#but sometimes you just need to think about that kind of feeling and it exists

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice. 

#teaser for what's coming. if you even care #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #werewolf!eddie #roses*

[drdemonprince]

I've noticed a pattern in anticapitalist books I read (specifically I'm talking abt Mark Fisher here, in Capitalist Realism). They do this great anticapitalist analysis etc and then go on to critique their students? and sometimes it's a bit ableist? it's like all the critical thought goes out of the window and they cannot understand the situation because for once suddenly they are in the authoritative position. It always gives me this "I don't understand these kids, back in my day-" vibe, and I see this with lecturers at university too. like Mark Fisher maybe we can think outside the box about your student who "needs" headphones to focus in class "even though no music is playing". and maybe it's not to do with the "Matrix"(????) I'm well aware this was written in 2008 but it's weird that I see this pattern continue today. Not to mention Mark Fisher took part in some ableist studies, and was a guy with questionable intentions on occasion.

it's like you Just said that reducing labour is good why are you calling your students lazy, that's so unprofessional and privileged. I wonder of coincidence that he is anti-meds when his right wing, pro-eugenics, accelerationist friend was addicted to amphetamines.

Or even just the amount of people who have written books about laziness and anticapitalism (excluding you) and just saying the most contradictory shit ever?? or not following their own ideology???

Anyway, I wonder if, when writing Laziness Does Not Exist, you came across any of this and were equally as baffled.

Materialism is just *so* true that high-status academics don't have a vested class interest in seeing their student struggles as legitimate or in recognizing the struggles of disabled people in general. For many edgy academic leftists having the correct opinions is just a way to flex one's intellectual status, not a lived experience they give a shit about. I'm not shitting Fisher in particular in saying this, it's more that it's a really widespread problem in the culture of these kinds of (very white, very academic, very cishet) leftists communities. You see the same kind of thing among some of the Chapo stan types, too, you don't have to be specifically an academic to do it -- lots of people throwing around the r-slur and flexing on how much they have read and doing fuck all for the oppressed people around them. I tend to find it especially common among people who inherited leftism from their (often academic) parents? Whereas leftist communities populated by Black & brown anarchists and working class people tend to fare a lot better in this particular respect.

Note that I'm not saying a person's identities are a guarantee of them being any more radical -- there's lots of liberals lurking in our midsts of all identities for instance -- more that someone's orientation toward power tells you a lot. and unfortunately there is an approach to leftism that puts a lot of stock in either institutional power via the academy, or in a kind of soft power of intellectual authoritativeness that tends to punish anyone who is supposedly less well read, less intelligent, lazy, needs disability accommodations, has trauma triggers, or what have you.

The simple answer is that power and privilege obscures other people's challenges from you, and the desire to preserve one's power (be it actually institutional academic authority or just the status of the person who supposedly knows the most in the room) leads to a lot of oppressive behavior. a lot of these guys that you're talking about believe in communism sincerely but they don't have humility, they believe themselves to be superior to most everyone else. and they tend to be white guys from wealthy families who either do not have any disabilities of their own, or they have the undiagnosed intj mastermind rational flavor of autism that makes you feel incredibly alienated from others but interpret that alienation as a sign of your intellectual superiority. (i had this type but i got better. a little)

[comradekatara]

How much do I need to pay for some more aang and suki shenanigans?

same girl!!! their friendship (that is almost entirely hypothetical and mostly exists in my head) is soo important to me i just know they’re best friends. like obviously the fact that suki is close with appa and momo already signifies a lot about the nature of their relationship, but they barely interact throughout the show, which makes sense considering that suki is mostly there to supplement sokka’s character and all her other interactions with the gaang are fairly limited (katara and suki friendship though….. also deeply important. to me). but as the most emotionally healthy, stable, self-possessed, and just straight up cool members of the gaang, i just know they’d get along like a house on fire.

i think suki would pretty quickly come to see aang as a little brother figure the same way sokka does, and suki would be the big sister he never had in return. and they definitely get into all kinds of little adventures together after the war, like aang telling suki about the cactus juice incident and suki immediately being like “omg we NEED to try that (don’t tell sokka and katara)”, or going around helping rebuild villages and relocate displaced peoples together, or pranking each other in increasingly crazier ways.

oh yes the aang and suki prank war is very real (toph and katara have a concurrent prank war going on of course; zuko who is far too sensitive & gullible, and sokka who is far too anxious, refuse to be caught in the crosshairs of either of these conflicts). it starts at the western air temple and ends when both of them are dead. everyone on kyoshi island genuinely worships aang like a god and so they think suki is absolutely fucking insane for putting cactus juice in his smoothie right before he’s supposed to deliver a big speech, but she’s just like “no it’s gonna be so fucking funny, just trust me.” (and it is.)

the “putting a “snake” in your sleeping bag and humiliating you in front of your almost boyfriend and his hot dad -> reading katara a really bad poem and then claiming that aang wrote it for her -> loosening the bedframe in your bedroom on ember island so that it crashes during sex (the point at which aang learned NEVER to make sokka collateral damage in these escapades) -> making the whole gaang sit through a colonialist propaganda play just because you know it’ll piss aang off -> putting hot sauce in your red face paint so that it stings and burns your eyelids so bad throughout the entirety of zuko’s coronation day -> nearly causing an international incident because you straight up endangered the life of the avatar” pipeline is so fucking real you guys.

and for what it’s worth, a lot of people assume that aang and suki actually hate each other, and that’s why they’re so invested in this prank war. but they love each other deeply, and that’s evident whenever they’re not in the middle of concocting a nefarious revenge plot, like when they go for long walks together, or just sit and chill outside, or cook together, or any other one of the many other activities they enjoy in each other’s company. they don’t hold grudges either. the pranking is fun for them because they’re both secure enough in themselves to understand that it’s being done out a shared sense of joy and whimsy, and not out of any desire to genuinely antagonize the other. to be fair, sometimes their pranks do actually go too far in various ways, but again, no hard feelings. it’s just a testament to the skill of the pranker, and an invitation for the other to step up their game.

#professordino #asks #aang #suki #aang&suki #go thru that tag for more aang&suki shenaningans. btw #they are so important to me #as are all big sister little brother relationships…… for no reason in particular . of course

[desceros]

sometimes i think about the future symphony "i should have married you" post you made and it makes me so sad but the other night as i was falling asleep i was struck with absolute agony by the awful idea of "i should have married you" because marrying her would have made her hamato and maybe just maybe then she would have been able to become a hamato spirit. and the brothers most likely would have been able to make contact with the hamato sprits like they do in the series. and because if he married her at least he would have been able to contact her spirit. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh anyways thought i should share hope your day is going fabulously captain desceros

oh, this is awful. allow me to make it even worse :)

we’ve seen in the series that you dont actually have to have the hamato name to be ‘a hamato’ as april demonstrates. we’ve also seen varying levels of. hm. ninj-oscity? ninpo skills? from the boys. like raph and leo doing a ninja mind meld. just. just mikey.

and we’ve always seen that donnie struggles with ninpo the most.

his ninpo is mechanical. when he uses it at its most conscious level, we see it manifest as blueprints coming together. literal pieces, as if constructed with real material. when he panics or doesn’t go through this process, it’s a vague shape that isn’t as strong or as defined in purpose.

so let’s take this scenario you’ve brought to us.

viola-chan would have, unquestionably, been a hamato. and for that reason, i can definitely see her having a hamato spirit.

…..but i dont think donnie would ever be able to communicate with it.

mikey would be the most likely, since he has the strongest ninpo. but he’d be in high demand since he’s so strong, so i think it would tire him and i dont know how much time and energy he’d have to talk to anyone. not to mention the stress he’d feel when donnie would come to him like Hey Can I Talk To My Dead Girlfriend and mikey’s like…. dude i just got home from 24 hours of straight ass kicking i’m about to pass tf out.

and raph, i imagine, died not too long after viola-chan, so whether he could or not is moot.

leo. well. i dont think leo could communicate with viola-chan either. leo is rather avoidant when he feels guilty or ashamed, and (without going into too much of spoiler territory) he’d feel largely unworthy to talk to you, i think. and since we’ve seen that it takes an open heart to use the technique, it wouldn’t work.

and donnie. god. donnie would try. he would try so, so hard. he would try, hours upon hours, every free moment, banging his fists on his thighs as he’d meditate until he’d collapse. reaching out. seeking. already not as strong at this whole ninpo nonsense. unable to calm himself from the need to see you need to see you please just let me see you one last time please please please that would make it impossible to focus. he’d start thinking about tech that could bridge the gap. that’s how his ninpo works, after all. modeling his blueprint. so if he can design a machine that can talk to you. his ninpo can bring it to life.

but he doesnt exactly have a lot of time to dedicate to a personal project like that, let alone one so fucking insane in scale, so actually impossible to do. and as the time passes he grows more and more obsessed with thinking about it. yet simultaneously more and more sure it’ll never happen. i feel like his last moments, alone, bleeding, staring up at the rust-colored sky, he’d be smiling. because of course he he has some kind of death drone army set to go the moment his ninpo cuts off, and it’s one last middle finger to krang. …but also i think he’d be a little relieved. hoping his spirit will find yours and lavi’s.

(do they? who knows. no more hamato exist in that timeline to find out.)

#ask tag #symphony tag #symphony meta

[the-modern-typewriter]

Just wanted to say thank you so, so much for writing Fate's Favourite. I actually found and loved your blog before I ever found that fanfic, and it was a delight to know it was written by you, and it's so clear how you've improved. But Fate's Favourite will always have a part of my heart, because it's the first story I've read that just has a platonic friendship that feels as equal as a romantic one without being romantic? And as a lonely aroace that means everything. EVERYTHING. (1/2)

(2/2) I had a conversation today that reminded me that I'm never going to have the queerplatonic relationship I want that I've always wanted since I was a child, and how it makes me want to write one so much more, but then I've never managed to write the story I've wanted to write my entire life because I'd always be afraid of being accused of queerbaiting or people just going, 'but it's actually just a gay romance this isn't what friendship looks like' and just. Thank you for Fate's Favourite.

--

Wow. FF is a blast from the past!

You are very welcome.

Apologies for the long, self-indulgent reply.

That story was one of the first things I ever properly wrote and my first (maybe second?) truly long-form story ever. I thus have a soft spot for it, even though in terms of craft and technique I can't so much as look at it without seeing all my numerous beginner flaws and cringing and can't bring myself to actually point people to it. Much improvement since then, as you say!

(An excellent reminder that writing is a learned skill.)

Anyway. The other interesting thing about that story is that I wrote it before I'd ever heard of asexuality or realised that was what I was. I was a very confused teenager being bombarded with this pressure to have crushes and date people and all that general societal messaging we have about romance being the most important thing ever. Especially in YA.

So I'd go home after school and write that story.

Obviously it's more unhealthy than what I'd want for myself in my real life, but the sheer intensity of feeling and importance of the platonic main relationship was something I had also never seen before but craved. And still crave, honestly. So I feel ya.

As for queerbaiting...

A lot of readers at the time told me they viewed the story as 'pre-romance'. AKA, it's a romantic relationship and they haven't realised it yet for whatever reason. They mostly didn't mean that badly, I don't think.

(Although I sometimes think though that if the term 'queerbaiting' was as broadly known and misused then as it is now that I would have been mercilessly lambasted out of ever writing again! And I wouldn't have known how to articulate the fact that wasn't, actually, what I was doing. I think we need to be kind to new writers. I think 'content creator' is gutting something vital in the ecosystem. But that's another rabbit hole.)

So I've been there. It happens. But other people's bad takes didn't change the story and what it meant to me as a lonely ace teenager or what it meant to you.

I have had readers before make a similar comment to you about how it was the first time they got to see something so important to their heart portrayed.

That matters so much more than whatever people say about your writing who don't need it.

Which is why we have to keep writing the stories.

Even if it's clumsy and raw. Even if it's the first thing you've ever tried. Even if it's (especially if) it's a messed up fantasy straight from the most primal part of your brain.

If we don't write it, it won't exist.

And that's so much worse.

The nay-sayers can come to the party, but it wasn't thrown in their honour.

#mentions of this story sure caught me off guard #though not in a bad way #I'm amazed it's still floating around #the writer's journey lol #the writing life #writing talk

[sarahmackattack]

Hi Sarah!

I have a cephalopod question: do ceph’s ever lose their suckers, and if so are they able to grow new ones?

And a SciComm question: do you have any advice for someone who wants to grow their career in SciComm? It’s my dream career but it seems like opportunities are few and far between.

Is it “better” to pursue a degree in a specific science, or to focus more on the education/teaching side of things?

(although a huge shoutout to you and the other SciComm folks sharing your passions! I did manage to get a part-time internship and job at my local zoo in their education department, and I only had the courage to pursue those opportunities thanks to people like you! Didn’t think I’d get this far, and now I can’t wait to take it even farther; I’ve just got to figure out how to get there first!)

Do ceph’s ever lose their suckers, and if so are they able to grow new ones? I'm sure they do! The regeneration of some species has been studied but not all of them so there's likely some species that are a little better at it than others (for example, it's probably something a predator that attacks very strong fast animals needs than an animal that primarily eats bivalves).

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to grow their career in SciComm? The trouble with this is that my job is very very weird, and doesn't exist in the kind of structure where you apply for a job →you get the job → you have a stable job. It's more similar to the safety and job structure of being an artist, but with a nonprofit thrown into the mix. It's... complicated! And not necessarily stable! All that to say, how I got here is not going to work for everyone and I honestly sometimes cant believe it worked/works for me at all. It might stop working any second.

But whatever here's what I did. I practiced science communication on social media and locally in Connecticut (where I was at the time). I tried to consume a lot of science communication and consider what was working in those pieces, and thought about what I enjoyed doing within that whole huge ecosystem. There's one zillion ways to do science communication, and different approaches will hit different audiences. It's totally critical for a lot of different people to be doing science communication in a way that feels genuine to them, in their own voices, with whatever methods they like doing the most so that as a collective, we hit the broadest patch of people. No one science communication technique is perfect for every "audience" member, so the diversity of approaches is so so important. I don't think that gets said enough. So explore! See what you like, see what you get joy out of doing, see how people react to it. Producing science communication as you're practicing will build out a portfolio of work that you can point to when you graduate.

There are a lot of kinds of science communication jobs. There's the freelance/DIY approach like having a podcast like Alie Ward, or founding a nonprofit (this is very hard and i don't recommend doing this lol), or having a successful youtube channel/social media situation like Hank Green or doing TV like Emily Calandrelli/Bill Nye/Phil Torres. Then there's working for an existing science education nonprofit like Biobus or Science Friday or working for institutions like museums/zoos/aquaria, etc. Theres also a whole field in the university system called "extension" where you're taking the work happening at the university and connecting the surrounding population with that work. Each of those jobs, particularly the older institution-based ones have their own structures and will come with different advice on how to get into those jobs. I'm not really sure about those. Having that science communication portfolio will likely help for all of them though!

As far as what to do for school... I think the true but kinda complicated answer is that often what we do for school isn't directly related to what we end up doing. The skills we build while we're in school, and the connections we make are really what determines where we end up and what we end up doing. So... really take seriously the stuff you're doing that nobody's telling you to do. That's as important as class... and honestly, in my personal experience, it's way more important than what you do in class.

#science communication #squid #cephalopods #career #career advice #your mileage may vary

[quillkiller]

pleasepleaseplease elaborate on bartylus as orpheus and eurydice variants please if you want

mil!!!!! you sent this to me 2 minutes before my shift started….. i was losing my mind…. they’ve been in my head ever since…. i just got home thank god !!!!!!

anyway. so i have this au/wip which is loosly (very loose!!) based on the eurydice and orpheus myth but also set in canon. i have a tag for it ’fic: don’t look back’ <3

here’s a little snippet:

”Barty,”

It comes out as a breath, as an exhale— but it almost shatters him. If he wasn’t on his knees already he knows they would buckle. Knows he would fall down at Regulus’ feet. He almost looks.

so regulus still goes to the cave, and he still dies. he doesn’t go out of the kindness of his heart, but because he’s tired and he did it all wrong and he can’t win and he just wants it to be over. he goes because he misses his brother and he wants his brother to live. he doesn’t care about the rest of it, the war, the two sides, voldy or dumbledore or the prophecy. he wants out and he’ll never get his brother back so he’ll do this one thing to (hopefully) save his brother even if sirius will never know <3 after that he’s done. he goes to the cave knowing he’s going to die and he wants to. he yearns for the dark and the quiet !!!! he’s 17 and he thinks he’s lived way too long and he just wants out now

he leaves barty a letter. it’s vague but barty figures it out. they spend one last night together because regulus is selfish and greedy and want him just one more night. they used to fumble around back at hogwarts. they were each others firsts and they trusted each other but they were never together. not actually. just stumbling into each others beds, shakey hand jobs, clumsy blowjobs, sloppy kisses. they didnt really talk about it either but not in an awkward way, they just didnt really need to. it was about comfort and love and boyhood and fear and safety and they’re just. so special to me. not dating, not best friends, but a secret third thing. just so completely intertwined but so different from each other.

- virginia woolf. this is the bartylus dynamic to me. like. everything was awful, their homes, their circumstances, their surroundings, their expecations. but they were also just boys. everythings awful but sometimes they’d sit in the slytherin common room and they’d make each other laugh. sirius left but barty is waiting for him at kings cross with a grin :,)

anyway. it all sort of stopped after they both took the dark mark. they still had each others backs and they’re always best friends and intertwined!! but i guess there’s just too much else to think about now ahdhdjajfjkd. but reg comes to barty the night before he leaves for the cave and they properly spend the night together. its messy and miserable and lovely and it feels like a goodbye. reg leaves before barty wakes up the next morning.

barty!!!!!!!! goes mad. mad with regret and anger and desperation and love and hatred and every other emotion under the sun. he wants him back and he will get him back. barty is smart, was top of his class, is a quick learner in all things magic. i don’t know how long it takes, if its months or years, but barty is on a rampage and he’s seeing red and he’s not sleeping and he’s not at all himself. he sees reg as a ghost, talks to him, he’s haunted. he aquires several forbidden books from shady sources about magic that has long since been banned. he will bring regulus back if it’s the last thing he does. eventually he finds either a spell or some magic ritual (haven’t figured it out yet) that existed back in the 1700s but has been banned almost immediately due to people just. coming back wrong. miserable and wailing. barty’s not seeing that though. he’s just seeing that he can bring him back. so he learns everything there is to know about the spell/ritual and then sets out to go to the cave. months or years later, i still haven’t decided. i think it would be a little sexy if it was a couple years after reg died.

that’s where the eurydice & orpheus myth comes in. basically barty isn’t allowed to look at regulus until they both get out of the place where he died. but it also differs because regulus so desperately wants him to look. regulus is miserable when he’s brought back. miserable and young and confused and angry.

by paul tran is and always will be rab when he enters the cave!!

so reg is trying to seduce barty to please look at him. please look at me. and barty wants to more than anything. the first time he finally takes a breath since regs death is when he finally brings him back. the relief overwhelming. and it lasts for 0.01 seconds because regulus doesn’t want to live. he’s so angry and he’s sobbing and wants to go back. but barty doesn’t want him to. and he’s telling regulus it’s going to be okay and they’ll be okay and he’ll protect him and take care of him. but regulus doesn’t care. and barty is desperate:/

sadly barty is greedy. and weak. and it’s been years and it’s desperate and he can’t remember the shade of blueish gray regs eyes were. and regs pleading hurts. and barty just wants him. he just wants him and wants to keep him and he was never ready to lose him and he isn’t ready now. but it all boils down to the fact that barty is equally impulsive as he is strategic. he spent years (?) trying to figure out a way to being regulus back and more of his friends died during that time. he’s done what he set out to do. so he looks. because reg is asking him to and because barty isn’t strong enough not to look at what he wants

and yeah.

#fic: don’t look back #THIS IS SO LONG IM SORRY……. #bartylus #ive missed them

[lillybearrie]

Guys- guys! I need to talk about this because omfg arararara

Ok so I was watching sherb's most recent hardcore stream, or more accurately got not even a minute in and ran to Tumblr because I have thoughts, and maybe it's because I just binged Icarus's pov post-centross death but the first like 30 seconds or so of the hardcore stream made me realize the difference between someone like hardcore!Sherbert and Icarus.

Icarus is in a deep state of self loathing and needing to grief so so many things so many people they need to process so so much but their own father has convinced them that it's pointless that it's not worth it that they should just focus on other things like helping him in his endeavors and so they don't and instead they bear the weight of this feeling of guilt and dread that they carry it around all day every day and they use it like armor because they don't have much else anymore. They pour all of the doubt they used to have into blind faith in fable's cause because they will not process and they will not grief over the fact that in only the past 4 months they have either indirectly or directly been at fault for 2 of their friends deaths and that their very existence prompted the destruction of so many peoples lives fable caused the resets for them to save their life fable destroyed reality over and over and over until the universe was delt what is likely irreparable damage all for them and honesty we really don't talk enough about the guilt they must carry for that. Icarus wakes up and even if it's been a few weeks is immediately so so tired the weight of everything going on in their life waking up with them waking up with the voices that constantly tell them what they already know the voices the yell and scream that their wrong that their hurting people again that their acting corrupted The voices that never shut up day in and day out. And they stretch because sometimes keeping a routine in times like this is key to keeping sane and yk stretching is just generally a good habit. Their alone except for the emotionally distant basterd of a previously immortal man that dares call himself a father ( we're not gonna talk about how the stuff he instilled in ick when they were little influenced a large part of how the corruption presented itself in them during season 1 because this is not that post but if it was I would have so many words you don't even know) life right now is one big distraction and when it's not they either have a break down or they're chasing the next distraction and you can see that when they wake up because you get 2 kinds of Icarus in the morning angry Icarus who will take it out on quixis or us because they need that emotional release and we're easy targets or planning Icarus who is only thinking about what they need to do today they do mindless chores or talk with co-workers or are figuring out how to complete task fable asks of them.

Hardcore!Sherbert on the other hand is for better or worse alone completely and utterly aside from the things their's not a single actual person in their life. they farm they build they vibe and weird shit happens around them sometimes and they hear voices, they wake up and look forward to the next day even when they've been asleep for months they look in the bright side "not a bad thing tho it's important to get your sleep" they are so... free in comparison with Icarus and you can hear it in the way they talk its lighter you can see it in they way they move it made me realize how little Icarus actually truly smiles nowadays hardcore!sherbert has their fair share of struggles don't get me wrong but at they end of the day they're happy they enjoy life for the most part.

And Sherb does such a good Job acting out this fundamental difference between these two variations of the same guy. I go ababababa it think it's neattt anyway go appreciate Sherbertquake56's phenomenal acting after this long ass post psychoanalizing they way their minecraft characters wake up which is a total sane and normal thing to make a Tumblr post about at 4 am mhm

#i just think they're neat #thank you for coming to my ted talk #i go abababababa #i hold them #i has so many think thoughts #so many #the psychology of Icarus Morningstar consumes my brain #send halp #icarus morningstar #hardcore minecraft #sherbertquake56 #sherbverse

[yuseirra]

if there's one thing I personally focus on when I draw something, it would be the emotions. I try to convey the exact emotions of a character when I make art, and portray how they'd be feeling at that exact situation, as they say something, and so on...

I try to feel the same feelings they would when I draw an expression, as close as I can get at least, it's what I do over and over. You don't really have to do that ofc, but for me, it's a huge part of the point and it's really fun to do! It's what I believe could give my drawings more life and make them more genuine, even if it's a sketch (in fact, sometimes sketches can be more powerful on that aspect so I used to stick to drawing exclusively those for a very long time). That's how I pour my heart in, and I'm sure a lot of artists would do the same in their own ways when they create their works.

For that same reason, I really like drawing smiles (and characters that can make genuine ones) because that makes me happy. Other feelings are cool, too, but drawing happy art is so soothing, so I draw a lot of smiles!! It's also why I feel the need to understand a character, because you can't exactly feel what they'd be feeling unless you aren't so aware of what they're going through. I wouldn't be entirely right, I'm sure, but I really want to try. It's maybe why I usually stick to drawing a select few characters from a series all the time, because there are some characters I "get" better than others, and feel I can bring out better(and most of the time, luckily, those kinds of characters end up to be my favs, so I can draw then alot ;v;) Then again, I'm seeing them through my own lens of thinking, I'm just putting out what I see in those characters in the end. But it's usually the good things I love! Or something I feel is really intriguing and want to think about, or want to explore on, emphasize? Anyhow, it's the feelings and emotions part I've always been interested about! So I hope I can do that well!

My drawings aren't perfect, but they aren't too bad either, and I've been trying all the way. If they could imbue some sort of feeling for you, that's definitely what I wanted to accomplish! It makes me so excited when I get feedbacks about it being able to make someone "feel" something.. it means what I wanted got across so I'm like "yes"!!

it'd be nice if they will feel genuine one way or another!! I was and is and will be happy to continue to share my works with you all

#random blabbering #hehe #I recently got really nice tags and I #I kind of want to go and thank ppl individually for that but I was out of energy... I missed the timing.. #drawing makes me think about feelings #characters too #so I really like seeing characters that can make big genuine smiles from the heart #ofc I love other types of characters too #but sometimes you just need to think about that kind of feeling and it exists #and I love characters that are literal saints right.. those kind of characters have always been my favs #they are very inspiring and thinking-not just thinking but trying to feel how they would be feeling..is really good for the soul I think #I wish I could be strong like them and genuinely feel like that #(you could a little as you draw #being immersed is very nice #and I hope what I draw could be that way for someone #here I am writing at midnight..I don't know if what I'm writing's making good sense but wish you all the best #thank you for seeing my drawings together with me!! #I CAN draw some self-indulgent stuff that'd not exactly cater to be educational or inspiring yeah but #I probably won't mean bad. I want to have fun~which I've been!! for so long

[dallonwrites]

random sunday afternoon thoughts but i think the thing with writing advice isn't only that it's just that -- advice -- but also that most of the time it's really just an intro to some kind of craft theory. like you can see a post about how to write better prose for example and it can give beneficial ideas -- show don't tell, specific language, utilise the senses -- all of these are good as theories on craft but with any theory there are exemptions, there are ways to bend it. you also have to ask why this is a theory in the first place, what idea of good prose does this theory come from? but ultimately the thing is no writing advice can tell you how to work that advice into your writing voice/specific story. so seeing these posts as examples of craft theory rather than advice helped me out a lot because instead of wondering which advice to take on for a story, if i "knew" enough about this writing thing to make that call, i was seeing these posts as an intro to a theory on craft, and then i'm asking myself what i can do with this theory, what can this theory do for my story? where does this theory come from? what kind of story/writer does it consider, what kind does it not?

atm i'm writing a flash in 1st person present which is not a POV i use a lot and before i would read as many resources on 1st person present as possible -- which in itself isn't bad, resources exist for a reason! -- but i'd always get stuck because in my attempt to learn as much about "how to write" something as possible, i would forget the only person who can teach me how to write something in my story is me. those resources do help, but the answer is in my story. and that answer will look different in the next 1st person present story i write. there's a garth greenwell quote i love about drafting that says "if anything i try to forget all considerations of craft or technique, to work from a place as near to ignorance as I can manage". i think part of taking in writing "advice"/craft theory is also understanding the gaps in it that are filled in by your story, what will strengthen and what will weaken it. and understanding writing advice as just craft theory helped me because it's just that -- theory, possibilities with craft -- and isn't meant to answer specific questions about how to write a specific story, and you will also learn a lot more if you let yourself lean into the unknowing that is a natural part of writing. because you don't need to know craft to write, you just need to know what your story needs, and a lot of advice and "rules" are really just intros to craft theory that can help you start to know where to look for your story's answers, rather than giving the answer itself. tldr most writing "advice" and "rules" is just craft theory, and instead of trying to shape your writing to fit "advice/rules" you should be thinking about the ways you can shape theory to fit your writing

#i don't think you need to unpack every piece of advice you read in this theoretical way but i do think its important #when a lot of popular advice does get passed around at what is ultimately an introductory level #for example i see a lot of advice posts on story structure here that are very obviously surface level takes on #western ideas of story structure -- which is why i think its so important to see these things for what they are #which is craft theory. and then thinking okay where does this theory come from who does it benefit who does it not take into consideration #i'm obnoxiously literal about language sometimes but i think advice as a word holds a lot of weight because it kind of suggests that the #person giving it knows something you don't? not that i think people giving out writing advice see themselves that way #but seeing these things as someone sharing writing theory rather than advice/rules makes things feel more balanced to me #and someone may know more about a specific craft thing than you of course. that's why sharing craft and learning from other writers is #such a beautiful thing. but do they really know more about writing than you? #do you know more about writing than them? that's not something you can measure #the person that knows more about a piece of craft theory than you doesn't know how to write your story better than you #i don't know a lot about writing fantasy and someone with more experience will know more about #things like worldbuilding craft etc. building magic systems and lore. #but that doesn't mean they know how to write my fantasy story better than i do. because it's my story. #i can learn from them but what i'm learning is craft theory. not how to write my story. does that make sense #+ i will learn how to write my story by embracing the fact that i do not know how to write fantasy i just know fantasy craft theory #but also im someone who doesnt believe craft rules should exist in the first place lol but that's another post

[beatcroc]

listen. i love pizza tower with my whole heart & mind. you know this. you Know. but first and foremost i am a character design bitch, and the pizzas are, frankly, very bland. this is not a critique or a complaint, because obviously That's Not The Point and more importantly i would be horrified if anyone tried doing that much animation with anything more complex than what's there. but also it means when i get a taste of some truly whack ass insane design work again it is like fuuuucking catnip

#ive been DEPRIVED...... #pizza business is on hiatus i need to play lethal league for 50 hours and make a surely ill-fated cosplay about it #it really is unfortunate fake pep could have been a fun cosplay for the way i wanted to go about it #but for all the schematics i had sketched out it was never a thing i wanted to get up and actually try to Make #and then i wake up the next day after playing llb once and go like oh. ohhhhhh. i need to be doombox irl #and because of that realizing. oh that was misplaced idle thoughts before; i never actually wanted to do fp for real #i was just on that train bc 1. very passionate about the game obviously [and he was kind of my only option to rep pt] and 2. #i think it was a lot of leftover inertia from my PREVIOUS cosplay idea [baozhai from indivisible] that i also never pursued #lots of Makin Stuff drive still existing but not having a place to go. #fp was certainly more doable than baozhai so it was easy to latch on but #still not....really the kind of thing i actually Enjoy making #this one though. ohgghhgh i feel it. i feel the cosmos #i still dont think i'm actually going to complete it. the current projection is that i just make a shitty prototype and then #realize how impossible and unfun this is gonna be and then drop it. [but its fine bc i still got to make stuff and got the idea out] #however. that first pizza comic was also originally a single-image prototype to get the idea across bc #i didn't think i would actually draw out that whole thing either. #so i guess we'll just see what happens. now won't we. #poor fuckin noisette comic 2 man i put it off for so long and then finally get into it and then this happens #ill get back on it eventually this is just something i have to indulge while i have it and get it out of my system #its like evangelion. sometimes you have to write 8k words of analysis. and sometimes you gotta make a really stupid cosplay #anyway hey i should post the fp cosplay schematics huh. i meant to back when i first did them but then didnt. whoops #bweeeaaahh

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

You are seriously my favorite blog right now. You opinions and meta for ikevamp are so spot on. You somehow are able to flush the characters more than the canon. I just wanted to say I appreciate all the time you put into your writings and I love everything you have written so far!!!!

In Comte and Leo we trust 🫡

Aww, thank you so much! 💛💛💛

Honestly I have no control over the brainworms, I feel like Ikevamp is so saturated with implications that extrapolating becomes so much natural fun for me. I started writing and analyzing (with no supervision to stop me, big mistake) and I'm still so fascinated with it. I can't believe it's been almost what...four years? Five years? Since I started playing the Japanese version where this all began. I'm frankly flattered a lot of people agree/like my takes, it makes sharing my work really rewarding in ways I never expected~

I don't always have time for more than Comte thirsting and silly quotes these days, but you're more than welcome to enjoy what I've curated here! I imagine I won't stop shitposting until the app is discontinued, and even then I'm not confident I'll shut up 🤣🤣🤣 Comte's the best baby girl I've ever known lmfao

o7 PUREBLOOD STAN OR BUST HELL YEAH!

#tysm for such a kind ask! this made my day <333 #pureblood propaganda #(people need to stop validating my breaching containment it only makes me more powerful /j) #sometimes I wish the eng ver implemented more of the depth and hank pank from the og more consistently but alas #localizations are a bit of a hit or miss business im afraid #i also love how i've inadvertently created a sad pureblood fan club over the years (not you vlad) #(you can join after you've had your time out like a good boy) #but in all seriousness i find their lives strikingly saturated with complex emotion and subtle tragedy/melancholy #ig for a lack of a better description i just feel like they're relatable? #like yeah if i was leonardo and my abusive family could harass me forever #i would also be incredibly guarded and set in my ways to protect myself and probably hate vampires and their power plays #if--like comte--i felt a sense of identification with the people i was pressured to subjugate #i'd feel lost and empty too; unable to co-exist with my own kind but also inevitably at a distance from humans #both scenarios create an emotional and relational quagmire #and i think what's even harder about it for both of them is that they just have no choice--and rather few allies besides each other #all they can really choose is duplicity if they wish to remain true to themselves and reasonably survive #and i think that's a really exhausting/somewhat self-impoverishing position to be in #comte tries to subsist on ephemeral moments he shares with people--with varying levels of success (little) #leonardo forces himself into stasis bc if he doesn't he'll keep making the same mistakes #aka getting too close to people and getting hurt when their time ends #ive prbly said all this before but idk in light of so much i've learned since starting this blog #the allusions to vampirism being a vehicle for certain 'othered' identities seems boundless to me (domestic abuse/class structures/nd etc.) #vlad is a pureblood but he seems like one of those flat movie vampires pandering to the aesthetic obsessions of a v particular audience #any story needs both flat and round characters--so naturally his existence serves a purpose/function; nothing wrong with that #but i find myself to be too Shrek to be v invested in him (FAVES HAVE L A Y E R S) #ig i just think its very easy and a bit bland to associate vampires with horror/gore/unmitigated violence/extreme emotionality #but much more engaging to explore the status of monstrosity as it relates to oppressed identities and unconventional kindness #or maybe that's just the monsterfker in me--in which case sorry everyone being cringe on main (it will happen again)

[dreadfuldevotee]

i am just...so profoundly tired of being me

#char.txt #there is something that is so revolting about me I am incapable of shaking the shame of it #Theres nothing i can do to make myself happy its just not possible i think i have to accept that #but im tired of pretending for other people its so stupid #everything feels fake even when im being honest i dont know who this person is anymore #its just stupid idk im thinking about too many things #my life feels like it exists for other peoples entertainment and if im not interesting im failing and im wasting peoples time and energy #but i can't be alone anymore I legitimately cannot be alone anymore ive tried so hard it only makes things worse #I need to feel wanted and maybe its something im missing thats keeping me from feeling that way #but I feel so deeply that when i stop being funny or when the person ppl actually want to talk to comes around ill stop being relevant #i dont exist to people when im not infront of them and...idk i have to be okay with that because im never anything more #and like this genuinely isnt a dig because there are people who I am friends with who have access to see this and I don't want you to feel #like its something youve done cause its not your fault its kind of not even about any of you or the ppl wholl never see this #Its something im missing its something about me and i dont deserve cruelty ik that #but i can't make anyone want me more than they do and thats alright #i just know that ill always be second fiddle at best and it just exausts me sometime #its be easier if I liked me but I wouldnt wish my presence upon anyone #but im selfish and i need the attention or ill actually self destruct so here we are this is my boulder

[raeofgayshine]

Have I ever talked about one of the big ways that I came to know my gender so intimately and how I came to be so at peace with it after years of fighting and crying and begging it to just leave me alone?

And how it happened all thanks to Thomas’s Sanders Sides videos, which started in October 2016, my senior of high school and the beginning of me finally acknowledging I might not be cis.

It gave me the idea to start viewing my gender as a piece of me that I could talk. Separate, and yet part of me all the same.

Actually, my journey with my gender mimics a lot my journey with my anxiety (my dear sweet Annie, because like many people I formed my own sides), because when I took a step back I could see gender wasn’t the villain I thought it was. Yes it was loud and needy and brought me a lot of pain, but that’s because it wanted to be heard.

The day I started to talk with my gender, talk and really listen to hear what it had to say, was the day I started to find peace. Because I was finally starting to treat this part of me like a friend.

#ravenpuff rambles #i want to write like a real and long piece about the process #something that sounds good and is in my ‘not poetry because I can’t write poetry but this is the closest I get’ type of writing #but this is the feel of it and I wanted to put that thought on my mind out there #how I often talk about gender as something of its own life and for me it kind of is #gender doesn’t have a name (maybe it should?) but #I talk to it like a friend and it lives in me and beside me all of the same #actually had the idea of writing a children’s book many years ago #that talks about gender kind of like this. as a part of you that exists outside of you #that you can talk to and is unique to every person #kind of like a daemon if you think about it but your gender #but at this point I don’t think it would be any help or any need #people better at children’s writing have made books about gender #i will instead just keep talking about gender as if it’s the one thing I know anything about #because really sometimes it feels like what I know the most

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

You know I just went around and picked up things that fell out of Dad's van when he was out rambling.

#You can say my ego gets in the way but i #t feels often like an offshoot of my humility #yet you know I am just like....doing things like existing sometimes here and it just....well I don't like being at people's beck and call #mac book....damn nigga #oddly I needed that right then though #sorry for our beautiful reptile eyes #sometimes that spirit if the night fucks with myself but the other side of it is do good #you could call all the chess pieces pawns because it is the game master who is king #so my sez puts women under spells #I don't do it on purpose most of the time #I just want to beach and sir puff a lot #but...yeah like it's important for you and I to hang out as only some kind of bipolar siamese twins would #and on a level like titles and certifications don't amount to much #but like....I did tell you how I would do you if it came down to it #And I think you got off knowing how bad I wanted it yet still on the outside showed a cool control about things #but after a while it became like when you drive and don't really think about it #it's not really Isis it's isis #like..... we've haven't been left alone in a room in years together #this is what I call a loaded opportunity #even the weird pa account is sending caricatures of thr van man #and I will tell you what #that son of a bitch did paint a mickey pitching #and I did pop a minnie after all #....I like the big bows.... they're sexy #do you out everything under bbc with us primarily or bwc #or guy strokes bbc while he watches two women #the butterfly effect #except you didn't like change my history you just pointed out that's you there a bunch #so you know how surreal it is to realize it's you but not just you the insane worker or demure teacher #or post man kidnapper....although I wouod have liked to see you try to hold me prisoner with nothing but you and your....powers

[piplupod]

do the "rbs > likes" and "reblogs are appreciated" and "reblog it if you like it!!" footers ever help on art?? bc i feel like it more just annoys ppl than anything else fjfkdl and then u would end up getting less engagement than u would've normally ??

#i kind of avoid rbing that art tbh and that might make me a ''bad person'' but i don't like feeling like op is watching me like a hawk #if i like an art piece i will often queue it so that it has a chance of getting a second wave of being rbed around #and theres artists out there who say shit like ''if you like this and DON'T rb it then I'm blocking you'' so i end up not interacting w it #at all. when i would've normally just liked the piece and then queued it fhdkdl. so. idk. #it just feels very hostile and pushy? idk i understand how frustrating it can be for sure #my art doesn't ever get rbed except by like two friends and sometimes if i make it appealing to a wide enough audience then i get 2 more rbs #so i Understand. but i dont think being pushy and Telling ppl to rb ur art is the way to go about it... idk!! #to each their own ofc but heres my thoughts ig fjdkdl i just Wonder about it sometimes when i see it #I think this may also be the autism for me bc i often have a rly hard time doing things when someone Tells me to do it #pathological demand avoidance or whatever. idk if i can rly say i Have that but i experience smth similar at least #and maybe thats on me to work thru. but fhdkdl idk i just. ough. i wish this wasnt a thing at all i wish everyone could get what they wanted #i dislike this entire debate tbh djfkdl bc i see both sides and idk what the solution is or if there even is one #it might just be one of those things where it just Exists and theres no fix for it and we all just gotta cope with it #pippen needs 2nd breakfast