#people should use it. i was about to say 'use it MORE' but nobody is fucking using it. so. people should use it. >:(

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

[soberqueerinthewild]

I’ve written about this a lot before but it bears reiterating now.

I’ve seen some takes that essentially say Taylor was callous because she broke up with Joe because he “couldn’t get over his depression” and how cruel that is when she said she loves him.

And I think that a lot of the people who think that are identifying with Joe, and empathizing with him and suffering from a version of somewhat understandable main character syndrome. I see this a lot in advice on how to be there for someone struggling with their mental health. It says things like “keep reaching out even if they ignore you. They appreciate it.” “Keep inviting them to do things even if they say no” “Continue letting them know you are there for them to talk to even if they repeatedly shut you out.” And I’m not saying this is bad advice, but it makes it sound like there is one person who struggles with their mental health surrounded by supporting characters who are 100% healthy and able to give an endless supply of emotional energy and that they never have mental health struggles that are impacted by this. (My mental health for instance tanks when I reach out over and over and get rejected because I feel like no one likes me)

From what I can tell from her music (which by the way is the only indication we have that Joe struggles with his mental health, so if we are accepting that premise we need to accept everything else she says about it) Taylor followed a lot of this advice for a long time.

Years of labor locks and ceilings

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

Always rising from the ashes

There was nowhere for me to stay but I stayed anyways

And she tried and tried until it was having a hugely detrimental impact on her mental health which she relates

She discusses how she had to revert into a dream world because of the impact of it:

I dreamed about it in the dark the night I felt like I might die

She talks about how holding on to the relationship made her feel:

I know my pain was such an imposition

My white-knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment

My spine split from carrying us up the hill

Wet through my clothes weary bones caught the chill

She had a huge amount of anxiety about the relationship so much that her friends noticed how it was impacting her

My friends say it isn’t right to be scared every day of a love affair

My friends tried but I wouldn’t hear it/watched me daily disappearing

She got to the point where she wasn’t sure he even wanted her

Every breath feels like rarest air/When you’re not sure if he wants to be there

Is it really your anxiety that keeps you from giving me everything or do you just not want to

I wouldn’t marry me either

Her mental health was deteriorating, so if Joe deserved a partner that would support him when his mental health was struggling, doesn’t Taylor? There’s no evidence that he was able to give that to her and she felt very misunderstood by him

My face was gray but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick

How can you say you love someone you can’t tell is dying

You never read into my melancholia

Nobody noticed my new aesthetic

You say you don’t understand and I say I know you don’t

He don’t understand me

A pathological people pleaser/who only wanted you to see her

Why is his mental health considered more important than hers? One person doesn’t get to call dibs on being the one with mental health problems while the other person is assigned to be the supporting character forever.

It’s also clear she had hopes and dreams for a future that involved marriage and kids that he couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. So should she should give those up so as not to leave her partner who is depressed and be labeled a bad person?

It isn’t his fault that he’s depressed but Taylor clearly has mental health struggles too and one is not more important to the other. They were unable to be good partners to each other due to this, so ending it was the right thing. Were there better ways to do it, yes! But she was clearly struggling so incredibly much that I for one, will give her grace and understanding

#taylor swift #mental health #tw sucidal ideation

[papamado]

A "theory" regarding Sampo's abilities

okay so this is an absolute mess and more of a ramble but I think it might be worth sharing so here I am Since I'm very normal about Sampo Koski, I've noticed some paralels to.. osme things... and i ended up with a concept that Sampo might be aware/know the script - just like Elio does On Belobog we don't encounter stellaron hunters (for obvious reasons), but Sampo does end up being the one who affects the way the plot goes and actively puts it in motion, he's the one in control (to some extent) He also appears to be aware of stuff that has yet to happen and its possible outcomes (getting Natasha even before we started fighting Svarog, knowing that we will arrive on Luofu despite it being an unplanned stop, the possible future Belobog catastropy) There's 2 ways to approach this: 1. He works with the Script in mind (following the trailblazer around, kinda like stellaron hunters happen to do) 2. He deliberately works against it (Jarilo VI is supposed to face destruction but he prevents it, could be for personal reasons) Theres also the whole thing about him breaking the 4th wall, which could be connected. Awarnesss of the fact that this is a game could result in him having a knowledge of what the plot of said game is.

I strongly HC Sampo to be an Elation emanator, so I thought about what being an elation emanator could mean, as in, how realistically the powers could manifest From the recent guide that was released along side the 2.2 stream, we have a small entry about Masked Fools which confirms that the path powers are DIRECTLY tied to their masks (this could mean both metaphorical or physical masks but from what i get from the context here it most likely refers to the physical ones?? the concept works with both possibilities tho so whatever <3 )

We know that sampo doesn't have his mask currently (which also works in a symbolic way, Masks represent the devotion to Elation, him not having it could represent how he wants to distance himself from what Elation is considered to be and pursue his own idea of it instead. The general description provided here for how masked fools are doesn't exactly fit him either whichmight further prove that idea, i should write a seperate post on that, anyways-) , so how the hell can he do shit that we assumed earlier was Elation-related powers? i have 2 possible explanations for this 1. Him being an emanator lets him use the path powers without a need for a mask, if thats the case - the mask would only provide a powerup 2. Elation emanator powers are something else altogether

when we look at his current power set/abilities it can all be tied to the fact that this is a game so, him bieng an emanator of elation would allow him to ignore the rules of this world/mainupulate said rules, simple as that it would also explain why he can break the 4th wall, why he is aware of the script in the first place and how he can do stuff that contradicts what's been established lore vise (like how nobody should be able to cross the barrier between the Overworld and Underworld), those rules don't apply to him, he's beyond them. But there's more we DO have an in game example of people already messing with the reality in the same manner - Silver Wolf From what I gathered (with help of some friends of mine mwah mwah), the "reality editing" abilites of Punklorde people are directly tied to a technology present in said world - that combined with the world view of those living here results with them reating the world they live in as if it was a game

Adding onto that, during "punklorde mentality" mission we get to hear Leonard say this:

"Masked fools believe it really exists" so are the Masked Fools aware that someone could posses *actual* (not provided by technology) power to alter/manipulate reality and ignore the established rules of the world? We can kinda see such thing happening with Aha in stimulated universe, not only do they break the 4th wall, but according to Herta they also seem to be affecting the stimulated universe itself Aha's manipulation of reality is also mentioned in the "Glimpses into the Beyond"

So maybe to wrap it all up: 1. Sampo could be aware of the script and use the reality manipulation abilities/the fact that the rules don't apply to him to achieve a desired outcome 2. Him and the Stellaron Hunters have some paralels in the narrative when it comes to the role that they play and what they do?? kinda??? 3. Punklorde people could be affiliated with Elation to some extent, even if not directly blessed by it I am probably VERY wrong about all of this but honestly I'm having fun with this theory so idc <3

#sampo koski #hsr sampo #honkai star rail #masked fools #Aha the Elation #theory #stellaron hunters #I need to throw Elio into the blender to learn their secrets #hsr silver wolf #hsr thoughts #5 star sampo needs to come out faster because im losing my mind here yayyyyyy

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

[azuresage]

It gets talked about a lot but I still can't stop nerding out about Link's characterization in TotK. It's done through his many creative dialogue choices and his expressions of course, but it's also done so subtly through what he *doesn't* say. Notably, he doesn't talk about himself. And this is why nobody recognizes him unless they've already met him. Because he doesn't tell them when they've got the wrong impression of him.

The meme about Link having Tony Hawk syndrome is so real. People will look at him and straight up say, "Wow, you look exactly like Link!" without a hint of irony. Lookout Landing has a detailed picture of his face in their watchtower and the search party still doesn't recognize him. Penn works with Link for a long time and thinks he's unlucky that the Yiga keep "mistaking" him for the Hero (granted, Traysi asked him to deliberately keep quiet, but Penn still didn't put two and two together himself). I think the reason for this, aside from it being really, really funny, is that Link just doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't feel the need to.

Characterization isn't just about what we see a character doing, it's also about how other characters respond to them. Link is so unassuming and humble that he doesn't match people's expectations of what "Link" should be like. The three Gerudo ladies hanging out around Outskirt Stable are one of many perfect examples. Link stands in front of them carrying the Master Sword, but they expect the Hero to be taller than they are, with a giant glowing sword, so they don’t believe it's him. Obviously that's not the reality, but they don't know that. Link doesn't correct them, either. Again, he doesn't feel the need to.

This is also why many NPCs from BotW don't recognize or remember Link. To them, he was just a passerby that did them a good turn once 6+ years ago. Nobody's going to remember a person like that for so long after. They had no way of knowing he was the Hero, unless it came up for story quest reasons. When they hear stories about the Princess's Appointed Knight who woke up from his 100 year nap, defeated the Calamity, and rescued Zelda, they imagine someone larger than life. Then when they see what Link actually is like, they can't put two and two together.

This is true even during the Hyrule Restoration efforts. Link always follows behind Zelda as her shadow, which she notes in her diary, but the people in the stable investigation quests and in Hateno don't recognize him either, even though he went everywhere she did. Link is just that unassuming. He resigns himself to being a shadow, allowing Zelda to take the lead and do as she pleases but always staying nearby to support and protect her. He doesn't need to be recognizable to do his job. And we know from both BotW and now TotK that he's wholly devoted to her. He's content with this. Many people more eloquent than I have spent many paragraphs elaborating on this. I just wanted to focus on what it says about his character.

Link is humble and unassuming, so much so that nobody believes that he's the Hero unless they already know him. He's devoted to Zelda, so much so that he's willing to do anything to chase even a glimpse of her. He doesn't talk about himself or correct people who have the wrong impression of him. He doesn't need to do that to chase his Zelda. He is a person of great humility in spite of his station. I think that's so interesting and neat how the comedy of him being unrecognizable also tells us all this about him. It's also cool how this is only one aspect of him; all the dialogue choices and expressions he makes during cutscenes and actions out in the world show a whole other, lighter side to him that meshes with this. It's all so good. I am in love with it. It always kills me inside when people dismiss his characterization as being nonexistant or flat just because it's not spoonfed to them or when they say Link being unrecognizable is lazy writing instead of a deliberate choice. I am biting and gnawing and gnashing over him and his relationship to Zelda. I love them so much.

#legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #zelda theory #link #this was swirling in my brain cuz i just started replaying totk i had to jot it down #this game is peak fiction. my favorite of all time.

[liebelesbe]

i love you großes ß <3

um I mean I LOVE YOU GROẞES ẞ!!!!

#people should use it. i was about to say 'use it MORE' but nobody is fucking using it. so. people should use it. >:( #doddie redet #german stuff

[dufrau]

saw somebody tweet “i would ship ronance if vickie didnt exist” and like, my friend my buddy my respected comrade. she pretty much doesn’t. Right now she is the equivalent of one of those signs in a mall saying like SEPHORA COMING SOON WATCH THIS SPACE except instead of “sephora” it’s “love interest”.    

#ronance #anti vickie #obviously ship whatever the heck you want #but the idea that we should feel some obligation to ship robin with vickie #is like well in that case we are probably actually obligated to ship robin with tammy thompson #because robin had a crush on her first and apparently crushes are sacred and binding #its nonsense #i also think that people who say this probably wouldnt actually ship ronance #like nobody actually ships robin with vickie they just use it as a reason not to ship ronance #just say you dont care about wlw #i am also just generally opposed to doing what i am told which translates into a strong dislike of the concept of Love Interest characters #vickie might wind up being awesome btw i am not actually anti vickie #but she will never be more awesome than nancy wheeler so why are we wasting our time

[butwhatifidothis]

It really is strange how Edelstans simultaneously dig hard into people that don't agree with their specific interpretation of 3H to the point of being happy they manage to drive those people away... and be so upset and baffled that people become generally disinterested/actively hostile towards 3H content.

If folks get repeatedly driven out of a fandom, and that group of people repeatedly calls anyone who disagrees with their specific interpretation of 3H stupid/illiterate/"acting in bad faith"/sexist/racist/homophobic/etc., and it is repeatedly done by a group of people who insist that 3H's fandom problem is a "both sides" thing, with all of this being dragged into spaces that have nothing to do with 3H, well... obviously people are then going to start to dislike interacting with either 3H in general or its fandom in particular?

Edelstans are the ones spreading the idea that 3H's fandom in totality is shit. They keep trying to make their hands look cleaner than they are by claiming that everyone else's hands are just dirty as/even dirtier than theirs. Of course people who are unaware of everything are going to then assume that everyone's hands are dirty, thus making people not exactly want to shake hands with anyone.

Like, really now. What did they think was going to happen when they directly go after fanartists/fanfic writers who create/say things that go against the Approved Edelstan Status Quo, to the point that a non-zero amount of these creators just up and leave social media entirely? Or after they nitpick every single Disapproved Post and then lie about the post's OP? Or after it becomes a consistent pattern that people who even remotely disagree with Edelstans' opinions are always, without fail, buried with insulting and harassing anons? Or after they're shown time and time again to defend their worst actors with "well their/our victims deserved it because they said a 3H opinion we didn't agree with"? Or when they say that everyone does this shit in 3H's fandom except for them (which is either not believed because it's demonstrably untrue or is actually believed and now those people think the overwhelming majority of 3H's fandom is filled with shit)? Or when they drag 3H discourse into literally actually everything no matter how unrelated?

That with less fandom creators within the fandom space they'd get more content? That harassing and insulting people and accusing them of being this-and-that bigot is going to magically "correct" their minds into seeing The One Truth about 3H? That people are going to just look over all the shit they did just because they allocate the blame of their action on all of 3H's fandom? That people would like 3H more if they constantly remind people of the inarguable worst thing to come from 3H? That this would help 3H's general perception?

Fuckin' no, of course that's just going to make everyone fuck off from 3H. And would you look at that, a shit ton of people have fucked off from 3H since everything has been swept under a "well it'sth a bolth thides ithue tho what can ya do?" rug. And it's been swept under that rug by pretty much the only people who are pulling this shit, who then get shocked - utterly gobsmacked! - that that made them look bad too. That crying "both sides!" included themselves too and not just the people they've been harassing. That saying that the entire fandom is bad everywhere made the entire fandom look bad everywhere.

If Edelstans are really so upset that no one talks about 3H positively anymore, then maybe they should stop being the reason no one likes 3H anymore. Just a thought

#edelgard discourse #just to be safe #like I'm sorry the other parts of the fandom are of course not perfect and should ALSO be called out when they pull shit #but NO ONE is as bad as Edelstans as a group (in 3H's fandom). like. objectively #I say this as someone who is ALSO sad to see 3H become such a heated topic: #it's honestly annoying as hell to see them bitch and moan about how nobody seems to want to talk about 3H anymore #cuz like I'm sorry you do NOT get to whine about people leaving your house after you forcefully pushed them out #like this is obviously what YOU wanted!! a fandom space that is bereft of anyone you disagree with!! #if that means that the fandom is way more empty of new art maybe that says something about YOU and the people YOU wanted to be around you #maybe no one likes y'all because y'all are insufferable and not because y'all like a certain set of pixels and lines on a screen. perhaps #''they hate us because we like Edelgard'' actually it's the harassment and open sexism and victim-blaming and superiority + victim complexe #the entitlement the refusal to ever admit you're wrong about literally anything the dogpiling #the never-ending need to remind people of discourse they want to move away from #and about a million other fuckin' things #simply stop being the problem you're complaining about

[shaykai]

you make one bad choice in Hell/Bhaal's Realm and you're stuck with an evil alignment after. Just saying. Also if you finish that, then there's what comes After Irenicus. Heh.

ANSHSJJSHS THAT’S GOOD TO KNOW

I’m still a hero h a (accidentally saved over the save I had to maybe take up Sarevok’s offer to beat his face in, so I’m a good guy)

Side note- I’m a few hours into the Throne of Bhaal DLC and it’s willlllld

#after Saradush- on my way to the little dessert place rn #And (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHOS WORRIED ABOUT THAT) #I recruited Sarevok shsnsnsnsn #I’m playing it off like he made it sound like he’s a lot more essential to the mission than he did #cause like. Kaine wants to kill him so bad snsnnsnsns #but I’m gonna say he basically made himself sound essential and now it’s mostly just Kaine begrudgingly keeping an eye on him #she straight up told him that she was going to kill him after everything dndndndnnd not for bhaal but because he’s a bastard #(having lots of fun with him arguing with all of the companions) #also anytime I do something good and it makes him sigh I’m winning shsnsnsn #(side not but I should make a short comic for some of their interactions dndnnsjs) #Kaine does not heal him. ever shsbsnsnsnns #it is up to him to find healing potions in stores/off of corpses and use them him damn self #cause nobody in the party will be healing him shsjsjsj #Kaine is at her fucking limit and any and all attempts at kindness will be saved for people who are not him #anon #ask #bg2 spoilers

[lurking-latinist]

⛵

#I also keep seeing modern au aubrey-maturin art #that makes me wish I could draw and thereby contribute #unfortunately I can't even *write* modern aus generally. but I like transferring character dynamics from place to place in my brain #and I feel like I could do a university AU very nicely if I could do AUs at all #because I have had rowers in my class with as far as I could tell jack's exact personality #(unfortunately it has to be a US university AU because (a) that's what I know and (b) afaik nobody else does randomly assigned roommates) #(and I cannot pass up the opportunity for randomly assigned roommates. #OR RATHER #for 'you seem more or less human - quick let's request each other so we don't have to go into potluck' #I think that works best) #(but maybe they are both international students anyway. that works fine. & therefore extremely alarmed by potluck [can't say they're wrong] #sophie is a sorority girl. english major I think. and I can see her so clearly #(she's the part I want to draw) #she's not that into the high-octane social schedule her sorority expects her to have #but her pushy mother was a member and it is Unthinkable that sophie should not be #and a lot of the other girls are sweet :) so it's fine :) she says #feel like she has roommate issues (unlike her original self she is able to live away from mrs williams so this makes up for that) #so she's always over in jack and stephen's room. people who know her tangentially sometimes gossip about which one she's actually dating #(at that particular moment it is actually neither of them she's just hanging out with stephen) #diana freed from the shackles of 19th century womanhood creates even more and weirder drama than in canon #idk I just want to see the plot of post captain played out over text message #don't ask me HOW idk HOW i just want it #stephen is a biology major/pre-med obvs. if he can survive organic chemistry #jack is some kind of engineering major. I think he'd enjoy that with the math. diana has changed her major 7 times #(I don't know whether to put jack in rotc. I don't think it Actually actually fits - he's in the navy in canon because he's in the navy #not bc he's Inevitably Military In All Worlds. he would not want to do that if he didn't get to sail #but at the same time I find it hard to picture him not belonging to Discipline somehow. #it's more than a disinterested passion for cleanliness that drives him to wash stephen's mug for him that has had coffee and ramen in it #(and NOT in that order) #in the bathroom sink

[soybeenss]

humanity’s biggest crime is letting the syr darya sturgeon go possibly extinct like that was literally the best one

#marine biology #icthyology #sturgeon #syr darya sturgon #if I had it my way I would have an extensive search party prowling the waters day and night #just like they do for all the cute little mammals that everybody freaks out about. like. i see people screaming about the west black rhino #but nobody’s talking about the Chinese paddlefish and smooth handfish and all the other little guys who have gone extinct MUCH more recent #of course the western black rhino is a tragic extinction but I feel like if you’re gonna say you care about animals you should care about #stuff like snakes and bugs and amphibians because they were here earlier and also help keep entire ecosystems together for us

[master-k0hga]

| ... Well, I WAS ok with this last night, but now I'm not entirely happy with this doodle...-

Oh well, not like they're the main focus on this blog, I'm mostly really focusing on my OCs and the other few personal projects here... Although doesn't help with Tumblr just no longer filtering themselves, showing off their true colours for the longest time and also jumping on the "AI" bandwagon too along with just being a dictated lot like the rest of the assholes who make up 100% percentage of all brands-

I'm just a fucking idiot who just wants to draw OCs, post random fcking art and show it off when I'm not fcking working and killing myself over a job that will never release me from the clutches of bullshit!

WHAT WAS SO. FUCKING. HARD ABOUT KEEPING ONLINE AS A DUMBASS PLACE WHERE THERE WAS NO PLAGIARISM, POLITICAL BULLSHIT FOR SITES TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF AND FUCK THEIR OWN USERBASES. WHILE ACTIVELY CONTROLLING AND TAKING THEIR FREEDOM AWAY!

Not like we ever had freedom to begin with-

Twitter, Reddit, YouTube, DeviantART, Instagram, T- HERE! WHEREEVER FUCKING ELSE! Fuck all CEOs and teams of the online world, people just wanted ONE place where they could escape hells of reality even just for a LITTLE WHILE and NOW look what you did- Kill yourselves!! I fcking hate corporates I hate the rich I hate the system and I hate governments all around thr world, D I E ffs fuck humans and their greed I hope this shit ass race gets OBLITERATED with NO fcking trace of the human existence left!! Fucking disease, pests, a literal INFECTION of life itself!

Fuck you fuck you fuck you I hate this fcking world, do me a fcking favor and fcking blow up already!! I've had e-fucking-nough

. Art © Me . DON’T RE-POST .

#..... #AND FUCK YOU TOO!! #........ #MASTER-K0HGA #Ary / Kohga Chronicles #Ary / Kohga OCs and Works #....... #No I'm not gonna fcking tag this shit!! Why tf should I!? #Nobody fcking gives a shit. Let alone the people who are ACTIVELY GETTING MASSACRED TO OBLIVION AND BACK!! #Humans are a fcking selfish lot and you can see it with the cunts who run it! #The cunts we vote for are all vile and evil and desrrve to get shot and killed #The shit ass rich cunts who try to ''influence'' our way of thinking and speaking to benefit themselves #Make themselves more fcking richer or whatever. Dickheads dictating and controlling people's lives #Assholes being cunty assholes who also need to die! Fuck everyone who says the good outways the bad #IT FCKING DOESN'T AND YOU CAN STOP THAT DELUDED BULLSHIT!! HUMANS ARE NOT FREE #WE ARE LIKE ANTS!! WE ARE AN ANT COLONY WHO'S JOB IS TO WORK TIL WE'RE DEAD #THAT'S WHY EVERYTHING THE GOVERNMENT DOES IS TO NOT. BENEFIT. OR. HELP. US #CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL AND THEY JUST GO BACK TO THEIR FCKING YACHTS HAVING- #THE MOST EXPENSIVE SHIT ASS WINES AND DINES WHILE WE WORK OUR ASSES OFF TIL OUR BONES BLEED RED #TIL THERE'S NOT LEFT OF OUR MIND OR ENERGY TO THINK. SPEAK. LISTEN AND FIGHT FOR OURSELVES!! #THIS IS THE REASON WHY PEOPLE CRACK AND KILL EITHER THEMSELVES OR OTHERS!! #EVEN OUR FCKING HARD WORK IS BEING USED AND PROFITED AGAINST US. AND THERE ARE STILL #CORPORATE SHILLS WHO ACTIVELY SUCK THE OPPRESSORS DICK LIKE A LOLLIPOP. YOU'RE BEING UUUUSED!!! #I'M BEING USED. WE'RE ALL BEING FCKING USED AND PEOPE ARE TOO COWARDLY OR DELUDED TO SEE THAT #THEY DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU. ME. OR US. YOU SOLVE ALL ISSUES BY SNUFFING THEM OUT #KILL. THEM #YOU KILL THE OPPRESSORS. THE ONES IN CHARGE WHO USE FALSE HOPE IN EVERY WAY #..... YES I AM FCKING PISSED. I WOKE UP LIKE THIS!! #...... Anyways this is a fairly recent post so. I'm gonna get on with this little art spam for now. #It's been a couple months since I mentioned about it so.. Yeah whatever..

[kabutone]

ppl that still wear a mask regularly you are more punk than anyone else

extra points if you’re in a really shitty area where there’s a bunch of anti maskers/anti vaxxers/overall shitty people around. you are extra more punk than anyone else

and ppl engaging in any kind of community care u are more punk than anyone else it’s about love and care babey!!!!!!

#was talking w a friend who so much braver than i #you WILL care about other ppl #anyway when the gov is pushing deadly misinfo it is NOT punk to just go along with that shit. stand up against it #i know a lot of ppl feel social pressure to not mask bc nobody else is but daring to be brave and stand out should be the norm for u #don’t fall in w the normies dare to be different and care for others. esp if nobody else is #and when i see other queer ppl who don’t mask it’s like.. hey man! did you know a disease wiped out a huge chunk of us in the 80s? #the gov said it was a ‘gay disease’ and of course they wanted gay people to die so they did nothing. they let us die #now that covid has become a ‘only disabled people disease’ do you think it’s ok for the gov to do this again? #i see other hawaiians not masking or even PROUDLY being anti vax #and again i’m like hey man! did you know hawaiians almost completely died out bc of foreign disease? #our land was illegally annexed bc so many hawaiians had died there were too little to fight back! do you think more of us should die? #i’ve heard ppl say if you don’t mask you’re not a leftist and that’s true but it also applies to so many different identities and cultures #it’s like if you claim to care about the earth but you litter on the beach. like do you really care if you can’t do the bare minimum #anyway. if u see this and u need high quality masks literally DM me and i will send you some

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ppl will be explaining how a difference is a difference & not a Deviation from a Superior state, & people who are the ones considered Default Normal (superior) will be like "okay....to be polite....i Might say i consider Some aspects of Some people's existence mere 'difference' & not being less than me...." as like hey i'm a Benevolent god. i still actually get to consider you worse & don't have to "humor" anything that challenges my superiority. if you only want everything to fit into the norm then it will all come back to upholding the norm. thinking of people's analysis of their own realities as equally legimate as being like Obscure, Irrelevant, Superficial & then using that reasoning to justify dismissing them. same as worrying that the [Different Lessers (Others(tm))] as Everywhere = a manifestation of the awareness that, yeah, respecting them as equals Does threaten your norm which is smothering everything everywhere. ppl who need to lock in the idea of Borders around personhood like um Yes they're all delineated separate Identities outside any hierarchy & so i think it's relevant to for some reason push back against "ohh so now Everyone's queer" like why not. why couldn't they be. what if they were. what if queerness was everywhere b/c it's ideological not a cordoned off Alternative Identity that is accommodated by focusing on Love(tm) as the new border around whose existence we might begrudgingly accept at arm's length (i.e. being otherwise "normal"! just imagine swapping out the binary gender (or, deep breath, presumed Private Parts) of one partner in an exclusive romantic lifelong nuclear family marriage, & that is Gay / Trans Rights. still gross but maybe we can do it, as long as they don't talk about it or shove it in our faces or even exist for more than one encounter w/us in our lives b/c what are the odds). evergreen laughing at someone suggesting ableist logic might be embedded in language of past & present b/c it's just So little to ask for that it's irrelevant but it's also So much to ask for that of course i'm not gonna do anything more than pass it along like "this is why i don't take ableism seriously" like yeah it's the disabled randos like it's the individual cringe teens(tm) ruining [the cishets would take Gender seriously otherwise!!!] & that's why you won't think about it or do anything about it & continue being comfortable with the norm & resent that actually their Difference is Less & disability is something worse that ppl "excuse" & all these ways that people are & all these things that they do are funny & weird & inexplicable & etc & one can't possibly be cruising along perpetuating a hierarchy with a sense that you're reasonable, well meaning, kind, etc etc & thus Justified, systemic oppression definitely wants to maximize how uncomfortable & arduous it feels to everyone rather than push to make it more streamlined & rewarding to embrace, or at least accept, whatever superiority over others you're afforded

#circled around to lovelessness as a lens there. so long as one was loving. so long as one wasn't consciously malicious #really just mask off about keeping the same perspective of Superiority when conflating disability & ppl ''making excuses'' #same as like e.g. that ppl consider everything an autistic person does as being Bad / Wrong / Worse. (this includes ''unskilled''!!!) #(crushing the Social Skills(tm) framework in talking abt allistic difference in my fist) #such that they think sm1 saying Autistic!! is then something they might be unfairly Beholden to to Put Up With their Wrongness #at special times in special scenarios....rather than like in some contexts you are no more ''right'' than the other party #different groups & cultures whose Norms Standards & Expectations could render You presumed rude thoughtless pushy etc #obvious overlaps to consider re: the Norms of like english speaking as ''universal'' someone noticeably speaking it as nth language? #time to Presume their ideas & contributions are Less. if they had the good brain like you their fluency would render their linguistic #Wrongness in having a diff 1st language invisible thus irrelevant. like the ''ideal'' for disability! as the ''ideal'' for anyone Passing #in any way! queer ppl surely all want to be as proximate to cishet ideals (just as cishet ppl should!) nonwhite ppl to Ideal White #women's rights = Proving they're As Good As men. ladies you're using too many exclamation points!! be Confident be Pushier!! #but ofc nobody actually wants the Others(tm) to be Equal. they're just saying ''it's your innate Wrongness that means you Aren't'' #the ableism logic in everything. men just Are better at xyz. oh we Can abuse autists...into being as proximate to allistic as possible!! #just actually means ''oh we Can abuse autists.'' the ''correctness'' is your Difference ''intruding'' less into allistic existence #force you to be harmed & diminished all day then save your meltdowns for when you're alone & out of the way #ppl's tweets like ''when ppl say 'omg too sensitive ofc i wasn't talking abt disabled ppl!' like yeah no shit b/c you never think of #disabled ppl'' like yeah most people idk aren't making their life's agenda to stop everyone from saying Stupid #but like believe me people organically sense the Vintage R words when you get called Idiot in exactly the same spirit & purpose #i mean that's so rworded as in that's so gay!! cmon!! & it's fine if you don't say either to gay ppl or. or. [insert the office quote] #oh i don't call um 20th c disabled ppl morons it's bad taste!! but b/c i use it Figuratively in the present it's fine it's so Different #fr i can't remember like. an article w/1 matter of fact sentence from a doctor using a [now Just a childish insult!!] as Diagnostic Label #for someone's disability & it still registered like ice water in the face. presumably no ''especial'' Malice just matter of fact! #it wasn't ''idiot'' it may have been ''moron'' fr. the vintage ''factual'' r word is There plain as day #like yeah ofc the ableism gets channeled into alternate language. & then complaints abt that is like UGH CMON!!! #like idk shouldn't you be fine using the R word then too? not really sweating this issue thee most all thee time either but like #it's not sooo funny even if someone seems pressed extensively abt it. not that hard to in fact just not use all these words all the time #ppl will be throwing out their ableism w/o Any labels talking about how Weird Offputting Etc someone acts so you can Tell they're bad.... #and yeah you should think abt that. anytime. the [difference used to categorize ''other'' is Just difference] Is Everywhere All The Time #the idea it can & should be ''contained'' for especial limited specific occasions (when you're feeling Nice!) = upholding the status quo

[naamahdarling]

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#controversial take but families should not have more influence over mental health policy than the actual patients #yet again i see another initiative pushed by loved ones that will make things less safe for patients #sorry bad shit happened to your loved one but you can't call for worse treatment of psych patients and call it right #the only people who should have a voice in this are actual patients #not doctors not families not legislators nobody but patients #everyone else get out because it isn't your well-being at risk #so much seems to be about preventing families from suffering #so thay nobody will have to go through what they did #that's...not how you help patients #you can only help patients only by listening to patients #anything pushed by other parties that does good does it mostly by accident #because they sure aren't looking at what WE go through and what we say is best for US #wards are prisons and prisons are inherently violent and surveillance meant to increase interventions that funnel patients into wards #is a form of violence and abuse #abolishing prisons means abolishing psych wards as well so make a note of that #and don't EVER support ANY measure that increases ANY scrutiny of patients because it puts patients in danger of wrongful incarceration #based on the whim of what may be one trainee therapist a school counselor or Christ help you a fucking COP #increasing access to mental health care should not ever involve a mechanism making it easier to send patients inpatient for their own good #starting to think the whole thing isn't worth keeping as it is #doctors and psychs are primarily gatekeepers and cops anymore and it's ridiculous that I should have to walk on eggshells #to access second-rate care #the lunatics SHOULD be running the asylum because they're the only people a fellow lunatic can trust #takes that will get you burned at the stake

[luvevee]

Liking a slightly-less bad/more liked pokemon character doesn't mean you get to be rude to people who like bad/less-liked pokemon characters

#this isn't directed at anyone btw cuz i know people in that fandom space talk about it #but like bro don't be those guys #thing is those same people like characters like n or volo or silver #'but n was-' n stalked a child/lured them into a secluded area and lied to get them in a small space/was cool with destroying life as known #'but volo didn't-' volo lied to a child because they were useful to his plan and became a trusting figure because of that #he literally tried to rob and kill a child in the most desolate part of hisui after confessing he and giratina opened the rift #also he bothers ingo instantly about his memory loss on first meeting him like bro ask him about his outfit or smthin #'but silver's-' yes silver is a child but also before he grew he was a*usive towards his pokemon and robbed the professor #you can make the same argument for just about every liked character that they did something wrong in the games/manga/show etc #some are mistakes and some are a*usive things but they still get more likeness #literally nobody is washing characters like ghetsis of their background #yes he's shitty and a*usive nobody is saying he's not #same for lusamine or giovanni or whoever #nobody is saying 'they're just my little uwu' and being serious about it #people find charm and even comfort in those characters for different reasons #when someone does that but washes the problems away/uwu-fies them is when it's like ok it's time to stop #but otherwise no it's fine #and also people understand that in prison-arcs or ideas the original point of jail is to rehabilitate #characters like ghetsis receiving therapy is actually good and what a imprisonment system should be doing #punishment and rehab go hand in hand that's the point #and yeah they're not ever gonna be let back into society for the majority but like they're still needing that treatment #'why should they get therapy' so they don't do those shitty things again to the extent they did before #like if the only option is to let a shitty person live then why not give them therapy so they at least say 'damn fine i'll behave a little' #like don't go at people who like complex and shitty characters and just say 'well you have problems' #first of all we know lmao #second of all that's pretty shitty to assume certain things of a stranger because of media critically consumed #like idk maybe they just like this dumb shithead who got roundhouse kicked by a 10 year old #i like ghetsis and i would still pay to see nintendo make a canon animation of him getting bitchslapped #like i'm just saying #rosebud posting 💐