#hanger discourse

[jacob-blogs]

Retracted testicles are hot, too

#jacob blogs #low hangers vs retracted discourse #idk it turns me on more when a guy is fully erect and his balls are essentially inside of him #than when a guy has an erect penis but his balls are just hanging #i feel like they retract naturally the more turned on you get so i think thats where my train of thought comes from

[centrally-unplanned]

VOR: Hitler and Stalin

They are both S-tier, you can't touch the greats. The thing that set both of them apart is how much more radical they were then virtually everyone else around. The Nazi party was a rotating door of factional hanger-ons that Hitler brought into the room, used, and then dusted the moment they quaked or deviated. Time and again when cementing power other faction leaders went "surely, he won't-" and then the fucker did and put a bullet in their brain to make sure they got the message. He called the bluff of his military, his party ranks, and the governments of Britain and France on more than one occasion and annexed nations and stunned the world for his trouble. The guy fucking cheated death, more than once - he has no VOR because he cannot be replaced. He is certainly in the running for the most impactful political leader of all time, nothing is the same without him. Your feed is 80% discourse about the Gaza Strip today because of him, you live in his world.

Stalin is the same, and in particular what I want to emphasize is that the history of the USSR is not, at all, the history of dictatorship. Lenin was during the insurrection, but once it was a governing body he played that card way less, and by his death it was a full party oligarchy. And it would be that after Stalin too. That was the status quo and everyone pretty-much expected it to stay that way when Lenin died. We all rule together. Stalin had other ideas, and to make sure you understood his point he executed 700,000 political dissidents in three years. If you look at debates in the Soviet bodies in ~1925, its really obvious no one had this on their radar. Bukharin and Trotsky and Khalinin had no plan for this. Even people like Beria, specifically elevated by Stalin and widely hated at the start as bloody barbarians, would pivot-switch the moment Stalin died and start asking "what the fuck we were all doing exactly?" while emptying the gulags.

The USSR would have had totalitarian social structures, don't confuse me here. But the gap between Stalin & Xi Jinping is orders of magnitude, they aren't comparable. The USSR had many Xi Jinping's, it had many Lenin's. It only had one Stalin.

#vor debate

[bisexual-kane]

One particularly obnoxious strand of bad AEW discourse is that Tony Khan is some kind of tyrant booker who forces wrestlers into spots/storylines/promos that are dangerous/uncomfortable.

(Kenny taking bumps Wednesday and Ospreay's shot at Triple H come to mind.)

I may be wrong, but at one time, AEW didn't really function like WWE where Vince dictated everything. Instead, wrestlers pitched their own ideas and Tony gave them a thumbs up or thumbs down.

It's kind of why a lot of WWE refugees like Andrade El Idolo felt like they didn't do much. Without Triple H/Vince dictating a story, what were they to do? Malachi Black in particular totally has the vibes of a guy who has really, really cool ideas--but they are ideas and not stories, so despite House of Black being heavily featured, it feels like they never do anything.

Meanwhile, The Elite (and all of their friends/hangers-on/dick riders) have spent a lot of time developing their own characters and improv skills through New Japan, ROH, PWG, and (I cannot emphasize this enough) BTE. Jon Moxley in particular when he bailed on WWE talked up a lot about how he wanted the freedom to improv promos and that he didn't need a script because that ain't wrestling to him. You can also see people like Christian Cage and Adam Copeland (and even Chris Jericho), who left WWE by choice who are really excited to be in AEW because they get a chance to flex creative muscles they didn't get to in WWE and they are doing really interesting and cool things.

(I mean, I know we are all sour on Chris Jericho right now in 2024, but Inner Circle Jericho was a really great heel champion.)

Again, I am totally just an outside fan who has no inner knowledge. But at least at one point, AEW was trying to be a more collaborative environment. Tony Khan has final say about what goes on the show, but the talent themselves are doing a lot of pitching the ideas about what ends up on it.

Like, Tony is not making Will Ospreay go out there and take shots at Triple H against his will. Stop making up a villain in your head, people. jeeze.

#aew #aew dynamite #the elite #wrestling

[0alanasworld0]

Hero (Abde Ezzalzouli x reader)

Description: Abde gets his chance to wind down and relax with you after ending his extended season and finally with a gold medal around his neck.

warnings: sexual jokes, references to sex (no descriptions)

“HEY!” He yells , waving his arms around, a big smile plastered on his face.

Oh god. You thought. That was your surprise ruined. You were hardly close to the front row so you had hope that he wouldn't notice you among the crowds but alas. You attempt to hide your face and turn around but you can faintly hear him say something first

“I can see you, silly! No point hiding now!” He laughs and you relent, giving him a shy wave.

Everyone around you in the stadium is looking in your general direction and they take a while to register who he’s referring to. Eventually their eyes do lay on his mother who sat next to you and it doesn’t take them very long to connect the dots when they see your flustered face and the number 16 jersey that was just a little too big on you.

You can’t help but laugh as well when you see him beckon over his teammates, pointing you out to them. You want to be stern with him but he’s so cute. Ibrahim is the first to notice you among the crowd, somehow going even crazier than Abde at the sight of you.

You had grown quite close to the team. From the way Abde spoke of them when they weren’t around to the way they were when you first met them, they didn’t disappoint at all. They were indeed extremely energetic almost beyond belief, like your little cousins but somehow even more so. In a fairly short space of time, they had become family to him. 

He wasn’t overjoyed at the news of his ‘demotion’ to the under-23s. And he certainly didn’t like the word ‘demotion’ either. When he had come to terms with the fact, he was constantly reminding himself that it wasn’t that at all. Not for the role he was expected to play, anyway. Nevertheless, the social media discourse referring to it that way never failed to irritate him. 

He had no idea that he was going to become the official captain and armed with that information, he maybe wouldn’t have felt so down about his placement. The questions that constantly circled in his head soon dissipated when he first got a glimpse of that blue band. It sat pretty on the hanger which held his jersey. That was still the same at least. Another sign that he was nowhere near out of the count. He was still a part of his national team, he was still appreciated but he supposed that the new role would be perfect for his development. 

It was different from the senior team. He couldn’t blame his older teammates for passing to the safer options, of course Ounahi would think of passing to Hakim or Youssef before him. Matches needed winning and the other forwards certainly knew a lot about that. Much more than he did. Although he still wished for more chances, just a little bit of faith but alas. 

Although the first concession did almost send him swirling into a panic, he managed to pull himself together and was sure to not repeat old mistakes. His teammates trusted him with everything as captain and he wasn’t going to break that. This would seal off his redemption if all went well.

“Went well” didn’t do him justice at all. The trust from his teammates and coaches was turning him into a true monster. Everything was on the upturn: his passing, communication, decision-making. He wasn’t the little Neymar-wannabe he used to be, he was serious and he was going to fight tooth and nail for the win.

That fire was exactly what led him to the present. They made reaching the finals look so easy, it was almost funny but now was the true test. It was no secret that Egypt had been achieving similar performances. They were good. In the intimidating way: darkness on their faces, ruthless, knew how to get under players’ skin. Abde had picked up on enough of their habits to know just how to work around them. They were good but there were weak points he was going to take advantage of. He was worried, of course, but more than anything he was excited.

“Man, you had better not let your girl distract you!” Ayman slaps the back of his head and Abde pushes him off, attempting to shake off his love-struck haze.

“Oh please, this is just more motivation! Not like you would know what this is like!” Abde scoffs and he’s met with another slap on the head before they both get back to warming up.

Of course, you couldn’t hear a word but you were worried about him being distracted too. You hoped that your presence would be a surprise for the end of the match - you were pretty sure of the result even if he wasn't - he wasn’t supposed to catch you out like this among the crowd. Apparently fate had other plans.

Your worries didn’t really settle because even while warming up, he was constantly looking over at you and pointing you out to even more of his teammates and making cute little faces. It was sweet and your heart fluttered at the idea that he always had you on his mind, enough to catch you in the middle of such a crazy mob like this one. Proud to show you off to anyone and everyone who would entertain him. Nonetheless, he needed to get his head in the game and eventually coach Charai does, physically, knock some sense into him and he finally diverts his attention away from you.

The start of the match is far from picture-perfect, the team looks good but much to their annoyance, Egypt does too. And they’re not going easy on your love either. Every chance he gets on the ball feels like a death-wish with the tackles they were trying. Especially with the first concession, an absolute screamer of a longshot, they don’t back down. They look hungrier and their tackles get more and more reckless. 

Of course Abde had anticipated it, he wouldn’t dare let himself get injured like that but he could certainly frame the players for trying. His plan finally comes to fruition with one wrong move. A tackle that digs straight into Abde’s ankle and you wince immediately. It looks awful and you couldn’t tell whether it was one of those times he was playing it up. Thankfully a red card comes after what felt like years of deliberating. Of course, your Abde got up just fine, raring to go with the new advantage they had.

But still, they’re a pain to break past. There was no doubt that the boys were doing great, but still. They still needed that cut-through, they weren’t going down without the fight of their lives, that was for sure. 

It feels like years but it’s a very welcomed shock to the system when one finally does bury itself into the back of the net. As the crowd around you goes wild, the only thing you can feel is relief. You can’t even bring yourself to scream because you were beyond exhausted. The stress you were feeling from the match was finally simmering down. They were still in it, far from being done. 

Once again, you feel your heart in your throat as your love goes to take a free kick. What was most certainly going to be the last of the night. You knew that free kicks were far from his specialty, he’d complained about his inability to take them in the past. You were always so sure that he was simply being harsh on himself but at this very moment, you hoped with everything you had that your assumption was correct. There was an underlying fear that he was, in fact, right. The way he was taking his sweet time didn't really help either.

You can feel the tension in the air, the otherwise ear-shattering screeching of the crowd quieting into an uncomfortable silence. It was almost painful, the sense of dread was apparent across the stadium.

You can see Abde finally set the ball down, Bilal pushing a player that was getting too close for any of their liking. One thing catches your eye, though. A straggling player to Abde’s side, barely moving. It was as if he was trying as hard as he could to remain invisible. Not a single Egyptian player thought to mark him so perhaps it was working.

It was as if you could hear the entire stadium suck in a breath as Abde takes his step towards the ball and you all expect a rocket of a ball to fly through, the Egyptian players do too as they all jump from their wall formation in an attempt to clear but nothing. A quick cross to his side, barely visible and right to the straggler. It has everyone in the box completely blindsided and there's a frantic scatter, a mix of red and white shirts all pushing and shoving. It's all so messy that the ball flies, almost completely unnoticed from the straggler and finally, FINALLY, into the back of the net.

It's almost too quick to process and there's a moment of near-complete silence as realisation settles in. The roar that emanates across the little stadium is practically deafening, ear-popping. 15 minutes on the clock and the deadlock finally broken. The red shirts all piling in on each other to celebrate the breakthrough. Your Abde may not have had the best track record with free-kick goal attempts but he certainly had his wits about him.

This time, you scream. As loud as you can manage. You can’t hear yourself amidst all the other chaos but you feel your throat strain. It was so close, you could envision your love already lifting that trophy. You were confident now because if there was one thing this team knew how to do, it was defend. They would do it with their lives. 15 minutes.

Chaos was what it was. A blur of tackles and wasteful long passes by your beloved red shirts. Screams of frustration from the whites. A little bit of extra time-wasting and showboating by Bellaarouch who was perhaps treading very fine line but with 5 minutes on the clock, you supposed that he could care less. 

It was evident that the Egyptian players had all but given up. Their best players off the pitch now to be replaced with subs that, if anything, were only wasting more time for themselves. Some rather pathetic last-ditch attempts at earning a penalty, their only hope, but it was very clearly over.

You reach the dying seconds of the game and the tension rebuilds itself rapidly as you all await the final whistle. So so close. The wait was painful and you supposed that your impatience wasn't really speeding things up.

The players and coaches all lined up at the edges of the pitch, hands on their heads. Some raise theirs in prayer. Literal seconds. An exhausted Egyptian and an antsy Moroccan one. Seconds and the stadium had gone quiet as everyone awaited that final whistle. 

You can only hear the beautiful sound for a second before the whole stadium is lit up with screams and sparklers. It was pure electricity in there, it moved throughout the stadium and through your body. Visceral. Some manage to make it onto the pitch from the front seats and the players are all piling on each other to celebrate. The Egyptian players all frozen in their spots, defeated as ever and with very little sympathy from the sea of red that surrounded them. 

You only see the flash of red for a second before you’re enveloped in his arms and it quite literally knocks the breath out of you. He was so excited and had seemingly forgotten how strong he was so the impact paired with the squeeze around your frame was a shock to your system. The adrenaline is rushing through you too so you manage to recover too, one hand on his back and the other on the back of his head, pulling him into your neck and you feel his tears fall onto your shoulder. Months and months of doubting himself, hours of you talking him down from his panicked ramblings. All of that pain and stress had finally settled and it all felt so worth it. He had come so far and words couldn’t describe just how proud you were of him.

He pulls his face from your neck and lets his forehead rest against yours. Lips only centimetres away from yours and you can see his eyes drift. There’s nothing you want to do more than kiss him, among other things, but with the crowd surrounding you - and his mum right there - you knew it would be best to wait.

“Abde, behave yourself.” you whisper so only he could hear and he grins, rolling his eyes and opting to kiss your forehead and the tip of your nose before hugging you to his chest. You could feel him physically relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. He rocks you back and forth for a while before letting you go and trapping his mum in the same, bone-crushing hug. 

He has to leave you both again as the podiums were laid out for the awards ceremony, the gold medals all ready and waiting for them. Abde’s golden boot, his first ever, waiting there as well alongside the AFCON trophy. Your heart could burst with pride for him and it felt like a genuine possibility when you watched him receive his golden boot. You weren’t as far away anymore so you could see the look on his face: amazement and disbelief. Of course, you had always known what he could do but even with the award in his hands he still couldn’t believe it. 

You quickly grew impatient as you waited for him to receive his medal because of course he had placed himself at the back of the line. The silver medallists get it over with pretty quickly, barely looking up and avoiding the camera flashes, only a few of them keeping the medals on as they walked down the line. It felt like time had slowed to a near pause as the Moroccan players received their accolades. And of course, the love of your life was right at the back of the line as he held the responsibility of lifting the trophy as well. You were growing antsy, counting down the players until it was finally time. The shock had finally worn off and now he just looked ecstatic. He had recently developed a not-so-nice habit of denying himself such celebrations but it seemed that he was finally allowing himself to revel in the satisfaction.

 He gets the first lift of the trophy to himself before he’s ushered to where his teammates were all standing. He takes his sweet time to reach them, in bouncing steps; much like his football hero only months prior. One final, especially a big leap and he finally raises the trophy with his vice captain almost perfectly in-sync with the beat of the music. Green, red and gold streamers everywhere and fireworks lighting up the sky above. 

Once the main photos are taken and after yet another victory lap of the stadium, Abde rushes over to you and practically drags you, his mum and his brother down to the field so you could all celebrate properly.

The cheering felt so different on the grass, it hadn’t quietened down at all and the way it all just surrounded you now. It was something so so special. The noise and colours hit you in every direction equally and you felt overwhelmed yet amazed at the same time. He takes you around so you can meet with his teammates again, now without the stress of the match weighing them down. His arm doesn’t leave your shoulder once as you make your rounds. As always, ready and waiting to show you off to everyone.

Although you don’t say, he knows that you don’t find any of the conversations particularly entertaining. How could you? Your world was so different from his and even though you were so deeply in love with each other in spite of it all, he could never blame you for struggling to understand things. He makes sure to slip a joke to you every once in a while, whispering in your ear the second everyone’s looking away, sneaking in gentle kisses onto your cheek and temple. At least you both think everyone’s looking away but the photographers had gotten quite sneaky so some of the sweet moments were captured anyway. The internet would have a field day with those photos, as they always did. 

Over the course of the on-field celebrations, his arm drifts down from your shoulder to your waist which he gently squeezes every once in a while, just to remind you that your AFCON gold-medallist was still there and soon to be all yours.

Once the main crowd on the field had left, many of the journalists and photographers, he ushers you all to sit down on the podium steps and before you go to sit next to him, you feel him gently tugging at your wrist. You pause, looking at him in slight confusion and he pats the spot in front of him and between his legs. Your eyes widen, slightly bewildered and he shrugs nonchalantly, pulling you down so you could finally relax. It wasn’t like his family cared anyway, they adored you as if you were theirs and there was no doubt that you were a good influence on their boy. 

Although you manage to create some distance between the pair of you, he’s not having any of it so he wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you so that your back is against his chest. Thankfully his mum appears to be distracted talking to one of the other players but his brother was very much still there and you could hear him chuckle. He didn’t mind the behaviour at all but he found Abde’s infatuation with you absolutely hilarious. It wasn’t even just now, it was a pattern of behaviours that left him without a doubt in his mind about how in love his little brother was with you. It was impressive. 

“You idiot, there are still photographers around!” you scold and he only responds with a kiss to your temple.

“Anjo, come on! I deserve a reward, no?” he teases and you roll your eyes, although he can’t see. You imagined he was quite proud of that double-meaning. You pretend to be annoyed but the second you hear him start to laugh, you can’t help but chuckle quietly at his dumb joke.

Once you finally relax into his hold, he’s quick to remove the medal from around his neck and place it around yours instead. You distract yourself playing with the heavy, golden disc as he gives his final interviews of the night. You know he’s done when his head drops down onto your shoulder and his hands move to cup yours.

“We really did it.” he sighs as you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I told you!” you point out and he hides his face in the crook of your neck while you tease him. He keeps you close for a while, enjoying the way you were loosening up a little as the last of the photographers left. The final few did manage to sneak some more shots of the pair of you before leaving but that was the next day's problem, you were none the wiser for the time-being.

“The armband looks nice.” you mumble and he smirks.

“You’ve mentioned it one or two times.” He wants to tease you more for your infatuation with the thing, maybe get a few more compliments or even a hint as to what was to come. but alas he’s whisked away by his teammates for the locker room celebrations while the rest of you are ushered to where the after party was going to be.

Eventually his brother and mum end their night early and make their way back to the hotel but not before waving Abde their goodbyes. A congratulatory hug from his mum and a punch from his brother, just like when they were younger. 

The party itself is quite the spectacle, the hotel reception lavishly decorated and filled with all of the players’ family members. The excited chatter was somewhat refreshing from the noise of the stadium with the emotions still running sky-high. Yet there was some semblance of peace, you could hear your thoughts and somehow that only made things more exciting and you were itching to see the love of your life come through those doors again, you certainly weren’t going to be leaving him for the rest of the night. 

You make use of the spare time to go and talk with your fellow WAGs but the room nears silence when the hotel staff announce the players’ imminent entrance. You didn’t need much indication because you could hear their loud yapping from a mile away. The tense silence is worth it when you manage to spook the boys with the loudest cheers and hollers you could all manage. It was like being back at the stadium when the party quickly hit full-swing, the cheering and the chants echoing down the walls of the venue. It was pretty large but it somehow became suffocating as you weaved through the crowds trying to find YOUR winner. He was searching too, you couldn’t have been too difficult to spot with the giant gold medal still around your neck.

After a good couple minutes of scanning, he’s finally able to spot you lost as ever in the middle of the hall, frantically looking around. He’s quick to end your misery, bounding over, tunnel-vision preventing him from responding to anyone trying to talk to him. He doesn’t want to scare you too badly so he resists the urge to pick you up and hug you from behind. Instead, a little tap on your shoulder and he’s only able to saviour the relief on your face for a split second before you throw yourself at him for a hug.

“I missed you.” you mumble into his ear and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“We were only out for a couple of hours!” he laughs and you remove your head from under his chin, creating a bit of distance before slapping his chest.

“I don’t see your point.” you say matter-of-factly, returning to resting your head on his chest while he rocks you both back and forth. You hoped that you would be able to stay like this for a lot longer than the hug in the stands but he’s pulled off you and you’re both dragged to the centre of the hall and up onto the tables as the chanting began once more.

Abde manages to get his instagram live working again to share the craziness with everyone, for once featuring you which has the live chat even more stoked than before. He kept his family life as private as he possibly could and he had been pretty successful in that, no one outside of his circle even knew the amount of siblings he had. He was even more secretive about you. Your face was known and practically nothing else so any little snippet of your relationship elicited a lot of excitement from the fans. There were a few photos of the pair of you celebrating together and he had mentioned you a handful of times during his interviews. That was really all they had and you were happy to keep it that way. Break-up rumours circulated pretty often with the lack of content but it only served to make the pair of you laugh.

Today, emotions were running high. All positive of course so having the pair of you on live together didn’t feel wrong at all, you were too overcome with excitement to care about any of that. Not the haram police, not the jealous girls that lurked around his page, none of that mattered today.

The party goes on for what feels like years and you’re both so relieved by the time you reach the hotel room. It was lavish to say the least, nothing but the best for you but he hadn’t spent much time in there himself. And for the little time he did spend, he was strictly off any “boyfriend-girlfriend” activities, as much as that pained him. Having you massage his aching muscles at the end of his gruelling training sessions did a number on him yet he couldn’t do anything. And you certainly weren’t one to go against the rules either.

He had plenty of images in his head of all the things he wanted to do to you, and you had plenty of ideas of how you were going to reward him but the second he fell onto the bed… 

“Anjo I don’t think i can move from here.” he sounds disappointed of course but you couldn’t blame him. It had been a rough few weeks, non-stop work as a kay player and captain. He didn’t have time to be exhausted for a solid two weeks and it was crashing down the very second his mind was freed of the stresses of the tournament.

You make your way out of the en-suite, makeup off and only donning one of his shirts over your underwear.

“You could at least get yourself under the covers, no?” you joke and he thinks for a second.

“Well I was hoping that, y’know…” he leaves the statement open, hoping that you’ll catch onto his request because now that he’s actually able to take a second, his back is absolutely killing him. He manages to get his shirt off, not without groaning in pain and you finally do catch on.

“Can you keep the armband?” you ask quietly, and he laughs, enduring the pain he feels in his back even from that. He doesn’t press further and he relents, leaving it on for you.

You quickly get yourself into position, grabbing the lotion and straddling the backs of his thighs. His back is peppered with bruises and a couple of nasty looking scrapes, scabbed over so you supposed he got those in one of his many scraps in the last match. 

You start with the knots on the back of his neck and he immediately sinks into the sheets, sighing out in relief as you worked your magic on his tense and sore muscles. Even with the massages you gave him in between every training session, after the other matches, nothing could hold up against the amount of work he was doing. Of course it was all worth it in the end, the gold medal very much still around your neck. But it had taken its toll on his body and he was finally processing the amount of pain he was in.

you’re careful to not put too much pressure on his bruises as you slowly work your way down his back. He gives you the occasional grunt of approval, sighing as he feels the pain melt away at the tips of your fingers.

“So warm…” he compliments, taking a deep breath in and revelling in the way it didn’t hurt anywhere near as badly as it did before you worked your magic.

“That’s my freak trick!” you joke, it was true though. Your hands were always weirdly warm, even in the cold winter months. Your hands always persisted as mini space heaters and it was something he absolutely adored about you. His hands always firmly grasped yours whenever he needed warming up.

“You’re not a freak!” you scoff at that.

“You’re not! You’re an angel who’s perfect in every way, hands and all.” he assures and you chuckle at his certainty, he really never gave you room to doubt yourself. You were the definition of pure perfection in his eyes. Nothing could come close to you and when you did things like this for him, it only solidified his beliefs.

“Those defenders were…”

“Getafe-standard ankle-breakers.” he mutters, annoyed at even the thought of them. Not that he was wrong, playing low-block in what was supposed to be a super important final was… a choice. And indeed very akin to Getafe.

“You got the better of them though, hmm? Made them look like fools out there.”

“Not before they tried to shatter my legs. That Diomande guy from Mali… now THAT'S a real defender!” he admits. He may have had an ego but you loved the way he was able to appreciate other players around him, even opposition. 

“What about the blond one? The Hopper?”

“Oh Atef? Yeah, he was an advantage to us if anything. How do you waste the dying minutes of a game YOU’RE losing to try and bag a penalty when you knock YOURSELF out?” he wonders and you can’t help but laugh. He was right, everyone had expected much better out of the guy who was supposed to be replacing their best player. You were sure Abde didn’t mind it at all. At the very least, they didn’t make the same mistake as they did against Mali. 

You continue to go about the expanse of his back, trying to keep him talking so he wouldn’t fall asleep on top of the covers. Asking about other players he had come across, his teammates, he mentions a food place that he wanted to take you to the next day.

By the time you’re done with him, he’s just about awake but you can tell that he’s ready to drift off at any given minute. You bend down to press soft kisses across the expanse of his back and shoulders, your hands doing one final swoop over the ridges and bumps, quietly admiring all the hard work he had put in. You thought he was built like a greek statue before but he had turned things up a notch and you were beyond obsessed.

“I love you, you know that right?” you mumble into the back of his neck and he hums in satisfaction and pleasure. He felt so much lighter after the massage but your soft lips doing a once-over? He felt like a whole new man.

“I love you more.” he mutters and you laugh. You’ve had this competition far too many times.

“You keep telling yourself that.” you move off him and tug at the blankets, hauling them over the pair of you. He shuffles towards you, finding comfort with his face pressed against your neck and arms wrapping around your middle. You keep one hand in his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp to further help him drift off.

On a normal night, you would continue the little competition but he was beyond words at this point so you don’t speak another word. The comfortable silence and the feeling of your heart-beat lulls him to a peaceful, well-deserved slumber. You can feel his breaths slow and his grip around your waist loosen and you’re not too far behind him, allowing the sleep to take you over as well.

Your sleep is perfect and you wake up pretty early in the morning. Thankfully, before Abde so you get your chance to execute your plan. Somehow, during the night, you ended up back in your usual sleep position with you on top. The strong arm around your waist is still there but his grip is iron. It takes a while but you manage to wiggle out without waking him, although he does furrow his eyebrows and groan softly before quieting back down. 

You tiptoe to the bathroom and try to freshen up as quietly as you can manage. No makeup but you do your best to wash away the tiredness from your face before making your way back to the main bedroom. Not ideal but he is already up, wiping his eyes as he scans the room, a little confused with your absence but his eyes fill with relief when he sees you.

“Anjo?” you don’t respond just yet, slowly removing your sleep shirt to reveal what you had intended to treat him with yesterday. You supposed today would work just fine as well. His eyes widen a little but he’s quick to regain his composure and smirks as you saunter over to the queen-sized bed. The underwear really didn’t leave much to the imagination but you still heated up under his gaze, he made no effort to hide the way he was undressing you with his eyes.

“All for me?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know that answer very very well.

“You didn’t think I was going to let my captain go unrewarded for his work, did you?’ you pout as you place your legs on either side of his thighs. His hands rest on your hips and he draws small circles with the pads of his thumbs as he awaits your next move.

He has an idea before you can do anything though, carefully reaching the side of the bed frame to grab his gold medal. He places it around your neck and relaxes back into the bed, hands back on your hips.

“Come on, anjo. I think I’ve waited long enough…” 

heyyyyy... how y'all doing... I think I've got my motivation back lmfao. Stay in tuned for part two!!!!

#abde ezzalzouli #ez abde #footballer fic #football fluff #football fanfics #football fanfic #footballer x you #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #morocco #morocco nt

[captainmera]

Hello Mera..

I gotta say, thank you for creating "In Blood We Rise". Seriously I just wanna kidnap Theo and Oliver for being the cutest guys ever *slowly kidnaps them throught magic*

But in all seriousness, if you could give an advice to beginner comic artists, what would you give them?

first of all, thanks for reading! :D

secondly!

Further advise beneath cut:

My advice is to literally just go right ahead and start making the comic and post it to at least two comic medias.

Webtoons is one, another is tapas or comicfury. But hey! you can also make your own website using ComicControl! :)

But in all honesty, anything comic related - as in the making of pages - you will learn by doing it. I learned an incredible amount by just going ahead. I learned a lot about making bubbles better, too. My speechbubbles get much less cluttered now, for one. And less wordy..

Don't be afraid to enjoy your stuff shamelessly! There's no shame in having fun with your original stuff.

And work smarter not harder. I know there's discourse online about using references or taking your own photos as refs, or backgrounds- Heck, I don't use 3D models but I don't see why it's such a biggie if ppl do. You're here to tell a story, not prove to anyone you dont need help drawing.

Serve your story first. Sometimes that means cutting scenes you want to draw out. I've cut a lot of stuff away because it doesn't serve the story and the pages loses their beat.

I try to end each page with a cliff hanger, so that the weekly readers have something to look forward to!

But bulk-readers are important too. So now and then, re-read your own comic to see how it looks! Like an animator flipping through the stages of movement. You'll see what I mean when you get there and do it. You'll see your mistakes and recontextualise them and improve your work that way.

And try not to go back and fix it, just take what you've learned into the next page. Improve the next page with what you've learned.

Don't be afraid to experiment, there are no rules. Do what helps elevate the story, use the medium you create in be flexible and try not to tell yourself something isn't allowed - it is! Tell your story however you like.

You don't have to know X Y or Z before you start.

GO. BE WILD. IT'S ART!! You can go as crazy and abstract as you like! Play with panels, play with everything! Do circles, do funky shapes, go!

Have FUN with it! :D

#ask #ibwr ask #asks #art reply

[isawken]

five years ago i checked in to rehab and stayed for thirty days, at the end of which i emerged 30 days sober and politically radicalized. i had made fast friends with the other addicts there and several of them had been kicked out because of their insurance; maybe they had none, or their plan wouldn't cover rehab, or any number of reasons.

i had no idea what to do except that i was furious with the american healthcare system and for the first time in years i could care about something other than getting wasted. i searched online to see what sort of politics wanting universal healthcare was, and i wound up in the PSL. They had a twitter, so i made a twitter.

Once I had the account, i followed some of the people they retweeted: anti-racist activists, soup kitchens, and that sort of thing. I followed more and more generally-left sort of accounts until i realized my timeline was composed, essentially, of transgender people and their hangers-on (i had long since given up on the political discourse one can find on twitter). One of those accounts was you.

I went in to my therapist, a kindly older man who had helped me very much in my first year of sobriety to reconcile my own budding spirituality (I was, and am, a devoted atheist -- but the program of Alcoholics Anonymous demands some amount of spiritual belief) with the violence I was becoming more and more aware of as I engaged more in political work.

I suggested maybe the reason I identified so much with trans people was that I was transgender. He suggested that I should delete twitter.

I've now been on estrogen for approximately four years. I've been sober, on and off, for about five -- with the last three being back to back. I've finally re-entered the world of social media, and lo and behold -- it's you again.

I'm not sure you even did anything in particular, but it's fun that your account, isawken, has appeared to me both in the prelude of my transition and now in its full swing.

oh beloved anon, i can't even begin to express how warm this made my heart. you've had such a journey, and it makes me so happy to hear how you've fought and persevered and grown. i love meaningless synchronicities, weird and fun coincidences that could but probably don't have any real deeper purpose to them, and i am genuinely honored to be one of yours :o)

#this is corny as all get out of me to say but truly i'm proud of you anon and so so happy for you. it sounds like you've #overcome so much and i hope you carry the pride of your survival within u no matter where you go next! #i am truly grateful to be a silly pair of bookends to ur journey :o) #the fact that u recognize my username after all this time... consider my heart fully warmed <3 #ask

[duchessofostergotlands]

I think I finally found someone who’s just like me but you’re an online person 😭

I also watch films/tv shows months after it airs or released, or when the hype dies down, because of noise. It’s like, I want to enjoy it on my own, not because I’m too cool for mainstream stuff (lol I’m not, I’m a basic bitch). Maybe because hype ruins things for me and I don’t want to read everyone’s opinions on the show while I’m still watching it.

Last year or was it the year before, when a super popular show came out, everyone on social media was on the side of this one team. When I finally got around to watching it after the season was over, I found myself being on the other side 🫣 so glad I wasn’t watching it while everyone else was or I would’ve been screaming at social media or second guessing myself

Hahaha kindred spirits! So for TV shows I prefer watching things when they're finished. That way I know exactly how many seasons I have, how many episodes, how many hours, so I can pace myself properly and control how often I watch it. I'm not watching everything in one go and then I'm left with nothing for a year. And when I was younger and watching things on TV with my family there were so many shows I loved which got cancelled on a cliff hanger so this way I know the shows which got to end properly and the shows which didn't. I do the same with books.

For movies, I think part of it is just my natural instinct to not do things people are telling me to do lol. I have this innate resistance to anything that feels remotely like a demand. So if someone says "watch this show, you'll love it", even if I probably will love it and they've recommended good stuff in the past, my brain goes "don't you tell me what I'll love, you don't know me" hahaha. I think the noise thing is part of that. I don't like feeling pressured to watch something just because everyone's talking about it. Basically I don't want it to feel like a chore or a task I have to complete. So for me it's not about completely shielding myself from any discussion, it's just about waiting until all the hot takes and the daily debates about the film have died down so I can go into it feeling like I have the chance to actually enjoy it on my own terms. You only get one chance to watch a film for the first time and so I want that to be when I'm ready and when I can take the time to think about the film without the online discourse changing every five minutes with a new opinion. I'm also just very lazy and prone to procrastinating so I rarely see things in the cinema anyway!

#ask #anon #non royal #movies #films

[effervescentdragon]

Okay but how many tags do you have filtered i'm really curious to know what your dash looks like lmao

- mery @carlosheinz

uhhh i have ykw filtered, estie bestie, that poor pr dog, danny ric, all the wags whose name i know, half the tps, actually i think only freddie and james vowels arent filtered of the ones who matter, stroll, half the ships with people i hate, leclonso, chewis (thank you rissa you absolute peach), all the drivers w xreaders and imagines, some of those i even have like double filtered, some peoples usernames who are just pure idiots, loulou to ferrari, some moots' discourse tags, charles and carlos i sometimes put into filters when they are annoying me, anyone associated with danny ric and charles' entourage and all the random hanger ons like that max-leech guy w lando, mv and then one to twenty zeroes, landonowins (im trying to avoid my own filters so i can see this post), then anti tags like anti cl, cs, etc, schumi jr and i think thats about it for f1 :) my dash is very filtered atm tbh xD

oh also. STOP PUTTING MRY CARLOSHEINZ AS YOUR SIGNATURE I AM DYING OF LAUGHTER

#akira answers asks #mery carlosheinz #imma make this your tag you asshole xd #<3333333

[plunder413]

Man, if anything has truly utterly "gone downhill" its analysis videos or as they're now called "video essays". Like, I was there for specific early youtubers to lay down the groundwork and sorta define art analysis as making your own art in turn. If you've been in certain anime circles, you know. What I was hoping for was breaking down the barriers of convention that restrict people's thoughts on art. I'm an extremely postmodern and subjectivist person, and I wanted individuals to bring out their own experiences, loose and everchanging, senseless, only defined by itself. Instead we just have people going "THIS THING U LIKE IS SECRETLY BAD" and making a 5 hour long video meticulously taking down something in the most boring and bad faith way possible.

Like, where is the schizo love letter to like Earthworm Jim or some shit. Where's the videos that have interesting editing and personality? Idk I feel like it's all just this dick measuring contest to see how cynical we can be. It's saddening. Analysis is supposed to be like sampling in music, taking this art and rearranging it to reflect your own psyche, a creative endeavor in its own, an exercise in love.

And like, I think the evidence lies in the fact that I just make my own art and don't bother with wider discourse on the stuff I'm into. Like, I like cartoons and anime so I made my own story. I like music so I make my own music. And I'm honestly happier. Maybe it's because most creative types don't want to sink into the modern discourse hole that continues to discourage creativity in favor of comfy homogenous distraction sludge that can also say "hey, gay people? cool as frick actually!". Like, yeah, I could watch an HBomberGuy video but I could also just eat spider eggs and have them hatch and crawl around my insides and that will be just as painful but infinitely more interesting.

Really, I've seen far better art analysis here than anything on fucking YouTube and I think that goes to show that as much as you can say about this site, it's a site ABOUT art and creativity. People who fundamentally understand creativity and are not just trying to find the most correct art. Because going down that road only gets you polished, easily accessible bland muck that only conveys the most vaguely left leaning thing with none of that icky abstraction or weird humany stuff. I am into the infinity creativity has to offer. I happen to like to see weird taboo sexuality that mixes psychological branches into a colorful slurry. I happen to like when reality is bent or shaped into an abstract nightmare realm. I also like seeing cute girls just hangin out. I also like SpongeBob SquarePants.

Really what this comes down to also is a western standards being prioritized over all else. Which is dumb. And racist! Like, anime is a different culture that prioritizes different shit. I'm not even just talking about lolicon and shit, I'm talking like, fundamentally being stuck in these super intense, gritty narratives that maintain a consistent tone based on fast moving action and cliff hangers. Sorry but the idea of a maturity being stoic gritty cynicism is a very American idea, and shit is just different when looking beyond the western mainstream. And sometimes its not this presentable G rated thing you can call "chilling" and "breathtaking" sometimes it's a surreal atmospheric comedy with pervy jokes that deconstructs Japanese culture with very specific references and media tropes. Everypony should watch Neo Ranga btw, and I will once it can't trigger me because fuck that show feels like a nightmare. I'm using primarily anime examples because that's the foreign media I'm most familiar with.

Basically conservatism is a virus infecting even the self described anarchists and progressives and leftists because I can't handle having a strong emotion because I'm so pants shittingly scared of the current climate of Things(TM).

#video essays #media analysis #tired stoned ramble #lol

[ostolero]

bad discourse doesn't exist to me because the lowest common denominator type of discussion is beneath me and you can find it by the barrel if you're looking for it

you should say something if your friends are saying some odd shit but I'm not wading into that stuff unprompted

what you should be on the lookout for is people busting down the doors to get their two cent comedy routine in, at the expense of anti racism and disability activism. like when it comes comes to these two things it's like a trivial joke to them.

then you get these hangers on who just want to make any kind of joke about the "current" thing. it's lowest common denominator behavior and I need to be surrounded with people who do a lot better than that

#caplog 2024

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: Less Than Dirt. by ulexite

fandom: Supernatural

pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

word count: 40k

Is it explicit: no

Bottom line: when they say “go hard gencest or go home” they are referring to this fic, which went so hard that it ground up my insides and fed them back to me in a tube

In this early-season AU, Sam is beset by visions and the boys are keeping it from John. Who knows what John would do if he knew, right? That’s present-day 2006. In 1997, fourteen-year-old Sam and eighteen-year-old Dean tangle with some hunters who turn out to be bad hombres. I think either plot thread could have stood on its own—the 1997 story is entirely self-contained—but when ulexite braids them together the impact is like an airplane landing. This fic is about Sam defending Dean, and Dean defending Sam, against all comers. “All comers” unfortunately includes John. There is some violence done to John’s canon characterization but in service, I think, of a good cause. If you’re familiar with ulexite’s other work it’s probably If Gold Rusts…, which is a fantastic fic. It’s also 130k long lol which is why I wandered away before finishing. Luckily this one’s more digestible.

In 1997, while John is off on a case, the boys have been left to rusticate in a motel in Nowheresville, USA. John deliberately leaves Dean behind to punish him for fucking up on a recent hunt. We are told baldly the nature of Dean’s fuckup: his actions proved that Sam’s safety—not killing monsters—was his top priority. As a consequence his father is putting him in the equivalent of kiddie timeout. In the aftermath, there’s a lot of discourse between the boys about who John’s favorite is. From Dean’s perspective:

“Look after your brother,” Dad had said, “since that’s what you’d rather be doing.”

And from Sam’s perspective:

Might as well have said: “Look after this burden of mine so I don’t have to.”

This is classic they each think the other is John’s favorite, and it’s just as aggravating to me, the reader, as it’s intended to be. So this whole ball of recriminations is sitting between them at the beginning of the 1997 arc. Sam and Dean are not on the easiest of terms with each other.

Enter the bad hombres.

They’re hunters. They’ve worked with John before. They’re looking for backup on a werewolf hunt, and since John is unavailable, they’ll take the next-best thing, his teenage sons. Yeah you heard right these guys just press-ganged a fourteen-year-old into forced labor, all the while relentlessly belittling him. It’s frightening how simple it is for a pack of complete strangers to drive a wedge between Dean and Sam at this fragile moment. All they’ve got to do is treat Dean like one of the guys—like a grownup—and ice Sam out by treating him like a useless hanger-on kid. Here is Dean defending his unilateral decision to 1) join these randos on a hunt and 2) lie to John about it:

“Yes, Sam, I lied to him, and you better not even think about calling him again to tell him we’re going on a hunt. You’re still my little brother, and I’m still in charge until Dad gets back, so do as you’re told for once.” He doesn’t feel like pointing out how infrequently he doesn’t do as he’s told. Everyone’s always accusing him like he makes a habit out of disobedience.

This is grossly unfair! The charge is that Sam has a “disobedient” temperament rather than that he has done xyz “disobedient” thing…which makes it impossible to refute. Again and again canon shows us Sam being punished for what he is rather than what he does—“freak” is an epithet that targets his nature which he cannot control rather than his behavior which he can—and it hurts extra coming from Dean, the person whose opinion he values highest. Sam is gravely wounded by Dean’s betrayal. Still, even hurting as he is, when the chips are down you will never find Sam anywhere but in Dean’s corner:

Outside, Donovan lines up empty beer cans along the stack of firewood and tells Dean: “Time to prove you ain’t all bark, Winchester.”

He’s both proud of Dean for making every shot even with his eyes bleary from the early morning and his hangover, and also wondering why he couldn’t just tell this man “I don’t gotta prove shit to you” and walk away. But then he understands it when the gun’s put in his hands, and the cans are lined up again, and he’s being told to give it a go.

As soon as Dean says “Show ‘em what you got, Sammy,” the need to impress makes all the sense in the world. Just that Dean’s the only one here whose opinion matters to him, and letting his brother down, especially now when he needs Sam on his side the most, even if he doesn’t know that? He makes damn certain he doesn’t miss a single shot.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in this section of the fic Dean is 18, the age of majority, the age at which he might assume legal guardianship of Sam were the worst to befall John (an eventuality he has definitely contemplated more often than is healthy). It’s not clear to Dean what Sam’s role is—is Sam his charge or his peer—and that flare of pride he gets every time Sammy does something well? Some skill Dean taught him? Muddies the waters even more. But we’re not done with this scene yet! We have to see with our own eyes exactly why these bad hombres are bad news:

Sam holds out the gun, but before Dean can make a step to start setting the cans back up, Donovan takes the gun and turns the opposite way from their makeshift targets, aims his gun over top of their heads, and shoots a starling right out of a tree overhanging the driveway. “That’s what it means not to hesitate,” Donovan tells them, sickly pleased that Sam can’t even bring himself to look at the felled bird wherever it landed. “You’ll learn, kid. Or you’ll die. One or the other.”

This dude just shot a living creature dead for NO REASON wtf?!

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Ok so long story short our boys get separated, the bad hombres stake Sam out for werewolf bait without even bothering to arm him with a weapon, Dean shows up to clean up the werewolves but is obviously livid about the way they deemed Sam expendable. Dean feels an obligation to stay and finish the hunt, but he won’t countenance Sam remaining if it will endanger Sam (which it will, since these dudes are psychos). So Dean deliberately picks a fight. He says the only thing he can to get Sam voluntarily onto the first bus to wherever-the-hell-John-went.

“Sam… I’m staying, alright? I’ve gotta see this through. I can’t keep fucking up and getting people killed, and you’re a distraction for me. Dad’s right about that.”

“…I’m a distraction?”

“You are.”

His eyes are burning, white-hot emotion, sadness disguised as fury. “So I’m just in your way, is that it? You want me to leave?”

“This entire time you’ve been nagging and nagging at me that you wanna go home, Sam. I’m saying if you wanna go then go. But I’m needed here, and they’re right. You’re not a little kid anymore, you don’t need me to protect you like you used to.”

I am a kid, Sam thinks, enraged, and so are you!

“I want you to come with me, Dean! I don’t trust these people, I haven’t trusted them from the minute we met them!”

Sam leaves. Then he changes his mind and returns, because Dean sent him packing with their only gun, and Sam can’t bear the thought that he left Dean alone without a weapon. Thank god he does, too, because the scene Sam walks in on is one of these psycho hombres murdering Dean. It’s the real unhinged one, Donovan. Donovan is hurting Dean for fun, just like he shot that bird for fun. Dean is badly injured and unarmed but still fighting back because the son of a gun has said he will go after Dean’s little brother next, and THAT threat never fails to make Dean see red. Of course he’s losing badly until Sam shows up and shoots Donovan cleanly in the back. Aaaaand scene.

What stands out to me about this episode is not that fourteen-year-old Sam killed someone, but that the two of them tacitly agreed to let Dean take the rap for it (Sam was after all not supposed to be there). They let the victim’s relatives believe for nine years that that’s what happened, that Dean killed Donovan. When the inevitable reencounter occurs in 2006, John is entirely in the dark—the boys never told him what happened back in 1997—so John is caught off guard when Donovan’s brother and nephew draw their guns on Dean, and Sam gleefully claims credit for Donovan’s murder (“you’re pointing those at the wrong guy”), and then uses telekinesis to turn the guns on the other two. It’s hard to tell if John’s madder that he’s been kept out of the “Sam is manifesting psychic powers” loop, or madder that two dudes just tried to murder his son. One of these things is maybe a slightly bigger priority, John! It seems worth noting that Sam’s psychic powers are triggered, as usual, by a bodily threat to Dean’s life or limb. Also that John seems to assume that if people are trying to kill Sam, they probably have a good reason (instead of that people are fucking psychos). It’s this unwarranted presumption of guilt that steams my beans. There is not a shred of evidence that Sam is endowed with an evil nature or doomed to walk an evil path, and yet John’s conviction is nigh unshakeable. The visions that Sam was having at the beginning of the fic? Those were premonitions of his own death at John’s hands. He’s been seeing visions of plenty of people getting murdered, he just didn’t realize it was himself he was seeing. Omg when the dashboard read 3am I should have known I should knownnnn. ulexite is good at a lot of things but this descriptive passage stood out to me because it is BUSSIN:

Trees. He sees trees. A grey morning, barely out of the pitch of night, only knows it’s morning and not evening because of the dew clinging to the earth, the sense memory for a thing that hasn't happened yet telling him he shouldn't be awake. Dirt and mud, rotting leaf litter, new blood. He can smell it all, iron and loam. Yet, as soon as he tries to turn his head to look around, that’s when the pain hits, a needle from one temple to the other, straight through the cortex like his premonitions are killing him.

Dw John does not put a bullet in Sam because Dean shows up at the last second and he puts a bullet in John instead. And that’s our story all tied up with a bow.

Now, do I think ulexite’s characterization of John is true to canon? No, I think this is a very selective and unsympathetic reading of John. I think in this fic the boys are conflicted in their feelings for John, but John is never shown to be conflicted, up to and including when he’s about to put Sam in the ground he’s certain that he’s doing the right thing. Canon!John would never. That’s fine though, as long as the fic’s John characterization is internally consistent I’ll buy it. What really sits at the core of it though, the thing that sank a grappling hook into my heart, is the evolving relationship between Sam and Dean and the different roles they occupy for each other as they grow up:

The weight of his amulet, a constant reminder that Sam loves him the most, feels like a noose around his neck all day long, until finally he gets the courage to apologize to Sam

and

It’s not Sam’s fault Dean conspired to keep him young forever and has just now changed his mind. It’s really not. But sometimes Sam grates on him and it’s not because of any real discernible reason other than that Dean thinks sometimes he was made into a parent at four years old and that just kinda sucks

Idk this may just be my own hobbyhorse, maybe y’all don’t care and it’s just me on my soapbox watching these boys agonize about whether I’m parent or peer of what. But I mean:

“Do you hate me?” he asks, not even meaning to, it slips out insecure and irrational, unchecked.

Dean is quiet for a few beats too long for comfort, but he wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders and he’s pretty sure Dean kisses the top of his head, and he says “You’re my little brother, you know I love you.”

He wishes that answered his question, but in this one instance, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.

My first thought was: When Dean put a bullet in John that pretty definitively answered the question, wouldn’t you say? “I choose you, Sammy” is what I thought that bullet was saying. But on my second readthrough I’m not so sure. “I choose you” is not the same as “my love is unadulterated by other, more complicated feelings.” I think what Dean’s bullet does establish is that there’s no room in the SamDean relationship for anyone else, even the man who raised them.

#wincest #fic rec

[thetaoofbetty]

So I still don't really know what's going on because I don't watch, but I can't help but get sucked into the discourse and updates by the few hanger-oners here. Is all the "Perseverse" stuff actively being made by Writer Jughead? Is that Jughead, then, via Polly trying to acknowledge Betty's guilt and forgive her, but also clearly showing he got her feelings and motivations wrong with the kiss and the aftermath? Please don't post if this is just too silly and way off to bother lol

okay so pls know that this episode went fast so i might be wrong on some things.

vale jughead is writing stories to keep vale going. narrator jughead is writing comics that are influencing dale, they're either playing out directly or symbolically.

could it be influenced by jughead? possibly? it seems like it's possible. it would also make sense that jughead would assume that's why she did it but also narrator jughead doesn't really seem to know betty that well? he's never been presented as being attached to her in any way tbh. vale jughead? yes. 100%.

if narrator jughead was influencing things, it would explain a lot of stuff. he was more of an observer than anything. betty's guilt all these years later, especially when they were showing how deeply jughead's voicemail affected her and what she thought of herself was really sad tbh.

i wonder how much stuff is leaking through vale jughead to the narrator as well? he's clearly not over betty so there's a lot of layers there i guess.

#besos! #anonymous #riverdale spoilers #riverdale speculation

[doodlebloo]

I really hope that if the server gets rebooted with new characters the first server gets some ends first. I don’t think they can feasibly end every single plot line that has been brought up. There’s are over thirty members on that server I genuinely don’t think it’s possible which sucks but what can you do however I think they should end some of the big cliff hangers and then we get posts explaining the stuff they planned at the very least. I dunno if that made any sense but that’s kinda my thoughts I guess- personally I think with thirty people some playing multiple characters and multiple stories all going at ones it’s a bit difficult to have a complete story. I hope that made sense and isn’t too like- discourse-y I suppose

No you're making sense anon dw. I agree with you, & personally I would much prefer a shitty and lackluster ending that sucks than no ending at all and I mean that. PLUS I ESPECIALLY agree abt them releasing the stuff they had planned (even if it ended up being scrapped) because I would have a 60k finished in a week I swear

#asks #anon #discourse

[tuiyla]

Okay but you know what annoyed me about Mr Schue.

When he took Finns jacket off of Santana. I mean he could have asked Kurt for anything from Finns room to remember him by. Kurt gave Santana that jacket!!!

And he watched all of them fight about it when he knew that he had it. He also saw Santana putting all the posters up for it.

AND he took it off of her when she was sleeping - that's weird. That means he snuck into the auditorium so he could steal a jacket off of here when she was asleep. Wtf!!

IIRC Santana was resting at the nurse's office and the jacket on a coat hanger when he took it but messed up nonetheless. Will taking the jacket off her body would have been nightmare levels creepy tbh.

But still, doesn't make what he did any less shitty. Like I get what they're going for with him and on a story level yes interesting that he would try so hard to keep it together for the sake of the kids but his grief would manifest in different ways. But this jacket thing was messed up, imo especially because he stood by and let Santana accuse Puck and pretended like Puck was a viable suspect. Bitch!

I get the symbolism of the jacket but this was an uncomfy thing to include. Not to mention the fandom discourse it continues to spark my god just shut up about who "deserved" the jacket the most shutupshutup. Directed at reddit.com.

#glee asks #the quarterback #jacketgate #anon #anti will schuester #like why did he have to go about it like that #lying to the kids' faces #i would have preferred if he confessed to santana

[ashleysingermfablog]

Wk 15, 16th of May, 2024

Tim Ingold, 'Correspondence' 2022

Cover from booklet of essays Correspondence: Knowing from the Inside by Anthropologist, Art Historian and Thinker Tim Ingold, published 2022.

I referenced Tim Ingold's critical text on archaeology histories, objects, artefacts and nature 'Materials Against Materiality', published in 2004, in my honours literature review and so I wanted to visit my ongoing relationship with Ingold's research by adding here his most recent works.

access 'Materials Against Materiality' here: https://edisciplinas.usp.br/pluginfile.php/4624603/mod_resource/content/1/9.INGOLD.pdf

Contents page from Tim Ingold's 'Correspondence', 2022.

From the text: Correspondences: Knowing from the inside by Tim Ingold..

Sometimes one’s best ideas come not from following the main lines of an investigation but from veering off course, in brief encounters with things, artworks and people that trigger reflections on quite unfamiliar and unexpected topics. In the past, when we wrote letters by hand and posted them in envelopes to family and friends, such reflections would often find a place in their pages. They would appear there with a certain freshness, not yet weighed down by subsequent elaboration. Nowadays, when this kind of letter-writing has all but ceased, to be replaced by the instant communication of phone and email, something of the care and spontaneity of letter- writing has been lost. Or rather, the spontaneity of communication, since it is over in an instant, lacks the care and attention that goes into the fashioning of lines on the page, in writing, and then in waiting: for the letter to reach its intended destination and for the response to come back from the recipient. And care, as it loses its spontaneity, seems more calculated and, by the same token, less personal, less imbued with feeling. Though we might say of thinking that it weighs heavily on the mind, or of a stone too heavy to lift that ‘it refuses to move’, these are surely metaphorical expressions whose very force lies in the way they lead us to draw parallels across domains that are, from the start, ontologically distinct. In order to acknowledge our place in nature we have had, simultaneously, to take ourselves out it. But how can we be both inside nature and out of it at one and the same time? Perhaps thought is weighed down by the histories that have shaped us, just as rocks are weighed down by histories of sedimentation and trees by histories of growth. We have our stories, as do the rocks and trees, as indeed do other animals, mountains, mud and water. And in these stories, things are ever breaking loose from the hooks and hangers that thought has only retrospectively designed for them. ‘On matter and materialisms’ was Ingold's response to a questionnaire issued by the editors of OCTOBER, a magazine of art criticism and theory. They noted that in many fields of the arts and humanities, the centrality traditionally accorded to human subjects and their experience is currently being challenged by way of approaches that bring to the foreground a world that exists beyond human meanings, purposes and discourses. They include the idea of correspondence from which the collection takes its title, by which I mean to capture the dynamic of lives going along with one another. (Withness-thinking linked in bold underline).

As the sea speaks to the land along the tidal margin of the coast- their conversation was about the weight of materials and the force of gravity, about the lightness of the air and the density of water, about what the sea swallows and what it casts back up. But it was also, and perhaps more fundamentally, about the dialogue between nature and artifice, and the ultimate futility of human attempts to conquer the world by force of reason. Ingold sometimes wonders where philosophers have been, all these years. Some of their number have recently taken to telling us – as though it were a startling new discovery – that the world does not actually revolve around human beings, that non-human entities of all sorts can enter into relations with one another, and even hold mean- ings for one another, which do not depend in the slightest on the ways they are used or perceived by humans, or even on any human presence at all. The fact that researchers in such fields as plant and animal ecology, geomorphology and soil science have been study- ing such relations for generations seems to have passed our philosophers by...The critique of human and non-human division in semantics. Our fixation with the grammatical categories that are currently standard in most European languages leads us to assume that action can only be an effect, set in train by a causal agent that stands as subject to the verbal predicate. But we need not think like this. Classical Greek, along with many non-Indo-European languages, has a middle voice of the verb which, unlike the active voice, does not separate agency from action or the doer from the deed-they do not so much interact as correspond. 

Perhaps my interactions with the garden as an artist doesn't so simply sit in the anthropomorphised languages of 'the human or non-human', but as simply a 'correspondence' between entities that share space (myself, the birds, the trees, the lichen, the moss, the sediment). That leaves my role also being one of care, cultivation and study. This practice is about walking hand-in-hand with nature in day to day emergence and experience, studying nature not as a colonial observer or as a settler, as have been previous endeavours in colonial periods of Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland's history or as a scientist, or even as a human reflecting on non-humans, but more as one of the entities cohabitating in a space and intermingling in this shared space.

access here: https://knowingfromtheinside.org/files/correspondences.pdf

#contextual #may

[rnayparker-blog]

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RESPECT ALL HANGERS 👏👏

#trying to start discourse like #discourse #hanger discourse