep. But his descendant settles down again, and inwardly he sighs in relief. He settles in next to him to wait, and carefully licks off some of the blood that still stains his neck, going back and forth between cleaning out his fur, and trying to tidy Link up a bit too.

He doesn’t bother keeping an ear out for danger. This spring is a safe place, secure from darkness, and if he’s right about the village that lies only a few hills away, this is where Link is meant to be.

Footsteps suddenly approach from nearby, and the wolf pricks his ears as he listens to them. He gives Link’s cheek one last soft nuzzle, the boy beginning to stir, then slips away to watch from a distance, hidden in the bushes.

Right as he settles in, a young man walks into the spring, blonde hair held back with a bandana. His focus is on the open gate, fiddling with the mechanism that probably locks it once the doors are together, but then Link’s stomach lets out a loud growl.

The man startles and turns, and meets the wide eyes of Link, who is staring at him with an equally surprised look on his face. The man blinks at the sight, and releases the pommel of his sword he’d reflexively grabbed.

“A Hylian?” he murmurs to himself, obviously confused at the sight in front of him.

The man’s eyes take in the dirt coating the child seated in the grass, old tear tracks on his cheeks and dried blood speckling his front. He doesn’t outwardly react, but the wolf sees the confusion in his eyes change to outright concern, and the man gets down to a knee, giving Link a gentle look.

“Where did you come from little one?” the man asks softly, and the wolf watches as Link shrinks down and doesn’t answer, lip quivering.

The man hums, and carefully inches closer, reaching a hand out.

“It’s all right,” he reassures gently, and Link looks up at him, appearing less afraid. “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you hungry? I can get you some food, my wife is making dinner right now.”

Link hesitates, and glances back once at where the golden wolf is hidden with a worried look. He seems to consider, then finally steps closer, reaching out and taking the man’s hand. The man’s face brightens into a smile, and Link relaxes, letting himself be pulled a little closer.

The golden wolf watches in satisfaction as the man, whom he knows is named Rusl, brushes some of the dirt off Link’s face, giving him a reassuring smile.

He doesn’t know the exact tale of how Rusl ends up an adoptive father to Link; Twilight had never gone into much detail when it had come up, and he’d said before even he didn’t remember all the specifics. But he couldn’t have picked a better man to take care of his descendant if he’d tried, and despite him being unable to see it, he gives Rusl a respectful nod.

Rusl then picks up Link, gently and carefully, and settles him into his arms. Link freezes at first, but then sinks into the man’s hold, head resting tiredly on his shoulder.

“Come on little one, you’re safe now,” he says gently, and Link sniffles once, an arm wrapping tightly around Rusl’s neck. “Let’s get you inside, and get some food in you. Then we can try and figure out where you’re from.”

Rusl then stands and looks around the spring one more time, calculating gaze lingering on a paw print sunk into the sand. But it’s getting darker by the second, and nothing else appears out of place, so Rusl leaves the spring, Link tucked securely into his arms.

Time watches them go, single eye glowing silently in the twilight.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu time #lu twillight #twilight princess #...sort of #hero’s shade #rusl #linked universe fanfic #writing from the floor #kid fic I suppose #time line shenanigans!!! #canon typical violence #oh yeah some of those lines don’t belong to me they’re in lu just so we’re clear #I think that’s it #this really is one of my favorite fics I’ve written #I really like how it turned out

[thiriumhound]

i need more post-violent-revolution canon so bad. like, even all pacifist leading up to the attack on the camps. just detroit being ACTUALLY taken over by the androids. no political "MAYBE you can live somewhere but we're still thinking abt the whole actually owning the property" lawmaking bullshit- they're TAKING their rights and that's that. hank having stayed post-evacuation and the human stragglers banding together to survive by sharing food and such the androids don't need- lawlessness having its downsides, too, of course. androids run this town, and markus makes sure that overall the humans that were left behind are treated fairly, leading the world he wants by example. hank is the one getting weird looks for being the only human in a room full of androids, connor at his side to make sure he doesn't get harassed by scared deviants. connor and hank leading by example that humans and androids CAN get along, as long as they're EQUAL in a way androids would not be if they were simply granted a little truce the government can retract at any time once they have a solid plan, rolling out laws at a snail's pace under duress only to keep up appearances.

actually, hell, this doesn't even need to happen with a violent revolution ending. an evacuation was ordered due to the "risk of civillian casualties" simply thanks to connor storming the city with his army- who's to say they don't have the city anyway, at least temporarily? and once people start returning to detroit, a lot of the humans that remained there through the evacuation have been hard-converted into being android-supporters thanks to good old fashioned exposure therapy.

just give me some actual results of the literal EVACUATION of detroit dangit!!!

#things should NOT just go back to standard business!! that's boring!!! ive seen too much!!!! 😭😭 #thiriumhowls #connor rk800 #markus rk200 #jericho #androids #deviants #dbh #detroit become human #hank anderson #dbh connor #dbh markus #i dont want bureaucratic bullshit i want ANARCHY #...sort of #cyberlife #detroit: become human #dbh androids #d:bh #d:bh markus #d:bh connor #dbh hank #d:bh hank #dbh hank anderson #d:bh hank anderson #im tired of tagging lol #also obv no shade to ppl who write the opposite of this. i just want some spice and variety

[nocturnal-stims]

Tasty murdercake

Who would you cut it with?

🎂 Hauntcult on IG

#cake decorating #desserts #food #sugar #stim #owl post #knives #blood #...sort of #white #red

[eirenical]

OK, so I missed WiP Wednesday AGAIN, but I'm getting closer? From earlier in the fic this time, set after Monk Wuliao brings Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng back to Pudu Temple to do what he can to heal Li Xiangyi from the Bicha Poison...

[Other snippets posted, not necessarily in order.]

*

Di Feisheng moved to the other side of the pallet, taking Li Xiangyi's hand in his, pressing his fingers against his wrist.  It was exactly as the monk had said.  The flow of qi was slow, weak, already stagnating, no longer the swift coursing river to Beifang Baiyang's storm, now barely a trickle.  He could force his own neili into Li Xiangyi's body, could send it surging through that system and wake it to his own rhythm, but in Li Xiangyi's fragile state, that would surely cause more harm than good.  The monk was right.  The strength that could save Li Xiangyi had to come from Li Xiangyi himself.  He looked up, nodding once in the monk's direction.  "Do your work, monk.  I'll make sure that it takes."

The healing that followed was one of the more gruesome experiences that Di Feisheng had ever had the misfortune to witness, and he had been raised in the Di Fortress where children as young as five were slaughtered every day.  The poison had to be fought back not once, but again and again and again, drawn away from organ systems vital to the body and into places where it would do less lethal damage.  But with each new place the poison was sequestered away, Li Xiangyi's body weakened, meridian after meridian going dark and unresponsive, that powerful neili draining away until there was barely any left.

Li Xiangyi's heart faltered twice, stopped entirely a third time, and only the monk's shouted instructions and a surge of Beifang Baiyang at the right moment kept it beating.  Li Xiangyi was sitting upright by the end only by the grace of Di Feisheng sitting in front of him, arms entwined with his to support his body as the monk and his needles worked their will.  As last night, for one brief moment only, Li Xiangyi's eyes slid open, lucid amidst the torture of this healing, to lock with Di Feisheng's, the message in them clear as a shout to one who understood him so well.

Let me go.

No.  That was the one thing that Di Feisheng could not do.  Where there was life, there was hope, and Di Feisheng would not give up his unless there was no other choice remaining.

Li Xiangyi's eyes slid closed again, his entire body jerking between Di Feisheng and Monk Wuliao, an anguished cry escaping his lips just before he coughed up what seemed a river of dark, thickened blood.  Di Feisheng pulled him close, supporting a body that now shook with violent tremors as Monk Wuliao fought to tame the last vestiges of the poison in Li Xiangyi's system.  When it was over, and all was silent, Di Feisheng dared to draw back, to look once more on that pale countenance.  In quiet shock, he breathed out: "…what have we done?"

From behind Li Xiangyi, the monk's exhausted voice explained, "Such a healing is not without cost, Di-mengzhu."

Di Feisheng shifted his grip, pulling Li Xiangyi's limp body into his lap and tipping his head onto his shoulder.  In the scant few hours since they had begun, most of the muscle mass Li Xiangyi's frame had carried was gone, eaten away by the poison as it was sequestered away in his system—not eliminated, nor truly detoxified, the monk had been clear that that wasn't possible with the skills he had—leaving behind little but skin and bones.  The high cheekbones remained, but the full cheeks were gone, leaving behind a gaunt expression in a deeply changed face.  And worst of all, that formidable neili, that deep, surging river that was Yangzhouman, was all but gone.  Only the smallest stream remained behind, circulating through Li Xiangyi's heart meridian, protecting the only ground they had managed to save.

He pressed his face into Li Xiangyi's chest, despair welling up despite his best efforts to focus on what they had managed to save.  Li Xiangyi was alive.  But how long could he remain so in such a state?  What kind of life could he live?  And what damage had been done in the hours he had been out of Di Feisheng's sight to leave him believing that this broken, diminished existence was the only life he deserved?

Question after question after question.  And Di Feisheng would get no answers until Li Xiangyi awoke.  He listened intently as the monk detailed what he should do for Li Xiangyi over the next few critical hours, how he could help, and more importantly, what might cause harm if he was too overzealous.  When all was said and done, he laid Li Xiangyi down on the pallet, drawing the covers over his still form, and curled around  him, protecting him in the only way he could.

#mysterious lotus casebook #eirenical writes things #snippet #di feisheng #li lianhua #li xiangyi #feihua #dihua #monk wuliao #lian hua lou #di feisheng x li lianhua #di feisheng x li xiangyi #wip wednesday #...sort of #XD #the donghai battle was a hatefuck au #warning: injury #warning: suicidal ideation

[slightly-nerdy-rambles]

Okay but if Ron once wrote a romantic poem for Wade to read to Monique as a backup plan in his attempts to play matchmaker between them and the result was good enough for Mr Barkin to give it an A+ when he accidentally turned it in instead of a biology report... Just how many of these super-sweet poems has he personally written to Kim? Does he slip them into her locker between classes for her to find later? Does he recite them to her on dates???

#Kim Possible #headcanons #...sort of #Valentine's Day #kimron #Now you all know what I did for the holiday lol

[fantastic-nonsense]

👀

Not all of Kaz’s gifts have been immediately appreciated. Some, like her title, were a grudgingly acquired taste. (The first time Kaz says her name is different. He calls her “Inej Ghafa” as they walk out of the Menagerie that day and it’s the first time she’s heard her own name in months. She had been ‘Lynx’ or ‘girl’ or ‘whore’ or even ‘sweetheart’ as she lay on her back in golden chains and fake silks, but never ‘Inej.’ Never anything that reminded the men paying for her body she existed outside of that room. The first time he says her name feels like salvation. It feels like finally resurfacing after drowning silently in her own tears for over a year. Inej is reborn in the shape of her name on his lips, the first step towards reclaiming the girl she was before. The girls and Tante Heleen call him ‘demon’ behind his back but he’s the first one to treat her like a person in nearly a year. Inej will never be able to truly convey her gratitude for that moment for as long as she lives. But her title is not her name, even if it becomes the name friend and foe alike call her.)

from 'to love him is freedom'

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

#six of crows #asks #ask meme #my writing #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #kanej #...sort of #fic: to love him is freedom #I actually rarely get this many asks for an ask meme like this #so thank you!

[bluethespiai]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE "Is My Very Nature That of the Devil?" (2022)/QUEEN OF THE DAMNED "Epigraph" (1988)

#at least he's self aware? #...sort of #iwtv #iwtvedit #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #interview with the vampire #loustat #amc interview with the vampire

[fixing-bad-posts]

Please please please please PLEASE do one of the mean definitions of gender on urban dictionary. There’s some good gems but the rest need you to fix them.

have i pleased you, anon? 😉

#ask fbp #anon ask #fbp submission #...sort of #erasure poetry #gender identity #self identification #queer

[czenzo]

Pretty Boy

[ao3] Skullyle Internet Friends Series: [1 – Pretty Boy] [2 – Missed Call]

summary:

[Skull] any updates on Pretty Boy? [Joan] I told you to stop calling him that

Lucy, a barista, finds herself drawn to the regular with long legs and perfect hair. Her internet friend – a snarky guy only known by the nickname Skull – finds her silly little crush hilarious (and may be a little bit jealous).

words: 2085 rating: T

notes: I have genuinely never considered Skullyle before, but I scrolled by this post by @lucy-lockwood and immediately opened Scrivener. I've also never seen Skull as anything but a cat in modern AUs before, but the thought of him being Lucy's internet friend with far too much time on his hands and the burning desire to blow up Lucy's phone with his abundance of sarcastic notifications was too much for me to resist

edit: now with a sequel!

Lucy’s phone buzzed, and she knew who it was before she picked it up.

[Skull] any updates on Pretty Boy?

[Joan] I told you to stop calling him that

[Skull] + i never agreed [Skull] ur avoiding the question.

She glanced up at her surroundings. They were in the lull between the morning and lunch rush; the only occupants besides herself and Holly were the bespectacled boy tapping away at his laptop in the corner, and the man with the oddly impressive moustache sipping tea by the window. There was nothing or no one stopping her from texting back, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

[Joan] I haven’t seen him today. there’s nothing to update you on

[Skull] bullshit [Skull] doesnt need 2 b a concrete physical update [Skull] ik u have already spent a minimum of 2 hours thinking abt him this morning [Skull] his hair. his lanky fucking legs. [Skull] penny for ur sickeningly sappy thoughts ma’am

[Joan] why are you concerning yourself with my thoughts about him [Joan] jealous much?

It took a strange amount of time for a reply to come through.

[Skull] HAHAHAHA [Skull] HAHAHAHAHAHAHA [Skull] that was so funny! real knee slapper!! have u considered ditching the coffee + pursuing comedy

[Joan] maybe I will. [Joan] wait shit hold on he’s just come in

She shoved her phone in her apron and immediately it began buzzing with message notifications, each one presumably more sarcastic than the last. Lucy was far too distracted to care; Lockwood had just walked in.

Lockwood. First name unknown, amount of patterned ties owned unknown (but it was at least twelve), regular orderer of one Earl Grey tea with milk and a ginger biscuit to go. He normally showed up during the morning rush which never left Lucy any time to talk to him outside of the standard cash register exchange, but today was different – he was running late. How interesting, Lucy thought, as she ignored her phone buzzing for the hundredth time. She ought to put it on silent.

“Morning,” Lockwood said as he approached the counter. “One Earl—”

“Grey tea with milk, ooh, and a ginger biscuit too, please?” Lucy said without fully intending to. She froze. Lockwood stared for an excruciating moment until the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Do I really order that every time?”

“Pretty much every morning, yes.” She occupied herself with entering the order in the till, if only to avoid having to make eye contact. “Will that be everything?”

Of course, it was, and of course, the name for the cup was Lockwood, though Lucy only asked him to not seem like a complete creep with her memory.

Lockwood idled by the counter, scrolling through his phone as Lucy went to work putting his order together. Holly was in the back. The bespectacled kid didn’t make a noise, aside from the clacking of his keyboard. The moustached man quietly sipped his tea. It almost felt as if she and Lockwood were alone, and Lucy wasn’t sure how that made her feel.

She steeled her nerves to say something new. Now or never. “Running late today, are we?”

“I was, up until a few minutes ago. My morning meeting’s been cancelled, so I’m now free until eleven, which is certainly an odd feeling.”

Morning meeting? Lucy thought he was around her age – early twenties – and here she was, working a 9–5 making coffee, while he probably made double her wage in some swanky office. How lovely to think about.

“Yet you still came for your tea and biscuit.”

“Of course. I can barely function without it. Thank you,” he said as she slid his order towards him. He picked it up, hesitated, and looked around the room. When his eyes fell on the bespectacled boy, his face lit up.

“George! I didn’t realise you’d be here.” He strode over to the corner table and made himself comfortable opposite the boy and his laptop. Lucy watched them for a moment or two before realising she probably looked incredibly creepy again, and opted instead to lean against the counter and make sure Skull hadn’t collapsed in her absence.

Thirty-two unread messages. Half of them described Lucy batting her eyes and pouting her lips while Pretty Boy smouldered and sipped his ‘stupidly pretentious earl grey tea, who even fucking drinks that? just drink bog standard english breakfast like any normal self respecting brit’. The other half consisted of incoherent babbling which probably only made sense to Skull himself.

[Joan] you really missed me in those ten minutes I was gone, didn’t you?

[Skull] u flatter urself joanie [Skull] those 10 mins were the best of my entire life actually [Skull] peaceful bliss. pure unadulterated zen [Skull] so did u just run through ur normal coffee shop script like a coward or did u actually make a move

[Joan] I pointed out that he was running late, and he said a cancellation had changed his morning schedule

[Skull] god damn its straight from a film. so romantic!! [Skull] if u cant tell im currently blushing + swinging my feet back n forth in the air [Skull] eee tell me MORE!!

[Joan] I’m immune to your sarcasm. I diverted from my usual script! that’s better than nothing

[Skull] u talked about his morning. schedule. talk of google calendar will not segue into sloppy making out

[Joan] don’t say that. don’t be gross.

[Skull] it comes naturally 2 me [Skull] just like being romantically incompetent comes naturally 2 u

[Joan] he’s still here. I could still say something else

[Skull] rip the coffee machine from its fixings + do a back handspring off the counter, thatll 100% get his attention [Skull] try screeching like a banshee too. rlly turns a guy on

[Joan] noted. thank you for your wisdom.

[Skull] anytime B)

Across the room, Lockwood was talking animatedly to George, who listened yet continued typing. Lucy checked her watch: half past ten. Thirty minutes until Lockwood was busy again. She was so focused on working out what to do to catch his attention and make an impression that when Holly approached from behind with a soft hey, Lucy practically shot ten feet into the air.

“Hol,” she said, one hand on her chest. She’d almost flung her phone into the glass display case.

“Ooh, I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you!” Holly beamed. Her usual cheer could never be dampened by the chaotic mornings on the job. “What’s gotten you so distrac— ah. He seems rather relaxed for someone running late, doesn’t he?”

“Schedule change,” Lucy murmured. “Cancelled meeting.”

“Lucky him. What I wouldn’t give for the morning rush to be cancelled for a day.” Holly nodded to the phone in Lucy’s hand. It buzzed once, as if reminding her it was still there. “Skull boy?”

Lucy nodded. She and Skull had been friends – acquaintances, as he often corrected – for nearly half a year. They’d frequented the same paranormal forums, and after finding themselves in an intense debate over whether ghosts would be able to talk coherently and being berated by mods for spamming the entire place out, had taken it to private messages instead. In six months they still hadn’t settled the dispute, but somehow managed to form something akin to a friendship.

Exchanging personal info was, they had silently agreed, a complete No. From the way he spoke (or rather typed), she guessed he wasn’t far off her age, but besides that only knew him by his skull icon. In turn, he only knew her by her vinyl icon and the choice to go by her middle name online. It was an admittedly dodgy setup – he could be anyone, could be capable of anything – but Lucy had grown accustomed to his sarcastic commentary and brashness, and would be hesitant to let it go.

She’d told Holly about him after being caught texting on the job one too many times.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “Being his usual self.”

“No surprise there. But hey, I need your help prepping for the lunch rush. How about you clear Moustache’s table – which, may I point out, is conveniently near the corner – and then come join me in the back. Alright?”

Lucy followed her pointed, neatly manicured finger. Moustache man was gone and Holly was right, his table was close enough to Lockwood’s that clearing it would give her a second shot at conversation. She made a mental note to buy Hol a slice of carrot cake after their shift, and beelined to the table adorned with empty cups and plates.

From here, she could pick up on snatches of their conversation. It all seemed to be business stuff, and it gave her the impression that Lockwood and this George worked together, but their senses of dress were so starkly different that there was no way it was possible. A suit and tie and a graphic tee didn’t belong in the same office.

She stacked the dishes. Wiped the table. Realised she had absolutely no clue what she could talk about. If her hands were free she would have instinctively asked Skull, despite knowing he’d provide a stupid answer.

“Can we help you?” George said over Lockwood’s shoulder.

Lucy blinked.

Shit. She’d been staring again.

She could practically see the taunting messages Skull would send.

“Er,” she said eloquently. “Sorry. Was just wondering if you two needed anything? Cutlery? Sugar?”

Lucy worked hard to not drop the dishes in her hands when Lockwood turned around with a gleaming smile. “Oh, no, thank you. But – do you need any help with that? That all seems quite heavy.”

Moustache man tended to order multiple things requiring multiple plates and a variety of cutlery, and today was no exception. Yes, it was heavy, however no amount of silly infatuation was going to get Lucy to admit it.

She shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you. Could do this in my sleep.”

Lockwood continued to smile. It looked effortless. “Impressive. I’m sure you could take my order asleep, too.”

“Oh, any trained monkey could do that.”

“I ought to start changing my routine, if I’m that known for ordering the same thing every day.”

“It’s like you want me to mess up. No matter what you ask for, I’ll be sliding that Earl Grey and ginger biscuit over to you. It’s just muscle memory.”

“It could be fun to test you,” he said, eyebrows raising. “Up for a challenge?”

“A challenge? Pressing some new buttons and putting slightly different things into a cup? You underestimate me.”

“My apologies—” Here Lockwood squinted and leant forward ever so slightly. It took Lucy a second to realise he was checking her name tag. “—Lucy. I never meant to insult your barista expertise.”

“That’s more like it, Lockwood.”

“Feisty, this one,” George mused from behind his laptop.

“Lucy!” came Holly’s voice from the back. Lucy jolted and only just kept her grip on the plates. Awkwardly, she flashed a smile at the two boys and scurried back to the safety of being behind the counter.

With the dirty dishes deposited in the sink and officially Future Lucy’s problem, she followed the sound of Holly’s voice into the back, but made sure to check her phone along the way.

[Skull] god, hes bloody gone and done you in, hasnt he [Skull] i can see the headlines now: SAD LITTLE BARISTA MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD AT CAFE BY BLOKE WITH FREAKISHLY LONG LEGS AND A SHIT TASTE IN TEA

[Joan] I’m still alive. you’re very dramatic [Joan] I can’t always be on my phone, I surprisingly have things to do at work

[Skull] how dare u prioritise money over me, ur dearest most precious acquaintance [Skull] so he didnt kill u. [Skull] u definitely chickened out

[Joan] as a matter of fact, I didn’t!

[Skull] bullshit

[Joan] had almost a whole conversation, actually. proud?

[Skull] gobsmacked. [Skull] are u sure u didn’t get kidnapped and replaced by a clone with more confidence + better social skills

[Joan] har har. [Joan] talk later. we’re about to get busy again.

[Skull] you can store me in ur pocket all u like but i refuse to be silenced

Lucy turned on silent mode and slid her phone into her back pocket. Skull could wait. She had a lunch rush to prepare for, but the thrill of finally properly talking to Lockwood was enough to keep a smile on her face the whole way through it.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #lucy carlyle #the skull #anthony lockwood #skullyle #...sort of #czenzo.fic

[trek-tracks]

"Do you have a phone?"

I looked up from my bowl of pho (which I had ordered to attempt to recover from the error of dressing for yesterday's 24C weather in today's 4C weather) to see a little girl, probably between 4-6, the daughter of the proprietors in the otherwise-empty restaurant.

"Sure," I said. "What do you need?"

"Do you have a translator app? Can you tell me how to say sriracha and hoisin sauce in Vietnamese? I need to say them to my grandma."

"Let's look them up," I said. So we did, as well as I could manage, on Google Translate. In the meantime, she asked me what had happened to the Duolingo owl on my app (it looks like it's on fire, for a year-plus streak). She ran to the back of the restaurant, and I heard an exclamation of recognition and laughter.

As grandma rang up my lunch, the girl handed me my receipt. "Wait," she said, snatching it back."

"Oh, wrong copy?" I asked.

"One second," she said, staring at me and scribbling. Then she handed me this. We wished each other a lovely day, and I left.

It's going on my fridge. The world is a wholesome place, sometimes.

#not trek #my life #the world is a wholesome place sometimes #love letter to humanity #happy story #my face #...sort of #<3

[torchwood-99]

I was meant to have an early night tonight.

Instead I stayed up to half one writing a fanfic where Eomer and Faramir get into a fight because they can't agree if Eowyn would look good in yellow or not.

#Lotr #Faramir is for Eomer is against #it's for fanfic plot reasons #and it makes sense in context #...sort of #Eowyn #Eomer #Faramir #Lord of the Rings #should be posting tomorrow

[andaisq]

the most wretched of women

"I loved my children," she weeps. "You have to believe me, I loved my children."

Whether or not Medea loved her children is not the subject under debate.

"What is under debate?" asks Jason.

Why she butchered them.

"We'd like to return to the question of whether our mother loved us," chorus the twins.

"I loved them," Medea wails.

"Third person, past tense," the first boy mutters. "Cool," mutters the second.

Order!

Good.

We open on a nurse, as Medea wails her maledictions. Do we have a nurse?

"No."

This is a shambles. Fine. The nurse explains the situation: Jason, best beloved by Medea, has abandoned her marriage bed to hop into another: that of Creusa, princess of Corinth.

"Uncharitable," Jason objects.

It's how the nurse puts it. Then the couple's sons arrive, accompanied by their tutor – do we have a tutor –

"No."

– absurd. The tutor states that Medea will be exiled with her sons.

"Would've been nice," one boy says brightly. "A trip with Mom," the other adds.

"Must you?" she sobs.

I will have order!

The nurse warns that Medea is in foul mood, and for the boys to avoid her as best they can.

"Which wasn't well." "Mom has the ear of a bat and the eye of a hawk." "Possibly literally." "She saw us and started screaming – not, to be clear, totally unprecedented."

"I was at my wits' end."

"Your wits were never the problem," Jason mutters.

"Yours were," chirp the boys.

Jason sighs. "No respect."

The Chorus enters.

"We heard Medea's suffering," the women intone, "and we wanted to help. We wanted to soothe her pain."

Do you?

"No."

"I left my home and found the women of Corinth awaiting," Medea says. "I spoke to them of my pain – our shared pain, as women."

"Many women manage to live their lives without murder," observes a son.

"We endorsed her desire for revenge," the women say solemnly. "What woman would not?"

Enter Creon, king of Corinth and father to Jason's new bride. ...we don't have a Creon?

"No."

Jesus.

Creon summarily exiles Medea; he doesn't know what her plans are, but he knows she's up to something bad.

"I begged him to exile me tomorrow, and give me time to set my affairs in order," Medea says. "To make arrangements, if not for my own safety, then for my children."

"We know how that worked out," mutter her children.

Creon concedes, though he knows he'll regret it. Medea is given until sunrise for a reprieve.

"I turned to the crowd," says Medea coolly. "Explained my plans: to murder Jason, and his princess, and her father, all together."

(Pause.

There's a noteworthy bit here. When Medea states her intention to murder three people – line 453, if you're following at home – her only hesitation is the following: θανοῦσα θήσω τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἐχθροῖς γέλων. "[If I am not clever] I will die, and my enemies would laugh."

That's interesting.

Moving on.)

Plotting three murders in broad daylight. Risky.

"They're only a Chorus. They couldn't stop me."

"Indeed, we sang of the honor Medea would bring us," intones the Chorus, "by taking vengeance on her wretched lover. We were fools."

Enter Jason.

"I explained to Medea that she was being selfish," Jason says. "That had she not been so rash, so fickle, we would all have gained from my marriage to Creusa."

Medea laughs bitterly. "And I explained my position: that of a woman who had sacrificed everything, done the unforgivable time and time again, alienated everyone who had ever loved her or ever would, for the sake of one man. I butchered my baby brother for you, Jason. I slit his throat and threw pieces of him over the side of the Argo so that my father's ships would slow to catch his organs in their fishing nets, so they could give him a proper burial. I tricked three beautiful girls into slaughtering their royal father and making him into a stew. No one but you would ever have me. We were made for each other, Jason."

"I paid you back a dozen times," Jason insists. "I brought you to Greece from your barbarian homeland. You were able to make a name for yourself as a brilliant witch – fame that you could capitalize on, if you weren't so stubbornly committed to tying me down. And just because I was fucking Creusa instead of you, you thought I was betraying you! I was going to make us rich!"

"That makes sense," says the Chorus.

"What are you talking about?" Medea asks wildly.

Enter Aegeus.

"We don't have an Aegeus," Medea snaps. "And I'm not done! Were you not just telling me that in killing him I'd restore honor to all womankind?"

A murmur of assent from the Chorus.

Medea grips her head in both hands. "Then – what makes sense about what he's saying? He calls my home barbarous, he says I should capitalize on my fame instead of tying him down, he says cheating isn't a betrayal if it makes him rich?! What the fuck are you talking about, that makes sense?!"

The Chorus hesitates.

"It does seem strange," says one chorister. She's shushed by the rest.

Enter Aegeus. He says that he visited the Oracle at Delphi to find a cure for his infertility.

"Oh, yes, and I told him I'd help him if he provided me safe harbor," Medea says. "And – and then I decided. Then I knew. That I had to kill them. My sons."

"Now who doesn't make sense?" asks one son. "Walk us through your process here, Mom," says the other.

"I –" Medea hesitates. "What do you want me to say? I had to hurt him. As badly as I possibly could."

The next scene -

The secondborn speaks up. "Dad comes in, you pretend to love him again and tell us to deliver our new stepmother a beautiful gown and tiara. Let's jump to lines 902-903, though. You call us out to embrace our father, and – you hesitate. O my children, will you continue to embrace me like this as long as you live?" "We didn't," adds the firstborn.

Medea's lips thin. "A moment of weakness."

"You have a lot of them." "In fact, over the course of the next few scenes you're downright schizophrenic." "Five times." "Five times you change your mind."

"I'm a weak person," Medea grits out. "It comes of being a woman."

Yes, there's a recurring thread of virulent Athenian sexism throughout the work, but that really isn't it.

"Maybe you just kept noticing –" "– over and over –" "– that you didn't have a reason?"

"I had to hurt him," Medea insists.

The children laugh. "Would stealing his children really hurt him that much less than murdering them?" "Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face."

(If I may interject.

Here's where my aside earlier comes into play. At the beginning of her final face/heel turn, Medea says: καίτοι τί πάσχω; βούλομαι γέλωτ᾽ ὀφλεῖν ἐχθροὺς μεθεῖσα τοὺς ἐμοὺς ἀζημίους. "But what is this? Do I wish to suffer the mockery of those I despise?"

Medea's greatest fear is laughter.

She must kill Creusa, or she'll be laughed at. She must kill her sons, or she'll be laughed at. I can't help but think of Carrie, the prom dress and the pig's blood and everyone laughing, laughing, laughing…

I have a friend who says that tragedy and horror are in many ways the same thing, that the real and fundamental difference is that horror is unreal. Horror could never happen to you; tragedy is something that happens every day.

Medea's story is both tragedy and horror. The people who love you could leave. Stop loving you. Abandon you, throw you to the wolves. It happens every day. It is a tragedy, what happens to Medea. But Medea is, herself, the horror. She takes what happened to her and twists it, shatters it, makes it a monster and sets the monster loose. All so that no one can laugh at her.

No one is laughing now.

No one will ever laugh at Medea.

Is that what she wanted?

...back to the action.)

Next scene. The Chorus mourns the children. Then they mourn for Creusa. Then they mourn for Jason. Then they mourn for Medea.

The Chorus shifts uncomfortably. Medea glares at them.

The Tutor returns with the boys. He tells Medea that the gift was well received, and the boys will be accepted by their new stepmother and raised alongside her own children.

Medea spits on the ground. "And so I freeze my heart. I must kill them."

As the boys mentioned, you change your mind five times. Back to the Chorus, which bemoans childbirth in general.

One member of the Chorus, the one who broke ranks before, stomps her foot. "I can't believe this! This – this isn't about fundamental womanhood, she's murdering her fucking kids! I –"

"Am I not a woman," Medea hisses. The Chorus nods.

"It doesn't matter that you’re a woman if you're murdering your fucking kids!" the lone chorister insists.

Order.

A messenger tells Medea of the gruesome death of Creusa and her father.

The boys' eyes are hollow. "And she takes her blade in hand." "And she comes through the door." "And she hunts us down." "And..."

The Chorus wails.

The lone chorister breaks. "I can't take this! I'll – I -"

A single member of the Chorus does, actually, say that she will stop this, when she hears the boys cry out.

"Yes! I – I have to stop her!"

The Chorus' hands grab her wrists, her ankles. She is held in place.

She does not move.

"Why?" she whispers, going suddenly slack.

Throughout the play, the Chorus serves to contextualize events. They chide Jason for abandoning his bride. They agree with Medea that what has been done to her is beyond the pale, and encourage her to take revenge on Jason. Once she talks about her plan to slaughter her children as well, they turn to naysayers, pleading with her not to do it. But, crucially, they can't do anything about it. Medea ignores them. Jason ignores them. They cannot influence events; they can only watch, and speak, and cry.

"I arrive at the house, sword in hand," Jason says dully.

"I exit, with my sons' bodies, in a chariot drawn by dragons," Medea says. "A gift from my divine father, Helios. I will bury the children myself; never again will Jason see them, or touch their skin."

"Thus the gods approve this wretched act," says the Chorus. The lone chorister is, by this point, weeping.

The pair snipe at each other pointlessly.

The play concludes with Medea flying away, and Jason leaving the stage. A final stanza, generally agreed to be an interpolation by a later, lesser playwright, declares: πολλῶν ταμίας Ζεὺς ἐν Ὀλύμπῳ, πολλὰ δ᾽ ἀέλπτως κραίνουσι θεοί: καὶ τὰ δοκηθέντ᾽ οὐκ ἐτελέσθη, τῶν δ᾽ ἀδοκήτων πόρον ηὗρε θεός. τοιόνδ᾽ ἀπέβη τόδε πρᾶγμα. "Many things Zeus has in Olympus, many are the unexpected things that come to pass; what men expect is not what happens, but the gods bring about something else. Such is the outcome of this story."

You might ask yourself... what the fuck?

Medea murders her children. No one does anything about it; no one can do anything about it. She comes out via the Machinus, the part of the stage reserved for the gods, riding a chariot given to her by the gods, tacit evidence of their approval – not only that, she makes it explicit. The gods care less about her murdering her own innocent children than they do about Jason jilting her.

It's not a satisfying ending by any means. But how could you possibly end a play like this? A play where human beings make each other suffer in the worst ways possible, for the sake of their own worst selves. A play where the only characters we don't loathe are the Chorus, incapable of action, and a pair of children who don't even speak in the original text until they're being murdered.

Maybe the only way to end it is not to end it.

To say that, ultimately, life goes on, no matter what atrocity has just occurred. No matter that the gods love best those who do evil; no matter that a man's life has been ruined, even if it was earned. No matter that Medea has slaughtered her children, that the king is dead, that everything will stay broken.

The thing about life is that it keeps happening until it doesn't.

#medea #euripedes #analysis #short story #...sort of #this is another piece from the same class as ''ashes to ashes again'' and the piece ''white hair sends black hair away'' on my ao3 #it... might not make a ton of sense if you haven't read medea #on the other hand it might not make a ton more sense if you have