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infinitethree · 10 months

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hey, vio! i was just curious about where your friendship-slash-rivalry-slash-archnemesis thing with jacobs began. like did you just see each other and go “i hate” orrrrrr

Vio looks affronted. “Excuse you,” he scoffs, “Jacobs is nowhere near good enough to be my arch nemesis. He’s barely good enough to drink coffee with–” “Unfortunately, I have to agree.Violet is nowhere in my league,” Jacobs sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

The alien’s eyes narrow. As expected, Jacobs adds, “Because he’s way, way below it–” “I can literally kill you,” Vio warns, “I can kill you so fast you’d have no idea what happened.”

The man across from him laughs, grinning wide enough that it’s clear that his teeth are much too sharp to be human. Usually, he has a black cloth mask on, but he has been interrupted during a meal.

It also reveals the extent of his evidently never-fully-healed stitches. The line of them that goes from under his left eye continues across his nose at an angle, then curves under his right cheek and ear.

If they continue further, it's hidden by his hair.

He looks a little more relaxed in general. The brightly colored, though often redstone-smeared, jackets he wears are instead swapped out for a nearly identical one, but in greyscale.

The unusual, void-black stones that festoon his ears seem ever so slightly less devoid of color, but that might be a trick of the light.

…Which must also explain his eyes. They’re not usually black, but they seem like they are now. His hair is less of a rich chocolate brown and closer to the shade of loamy soil.

Vio seems unphased, so anything that might be going on must either be perfectly normal or is warping reality.

Jacobs tells the alien across from him, “Go ahead. Abuse your power, see where that gets you.” “I hate you.” “No you don’t.”

Again, Vio looks offended. "Don't tell me how I feel." "Then don't tell obvious lies," Jacobs answers, taking a long sip of the…

Actually, what the fuck is he drinking? It looks alarmingly like tar, from the color to the consistency. The cup he’s using is almost comically big, too.

The alien opens his mouth, doubtlessly to argue again, but Jacobs points out, "Didn't answer the question. If you're going to experiment with defying Time, do it in a controlled way and not where I'm eating."

Vio clicks his tongue in disgust, evidently aware that Jacobs has too good a point to try to dispute.

"I knew he was an asshole from the first time I saw him and acted accordingly," the alien huffs.

Jacobs snorts, "He could tell we had something in common." "We have nothing in common–"

The man raises his eyebrows and uses his enormous cup to gesture at Vio’s own, marginally less giant cup.

It's the same stuff Jacobs is, against all logic, managing to suck through a straw and not immediately die from ingesting.

"Coffee doesn't count," Vio says, unknowingly solving the mystery. He rolls his bright purple eyes and adds, "That happened later."

"Yeah, but you used present tense." Voice flat, Vio refutes, "A slip of the tongue. Just like a knife is going to slip into your neck if you don't stop testing me."

Jacobs grins again.

Evidently, Vio is happy to have something else he can focus on.

With a pleased, smug-seeming flick of his tail, he answers, "Thank you. It's nice to know some people can appreciate me."

It's Jacobs' turn to be annoyed. "Flattery, novelty, or poor taste. Also, way to sell your not-sons short." "They’re not my kids!" "Hence the not part."

Instead of arguing that point further, Vio tells him, "Jealousy suits you. Keep being mad, it's doing wonders for my mood."

Rolling his eyes, Jacobs scoffs, "I'm not jealous, I'm pointing out that you got a blind fan. You don't have a style, you have neon purple coats with inverse amounts of stains and embroidery, some jewelry, and nothing else of note. I think Aver would laugh his ass off if he heard it being called a style."

Vio grins wide enough to show the veritable daggers he has for teeth. "Sounds like jealousy and pettiness. Can't even win an argument without dragging others in, huh?" The sip he takes of his tar-like substance, evidently some abomination that he and Jacobs claim to be coffee, is very smug. "Tsk, tsk. I expected better from you."

For a long moment, Jacobs stares at the alien.

Then he twists a band on his wrist and swipes at the air a few times.

Vio's smugness immediately fades. "Don't you fucking dare–"

There's a spiteful grin as Jacobs asks out loud, "Hey, Aver, does what Violet wears count as a style?"

A wild bark of familiar laughter sounds out. "Fuck no! He's fuckin' lucky fashion crimes can't get someone thrown in jail here. Probably like that because he rigged the fuckin' system–"

"I reformed a paranoid, war-torn hellhole with extremely obvious corruption and mental instability!" Vio's argument gets another snicker, but otherwise ignored. Aver asks, "What'd he even fuckin' do that made you ask?"

With all the smug glee of a kid tattling to a teacher, Jacobs answers, "One of the watchers claimed that Violet has a great style."

Making a noise of understanding, Aver replies, "Ah, so one of 'em is fuckin' insane. Good to know, thanks for the warning. Not-Dad–" "Still not your dad!" "That's why there's a fuckin' 'not' in front of it, dumbass. Anyway, don't believe everything you fuckin' hear. Sometimes…people are wrong."

There's a pause, and then Aver continues, "Or lying. Might just be lying. Who knows; maybe the Observers or whatever they're fuckin' called are just laughing at you."

The expression Vio has is entirely offended. "Excuse you, I have plenty of style–" "Big man, the only reason you have coats without fuckin' stains is that I threatened to snowglobe you if some didn't stay clean."

Vio mutters, "Which is uncalled for, I have formalwear–" "Don't you fuckin' dare bring that fuckin' crime up," Aver says, a worrying hint of hysteria in his voice.

"You're the one that made it!" Aver, hysterical note getting more prominent, snaps, "Practically with a fuckin' knife to my throat! You made it fuckin' clear you were doing it just to fuck with me! Ooh, Aver, I'm gonna be a fuckin' asshole and make you pick between a literal fuckin costume, something based on a fuckin' anime cosplay, or just wear a normal-ass fuckin' outfit! Fuck you for wanting me to look nice!"

Vio huffs, but he’s grinning. "Maybe that's normal ceremonial attire for my culture, you don't know."

A moment of silence passes. Then another.

Then with an alarming amount of calmness, "Hey Jacobs, where are you and how much can you stop Vio from running for his miserable fuckin' life?"

Visibly and audibly pleased by this turn, the mechanic answers, "His house, and very little. I can set off your stasis chamber, though."

With a nervous chuckle, Vio tries, "Uh– surely you have a lot on your plate. You wouldn't take the time to come here just to stab me, right?"

Very much not kidding, Aver answers, "Better fuckin' run, bitch."

Not bothering with any further attempts to dissuade either of them, Vio scrambles out of his chair and books it.

Meanwhile, Jacobs gets up and calmly makes his way to the stasis chambers in the basement.

"That was a good talk," he cheerfully says out loud. "Thanks…Chime, was it? I think you're very wrong, but I'll let it slide because Violet is about to be in a surprise manhunt."

#asked&answered #chronotag #DrViolet #JacobsKarl #(I. will give him a better tag later. probably.)#TailorAver #long post #Jacobs is perfectly normal and has always been like that #and nothing about that statement should be questioned #he's perfectly normal and it's not strange that he can hear a question that wasn't directed at him #when there have been previous cases where that wasn't how it worked at all #and that the Council had to make a special deal to be able to hear questions for other Council members if they were close #and also being able to know when Observers are present in general #Nothing is strange and there aren't any threads to yank on here :)

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urban-unease · 2 years

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Interview with the Vampire Thoughts!

Spoilers Abound!

After a second, drunker viewing of the pilot, here be my drunk thoughts. More sober thoughts may or may not come. IDK:

When I first saw the shots of Lestat at dinner with Louis' family a few days ago I immediately thought about all the ways smart writers could convey this scene. My favorite idea was if the writers conveyed Louis' family as almost immune to Lestat's charms. It would make so much sense! As a black person, I can say that groups of black folks are not easily won over by white people no matter how supernaturally charming lol. The bar is high for us to let our guard down particularly when a white person you dont know is in your personal space. I love that ultimately even Lestat could recognize that Louis' family was not having it and was not the least bit amused by him.

It's amusing and concerning to me how many people don't know/understand that the "French White" thing is not a IWTV specific thing. I mean this EXACT joke was in a Wanda Sykes special a few years ago.

Lestat is a "I'd vote for Obama a third time" kind of white and this very appropriate for his character.

I've seen complaints about the show talking about Louis' blackness too much and I'm just ?????? I mean, he's telling the story of his life and what it was like to live at that time, so yeah he's gonna talk about the hardships of being black at that particular time. It's the only the first episode and their setting the stage. and lestat is a tactless bitch so of course he's bring up Louis' race in the most grating way possible lol. It's a dog whistle y'all. don't fall for it.

I'll be honest - I never understood what was so special about Book!Louis that Lestat was so obsessed with him. But here I totally get it! Show! Louis is a gay black man out of place, in the margins, struggling to make a life for himself. He has these hidden depths that he cant share with anyone, like his gay identity and his love of the opera. An Jacob Anderson is so captivating. It makes sense to me that Lestat would want him as a companion.

Along these lines - the main reason why Book!Lestat is so attracted to Louis is because he reminds him of his ex. So does this mean show!Nicki is going to be Black? That could be interesting, but also fetishistic and weird on Lestat's part if it's not handled well.

On the note of tact - I dont expect to show to be some thoughtful and deep mediation on race. They're trying....but you know....white people....At the end of the day this a trashy show about vampires and I'm fine about that.

The levitating "sex" scene was vey silly and not as a erotic as I thought it was gonna be (though it was very fun). It was just a gay naked cuddle in the air. To call it a sex scene is hella reaching. But I appreciate the show getting weird.

that being said I want a proper sex scene because it would be an incredible waste of the chemistry between these very hot actors not to have them bone.

Daniel's personality feels on point to me. This feels like the same sassy guy that called Armand an immortal idiot. IDK

Louis' modern apartment feels accurate to his personality. He's one of the view vamps that doesn't care that much about aesthetics and I think the show did a good job of designing a home for him that combines luxury with austerity (I know that doesnt make sense but I cant think of the word right now). Its a cold gray cinder block with gray and wood furnishing. there are pops of red and gold here or there but ultimately it feels like a largely empty space only filled with the most necessary furnishings and space decor.

Grace is wonderful and adorable

rip to Lily. a real one.

I dont think Lestat pushed Paul to suicide. I think Lestat is just classless lol

The show does not do a good job of setting the stage for New Orleans culture for an audience that might be unfamiliar. IDT that Louis' thinking that Lestat's powers are just tricks is that weird when you consider that New Orleans has long been a hot bed of voodoo, witchcraft, and supernatural happenings. New orleans is a place where someone like Marie Laveau could make a name for herself in society as a Voodoo practitioner. It wasn't uncommon for folks of all classes to turn to magic for help with illness, love, and other life matters.

A big mainstream show that dresses and lights black people well - what a concept!

I have more thoughts but my hands are tired 🙃

#might clean this up later #might not #you're gonna have to deal #my thoughts are my own #if you dont like them it might be because they are not your thoughts #they are mine #iwtv spoilers #iwtv

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that-gay-jedi · 1 year

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Bonfire, full moon, and squash for the autumnal asks?

Bonfire (favourite autumnal activity)

Oh, this is a tough one because I love them all so much! Ultimately though, it's tough to beat just watching the leaves drop, taking pictures of the explosion of colour or stargazing (and moongazing and planet-watching and sitting quietly thru the whole entire sunset with reverence...) on a clear and spooky October night.

Full moon (favourite candy and why)

That would be candy corn because I love controversy and drama! Lmfao (I also enjoy the aesthetic and the texture but I should probs not subject my poor pancreas to that level of refined sugar again ever at this age tbh).

And if I go to the "European" aisle of the grocery store there are these Dutch licorice gummies in the shape of cats that have IMHO a much stronger flavour than any other black licorice I've ever seen, which might be my favourite thing ever (I've been known to chew dried star anise raw bc I adore that infamous polarizing flavour). "Katjedrop" they're called iirc. You can get those year-round but come on they're black cats! And they're ADORBS placed on top of halloween-themed cupcakes.

Squash (traditions)

Oh, I love this one!

Usually the fun stuff (baking, horror movies, etc) I do during the day, as I've never been much of a partier and I've always lived in apartments rather than standalone houses that would get trick-or-treaters. I almost always take this day off if it's not already on one of my regular days off.

The local tattoo shops always totally go off with first-come-first-served drop in Halloween flash sales so on years I can afford a new tattoo I show up bright and early!

I try to always do something involving remembering our dead with other people, often just a small evening drop-in (or on Zoom the first year of covid or when the weather is bad etc) where we just tell stories about the people and pets who've passed on, I try to time it so people can come and go before Halloween parties get underway or they have to be home to answer their doors etc. Whenever possible I try to hold this in person around a campfire and encourage people to toss notes or letters into the fire for their loved ones.

And then when people kinda stop coming I go inside and do some more personal things to that effect at my altar, mostly I take some time to send some love to the marginalized dead of the past year (queer, impoverished, racialized and/or disabled people whose lives were cut short by chronic stress, hate crimes, systemic injustices, generational trauma, medical neglect etc) bc I don't tend to participate in that on the more mainstream designated days (like, I think TDOR is mostly a day of performative BS for cis people now, and I feel drained even thinking about it etc).

It's one of the few times per year when I'll read both Tarot and runes for myself in the same night. If I've fucked up in some big enough way that the guilt has followed me all year, I consider this a good time to ritually lay it to rest. And then if there's time and energy left I have a specific yearly spell I which is intended to bring me strength and support to get through winter because I HATE winter in the cold wet slushy town I've lived in all my life, but sometimes I just go to bed and leave that part for November 1st lmao

#autumn #october #halloween #witchy shit #autumn ask game #3-pico

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mishapen-dear · 2 years

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4, 15, 18, 25 🍄

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

ohhhh this is hard. facade is a good one that i never use. sparks is good and versatile and i always use it. ardour feels like something tapping at my heart and trying to find a way in but it hasn't cracked its way in with a dramatic-enough sentence of my own devising, yet. 15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I draw in my poetry books and I dog ear pages. I got told off for dog-earring pages so then i just fucked up the spine of the book by laying them down open on their faces. the more dog ears a book has the more love it holds, although the same holds true for indents in the pages from being stuffed full of strange bookmarks. no i don't judge yes still friends <3 18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

Scar lets out a breath and puts his head in his hands. What is he doing? Getting himself killed, probably. For all he knows, Grian’s an evil spirit or something that’s come to trick him and steal his soul. Scar thinks he would be flattered, maybe, except he knows the wards on his tower. He knows no spirits can enter it.

So why is Grian here?

Had he been sent by–?

Panic flutters in Scar’s chest. He reaches for the magic that is not-him so quickly that his braces spark and he almost falls over. He yelps, catching himself on the wall. Pain jolts through his arms and he winces, but he keeps moving, settling himself down against wall as quickly as he can. As always, his ability to control two types of magic at once is abysmal, but that’s not what’s important right now. Right now, what’s important is making sure that–

There’s gentle humming in Scar’s ears.

He lets out a slow breath. His legs feel like relieved jelly.

It’s still in the tower.

For now.

For now. Those words echo in Scar’s head. What is he doing? What is he doing? There’s a stranger in his tower with a magic touch so messy it borders on the amuteur– but who is, nonetheless, a stranger, and Scar doesn’t know why he cast that binding spell, doesn’t know anything about him. What can Scar even do? The not-him magic is safe in the tower, for now. But how long will that last? It’s one thing to risk his life– it’s a whole other basket of cats to risk everything.

It’s safe for now.

(Grian’s eyes are black, not red. He’s probably not red. It’s probably okay. No. Scar knows Grian isn’t red. There’d be a lot more mess if he’s red, but there’s not, so he’s not, so it’s probably okay.)

(Probably.)

context: I asked Galaxy to choose a passage and they said something from this chapter of my primary WIP (unreleased so far. last life/3rd life based), and I chose this moment. Further context: Scar finds a stranger in his tower, and things go downhill from there. This is a moment I really love because it introduces and clarifies a few things in the fic at that point (this is from chapter 2 lmao). We learn that Scar is protecting something, and that he's afraid that someone else wants it. Scar has limits to the magical abilities he has in this fic: he has trouble controlling his own magic (that allows him to be mobile) and connecting to something other than him at the same time. the not-him magic is important. there'd be a lot more mess if Grian's eyes were red. I don't think I had to rewrite this scene, but I had to revise it once or twice. It was important to get Scar's panic across and for him to self-soothe by checking on the not-him magic, both to clarify the not-him magic as important and identify its presence as something comforting to him, despite some... other feelings he may have about it in the fic. 25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story? uh. uhm. uhh. i dont know. i dont think about character details a lot, weirdly? and if i do then its usually relevant to the story because it amuses me to be like "haha this one is bad at laundry." I would absolutely write a scene about a character being bad at laundry if its fun enough to consider that detail in the first place. wait wait i know-- for the wip above, Scar likes to make fake magic trees with when he can't sleep. Something about crafting a canopy is soothing. but that's cute as hell so now it might become relevant. this question is a paradox for me. any and every detail will become relevant. i will focus so much on the minutae that entertain Me, Specifically, that the plot will cease to exist save for which spices a character enjoys and their failure to cook them. godfuckigndamnit now i want to write a scene about a character failing to make their favourite meal. i forfeit the question you win

#galaxy-starheart #lemme know if you want me to change that tag to your mcyt blog lmao #i also saw the word inexorable while i was answering that 3rd number so now that's another answer to the first question #the answer to all of these questions is Indecision and Too Much Love #which probably isn't the worst answer to have but it makes being succinct difficult #fuck. succinct is a great word too #ask game

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guytheporn · 8 months

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dzpenumbra · 1 year

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11/4/22

Today was like... skating day. I woke up super late, like 4. I woke up a few times before that, and my eyes were dry as fuck again. Every time I'm like that I'm so scared that my eyelids are going to stick to my eyes and do that thing where they feel like they scratch up my eye and it stings like fuck. Luckily it didn't happen, but that's the note my day started on at least 3 times. I finally got up, gave Max her ointment, she still really doesn't like it. Got ready to make coffee and figure out breakfast and just said... "you know what. It's past 4, almost 4:30 now. If I get in the shower right now, I can get some good skating in."

I did.

I got showered, zipped over to the store, blew off calling the car inspection/mineral collection dude for a second day in a row... and got an energy drink and a sandwich and went to the skatepark. This time, there were 3 kids there. Probably highschool age. A girl and what I'm guessing was her boyfriend, who was worse at skating than her, which was both really cool of him and has to feel good for her. I mean, she could do tricks that I can't do. That's badass. So when I got there, I gave a bit of a cheer for the kid who was solo skating transition, he did a back 50-50 and I thought it was cool, asked if feeble was easier or harder, broke the ice. He had a speech impediment.

It was awkward at first, I felt really bad having to ask him to repeat himself a few times. I had theories about him being a bit on the spectrum, not in a bad way of course, just in a... the way he was interacting socially kind of way. Kinda disregarding or unaware that I am at least twice his age, just speaking his mind. I guess I can sorta relate in some ways, and I think in a lot of ways we should all try to be a bit more like that, a bit less presumptively judgmental. So yeah, the interesting thing is like... the speech impediment thing seemed to go away after a bit. It was very subtle, but by the end of the day I didn't have any problem understanding anything he was saying. I don't know if that was a nerves thing, like a stage-fright thing, or something. Or maybe I just adapted to the way he spoke so quickly that it just sounded like normal speech by the end. Either way, it was chill. He was stoked about skating, loved pushing himself, loved trying new things, but seemed a little impulsive and seemed like he was looking to impress. Like I was afraid he might try something a bit too intense just to impress me, and get hurt. Maybe not as afraid of it in the moment as I am now, but it was there.

The chick and the dude came over for some water after a bit, I was still stretching my old man joints by the benches. The guy pointed out my griptape which has a full-color Jigglypuff with a martini instead of a microphone and a stylized portrait of Lando Calrissian on it. I said thanks and mentioned it was handdrawn. Like an afterthought, like half the time it just doesn't even occur to me to even mention that I drew that stuff myself by hand. It's just so normal for me, I seriously forget that this isn't a thing for other people. Isolation can do that. I brought attention to my hoodie too, which has been coming along. The crow is done, so I showed off the hoodie for a little bit, but from a distance and a bit quick, because it was... tangibly awkward. The other kid was totally comfortable, this couple felt awkward talking to someone in their mid 30's, and I get it. They're both teens. It's gotta be weird, I remember it being weird too. I remember avoiding the old people. So... I try not to judge and I try not to like... make it more awkward? I guess? I don't know.

And I looked over at the girl and she had pen drawings all over her jeans. And I was like... holy fuck. She's one of us. And I complimented her on her work, and tried to relate like... I started by drawing in the margins of my notebooks and my pants and my arms. Then I went to art school. Then I just keep working for like... 15 years, and never gave it up. Well, there was like a 2 year stint, those were dark times. I'm back and better than ever. And I told her she had potential and to keep at it. And for some fucking reason recommended art school. I'm still kicking myself for it. What was I thinking.

Okay, well let's just dip our toes into this. Art school was good for me because it gave me an opportunity to actually be in the social role of "artist". I'm struggling to articulate this, I've corrected myself like 3 times. Being an art student lets you experience life in the role of artist, like you're cast in a play as "Artist" and you get to be that character and see how it feels to be in a social hierarchy as that character. It allows you a temporary title to focus entirely on your work. WELL... actually you have to do this stupid general education shit for some reason... Like high school 2.0, those kinda classes. Because... reasons? But if you're lucky enough to find a school that actually lets you work on your major... (mine wouldn't even let me focus in Drawing... I had to take up Acrylic Painting and I had never used a damn paintbrush before) then you get to just step in the role of professional artist, and really start honing your craft.

Now... you can do that right out of high school. In fact, you can even drop out of high school and do it, if you really want. As long as you have an ability to generate money so you don't just starve on the streets. College does give a kinda sanctuary for that "transition" - as though they are really actively transitioning you into a career... They have mental health resources, food, water, shelter, experienced veterans of the field, peers with common interests. There are many distractions, but it's a great place to find your professional identity if you take it seriously.

So in a lot of ways, I did mean that suggestion to that girl. Just going right into an art career out of high school... you're gonna need financial backing. You're gonna need people who believe in you and are willing to support you until your thing gets on its feet. That's just how it goes. Unless you're going into a mentorship or working other jobs too... but I have no idea how you can really be a fine artist who does like 4 hour drawing sessions every day until your hand is cramping... and then go work another bullshit job to pay the bills. When the fuck do you unwind? Are these skills just... not enough for people? It's so weird.

Like you're born with a gift, and you hone that gift, and you cultivate it and give it time and space to come into the world. And you have to do that and work at the convenience store with the other people who... do not have a gift... and did not hone a craft... who gave up on their passions... or never started... or, more commonly, never had any. And you have to spend the majority of your time around those people. Like twice as much as you spend on your life's purpose. Because someone's gotta ring those energy drinks up at the register, right? Someone's gotta make sure assholes don't drive off without paying for gas. -_-

That's not an environment where you can flourish as an artist. That's a one-way ticket to burnout. So yeah, the world (right now, at least in my area) is pretty poorly designed for creatives, and really fucking easy to skate by and do pretty decent if you have minimal to no passions or marketable skills. Like... if you have nothing but time and don't give a fuck what you do with it? You'll do fucking great in this country. If you really really want to be a folk singer?

I'm just stopping myself here, I'm getting upset. And I'm really being negative about this. I should've encouraged her to do an Instagram, and checked if she was on it and encouraged her to follow me. But... it's weird giving my Instagram to teenagers when I'm 36, and alone at the skatepark with them. It's awkward, okay? It just is. I'm getting into the range where I'm old enough to be their dad.

So yeah, I've kinda been kicking myself about the art school advice, but like... it does have a lot of merit and it did do a lot of good for my skillset and my inspiration, and refining my process. And critiques were a really important experience for me, and I really do value the resiliency and openness to criticism I developed from that. So I guess I don't entirely regret giving her that advice.

After that couple left, an older guy in his 50's climbed under the fence and started carving the park in his socks. He was working on the construction crew, building the expansion to the park. He seemed a bit stressed, but burying it. He was definitely an extrovert. He insisted I try his board and encouraged me to loosen my trucks. I don't carve on a skateboard, I never learned how. So... it was weird. I ride super tight trucks, always have. So yeah, I don't know what I'm gonna do with that. I might try loosening them a little, but I'm just really used to riding this way. I don't know.

I pretty much confirmed that the local skate shop is probably not coming back. Apparently the owner did a GoFundMe and it didn't reach goal or something. They just got like a... I don't even know how expensive skatepark... like... I don't even know how to measure how expensive this park is, over half a million? If I were to guess? They raised the fucking funding for that shit, and the only skate shop in the area just... goes under. Like... what the fuck is wrong with this damn town?! Ugh. I would buy a board from him but like... I don't think me buying one board is gonna save his business. I feel bad because with my skill set, I probably could have helped. Custom grip, custom clothes, custom this, custom that. Skating is all about personality. Personal expression. And having your own one-of-a-kind personal art to wear around is like... very valuable $-wise, and very valuable <3-wise. It's very cool, and very special, everyone wins. It might have been mutually beneficial. It might've saved things. But I was too scared to leave my house and never really met the damn guy.

I tried showing him some of my work on Instagram, a silver, gold and black mandala with a silhouette of a skater doing a heelflip over the front. He did the usual like... fire emojis and clapping or praying hands or whatever that shit is. And that was it. And inside I'm like... dude... You can make this a shirt or something... I'm still facepalming about it now.

But yeah. I'm very like... frustrated and "shoulda woulda coulda" tonight, I don't like it. Maybe it's insecurity or something, it sucks.

So yeah, finding out about the shop shutting down sucks. They just opened up in like 2018, they survived the pandemic by the skin of their teeth and now they're just gone I guess. I don't want to dwell on that tonight, I'll come back to it another time. I'm moving in two weeks, I can't really... get into stuff in this town. Which is weird, but it's a thing.

The older dude left after a while. Me and the teenager kid skated until it got dangerously dark. No lights. He easily could've gotten hurt with the tricks he was trying, I called it before he did. We walked out together and went separate ways. I went to my car. He went into the woods in the dark to walk home. Poor kid didn't even have someone to pick him up.

I sat in my car for a second, then drove over to where there were lights along a sidewalk by the building next to the swimming pool. I pulled in and parked again and just went and skated the sidewalk under the lights. Like... if you fucking assholes are going to just not put lights in the skate park... and keep an empty park open until 10PM... then I'm just gonna skate where there is light. And I got to skate sidewalk again, which is such a nostalgic feeling for me. And skating off sidewalk ramps into the street. It was really fun, but short-lived. I was already pretty tired. I headed home.

The rest of the night was 4+ hours of sanding quartz. Working on the clear quartz piece. Finally cracking my samples that have blue quartz in them and shaping some pieces from that to see what they look like. I had NKA skate vids on the entire time. It was great. My arm is very sore.

I got dinner for me and the kitten, went to bring it in the other room to eat and watch TV... then... I remembered that my rock tumbler that broke on the first tumble I did in it... it came with a bunch of raw mineral pieces. I grabbed that bag and found a cool kinda pinkish clear piece and started cleaning that up. I got it pretty close to mirror finish pretty quickly. That unlocks more options too, which is cool. Just buy some raw uncut mineral scraps and clean them up myself, could probably get them cheap.

Then I grabbed my smoky quartz wirewrap piece, some wooden beads and hemp twine as my nightly project. I ate and picked out some beads in a pattern, but... I don't like the hemp twine. It's very rough and uneven, cheaply made. I felt like I could do better work with better materials, so I didn't even try. I felt bad about that.

I just watched Twitch... yep... and then... got ready for bed, I guess. The night just disappeared into the abyss of Twitch as I was researching different... I don't know the word, I think it's macramé? techniques. So I can actually make a prototype of the jewelry I've been talking about this whole time. So I can get one damn finished project. And... yeah... I'm just gonna have to get better twine for this one. I gotta have some kind of standards.

So I did get a lot of work done today. And good exercise. But... I feel like there was a lot of avoidance. And anxiety. Awkwardness. And I kinda just wish I had a friend. So I guess it's a good thing I'm talking to this new social worker guy (still don't know what to call him) through Betterhelp tomorrow. We'll see what we can do about it. Because last night's thing about the A and B of how to deal with survival parts of your brain? I'm really not liking having to do A constantly. I end up being pretty clumsy and right now, all this looking back like "oh man I really shouldn't have recommended art school" or "would it be weird to give my instagram to teenagers?" or "I didn't work enough today" or "Why can't I just call this dude and set up a car inspection appointment" shit like that... I think all these things are a result of knowing that I chose Option A - Build up hype and brute force through your inner barriers. And Option A has led me to quite a few bad situations. So the after-the-fact anxiety is kinda like me saying "you dodged a bullet on that one." Which is hard to disprove, because it's technically right... But there's a difference between dodging a bullet 3 inches away from you and dodging a bullet fired in another zip code.

I just keep getting the same feeling every time. If I had a friend my age... not just a girlfriend, like fucking duh all these problems would go away immediately if I had a cool girlfriend who would try to learn to skate with me. And help fill in the blanks when I get overwhelmed by social interaction, go "oh yeah, he's selling himself short, he's a professional artist, so if you like this piece he can do one for you." Like... I think that whole helping me fill in the blanks in social situations thing can be a friend role, too. And I think it would be incredibly valuable for not just my social functioning (like not leaving a social situation without introducing myself...), but also my anxiety and insecurity.

Okay, another damn truck roaring its engine at 5:15, like clockwork. That's three nights in a row. Fucking obnoxious.

So yeah. I kn--- oh my god, its so loud, dude... come on... --- I know I harp on this all the time, I don't know if it's an ADD thing where like... my mind just runs off or I get so damn caught up in the moment that I just... forget things, or blast past things... or whatever. Maybe it's being unstructured? I don't know specifically what it is but it really feels like an ADD thing. I have always thrived when I have a good friend to just sorta recap with after the fact. Like a therapist meshed with me perfectly once I really learned how to say fuck it and speak my mind. But the role a therapist can't play in your life is as a friend at social events. They can't go with you to the skate park and just like be your wingman.

So I need a friend. To like... do shit with me. Because the anxiety that has been haunting me today from me just not really being --- I mean this seriously, I can't tell if I'm just super anxious and insecure and depressed right now or if this is really a problem. Like... I'm trying to challenge this narrative...

I don't know if I've ever really had a good wingman. But like... I have had so many people in my life make me feel like utter shit for wanting this. For just wanting a partner, or even just a friend to do shit with. I mean utter shit. Like... like the fact that I schedule free time to go and do things with them just makes them angry at me because I don't have kids or a 9-5. Bitterness. And they all laid into me because of it. And it's just... permeated the whole topic for me, I guess.

The whole idea of making friends, of having a friend with me, doing things with a friend. The concept makes me start having trauma responses now. Talk about a vicious cycle, good lord. I can't make friends, because I need a friend to help me feel comfortable and confident making friends. Because I've picked wrong way too many times, and really bad things happened to me. Maybe I'm a bad judge of character, because I try to overlook peoples' flaws and see the best in them. Maybe my instincts keep saying "bring someone along to like pull you aside if shit's getting weird or red-flags are goin up and you're not seeing them because you're blinded by the rare sensation of social interaction".

I swear, going into social interactions after a few days of nothing is like... intoxicating. And the feeling can distract me, and overwhelm me. It's very foreign to me. It's a lot like how when someone physically touches me, it's like... very overwhelming. Just because that's an extremely uncommon thing to be happening to me. It's not bad, I love physical touch, it's just... cranked up to 1000 and it becomes sensory overload very quickly. That is what even having conversations can be like for me now, after 2+ years of limited isolation.

So yeah, I wanna wrap this up. Sorry it's not the biggest positive note tonight. Lots of anxiety all around. And I'm eager to work with my social worker on it. I think I really need to look into Option B. Which I completely overlook the value of. Let's really hammer in on that point real quick - what is the value of just chilling. In a society that wants you doing 3 fucking jobs, scrolling social media endlessly, consuming ads in literally every possible crack of your day, what is the value of chilling out and just mellowing. Just laying on the floor, on the carpet, and just staring at the ceiling, and just relaxing your muscles. What's the point?

Hard to really define, right? Hard to justify? Like... what is the point of sitting in a comfy chair and putting on headphones and just listening to a song. That's it. It is valuable. It's decompressing. It's recovery. I struggle to put it into words. So maybe that's why it's not instinctual to go that route when dealing with anxiety or panic. Because in my culture, it's discouraged, and even punished in some cases.

So maybe I need to really get back into practicing chill. Just... "yoooo everything's fine, just lay in the sun for a bit, lay down that burden and get back to shit in like 5 minutes". And maybe that can ease the anxiety barriers, like the one preventing me from calling the car guy, enough for me to give it a shot. I hope so, I'm getting so tired of this. Maybe I need to add in more intentional relaxation time into my day. Yoga. Meditation would be nice, even in the form of music meditation. Then I welcome chill into my life and I can get more used to it.

I'm tired, sleep time.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts #spilled thoughts

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andromedaspark · 2 years

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A lot of people need DBT. A lot of people don't know it. Like yeah it's boring and annoying to sit through almost a year of therapy classes that teach you stuff (most of which you probably know, might use or just know the basics of) but really. Seriously. It helps.

I did a year of DBT about.... mmm..... 2 ish years ago now? Back in 2019 maybe late 2018. It sucked. I didn't want to go. It was with a group, 2 other people in pretty different situations than I was. I was just diagnosed with severe chronic depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder along with ADHD. I was going through different pills, struggling with C-PTSD and still living in a toxic environment that stunted my emotional and mental growth.

But now I'm out of that situation. I'm on a more stable medical cocktail. I'm more confident and especially comfortable in my body. I have put names to my struggles and I know what they are, how they affect me and I'm still working on how to live with them.

The trick isn't trying to get rid of the problem. The trick is to try to make the problem easier to navigate.

You don't walk around or through a river if you don't have to. DBT gives you the skills to prepare yourself, gives you the knowledge of how, and then let's you make your bridge across the river. Yeah it'll take a while. Yeah it'll be a lot of hard work. Yeah you'll want to quit. And you're allowed to quit. As long as you know and accept that the way you're going to have to do it without the bridge is much longer and harder. The bridge seems worth it. And when the bridge is done, eventually you'll wonder why you were going the long way. But it's because it was hard work. Rewarding work. Don't forget that accomplishment. You built that bridge.

Some tools might not seem useful. Like in DBT they give you Many options. I actually still have my DBT binder so I'll pick one out now.

Think dialectically. Things can and do coexist. Not everything is black and white. Strong language like "Always" or "Never" is a slippery slope to signs and symptoms of depression and just overall feeling like shit.

They say this in more professional "psychology" terms that just run in circles and are kinda hard to understand. But if you paraphrase and put it into your own words it makes so much more sense. Take notes, but the way that helps you the most. Because chances are that writing it down, especially if they give you handouts with all the science terms on it, will help you better understand what they mean.

I hate taking notes. But when they would ramble about a topic just jotting down my understanding in the margin helped so much. And it even helps now looking back to see my understanding and if it's grown or changed at all.

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acrossthenewdivide · 2 years

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Today I realized I don't have to respond.

Bit of background: I'm an adult. Full-fledged. I finished school with a doctorate in a scientific field. I work a cushy 9-5(ish) job, I'm happily married to my best friend, and we are financially not only independent, but borderline comfortable.

None of that matters though to my mother.

I have a PhD, but that's not as good as an MD to her (nevermind that I would have been miserable and made a terrible medical doctor).

I work a great job that pays well, is stable, and allows flexibility. That's not as good as the toxic environment I left behind (that she knows nothing about and wouldn't survive a day in).

We rent a beautiful townhouse downtown, but that's not as good as owning a home (in this market mind you, and we don't think we'll be staying here long-term).

I could go on. The bottom line is that my mother raised me in a such a way that my self worth was based off of my tangible success, or rather, what my parents deemed successful. My grades were worthy of acceptance. My behavior was worthy of love. I was told I was weak for feeling emotion and was never ever allowed to be anything less than perfect. (My brother can be a shit show that she praises, but that's another can of worms entirely).

Naturally, I grew up a typical first born millennial of boomer parents, with crippling anxiety and perfectionism. I have a difficult time expressing my feelings (which is probably why I have always been so drawn to writing), and a difficult time accepting failure as part of growth. I have this desire for everything to be perfect because I was taught that anything less made me unworthy of love or acceptance. This has led to many hurdles in my marriage and relationships in general, learning how to fail, learning to accept that everything doesn't always have to be perfect, and learning how to feel and how to process and express those feelings in a healthy way.

How's that for a therapy session?

As an aside, hats off to my all-to-understanding husband for working through this with me.

I'm an adult. But my mother still treats me like I'm a 15 year old she can control. And part of that is my fault; I let her emotionally manipulate me for years. We almost stopped speaking after my husband and I got married, and have had an emotionally distant relationship since.

Today, she was up to her normal games. "I expect more of you" bullshit. I'm a fucking adult. And I realized I don't have to respond. I don't have to play into her emotional manipulation anymore.

So I didn't. And it's difficult. I feel so good to not play into her hand and yet so guilty. That guilt is a lie; it is 30 years of manipulation trying to trick my brain into accepting emotional abuse.

No more.

Its been relieving to see posts on social media, terrible though it may be, about these toxic parenting traits I experienced. It's comforting to know I'm not alone and what I experienced wasn't okay. These and the support of friends who have been through similar experiences and my husband reminding me this isn't okay, has led me to simply not respond.

And that's it. That's the post. Will it destroy my relationship with my mother? Maybe. Does that upset me? Marginally. There isn't really a way to win, but I must be above this ploy.

What happens next is in her court.

Cheers.

#narcissistic mother #family problems #trying to heal

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c-is-for-circinate · 2 years

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So it seems like a secondary theme that’s developing in this campaign is a good old fashioned gothic horror story! Do you think that’s going to relate to the class warfare theme or do you think it’s separate?

Mmmm, yes, both, neither. Mostly yes.

It's so interesting that you're pulling the gothic horror out of this, because you know, it wasn't my first thought but you're absolutely right. Usually when I think of CR and gothic horror, obviously the go-to is Briarwoods in Whitestone, but of course we haven't left all that behind, either, have we? With Delilah whispering in Laudna's ear?

C3 so far has been flirting around the edges of gothic horror, not quite ready to move past a theater date into a serious relationship just yet, but it's creeping in more and more. The mad scientist in his basement, tinkering with half-science-half-supernatural powers even he doesn't quite understand. The werewolf whose control slips around the full moon. The dire dreams of doom and portent. The ghosts.

There's also a lot about the story that really doesn't ping as gothic horror to me on kind of a foundational level. I think the key for me here is that everything we've seen so far, with the possible exception of Imogen's dreams, still feels very very real. One of the most intrinsic things about gothic horror (to me at least) is how it nearly feels dreamlike at times, the edges of what's true and what's not and what could be true all blurring a bit around the margins. What is your choice, and what do you only think is your choice? Are the ghosts real or just your imagination, your guilt and suspicion and paranoia and mind playing tricks on you? Neither, they're Laudna with a spell and a good intimidation check. It looks like horror from the outside, but our party are the ones behind the rubber mask.

The werewolf is a creature of sublime gothic horror because the werewolf is hunger and it is a monster and the monster is a man and the man cannot (refuses to) control himself and the man cannot control the wolf and neither can you. Chetney isn't that. Chetney is too straightforward, too comedic, too Chetney for that. Yet.

For contrast, we can absolutely reference the Briarwoods arc, which in spite of being a D&D game does have a very threatening, dreamlike feel to it. The world is ominous in Whitestone, the city itself alive and foreboding, full of undeath and ghosts and threat. Percy himself is a thing of gothic horror, the scientist in his basement creating terrors, the creature of decaying nobility half-owned by his own demons. There are undead giants in the streets and nobody in town speaks above a murmur and the entire place is haunted with the evil that's suffused it.

Jrusar isn't that. I am very, very sure that there are places in Jrusar like that, but the city itself as we've seen it so far isn't, quite. It's an incredibly central tenet of gothic horror, and indeed gothic fiction in general, that location must be a living, breathing thing, suffused with its own spirits and vast, subsuming emotions. It's the haunted house, it's Dracula's castle, it's the shadowed moors and the graveyard. In Southern gothic, it's the south itself, the bayou and the shantytown, the decaying plantation. And we don't -- quite -- see that in Jrusar just yet.

The Jrusar we've seen is alive, but it almost hits me more in the way of sci-fi than classic horror. It's not a creature with moods of its own; it's a clockwork machine, here not to demand that its inhabitants feel its emotions, but that they follow their roles, play their cardboard-cutout parts, continue to tick along to make things work. Jrusar isn't our central piece in a gothic horror. Not yet.

But of course it's the yet that matters, because with all the pieces laid out before us here, we are sure to stumble into a little pocket of space and time where the walls are hungry enough to bring us all the way there. .

Which is where we come back to class, because gothic horror? Is and has always been about class in the first place.

Oh, Edgar Allen Poe left it aside now and again, but Victor Frankenstein could only ever create his monster because he was a wealthy young scion with a castle and dead parents. Dracula was a Count, living in shadows and sucking the life out of everyone in his domain. The ghost doesn't haunt a farmer's cottage, it haunts a manor, looming and old and creaking in the night.

Gothic horror is about the decay of nobility. It's about the declining influence of old titled families in a modern era, and about the sin and decadence of wealth. It's the idea that, as times have moved on and left these old places and old families behind, they have begun to rot from the inside out, poisoned by their own greed and determination not to let go. Or maybe the demons were always there, lurking inside, just waiting to be discovered, inherent in the surety of I can do as I please and nobody will stop me. The only thing that's changed is that our poor maybe-doomed protagonist has dared set foot somewhere she'd really be better off fearing to tread.

In less metaphorical terms (or maybe just to acknowledge the metaphor), gothic horror is very much about the abuse of power by hereditary aristocracy. That power may be turned against their communities, against interlopers, or even against themselves, and most of the time the individual members of that aristocracy don't actually control what damage is done. In effect, the power of age and title and class and money (which are all four different things, but they pile together and compound each other, especially in this genre) itself gets treated like a living thing. That's the hungry monster of gothic lit.

And Jrusar is absolutely ripe for that. What we've seen so far is, like I mentioned above, a controlled version of this, a Scooby Doo gothic horror. Sometimes it's our party playing the whispers in the dark on purpose, and it's not scary because we're already standing back stage watching the magician pull all the wires. Sometimes it's the elite of the city, but it's still faked, in a sense. We've seen tables and chairs and walls come to life, hungry like a haunted house is hungry, except we also hit them a bunch and they died and we found the machine that was doing it on purpose to, idk, scare people away so the venture capitalist could build a theme park. People are trying to fuck with one another's heads, but it's purposeful. Controlled.

The next step, of course -- and with the Nightmare King on the loose, we are so ready to trigger that next step -- is for the fear and the hunger to stop being controlled. Something the leaders of the city tried to leash has escaped its bounds and turned on them. Something is lurking in the tunnels and the hollows inside the spires, where Dugger went bad. It spread, just a little, into his house, but eventually we'll end up down there in its home, probably, and that will be gothic horror. Sooner or later we'll be asked to clear out a mansion of a Mahon family who didn't expect their own manor to become alive in its own right; sooner or later we'll find that the Nightmare King was invited here by the Quorum, that they thought he was chained, that he's set up his own kingdom somewhere they didn't expect and now it's growing. Sooner or later we will wander into a place that's alive, and hungry, and the whispers in Imogen's head will get louder and Delilah Briarwood will hiss in joy and the rubber masks won't come off because they'll be real.

And Travis is going to pee his pants in terror when it happens, but oh man it's gonna be fun.

#cr spoilers #campaign 3 #gothic horror #asked and answered #mmmm I went off on this one #love a good gothic story #catch me rewatching Briarwoods this week #critical role

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joshslater · 3 years

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Dionysus

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I was very hesitant when he picked me up at the nightclub. I could feel the disappointment and outright hostility from all the women and a lot of the men as the God walked up to me, started to make out, and then asked if I was up for some fun. That's what you get away with when no one ever says "no" I thought. With his incredibly handsome face, black hair, and athletic build that was probably not a word he was used to hearing. It would be impossible for him to know I was into guys, and coming on so strong could land you in hot water or rather knocked cold on the floor. Turns out he could know, and there was more to him than just utter handsomeness and unparalleled confidence. Way more.

It was back at his place he asked me if I could look like someone else, who would I pick? That's a game I've played many times before, so I instantly knew to answer Marco Albieri, the soccer player. He raised an eyebrow, took a step from me, and asked me why. "I don't know what it is about soccer players, but something about the game makes their bodies stunningly handsome. And Marco is just a step above the rest." He smiled a bright smile, made a dramatic gesture, and I was Marco. Looked exactly like him at least. It took me a moment to even realize what had just happened, but I could see myself in the full-length mirror. Or I couldn't, I should say. I saw Marco Albieri in full Paris Saint-Germain F.C. game kit. Mesmerized I took a step closer to the mirror, and Marco on the other side of the glass stepped closer as well. I looked just like him, my wettest, wankiest dream. I'd come so many times to exactly this fantasy. There was even a sheen of post-game sweat making all the skin glistening in his hallway designer lights.

He approached me from behind, still handsome but now by a much narrower margin. "You ready to fuck?" I didn't even answer but just turned around and kissed him. He wasn't shy in grouping me back. What followed was the longest fuck fest I've ever been part of. We went from room to room. It was like this body had limitless stamina, though it was the body of Marco after all, but an insatiable horny lust as well. Perhaps he had that too. It wasn't until early morning I fell asleep next to him, exhausted.

It was almost noon when I woke up, disoriented by everything. It was like it wasn't until now the craziness and impossibility of last night hit me. I could see Marco Albieri in the mirror at the other side of the bedroom, without shirt, and the most unkempt hair I had ever seen him with. I knew for a fact the secret hairstyling trick was body fluids. I suddenly felt very uneasy and exposed. Vulnerable even. I was here on vacation. How could I leave if I didn't look like my passport? How could I leave this building looking like Marco? There would be fans stopping me instantly. What the fuck am I thinking about? I'm erased from the world. No one I know, no one in my family would recognize me. Could I convince them I'm me and not a millionaire soccer player? Perhaps. But my life would be so complicated.

That's when he lazily strolled into the bedroom, completely naked showing off his chiseled body, one mug in each hand.

"You did this! How the fuck did you do this? You can't leave me like this!" "Morning!"

He handed me one of the mugs. On reflex I took a large sip of coffee only to discover it was red wine. It took me by surprise and I almost sprayed his white sheets with red mist of wine, but instead got some down my lungs and started to cough.

"Is this really the best you can think of?" he said. At first I had no idea what he meant. Then, still coughing, I realized it was my body again. The one I used to fly here, check into the hotel, and go out to nightclubs with.

"I... It's awfully inconvenient if I tried to leave with a different body." "That's it? That's the only reason?"

I felt stupid and unsure what to say. I liked my body, so why was it so hard to defend it? He took a large sip from his coffee mug of wine and climbed into bed next to me, but standing on his knees looking down on me.

"When's your flight back?" "Eh, in... On Sunday." "Plenty of time to let loose. How about going to the beach like this?"

This time I noticed the shift. The bed sagged down a bit under the extra load and I didn't even have to look in the mirror to see the freakish muscles. Two huge chest muscles peeked into my field of vision, and moving my arm I could see it was thicker than what my legs used to be.

I felt light-headed as we walked down to the beach. Probably the wine. He was subtle and classy, black Nike sneakers, black boardshorts, and a white T-shirt. I was anything but subtle. Probably twice his mass, annoying flip flops that flipped and flopped every step, white compression shorts that looked blindingly bright against my deep tan, a purple thong that peeked up over the rim of the shorts by the hips, visible because the neon yellow tank top was cropped above the belly button to show off the abs. The stringer waved for every step as my obscene pecs push out the yellow fabric like a hanging flag. It touched my body in surprisingly few places. Top of the traps and the nipples more or less.

After spending a few hours getting everyone passing by on the beach to turn their heads to observe the freak show he asked me to play floatation device for him. We went out in the water and did our best to have sex just outside where the waves broke. I think anyone who paid close attention could tell what we did, but no one could be really sure. He didn't appear to care.

"I made you something," he whispered. "What?" "A surfer," he said and begun walking towards the beach. As I wiped my long hair out of my face I understood he changed me again. No more shaved head, no more enormous meat slab. I still had a six-pack, I was still 6'-something, and my skin was deeply tanned, but that's about where the similarities ended. "Why?" I asked as I lied down on the beach towel next to his. "First dive bar opens soon, and I thought this would play better to the crowd." I was feeling woozy. "We want to play to the crowd?" He reached over and squeezed the pec closest to him. "Well, make them jealous at least."

There was something nagging at the edge of my thoughts. Some question I felt I needed to ask. I just couldn't quite put it into coherent thought.

"Did you drug me?" He made a high-pitched "Mmmm" sound. "Just a bit. To fit with the rest. Just go with it."

I shut my eyes, relaxed, and let his hand stroke me. I don't know how long we lied like that. Not too long, because the sun hadn't moved that much, but I sure did dozed off.

"Come on!" he said, like it was asking me to hurry up for the third time. A bit confused I got up from the beach towel. I wore a pair of eye-popping turquoise board shorts with black pattern and trim. Neon turquoise, if such a color was a thing. I knew it had a real trade name, but somehow it kept slipping my mind. They had a good fit, not loose, not tight, but rode low on my lithe body. Fuzzy pubes peeked out over the waistband, like a little forest edge where the treasure trail from the belly button ended. I looked around for a shirt or something to put on, but there was nothing except for a pair of flip-flops. These didn't look as cheap and fit much better than the previous pair though.

"Is that it?" I asked incredulously. "What more do you need?" he said, and looked at me like he wanted me for dinner. "Come!"

The bar wasn't far away and already busy when we arrived. He almost danced in, basically dragging me in, holding my hand. I was woozy from whatever I was drugged with, but in a way that made everything look amazing to me. In any direction I looked I was delighted by what I saw, no matter how mundane. The bar was not even half full and everyone looked as relaxed as you would expect from a bar half a block from the beach, though no one else was bare-chested. The decor was a random mix of styles, as expected by a dive bar. Tables for two or four were lined up in front of the bar at the back of the room. From a backroom somewhere behind it pumped music. I looked at my watch to see if it was already dance time, but I was only wearing a red nylon cord as a bracelet.

"You must be thirsty after a day in the sun," he said and handed me an Aperol Spritz. I could have sworn he hadn't left me for the bar, but then I didn't really trust my senses. We took a table for four and sat next to each other, facing the rest of the room. "So, tell me about your day," he continued, as if he hadn't been there for all of it.

For whatever reason I found it hard to figure out where to start, like it was all jumbled together despite nothing of consequence had happened. I began to describe how I had woken up in bed and how he surprised me with breakfast. How I had mistaken the red wine for coffee. I could feel his hand moving down my abs and into my board shorts. As he pulled out my erect cock from the shorts my immediate thought was of surprise. I hadn't realized I was hard. I continued to talk about how we went to the beach, while he was jerking me off with one hand under the table. It then hit me that I had no idea what my dick looked like, if it was big or small. I had never seen it. He had transformed me somehow into this surfer. How could I have forgotten something so monumental.

At that point I shot my load under the table. Four or five large pumps. I was suddenly aware again that there were people around us, and looking around tried to figure out if any of them could see I had my dick out. At the same time I was still feeling high or whatever it was. "I'll get a refill," he said, stood up and headed for the bar. I decided to put my dick back into the shorts.

"Hey, dude. Is he like your boyfriend?" someone standing next to me asked. How long had he been there? He was handsome, not quite as tall as I was now, but more muscled. The tight billabong shirt didn't hide much. "Him? No. We just..." I was trying to think of a good word. I wasn't sure what he was, or what was happening at all really. "Wanna check out the dance floor?" "Yeah... Yeah, I would."

I followed him towards the bar, and away to the side into the dance room. It was far from packed, but we were not alone at least. Immediately I regretted following him there, even before he started moving to the music. Once he did I knew I would look silly. I started to mimic his moves best I could. He smiled a crooked smile, though not an unkind one, when he saw what I was doing. He leaned forward and barely audible over the music asked "Are you up for a second round?"

"What do you mean?" I asked back. "I saw what that other dude did to you. I live nearby, if you want to try something that isn't over in minutes."

In the door opening I see him standing with two large drinks in his hands. He looks emotionless, which in itself was a scary contrast to how he looked before. He then drinks one of the drinks in one go, then immediately empties the other one as well. No sooner has he turned away with two empty glasses when I feel a desperate need to take a piss. He's fucking with me.

"Don't go anywhere," I say and dash towards to men's room.

It's empty. I go to the lone urinal and yank my dick out of the white thong. I'm confused, but happy I got there in time to relieve myself. Why am I wearing only a white thong to a bar? As the piss is streaming for longer than I can ever recall I look down my bare smooth legs and find a pair of eye-catching red hightops. When I'm finally done I have a look at myself in the mirror. Cute, young Latino boy with a red baseball cap on his unkempt hair, and a grey shirt. The shirt in a way makes the thong stand out even more and look intentionally inappropriate. Perfect!

I return to the dance floor and find the guy waiting. "There you are. Let's go!" he says, almost demanding. He doesn't say anything on the way to his apartment two blocks away. I keep looking his way, and it feels like my dick is growing bigger every time I look at those muscled arms. His pace is brisk without being conspicuous, he clearly wants us to get to his place as quickly as possible without being seen. In through an unlocked entrance, up two flights of stairs, and in through his apartment door.

As soon as he whisked me in and closed the door behind us he grabs me, shoves me into the wall next to us, and forcefully kisses me on my mouth. "You fucking whore! I'm so fucking horny you better know what you're doing."

He snores loudly again. I had tried to ignore it to spend a few more hours in the bed, but it's getting pointless to try to sleep any more. I carefully get up and get dressed. No need for a shower, now that everything dried. I make a final check I got everything with me that I brought in. There is that nagging feeling that I'm missing something. Well, whatever it was it can't be important. Quietly I exit his apartment and make my way out of the building. I feel restless being so quiet and calm, like it is unnatural for me to be that way. I basically explode in emotions as I exit the building and literally dance down the last few steps.

I try to think what to do next. My mind is like a spinning punch bowl of thoughts and I'm only able to fish out simple verbs. Party! Drink! Dance! Fuck! The sun is barely up, but perhaps I can find some nightclub still open.

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wetwareproblem · 2 years

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It’s me again, from your last ask. I saw your response.

The definition of empathy is the capacity to understand OR feel someone else’s perspective. You don’t have to feel something to understand it, but it’s still empathy. That’s why I can have empathy for trans or nonbinary people despite the fact that I will never be able to feel their experience. Everyone is capable of empathy, whether they feel it or not, and it’s important to hold people to that standard so that we do not excuse behaviour that isn’t ok. I stand by what I said that empathy is important to practise, even when it’s hard.

Admittedly, I am disappointed that you are getting hung up on meaningless semantics to virtue signal instead of seeing the bigger picture. That’s exactly what I thought you were against in your comment, people flaming others for the sake of it. This is how we ended up in a world full of anger, and it will never stop until we all do. I take back what I said before. :/

Nonny, I'm going to try to say this very very gently, because it's very clear you mean well.

What we were speaking out against in that post was lateral aggression - lashing out at people who are not harming you and who do not hold positions of power over you.

We did not "flame you for no reason." Quite the contrary, we took the time to appreciate your message and support, but pointed out that it included ableist language that is used to directly harm some of us.

We did not insult, attack, or denigrate you in any way, shape, or form. We went out of our way to make it clear that we did not think you were a bad person, just that you had inadvertently done something ableist.

If your 'support' is so conditional that it can't survive contact with a marginalized person going "that hurts," then it isn't support, it's silencing.

It might be "meaningless virtue signaling" to you, but that's because you've never had people scream at you that you're a soulless demon who exists only to bask in the suffering of others because one of your clinical symptoms is literally "low or no affective empathy." You haven't had people tell you countless times that you're literally incapable of love - or any emotion at all - because empathy. You haven't had people try to get your kids taken away over it. You haven't seen dozens of people trading tips and tricks on how to best exploit your PTSD and trauma because those no-empathy fuckers deserve it.

When people say "empathy," without qualifier, they almost always mean affective empathy, not cognitive. Cognitive empathy either doesn't count, or (frequently) is framed as a tool of abuse and proof of our evil, when discussing people like me.

What's more, even cognitive empathy is not necessary to sympathy, compassion, or kindness. There are people I care about that my cognitive empathy fails completely on - I don't understand at all why they feel the way they do, let alone feel it. But I don't have to understand to trust them when they tell me how they feel, to care about their pains and joys, and to do my part to help.

You don't need to hold everyone to a standard of empathy to avoid excusing behavior that is not OK. You can just... Hold everyone to a standard of behavior. I don't need to understand or feel the plight of people to fight their exploitation; I can just recognize that exploiting people isn't okay.

You say you can have empathy for trans people, so let me try an analogy for you here: Would you walk up to me, a trans woman, and talk about how manly she was and how important manliness is to morality? If I objected, would you tell her that everyone is capable of being masc, and if we don't hold people to standards of masculinity, we'll excuse behavior thst isn't okay?

Please try showing that understanding you hold so dear to mad people too.

#WWP: Ashlyn #empathy fuckery #Just look in that tag Nonny #Please just look at the sort of shit that we get #And then note that tunglr lets you curate your experience like nowhere else #So it's literally worse everywhere else

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trans-cuchulainn · 3 years

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What are the major details that confused you about the Hound blurb? The major one that stood put to me was the "way of the farmer opposed to the sword" thing which felt very...un-Cú Chulainn. Also, if you don't mind expanding further, which details didn't you question/be confused by?

and also for anon:

okay so it is like. 2am so there are not going to be any sources here but i can't sleep so here goes!! i will go through this blurb line by line and give youse my thoughts

In 50 BCE,

reasonable. this is roughly the right time period for when the ulster cycle is set. maybe marginally earlier than i'd place cú chulainn, but i'm talking a few years, nothing to get worked up about.

Morrigan, the goddess of war,

fine. normally i'm wary of pantheonising impulses with regard to irish characters (almost none of them can be identified as a god of anything in particular, it doesn't work like that) but tbh the morrigan is like, the most plausible exception to that, so whatever. normally her name has the definite article attached to it because it's kind of a species term as well but whatevs.

has become restless as a long-lasting peace settles over Ireland.

dubious. closest i can think of to peace being reference in any texts is togail bruidne da derga talking about conaire mor's reign being like, prosperous and peaceful and whatever, and even there you've got díberg (plundering/reaving) which is what eventually fucks him over and starts the otherworldly hell spiral situation. that's roughly the right period here but conaire's doom proves you don't have to do much to nudge peace into war, and connacht and ulster are at each other's throats for years before cú chulainn comes on the scene anyway

Deciding the time of peace must end, she chooses Setanta, the nephew of the king of the north, to become her ward.

hmm. i mean. like, this isn't the WEIRDEST choice they could have made. it's still completely made-up, don't get me wrong -- cú chulainn has a lot of different foster parents in different texts and they don't agree with each other but none of them ever mentions the morrígan. but like, they do have a connection of some sort, as evidenced by their conversations. and there's that one moment in the r1 boyhood deeds where little cú chulainn is out on the battlefield and hears her (not sure which name is used here) calling out to him and it like. motivates him to do some deeds or whatever, and i guess you could extrapolate that into some kind of teaching capacity.

so like. could be weirder. if you're gonna pick anyone, you could do worse. still seems weird to me! but not on its own a major issue, i could get past this and consider it a Fun But Unorthodox Creative Decision

(the fact that she tries to seduce him in the táin probably wouldn't get in the way of this considering sleeping with his teachers/foster-mothers is far from unheard of where cú chulainn is concerned)

After a young Setanta slays the demon-hound of Cullan, he becomes known as Cú Cullan—The Hound of Cullan.

weird spelling choices, they could have at least bothered to use the genitive properly. also the hound isn't a demon, it's a ferocious watchdog -- making it sound all Otherworldly and Hellish like this kinda confuses the issue of why he would need to take its place. he needs to take its place because the cattle and people still need protecting because it is a watchdog!! but whatevs, again, it's a brief summary so they can't exactly give us all the details and this is not actively objectionable

As Cú Cullan grows older, it is apparent that an extraordinary power lies within him … and a great darkness.

ugh boring. this makes it sound like he's going to be ~tortured~ and angsty about it. give me an unapologetic murder teen please. is the ríastrad dark? sure i guess, if you're going to be boring about it. it's more like, grotesque neon in my head

When he chooses the quiet life of a farmer over the sword,

this would fucking never happen on like five different levels. obviously like anyone who has ever read anything about cú chulainn can see that this is not in his nature. he is never going to choose a quiet life. this is the kid who tricked his way into taking arms before everyone thought he was ready. also juxtaposed with the "darkness" comment makes it sound like he would Angst his way into this quiet life which. again. have you seen this kid. he is an unapologetic murder teen

the only thing i can think of that might make him temporarily want to walk away is connla's death which... depends where you position that in the timeline really, he does seem a bit fucked up by it and maybe he'd want a holiday although i can see that lasting precisely 5 minutes before someone pissed him off enough for him to murder them. but if he's being raised by the morrígan i can't see him going to train with scáthach so then he'd never meet aífe and therefore connla would never be born so that wouldn't happen. so like. whatever.

but also like. he would not become a farmer. he just wouldn't! it doesn't work! the ireland of the stories is super hierarchical, right? and this blurb has already fucking told us that he's the king's nephew (canon) so we can tell that being a farmer is Not His Place. when we see upper class figures becoming menial labourers in texts, like in cath maige tuired, it's because Things Are Fucked, Shit's Gone Wrong. people don't just decide to change their entire social class on a whim lmfao

if cú chulainn really wanted to turn his back on being a warrior he could probably make recourse to certain other Suitable Professions ... his grandad's a druid so he might have a route into that, though his dad's not so that might fuck things up a bit bc it's one of those things that's usually inherited. he does give "wisdom" in at least one text though and we also know he can write (he carves riddles in ogham in the táin) and he composes verses on various occasions so idk, maybe something in a poetic direction, though again, usually requires two generations of inheritance to be a real poet and not just a lower-class bard. warrior's kinda the main thing he's got open to him tbh. but farming? i'm not a legal expert but as far as i'm aware based on what i have read, that would fuck shit up

more likely an upset cú chulainn would just go off in search of an adventure somewhere conveniently far away until he'd calmed down (alba, or the tyrrhenian sea, or -- if we're going to get early modern about it -- somewhere like india, which frequently gets thrown into the texts with absolutely no cultural context and it's always hilarious)

Morrigan, angry at the betrayal,

of the entire social order, yes,

instigates an invasion of his homeland

i mean. if they intend this to be the táin then.... táin bó regamna does kinda make the morrígan responsible for it? not in the sense of triggering the pillow talk argument that it's in the book of leinster -- it's her getting up to her usual cow-nicking behaviours for shits and giggles. [note to readers: it is probably for more than shits and giggles but did i mention it's 2am]

but all in all, not particularly out of character that she would be at least some way responsible for this so i can vibe with this. echtra nerai also supports the TBR explanation with her fucking around with otherworldly cows and pissing people off so, yeah, whatever. the morrígan engineered this. sure.

and Cú Cullan must challenge fate itself

this is probably a controversial stance but fate feels like a difficult concept to apply to medieval irish texts. like are people sometimes Doomed? yes. there are prophecies, there are gessi, there's all manner of otherworldly fuckery that can trip you up. is that the same thing as fate? no idea. considering cú chulainn comes out alive from the táin though and his doom prophecies don't catch up to him for like, at least another decade, maybe 16 years depending on who you listen to, hard to see how that would apply here

to keep the goddess at bay.

again like she IS causing fuckery in the táin but also it's like... one time. really not the main character. but she or maybe just some crows, hard to say, do get implicated in the death tale so maybe they're doing what people often do and conflating the two? even though there's like 10-16 years in between them?

anyway as you can see i don’t think it’s wholly terrible / i’m not completely thinkshaming it. like, having cú chulainn raised by the morrígan is unorthodox but it could be a fun and creative direction so i don't object to it. making cú chulainn get sad about murder and choose to be a farmer is just fucking laughable tho, and makes me doubt their characterisations in general. so that's offputting and would probably make me think twice about buying it, if that had ever been on the cards.*

and of course sure, their cú chulainn can be a Sad Boy Who Likes Sheep, but that means he's not the cú chulainn of medieval irish lit / irish myth, because that cú chulainn is a feral murder teen who keeps killing his friends and also is way too high social status to ever be a farmer, and whose only relationship to livestock is as the watchdog who kills anyone trying to harm them (which is an important role on a farm! but like. not the same thing as Being A Farmer. mostly because it involves more murder and is essentially just an extension of his role as a warrior. or rather the other way around. he promises to protect mag muirthemne as a watchdog and this like. gets extended into him becoming its sole defender)

this has been my analysis of this blurb i hope you enjoyed it

it's now 2.30am i should try and sleep now that i've exorcised a few thoughts from my head

*as i mentioned in the tags of my other post, i don't tend to read graphic novels due to disability stuff. they're much harder for me to understand and follow than prose, to the point where some are incomprehensible, so i don't really enjoy them. there are a few i've read, but they tend to be short ones, and i'm usually not reading them in order, just admiring the art separately from the text. so it's unlikely i would read a graphic novel of this size anyway.

#cu chulainn #hound #hound graphic novel #answered #oddnub-eye #anonymous #irish mythology #medieval irish #tain bo cuailnge

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sharkbaitsekki · 4 years

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Emm, dimiclaude idea here, thought I'd throw one out there (don't feel pressured to do it!!) But what if Claude is trying to get Dimitri to chill and says "you're not perfect, just let go and do what you want" and the boi Dima is like "Ok. Ok! I can do this!" and quickly smooches the Claude and mentally Claude's like tHAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT but he's not complaining

“You look way too focused, Dimitri.”

“And perhaps you are not focused enough, Claude.”

There was nothing new about their exchange, the two of them having had the same discussion in various ways over their study session. When Dimitri looked up from his books this time, Claude was balancing his pencil on his upper lip like a mustache. That, at the very least, was a new trick.

“What... are you doing?” he deadpanned, watching as Claude wobbled, trying to keep his balance but ultimately failing. The pencil fell from its spot and Claude snatched it through the air, twirling it between his fingers.

“I’m tired of studying,” he whined in response, leaning his chin in his hand. He tucked his pencil behind his ear like hanging up his weapon on a rack. “We’ve been at this forever.”

“We have been at this for an hour and a half,” Dimitri corrected, unimpressed, “For one hour of which you have been doodling cats on your course notes.”

“I also doodled the Professor and a fish sandwich,” Claude corrected, pointing out the doodles in question, “which, incidentally, I hope we’re not having for lunch today.”

“Claude,” Dimitri chided firmly. “Focus. I did not agree to study with you in order to allow myself a distraction from said studying.”

“And I asked to study with you because you always look too serious and I wanted to loosen you up,” Claude retorted shamelessly, kicking his legs up on top of the table. Dimitri swept them off without missing a beat. “Come on. You’ve really been working hard recently, so you should take a rest.”

“I don’t require rest at the moment,” Dimitri assured him, turning his eyes back down to his papers. “At the moment, I wish to understand the application of this formula in calculating catapult trajectories.”

“I’ll teach it to you,” Claude hummed, jumping off his seat and sauntering over to Dimitri to glance down over the young prince’s back. His lazy eyes sparkled with confidence, which simultaneously comforted and infuriated Dimitri. He made it all seem effortless. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“In return, I just want us to do one thing that you actually wanna do. We could go horseback riding, or go read some novels in the courtyard... doesn’t matter to me. But it has to be something you want to do,” Claude said, leaning on Dimitri’s chair. His knuckles brushed the back of his uniform and even though Dimitri couldn’t feel their warmth through his cape, he felt oddly soothed at the pressure on his back.

“Studying is something that I want to do,” Dimitri replied, and immediately felt how off the sentence sounded. Claude felt it, too, giving him a lopsided grin that said ‘told you so’ in the most obvious way.

“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Claude chuckled knowingly. “My guess is that studying is just something you have to do, considering how seriously you take your princely duties. Aren’t I right?”

“I don’t see how that could be a bad thing,” Dimitri insisted, crossing his arms. “I am simply being responsible. My birthright is not one to be taken lightly, after all.”

“Oh boy...” Sighing dramatically, Claude circled Dimitri again and grabbed his chair, dragging it noisily to Dimitri’s desk and plopping down next to him. At this distance, their shoulders brushed when he leaned into Dimitri’s notes. “Okay, let me show you. Maybe you’ll be a little more willing when this is out of the way.”

“I’m not-”

“Pay attention, Your Princeliness!” Claude chided playfully, and then tapped the paper with his pencil. “You have to start by determining the weight of your projectiles. Look.” He immediately began to scribble in the margin of Dimitri’s notes, and the blonde had no choice but to pay attention to him.

Begrudgingly, he admitted that Claude was an excellent teacher, concise and patient with his explanations and guiding Dimitri into completing the exercise himself. By the time Dimitri figured out the final answer, he felt like he had actually learned how to do things on his own.

“I’ve finished,” he announced with quiet pride in his voice, scribbling the last parts of the answer down hastily.

“Hmm.” Claude’s voice was a little too close, and Dimitri realized that he had leaned in until both of their faces were nearly touching over the assignment. Somehow afraid to ruin it, he tried to quiet his breathing. “Well, you got it. Nicely done.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri murmured, not daring talk too loud in this proximity. His face felt hot for some reason, his eyes darting instinctively to follow the peek of Claude’s tongue through his lips when they became too dry. Claude was also looking at him, eyes glinting with something that Dimitri could not discern, and he looked away in embarrassment. “I... I suppose I should continue this series of exercises now.”

“You already got it right. No need to keep going,” Claude assured him, still not pulling away.

“I must be able to do this on my own,” Dimitri insisted, feeling more and more tense. His heart beat fast, but not like it did in battle. Despite how wired he felt, Dimitri didn’t feel stressed.

“Come on, you’re not perfect.” Claude’s teasing hum vibrated through the air and Dimitri suddenly found himself thinking that he wanted to touch his chest and feel it in his hand. “Dimitri. Just do something you want to do, for once.”

And Dimitri finally felt it, the powerful urge to do just that, to discard expectation and follow his heart into the dark instead. His hands itched and his throat felt tight and he found himself wondering if this sort of anxiety was normal, or simply because of Claude.Claude, whose eyes still hadn’t left Dimitri’s face, still close and contemplative, warm and beckoning and taunting Dimitri to act, to discard his title and his burdens for just one second, just long enough to be himself.

Dimitri kissed him.

He wasn’t sure what ultimately drove him to do it, but without questioning the urge, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Claude’s, soft, unsure, and brief. He couldn’t see Claude’s expression until he drew back and opened his eyes, stunned to note how wide they’d gotten.

“Well then,” the other boy stuttered slightly, licking his lips. The action made Dimitri feel strangely hot. “I... wasn’t expecting that.”

“Is that really not what you were waiting for?” Dimitri asked, a whole new brand of anxiety sitting in his stomach. His once serene heart now felt like a storm in the making. “I-I apologize, I am notoriously bad at reading people and it is something I must improve if I hope to-”

“Dimitri.”

He stopped talking, hanging onto Claude’s every word, watching in anticipation as his stunned expression relaxed into something amused, almost fond.

“Is that really what you wanted to do?” he asked, an easy smile stretching across his face. There was no malice to it, no trickery. Perhaps it was that genuine display that gave Dimitri confidence to continue.

“Yes,” he answered, not expecting his voice to come out so firm. “It was.”

“Well done, then,” Claude chuckled, amused. “So... can I do something I want, now?”

“Yes,” Dimitri murmured, and even before Claude reached him, he had leaned over to meet him halfway. Their lips met again, easier this time, more instinctively.

When he tangled his hands in Claude’s hair to draw him closer, deepening the kiss like a man starved for centuries, the pencil perched behind Claude’s ear clattered to the floor noisily. Dimitri didn’t hear it, instead breathlessly drowning in Claude, listening only for the sounds of his pleasure and realizing that this was something he had both wanted and needed for the longest time.

#dimiclaude #claumitri #im super tired like my eyes are falling shut but i wanted to finish this so pls be lenient #awkard fumbling disaster gay x hopeful but realistic gay caught off guard #bro what if we kissed over the quadratic formula ahaha jk unless...#fire emblem #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe three houses #fe claude #fe dimitri #cin's writing

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abizarreyodelingincident · 4 years

Text

(LU) Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter one: They're big pots, really

Wild's Hyrule was, for lack of a better word, a pain.

Now, if you were Warriors, who regularly tangled with nobles and their ilks as part of his duties, you might describe it as 'a temporary yet persistent sort of agony, so scandalous, good sirs and ladies'. Or, if you were Sky, who serenaded his Zelda with loving devotion, the description might resemble 'a land broken but resisting, a primal kingdom for the ambitious to remake'.

But the average Link was neither, and the general sentiment came out as 'Wild's Hyrule is a giant pain'. (One should recall that both Legend and Wind existed in the general sample and drastically lowered the ability to describe Wild's Hyrule in polite company.)

The weather conditions were, all in all, quite tolerable outside of the occasional lightning storms which threatened to violently roast them all (Time especially). Wild's one recurring grip being the rain making it impossible to climb cliff sides and barely-standing-towers – which, in all honesty, had become Twilight's favorite weather for this exact same reason.

The few tribes of monsters could provoke violent swearing, in good part after the Links had assimilated the color system that ruled Wild's Hyrule. (Four could never look at golden monsters the same way now.) No, no, a Link knew to adapt to their circumstances and would learn all the right tricks to fighting any sort of monster that showed up in his path.

In fact, Time had gone on record to say that he'd gone on an adventure in a much more stressful kingdom, because at least the moon was only red and not looming.

The real challenge was so many of his enemies being outright mini-bosses at least. Wind's Hero's Charm had confirmed their health being far superior to the average roaming monster, and, to the general disbelief, added that no, Lynels did not count as minibosses for some goddesses-forsaken reason.

“That's three!” Warriors called out, slashing away at one twisting limbs. “One to go!”

“Get down!” Hyrule shouted just in time for Warriors to duck under a blue-ish laser.

The two heroes felt air woosh over their backs, cold and sharp despite the explosion that ravaged a rock formation down the hill. Despite the sheer damage done, none of them gave the ruins even a passing glance. Normally, some Link like Four would wonder out loud about the marvels of technology that had led to the creations of robots as powerful as the Guardians. That would, unjustly, earn him a slap upside the head from the others who just wanted them all exterminated.

But, if anything, their mechanical structure should be glorified, as unlike almost every other enemies the Links met in their travels, the Guardians could not be further enhanced by black blood.

No, the Guardians were a special pain in the Links' anatomies all on their own.

Legend had already written down the tirade he reserved for the Sheika elders that had thought beamos weren't mobile and powerful enough in his journal. One day, he would travel to the past of Wild's Hyrule and give them all the dressing down they deserved and it would be beautiful.

Three grappling hooks latched onto the last Guardian's limbs just in time to stop it from running over the downed Warriors and Hyrule. Now, against, say, a Lynel or an Hinox, pulling such a maneuver might have given the monster pause, but the Guardian's head merely rotated and aimed its tracking light at Time.

He alongside Twilight and Sky dispersed to avoid the lightning quick retaliation and even then, Sky felt the flames lick at his heels.

Rolling away, he ended up in a huddle close with Legend and Four, behind a large, mossy rock. "You know," Sky said, nervously chatting instead of saving his breath, "they kind of remind me of pots."

Legend's eyes twitched. “Ah, yes, they're tougher than most of my bosses, faster too, shoot laser beams, but they are a little round-ish. I see the resemblance.”

"Oh!" Four exclaimed, thunderstruck. "I've got it! Cover me," he shouted to the others.

Without even a moment's consultation, Wind and Wild both rushed out of their hiding spots and pelted the Guardian with bombs, their supplies of arrows depleted during the ambush. It only made the Guardian's base tilt slightly, though, a few seconds were all Four really needed. His hands found the handle of the cane with the ease of many adventures' worth of practice.

Not a second too soon either, for one of the Guardian's limbs had snaked through the barrage and swept Wind aside. And now threatened to grab the little rolling pirate.

Four swung the twisted branch. A staff, Wild realized as a glittering ball of energy flew off its head and struck the guardian head on. For a split second, he allowed himself to hope that it would have a bit of an effect on the thing. He'd seen (schemed for, though he never admitted it to Twilight) a Guardian struck by lightning before, and it had shrugged it off as easily as a breeze. Those things just wouldn't-

The Guardian flipped over.

Wind's shocked cursing translated the general gobsmacked bafflement of the eight heroes over five feet tall.

The Guardian landed on its head, its top carvings digging into the soil. The legs frantically expanded to try and right it, but could find no purchase. Their articulations had not been created to allow the legs to reach the head area. Combining those facts effectively condemned the feared contraction to reenact a flipped turtle's dying moments, with half the dignity.

Wild staggered backward into Time's waiting arms. “Wh-what, I don't… how?”

“Magic,” Time replied with the air of a wise old man, “you never know what kind of stuff it can do. Also,” he cleared his throat and spoke louder, “watch out for the laser beam, boys."

Hyrule and Wind flinched back from the upside down Guardian, like kids with their hands down the cookie jar. The eye turned from blue to red.

"It only shoots in a straight line," Wild said, recovering from his shock.

The dreaded red dot stuttered in place, stuck in a very narrow margin.

“Yeah, but can't it turn its head?” Hyrule asked hesitantly, not looking away from the dot.

They distinctively heard the noise of some gears inside the thing turning, like a low-humming buzz of energy. Where the head met the body, the whirring flashed in rapid succession.

The head remained unmoving.

The other half of the guardian span.

“It's going to start flying now,” Wind said with clear apprehension.

Twilight nodded to that. The motion was eerily similar to a mad peahat preparing to soar the skies.

Legend shot them both an annoyed look. “With those legs?”

“It's a Guardian!” Wind protested. “They don't just fucking flip over and die?”

As if to punctuate the point, the Guardian's beam shot out of its frantically beeping eye. And, as if to immediately contradict itself, the beam missed them all by a mile, roughly, though it did strike on a stray lizalfos.

“Huh, didn't notice that one,” Warriors mumbled, as Legend burst out laughing at the madness of it all. “What kind of item is that anyway?”

Four gave the twig a twirl. "The Cane of Pacci. It flips things over."

Legend scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What kind of wizards gives their name to a staff that's good for flipping things over? I know magic-users can be lazy bastards, but that's a bit much, even for me."

Four shrugged, unfazed. "Who knows? It came in handy surprisingly often. Case in point," he waved an arm toward the flipped guardian.

A shrieking noise caught them off-guard, momentarily.

Wind had lodged a giant broadsword in the guardian's eye up to its hilt. The whirring machinery slowed, smoke leaking out of its gears and plates. If it hadn't been made completely helpless before, it certainly was now. Warrior looked inordinately fond of their young and bloodthirsty pirate for finishing off a helpless killing machine.

“Four,” Wild said, his face frozen in the most serious expression any of them (except Twilight) had ever seen.

“W-what?” Four replied, startled by the hands grabbing his shoulders.

“Name your price. Do you want rupees?” Wild asked, pulling out his slate. “Because I will bury you under more rupees than you've ever seen before.”

“Anyone else feels like that came out vaguely threatening?” Hyrule pondered.

“Vaguely?” Legend snarked, prompting Twilight to facepalm.

Wild apparently heard nothing but the silence Four was shoving his way. His voice hiked up in pitch. “Armor? I've got more sets of armors than I know what to do with them? Ancient Sheika armor? It's super mechanical, you like mechanisms, right?”

Four raised an eyebrow. “I like understanding how they work. Can you imagine me wearing your stuff? I would have trouble moving.”

“My recipe book?” Wild tried again, desperation creeping in his voice. “It's not written yet, but I can do that. Four, please?”

Twilight gasped. Hyrule's stomach loudly growled. And the rest nodded sagely. Wild truly was pulling out all the stops to get his hands on that cane, besides outright theft (which none of them were exactly strangers to).

“… No.”

The fingers let go of his shoulders, now aching from the grip.

“I thought we were brothers,” Wild whispered, leaning against Twilight for support. “Backstabbed like nothing.”

“I do actually need that item, you know?” Four replied, halfway between amused and annoyed.

"Alright, boys, no fighting," Time announced, his mouth struggling not to stretch into a smirk, "and new strategy. If we run into a guardian, we let Four handle it. All in favor?"

The surge of agreement ranged from 'mildly sorry' (Sky) to 'gleeful' (Legend, of course, and Wild).

"Oh come on!"

BONUS:

The eight Links stared at the Guardian stumbling over the fields of Wild's Hyrule whilst Twilight mimed around like a drunk puppeteer. Wind's pictograph was out and flashing the moment the herd of bokoblins shrieked in panic and fled for their lives from the clearly malfunctioning monstrosity. Wild's Sheika Slate had been given to Hyrule for the task of recording the moments whilst he mourned yet another way the Goddesses had seen fit not to help him fight off Guardians.

“Anyone else feels a little sorry for them?” Sky asked, scratching his head as the camp was bulldozed through.

“Not as such, no,” Hyrule replied without skipping a beat. He might also have a few bruises on his shoulder from their last encounter.

“How do you laser with this thing?” Twilight grumbled, face scrunched up in concentration.

“Pfft, it had to be the bumpkins that gets the power to control ancient automatons,” Legend snarked, his hat still fuming from where he had dodged the Guardian's first beam.

In the distance, the bokoblins suddenly exploded.

“Ah, unbridled rage,” Twilight deadpanned. “That'll do.”

The Links carefully took a step back. And didn't get closer until Twilight had driven the Guardian off a cliff. You never knew with the quiet ones. The second the possession was over, however, Wild broke through the ranks with a determined look, opened his mouth-

And Twilight beat him to the punch. “Your recipe book.”

“Deal.”

“YES!”

“Wait,” Four called, narrowly avoiding the death glare Wild sent him, “are you sure you won't need it when this is over.”

Twilight shrugged. “I mean, I've used it all of once after I finished the dungeon with it? My Hyrule's not exactly big on statues and contraptions to magically possess. Good food though? Not like I'll ever stop having to need that.”

“Spoken like a true bumpkin.”

Poor Legend never saw Wild leap through the air with the righteous fury of an avenging angel to defend the honor of his mentor, the best man he ever met and the soon-to-be recipient of a great deal of cakes.

NOTE:

The thought process went like this:

Tumblr post noting that Guardians look like an ancient pottery art from thousands of years ago. TLDR: The Guardians are Elder Pots awakened to take revenge on all the Links for their fallen brethren.

Guardians can't touch Link if he climbs on their head.

Minish Cap includes an item that flips pots over (to open minish gates, but shh, who cares?)

Ergo, Four can one-shot guardians.

Twilight's just there, because I took pity on Wild and the Dominion Rod is absolutely useless after its dungeon. Not like Twilight would miss it.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #Fun with magic items #RO:ART

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untilthenextencore · 5 years

Text

Kashmir Pt. 5 - The Mists Are Breaking~...

Written with @where-the-hot-springs-blow

Forever editing as usual~

Enjoy~!

...

Charissa studied Jimmy as Jimmy came closer & draped an arm around her leading her to the window where she took in the magnificent views they were then afforded after the onslaught Mother Nature had previously bestowed. Noting how he was losing himself to his thoughts, instead of answering his questions she only had a simple remark about the surprisingly tranquil post-storm scene before them. "It's so calm." There was a tiny crack near the hinge of the window through which she could smell the cool damp night outside. The night blooming jasmine coloring the breeze as it slipped through the crack & seemed to color her thoughts a hazy lavender shade similar to the mists shadowing the rich velvet night sky accented by the impossibly bright milky moon & stars above.

The breeze - however small - was strong enough to ruffle a few pages of Heston's book, causing Charissa to turn away from him & remove herself from his grasp with a gasp. "Oh! Your book!" She reached out to still the pages, palm splaying flat on them just as the breeze stilled.

Gazing down at the book now she noticed the title of the page now read "Amulets, Talismans & Charms". It featured detailed images of all kinds of little tools, jewelry like pendants & other jewels and the powers associated with them. She glanced at the list of jewels noticing that among them was listed one of her favorites, star sapphire. It was considered to be amongst the strongest of all, containing a bit of all the rest. Listed as being "All Element". Rather than just "Earth", "Air", "Fire", "Water", "Light" or "Lightning / Electricity". Her fingers toyed with a thin chain around her neck which held just such a star sapphire, though in all the havoc it had turned around & was then resting between her shoulder blades & underneath her hair.

"Hmmm... "All Element"..." She mused, before asking a question to no one in particular. "Guess I have good taste then, huh?" Giggling softly as she tried to lighten the mood which to her had gotten almost as heavy as the air outside.

She then noticed the moonlight flickering off of something to her left. Something on Heston's person. Turning her gaze to him she saw the glint coming from a jeweled pendant in his grasp that glittered from the cracks between his fingers. It looked so familiar, double checking the page beneath her fingertips she saw the reason why.

"Hey, your pendant looks just like the one in the picture here!" She tapped her finger on the illustrated figure image towards the margin of the page. Laughing she turned back to regard him with an incredulous grin at the coincidence when upon second glance & further inspection of the pendant she gasped. "Oh! Is that a star sapphire too? I just love those! Do you? I suppose it must seem cliche due to my name & all but I can't help it!"

Charissa then shifted the cloak to adjust her necklace, bringing the star sapphire back around, lifting it up slightly to where it glittered in the moonlight as well.

"I just bought this at a small shop not too long ago... I saw it in a display & kept doubling back... It was like I couldn't leave it alone... I couldn't leave the store without it... Like it was calling me... I had to have it... Even though I'm not usually that way about jewelry most times... This time was different... I had to have it... I had to buy it... I had to get it... To have it in my possession... I just had to... I don't know why..." She smiled before releasing the pendant to where it now laid just below her collarbones, still glittering, nodding towards the pendant in his grasp.

"Was it the same with you, Lord Heston? With that..." Then after another gasp that came as she regarded the glittering finery on both his hands. "Oh! And your rings too?"

...

Heston moved to where she stood by his book, placing one hand over hers atop the pages. With his other hand, he easily unpinned the pendant from his coat & laid it down beside their hands.

It was an golden, oval-shaped pendant with a stylised, multipointed star engraved upon it. At the tip of each star was a glittering star sapphire, shining brilliantly even in the dim light.

He fought the urge to turn it over, to reveal the portrait of her former self painted on the back of it, sternly telling himself that she must be the one to do it, that she must be the one to make the choice to touch it. Any less would have been him forcing his desires onto her, which he would have chosen death before doing. His beloved Starbright was sanctified to him, above even his own basest desires.

Instead he reached out & touched her own pendant, examining it closely, forcing himself to ignore the alternating chills & heat running throughout his body at the mere touch of it. It was so familiar, so beautiful...

His chest tightened further at the sight of it.

He'd not seen it in ages... Not since one of his more vivid visions of Starbright after her death where he pleaded for her to return & she promised that she would & she would bring with her a sign or signs if he so wished, proving it was indeed her. The pendant went missing from his collection very shortly after. No fingerprints were left nor was anything else disturbed in such a way as to lead Heston to believe either thievery was afoot or that it was just some sick prank. Everything was as he left it. And even when he turned every last house of his upside down, there was no sign of it.

It was gone.

His only comfort at the mysterious pendant's loss being that perhaps it would reappear one day as part of his beloved's promised signs.

And here it was, now around the neck of a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to his dear, departed beloved but who apparently had no knowledge of him or the Order he & his beloved once belonged to, nor any memories of it whatsoever. Heston was nearly a wreck. Yet somehow he still managed to find his tongue enough to reply.

"It suits you, Charissa. Hardly a cliche at all. I would think the real cliche would be if you hated star sapphires because of your name."

He could not help but smile, letting himself speak from the heart as much as he dared at such a delicate moment.

"It sounds as though you were made for this pendant. Or... Was it made for you?"

He gazed down at his hand over hers, his long fingers, surprisingly roughened & callused from early years of his initiate training, to the ring on his finger. He could see her eyes following its sparkle as well, looking completely fascinated by it.

"This ring... It once belonged to a very important person to me. I have worn it ever since she left me, hoping it would perhaps draw us back together. It is one of my most cherished talismans."

He allowed to see the matching one upon his left hand, the golden band engraved with his initials & titles.

...

Charissa looked down to their hands where they now joined, his over hers. She turned her hand to take his, bringing it up for closer inspection. The sight of the oval ring set of a similar urge within her. But it was a small spark as opposed to the raging firelike urge to possess the pendant she now wore. It had potential to grow but was tempered by the endearing, affectionate words he spoke about it & its meaning to him.

"It's gorgeous." As she spoke those simple words, the urge grew stronger, the spark growing into a flame. Her words seemed to vaguely echo in her head as a low hum started in the background.

Perhaps it was just in her head... Perhaps the echo was just a trick her ears were playing on her... Or they were popping... Perhaps the hum was just the house settling... Or the wind picking up outside...

Yeah, that's it...

Perhaps...

Perhaps the fact that her head was now feeling as if it were humming was also a trick her body was playing on her...

Or her mind...

Yeah, that's it...

Perhaps...

Still...

She couldn't shake the feeling that she was supposed to remember something just then...

Something...

Or someone...

It rang a bell deep within her...

Far off in the distance...

Perhaps that bell ringing was what that persistent hum was?...

Yeah, that's it...

Perhaps...

Blinking out of the daze that she felt she was in, shaking her head to shake out of it she let his hand slip from hers to pick up the pendant.

"And this..." At first contact the buzz grew louder, the bell ringing harder. She ran her thumb over the star, feeling as if lightning were striking within her head. As if that were what was ringing the bell.

"This... This... This... This is..." She stumbled slightly, the lightning flashes, bell ringing & buzzing staggering her.

She turned slightly away from Jimmy, facing the desk. Her right hand came down to splay on the desk - on the grimoire - to steady herself. Her fingers making contact with both the grimoire's teachings about star sapphires and his star sapphire pendant hit her like another bolt of lightning, making her draw in a shaky gasping breath, stumbling once more before righting herself, trying her best to blink & shake out of her sudden affliction once more, turning her attention back to the pendant, hushing.

"This is... Stunning..."

As those words left her lips she flipped the pendant over to the painted portrait on the back. Another sharp intake of breath coupled with a few more rapid fire blinks as she tried her best to focus, to clear her vision even though through the lightning flashes, the buzzing, the bells ringing & the heavy lavender tinged mists - like the heavy, late evening mists that still lingered outside, lavender tinged against the star studded & moonlit black velvet sky - she felt enveloping her all the more, she knew that she was seeing perfectly clear. She could tell as much by the familiar sight of Jimmy's ring on the left ring finger of the woman in the painting.

But still she couldn't wrap her mind around the image of the woman who wore that ring that now encircled Jimmy's third finger on his right hand. And so the obvious question came as she motioned to the woman wearing Jimmy's treasured ring clad in a dreamy, frothy, diaphonous periwinkle blue creation with what Charissa noticed to be another familiar piece of star sapphire jewelry.

"Lord Heston..." She hushed in a shaky voice amid even shakier breaths. "Lord Heston... Who is this woman? Who... Who is she? And why... If... If I may ask... Why... Does she have your ring?... Even my pendant... Seems... Seems to resemble hers..." She then gave another small, incredulous - if a bit weak and equally shaky - laugh. "How funny..."

...

She was remembering more now! He could almost scent the memories racing back into her mind, the confusion & disconnect between both lives clear in her eyes, & upon her face.

Ever the gentleman, his hands moved to her shoulders to steady her, give her a safe place to lean upon as she remembered.

"She is my beloved, my ageless, powerful Lady Starbright. This ring was hers, matched to mine, cut from the same pieces of gold & star sapphire. They are linked, as she and I are. As powerful as I am alone, with her we are twice that. She is twin of my heart. I have loved no woman quite like her ever since.

And yes, my girl, the two of you wear a strikingly similar pendant. You have a keen eye to notice it, don’t you think?"

Steadying Charissa, he led her to a sofa by the fire, all leather & velvets. Boldly, but with the greatest of gentility, he unwrapped her cape, exposing her only to the fire, rather than his eyes. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it again.

"You seem a bit fogged, Charissa. Please sit down, let your dress dry completely. You seem a touch feverish suddenly."

...

Charissa leant back into him, nearly melting with relief at his strong reassuring presence. She put up no fight as he led her to the sofa, nor when he removed her cloak, only leaning further into his embrace, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. She smiled weakly at the feel of his lips on her hand. Studying his fingers she gave a soft laugh, speaking in a soft voice that still seemed to echo to her. Was it only in her head?

"Have you not been sketching anything as of late, Heston? Nor painting? Shame. Almost never have I known these hands to be without at least a smudge of charcoal or a touch of paint."

Her gaze then lifted to regard his face, watching how the firelight & shadows danced upon his visage. Light and shade. Again she laughed softly & spoke in that same echoing voice.

"I almost wonder as to what you have been doing all this time, Heston? Apart from your usual frightening poor defenseless maidens as has been your reputation. I see nothing has changed except for your tactics. A hermit now, Heston? Roping the Hermit into it too now, Heston? Really now?"

Charissa then winced & pulled her hand back from him a fraction, the echo fading as she shook her head, looking down & away, suddenly contrite.

"No... No... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I... I'm sorry, Lord Heston... I'm sorry... Please forgive me... I... I don't know what I'm saying... I... I... I don't know why I'm being so rude... I... I... I just... I just..."

Her gaze then lifted back up as she laughed teasingly, reaching up to run her fingers tenderly over the soft, delicate skin just under his lashline.

"Your eyes are a bit puffy. And your face is flushed. Two surefire signs that you haven't been sleeping well. Are you tired, Heston? You always get flushed when you're tired. Even back when you were playing around on that little Berkshire houseboat hideaway on the Thames of yours Pangbourne, you did. You always did. It's a wonder how you aren't the one that's feverish. You never take care of yourself. Always holing up with all your grimoires & ancient scrolls & texts in your little library. I always had to be the one to help take care of you. You were always so prickly with the others. And we both know you were an absolutely mess at taking care of yourself whenever you got invested in your studies. Getting so sucked in... I bet that's what you've been doing in here too, isn't it? Hence the Hermit? You always were crazy about your magic. Weren't you, Heston? Silly about spells and all. Like a child with its favorite toy. You're just mad about it. Absolutely mad about it! Mad as ever. Aren't you?" She asked with another chuckle.

She then cupped his cheek, caressing the swell of it with her thumb, smiling at him in a way that was very much unlike Charissa but very much like another raven haired vision he had once known to have an affinity for star sapphires.

But still...

Nothing could have ever prepared him for the words that fell from her lips next. Just three little words. Just three. Just three words. But they were words which included a name which he hadn't heard in ages but which was music to his ears.

"Aren't you, Professor?"

#jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #untilthenextencore #led zeppelin fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic

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