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magpie-murder · 6 months

Text

it'd be wild if they gave asgard's citizens phones in marvel i bet they'd have the best drama

20 notes

👴🏻 is-odin-dead-yet

No.

#date: 2023/11/23 #when will he croak #i've been running this blog for centuries #frigga for allfather #kick the bucket already i'm getting bored of posting here

112 notes

⛈️ god-of-thunder

I come to Tumblr with a regretful update. As you may know, my family and our fiercest warriors have been traveling between realms in search of our stolen relics.

While attempting to recover one, my brother lost his life in battle while protecting us. He shielded me with his body. My brother died a hero.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

May he reach Folkvangr. My deepest condolences. But I thought Baldur was impervious to all harm...?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

It was Loki. :( I'm devastated.

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Oh.

🐍 magic-theatre

is that all you can muster? "oh." you thought i was dead, and that's it? that's all you have? what do you mean by that? let's talk. :)

⛈️ god-of-thunder

You're alive? Where are you?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Wait, what happened to @einherjarl? He deactivated?

⛈️ god-of-thunder

Loki?

23,034 notes

🎨 bragis-apprentice

Just finished custom making this handle

#metalwork #artists on tumblr #double sided axe #my art

2 notes

⚔️ aesir-warrior-tournament

⚡️LIGHTNING ROUND⚡️

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

Lady Sif is not one of The Warriors Three. It says it in the name. There are three of them. Not four.

Correct this.

✨️ the-dashingest

I voted for Sif.

🪓 valiant-festivals

I voted for Sif.

🔺️ grim-warrior

I voted for Sif.

✨️ the-dashingest

Wait, Hogun? But you didn't tell us you had a phone?

🔺️ grim-warrior

I don't.

#lady sif propaganda #lightning round #poll reblog #only one more round after this! #i'm so glad lady sif doesn't have tumblr lol #i hope you guys dont mind that a mortal is running this blog btw #i really didnt expect any of you to see this 😬 #and srry for the reblog spam #also hogun lol

1,879 notes

🐍 magic-theatre

i see your thirst edits, you sick freaks.

#start tagging me in them #and/or sending them to me

689 notes

⛵️ modern-technologist Follow

umm i'm in ohio to visit my parents and there's like. um . a giant wolf running alongside my car? i'd call animal control but this thing is ginormous and i don't think that would do anything.

it doesnt have a leash or anything (obv its bigger than my car) but it's covered in chains. what do i do??

@identifying-d𝚘gs-in-posts ??

🐕 identifying-dogs-in-posts Follow

Fenrir Lokison?

#😨

197 notes

✨️ the-dashingest

I really don't think Loki is that bad. Sure, he's had a rocky history, but I don't think he's done anything worthy of scorn. Besides, hasn't he just died and come back or something like that, anyway? He has a blank slate, in my book.

#is it just me? #i hear people saying we should banish or kill him #i find that idea preposterous #he's just misunderstood

208 notes

einherjarl-deactivated20231120

I'm not going to @ them, but ugh... Someone I'm acquainted with just died in battle, and honestly? I'm so relieved. Is that terrible? Don't answer that, I know that it is. I'll probably delete this in a few hours.

🐍 magic-theatre

that's what you get for vagueing.

cowards don't go to valhalla.

10,560 notes

🔮 alchemist-aura Follow Sponsored with Blaze 🔥

buy my potions! i'm having a Thor's Day sale! you can get an invisibility concoction for only 3 gold today! cheapest prices in the market! don't let that einar guy force you to pay 230 gold for a wyvern tooth when you can purchase an authentic one HERE from my brand new online shop

#alchemists on tumblr #all natural potions #freelance potion seller #potion grinds #handmade potions #potionmaker #potion seller #invisibility potion #wyvern tooth #einar has competition #stay hustling 💪 #please check out my shop link i worked really hard on it #:) #:))

#i know they're all ooc i was just trying to amuse myself #loki #thor #fandral the dashing #moon queen and magic theatre #loki marvel #marvel thor #marvel asgard #marvel #thor odinson #dashboard simulator #the warriors three #odin allfather

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dragonpropaganda · 6 months

Note

you should talk about your thoughts on rw fanon (looking with huge eyes)

Oh god, there's a lot of major misconceptions have concreted into fanon, mostly around ancient society and ascension.

First things first! Ascension is not death! They are entirely separate things treated entirely separately by the text of the game. I can see where the interpretation is coming from, but it doesn't really align with how the text treats either subject. Five Pebbles may want to remove the self destruction taboo, but from his reaction to the rot it's clear that he doesn't want to die. Conflation of ascension and death only comes up as an offhand possibility that pebbs makes on iterator 4chan, when he's going into the possibilities of scenarios that even the other sliverists are doubtful of! (let me make clear that I am not a sliverist by any means)

Ascension is more of talked about as a form of transcendence, yeah? A Bell, Eighteen Amber Beads talks about their sitution as being "To have grasped at the boundless infinites of the cosmic void…", not as them seeking an end to life.

The beta dialogue goes into more detail, mentioning the "infinities of time and space" and the "boundless fractal planes of spirit and reality...", though this dialogue was cut and it's hard to tell how much it reflects the concept as in the released game.

As for the cultural misconceptions... there's A Lot to talk about, but the first that comes to mind is the common conflation of the five natural urges and the christian concept of sin.

It is true that the negation of urges is mentioned by moon as an alternative method of ascension, but much of what we know about the culture of the people who the fandom calls the ancients (which makes discussion of the depths a mess but that's something for another post entirely) points towards the urges not being seen as shameful.

Even the first urge does not seem to be particularly scorned! Being a warrior is presented as a cause for bragging in the Shaded Citadel pearl, being comparable with being an artist and a fashion legend. The second urge, also does not seem to be suppressed. Multiple sources attribute some level of honour to parenthood! The aforementioned pearl also mentions Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel as being a "Mother, Father and Spouse" without any hint of shamefulness. Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections expresses pride about having progeny, mentioning it alongside their owned land and esteem among their peers.

After some peer review, an esteemed friend has told me to add a section on purposed organisms as well! This is not so much my area, so I might be a bit off on some things.

As moon says, the majority of purposed organisms were tubes in boxes, and that the primal fauna of the world are almost entirely extinct. A lot of the fandom seems to ignore the first part, and i can't say I blame them, but the evolution of the creatures is so much weirder than people think.

Concept art for the creatures has this interesting quality to it, where the organic parts of the creatures have an almost... melty quality to them.

In the concept art, the flesh appears as if it's almost defying the machinery to form an animal shape. It's as if it's conquering its own artificiality the way the foliage grows over the (stone, brick and concrete, not mostly metal as some think!) ruins.

Of course, it's hard to really tell how much of this reflects the finalised concept, most of the integration is much smoother in the game, in line with a seamless kind of biomechanical design. There was always an intention of biomechanical strangeness, as shown in this screenshot of the devlog before the term "slugcat" even existed!

That said, the melty nature of the concept art shows a level of wild change inherent the biomechanical nature of the creatures, as if they truly are the result of these "tubes in boxes" almost revolting against their own boxes.

and considering centipedes... some tubes may not have had boxes in the first place!

#rain world #rain world lore #rainworld #rw spoilers #please note! my role in downpour development does not make me an authority on what is canon or not!#my domain is entirely within challenge mode and arena which aren't canon anyway #my lore analysis is just lore analysis with no looks behind the scenes of anything vanilla #downpour was made as a fan expansion and the rewrites were just done directly by james #we didn't get any disambiguation on the lore (and thank fuck for that honestly. analysis is the best part)#though the hills ARE made of bricks #this is canon not because i say so but because it is visibly true in some areas of the game. part of the text and thus canon. weep.#i could go into more detail on most of this! purposed organisms aren't my area of expertise tho so i might be a bit shaky on some of that #anyway if anyone has any fact checking to do. please do so #media analysis is a dialogue!

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verysium · 4 months

Note

Hi please ignore this if you aren't taking requests but I have this very specific idea if you could do it:

Sae cheating on Model S/O with their rival model right before a big modeling competition which the now ex S/O wins and to kinda take revenge the now Ex S/O saying to the rival model "say hello to Sae for me"

I know this is super specific and it's up to you if you would like to take this request or not I'm currently looking for a modelling agency IRL

i took some creative liberties with this one. it was heavily inspired by yasmeen khan's 1001 nights. i do not know much about professional modeling, so most of the actual references are obscure. hopefully, this works for you though:

instead of a heart, you were born with a wound, a three-by-five inch gash that allowed the light to pass through.

doubt festers like an aperture, a brief shutter of the lens before your eyes blink away all uncertainty. in the confines of your dressing room, the mirror replaces your face with sloshing light, the silver streams of your reflection dripping down through stained fingers. it's nothing compared to the brightness of your screen, the damning evidence of a murder scene splattered across dry text.

who the hell is she? what do you mean? are you fucking cheating on me sae?

there's a knock on your door. it's alessandro, the stylist. his voice cuts through the silence, reedy and skin-tight. he wants to know why you've walked off mid-shoot, when you'll be back to rejoin the other girls on set. you think twice before you respond to his call, taking a deep breath before you face your interrogation.

there's blood on your gown, right above where your heart used to be. a fist-sized prism flashes within your chest, shot through with the hue of your arteries. crimson for the knife-thin glint in your eyes. poppy for the withered petals of your lips. scarlet for the salt encrusting your mouth. ruby for the iron ore of your tongue. red was always your color.

the photographers line up before you, judgement painted on their faces, both sets of eyes unblinking. tears with mascara make a good cover shoot, but a scornful lover with his other woman make for an even better story. you've long run out of tears to cry, tried your hand in the art of storytelling. the only way you know how to love is to angle your face towards a crowd, to bite your lip until it bleeds. your smile never wavers in its sharpness, every confession clasped tightly between white teeth.

snap, snap: once upon a time, there was a boy who weaved lies. click, click: once upon a time, there was a girl who fell for them. flash, flash: once upon a time, this could have been a love story.

there are harder things to hold than a pose, and your resolve becomes nigh unbreakable. in front of every shattering bulb, you hold strong against the impact force of time. your body is sanctified in the golden light, a yellowed blade across the horizon.

perhaps the next girl would be softer, bleeding flowers into aching mouths. perhaps the next girl would be beautiful.

but for now, you remain cold and hard and bright. you stare directly at the sun. you crush every bud beneath your fingertips, cut your flesh on its thorns. down to its very bone, every wound becomes a scar, every smile becomes a story.

when the shoot wraps up and the other woman steps in, you grin with enough light to cut shadows into her body.

"you're his new girl, right? say hello to sae for me."

#asks #fics #blue lock #bllk drabbles #bllk imagines #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk angst #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x y/n #sae itoshi x you #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader

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ghostlytide · 1 month

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For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #swann arlaud x reader

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percheduphere · 6 months

Text

LET’S TALK ABOUT EXPLORING LOKI & MOBIUS THROUGH THE LENS OF QUEER EXPERIENCE

Thank you for this request, @nabananab

Before I dig into this juicy ask, I think it’s important to note (however obvious the fact maybe) that an individual’s unique engagement with art is an inherent and integral part of art. The intention of the artist and the sociopolitical influence of culture, while important in our interpretation of a work, are not the sole source of drawing the work’s meaning. We are all artists in one form or another. I consider myself one of the pen, and nothing is more important to me than art giving someone a sense of emotional connection. I should hope other artists would agree, and for this reason I am an ardent believer in art taking on a life of its own once it has been created. The creator’s word, while it matters to some degree, does not supersede an individual’s relationship with the creation. Our histories, our desires, our fears, our likes, our dislikes, indeed our infiniteness as fragile human beings, allow us to create an elevated, spiritual interpretation beyond the confines of original intent. With art, there is no such thing as “reaching” or “reading too deeply”.

I leave this message with all of you as we look at these beloved characters through the lens of queer experience.

LOKI

Culture influences what we see and hear, which in turn influences artistic portrayal. Setting aside Norse myth, Marvel’s Loki is a classic example of a queer-coded villain (later canonized as a queer antihero). Deception, daggers, sexual temptation, transformation, and magic are all culturally tied to the “immoral” facets of femininity. Just as a strong, independent woman untethered to the control of man is deemed a “wicked woman”, a man demonstrating gender ambiguity and like qualities is similarly judged. Only masculinity is viewed as pure and good, and this no doubt was—and continues to be—a key force in white, western colonization’s destructiveness. It all but crushed our rich global history of divine femininity, gender diversity, and romantic and sexual expression.

Asgard, as Marvel portrays it, is without a doubt a masculine-dominant warrior society. Only two women feature prominently: Queen Frigga and Lady Sif. Whereas Sif embraces her masculine qualities and fits in easily with Thor and the Warriors Three, Queen Frigga embraces her feminine powers, though her authority is submissive to the All-Father, Odin. Her influence is most heavily seen in her adopted son, Loki, with whom she shared and taught magic in hopes that Loki might “feel some sun on himself” despite the “long shadows [Thor] and [Odin]” cast. The magic that Frigga gifts Loki, however, attracts scorn. The subtext here is that Loki’s specialness, his individuality, comes from feminine powers despite presenting as a man, and a gender ambiguous one at that. Unlike Thor and Odin, he is not masculine. While strong, he does not exhibit Thor’s brute strength. He is cautious, thoughtful, another feminine quality, whereas Thor’s courageousness often veers toward foolhardy and brash.

Thus, if Loki cannot be loved and accepted as he is (a queer person of another race), he will force love and acceptance through the power of the throne. Kings oft inspire fear, coercing subjects to love them whether they wish to or not. But we know Loki never truly wanted the throne. The throne is a mere distraction from, perhaps even a poor replacement for, what he truly wants: genuine love and acceptance that cannot be bought. Unfortunately, Loki believes he will never get these things, which is why, when Mobius questions him, Loki’s desire for control (Loki, King of the Midgard; Loki, King of the Nine Realms; Loki, King of Space) can never be satiated. Mobius challenges Loki for the exact purpose of revealing this to him. What do you really want? At this point, Loki does not have the words to form an answer. In S2E5, Syvlie raises the question Mobius originally asked in S1E1. It is then, after experiencing Mobius’s friendship and the other relationships that come to being as a result (including Sylvie’s), that Loki can articulate his answer.

Loki’s othering, even before the discovery of his true identity as a Jotun (an allegory for a villainized foreign race), creates a lonely environment in which Loki’s potential for goodness is quashed by centuries of resentment, bitterness, and jealousy. His attempts at masculinity take the form of violence, all of which are, as Loki admits in S1E1, “part of the illusion; the cruel elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Loneliness and the desire for love and acceptance are a universal human experience, but they are felt far more acutely within our intersectional queer communities.

MOBIUS

His fascination with Loki is compelling because there are many things we can infer about its reasons. The first, most obvious explanation is Mobius’s “soft spot for broken things”, which is in some ways tied to his qualities as a compassionate, forgiving, and supportive father. A secondary explanation is a wish for partnership. We know from S1 that Mobius’s friendship with Ravonna spanned eons. We later learn in S2E6 that he and Ravonna started out as peers, hunters. They were partners on the field, but where Mobius “failed” because of his humanity, Ravonna “advanced” because of her ruthlessness. This change in relational dynamics left him partner-less. Finally, a third, less obvious reason is Mobius’s desire to express himself in ways Loki does so effortlessly. That desire may come from the suppression and repression of his own softspoken queerness in order to survive the fascist culture of the TVA.

Mobius is captivating for many reasons. Whereas Loki is a textbook example of culture viewing “queerness as evil”, “queerness as flamboyance”, “queerness as stylishness”, “queerness as loudness”, “queerness as sexual promiscuity and deviance”, “queerness as chaos”, Mobius very much aligns with the image of a straight-passing, repressed queer individual. This is an identity that does not get as much attention or presence in artistic media as it deserves, for there are many who need this representation to reflect them. He is not stereotypically queer by any means: he is not colorful. He is not stylish, flamboyant, or loud. His sex appeal primarily derives from the viewers’ attraction to his personality, though it certainly helps that Owen Wilson is quite handsome.

Combine these three reasons, and it becomes easy to see how a character (or person!) like Mobius might fall in love with a character (or person!) like Loki.

There is a certain amount of beautiful irony in how Loki and Mobius affect one another and consequently their identities. Mobius, feeling compassion toward an individual who has been brutally othered and oppressed, seeks to free Loki from the confines of his narrative, as determined by the “Time Keepers”. The only feasible way to do this is to bring a variant of Loki out of the timeline and into the TVA. Mobius then provides Loki with the opportunity to change by: acknowledging Loki’s strengths, giving Loki the chance to use his strengths in productive ways, praising Loki when he does well, listening to Loki, believing in Loki, calling out Loki, and accepting Loki as he is, with all his history, without judgement. Mobius does not try to force change like Thor or Odin. Rather, he creates an environment in which change could happen naturally. This kindness and, indeed, what becomes unconditional love by the end of S1E4, allows Loki to embrace his authentic queerness with self-love and use his feminine powers for altruism rather than masking them with self-hatred and masculine rage.

FREEING LOKI

In S1E1, Mobius is enthralled with Loki’s hijinks as the handsome, charming, devil-may-care, D.B. Cooper. This minor escapade in Loki’s life, which was likely only intended for laughs by the writer, reveals something interesting about Mobius: Loki’s mischievousness, his magic, his cunning, are all quite endearing to him when no real harm is being inflicted. That is, Loki, when not under duress, is someone to be admired when he’s being himself. We admire in people what we wish we had in ourselves, and this, at times, may lead to powerful attraction.

Loki, for his part, does much the same for Mobius. The environment (the TVA) which allowed Loki to thrive is also the same environment that has abused and constrained Mobius.

The heat that Ravonna presses upon Mobius, however, changes his tone with Loki himself. When Loki asks Mobius why he “[sticks] his neck out for [him]”, Mobius provides Loki with two options to choose from: “A. He sees a scared little boy shivering in the cold, or B. He will say whatever he needs to say to get the job done”. Option A, while insulting, has compassion layered beneath the barb. Loki, an expert at cloaking truth with meanness, sees through this and indirectly chooses what he believes to be true in the cafeteria scene: that Mobius feels sympathy for Loki’s painful childhood. The subtext of this acknowledgement is that the true means to the end is reversed: Mobius doesn’t need Loki to catch the Variant on the timelines. Mobius needs the Variant to free Loki from the timelines. The Variant is an excuse and another agent of poetic irony: when Sylvie unleashes the multiverse, she literally frees Loki of his predetermined narrative.

The conceit of S1E1 is that Mobius intends to use Loki for the “good” of the Sacred Timeline. It is important to remember that characters, while not real, are meant to mirror human complexity. Multiple, seemingly conflicting things may be true concurrently. In S1E2, we see in Mobius’s conversations with Ravonna that he deeply believes in Loki’a capacity to be a wonderful person and wants him to have the opportunity to change. His enthusiasm for these things outshines his desire to catch Sylvie.

And, because the Variant is Loki, because Sylvie is Loki, because, as she says, “[they] are the same”, Mobius’s own freeing of Loki, his unconditional love for him, cascades from Loki to Sylvie. Sylvie would not be free to live as she pleases if not for Mobius’s compassion for Loki in the first place.

In S1E4, Loki reveals the TVA’s sham. Mobius’s sense of self becomes fragile alongside his sense of partnership with Loki. But because of our sociopolitical culture’s influence on capitalism, the creative voices of the Loki series self-censures what could be (what is) a queer romance. This self-censureship makes itself known in Mobius’s own self-censureship. His jealousy and heartbreak cannot be spoken directly. It must be spoken through the words of a woman, someone who presents as the opposite sex. Through a looping memory of a scornful Sif telling Loki, “You are alone and always will be”, Mobius makes known the nature of his feelings for him.

BUT WHO WILL FREE MOBIUS?

In the same cafeteria scene in S1E2, Loki asks Mobius if he’s ever ridden a jet ski. Mobius’s response is demure, saying him riding one would “cause a branch for sure”. The jet ski gives the audience another clue as to what Mobius seeks in life: something fun, thrilling, and reckless. Yet Mobius sets aside his desires for what he believes is for the good of the TVA, and thus humanity. This suppression and repression of authentic selfhood mirrors the queer experience of living within a heteronormative culture, especially one with religious doctrines that equate pleasure with sinfulness.

Because Mobius extended his heart, his partnership, his love (symbolized by twin daggers hidden in his locker [a closet]; notably a male phallic symbol of which there are a pair [partners]) and was soundly rejected, Mobius retaliates with the loneliness he himself feels. This loneliness may be interpreted as an allegory for the loneliness of being closeted as opposed to the loneliness of being out but othered.

Ultimately, Mobius’s love for Loki shifts from selfish desire to unconditional love when he chooses to help Loki save Sylvie. In S1E5, it is conspicuous that after delivering Sylvie safely to Loki’s side, Mobius’s partings words are, “Guess you got away again”, to which Loki replies, “I always do”, which echos the lover’s trope of “the one that got away”.

[It drives me absolutely bananas that I can't find the specific gif I need when I literally saw it multiple times earlier this week but didn't need it THEN]

Owen’s acting choice is interesting here. He laughs, smiles, then looks down before looking up again, his eyes shifting from fondness to what feels like longing. Mobius extends his hand, a sensible choice for someone who believes his love is unrequited and is unsure of how Loki defines their relationship. Loki, appreciating what Mobius has done for him, closes the distance with an embrace and thanks Mobius for his friendship.

In S2E1, upon Loki’s time-slipping into the war room, whatever apprehensions Mobius had about physical contact was wiped away by the collapse of the TVA and the memory of Loki’s hug. In this scene, it becomes clear to Mobius that Loki is panicking. He makes the executive decision to use his physical contact as a grounding force, relocates Loki to a quiet environment, asks after Sylvie with no bitterness in his voice, then prioritizes Loki’s physical well-being. Perhaps, in Mobius’s view, his love is unrequited, but there is nothing in place to stop him from expressing that love more freely while honoring Loki’s feelings for Sylvie. This regard, which may be construed as platonic, may also be viewed romantic, courtly love.

The fight between Loki and Sylvie in S1E6 sets the stage for Mobius to receive Loki and become a refuge for heartbreak.

S2E2 and S2E3 has Loki’s and Mobius’s temperaments when it comes to investigating flipped. In S1, Mobius was focused on the mission and often had to reign in Loki. In S2, Mobius is more casual, more willing to take his time and enjoy the sleuthing as it unfolds, while Loki administers pressure to stay focused. The question is why?

In S2E2, Brad attacks Mobius’s sense of self. He points out how weird it is that Mobius is not at all curious about looking at his timeline and stresses that the TVA, and everything in it, isn’t real. Brad calls into question Mobius’s reason for staying. Knowing that the answer is Loki, we can surmise through the queer lens that Brad also corners Mobius into potentially outing himself in front of the object of his affections, someone he believes does not return his feelings, and whose knowledge of those feelings may threaten their friendship. This is a traumatic experience for queer people in the real world, and this extra layer of emotional conflict adds depth to Mobius’s violent response.

Mobius influenced Loki in a myriad of ways. One that has not been discussed yet is an appreciation for focus and order. Loki, in turn, has cracked the door open for Mobius to explore pleasure. We can speculate that, in his own way, Mobius is testing what happiness could look like living a life between the TVA and the timelines. For him, this means cocktails at the theater, cracker jacks, and exploring the World’s Fair, all of which are pleasurable on their own but are even more so with Loki’s company. His queerness, once again, is quiet, mundane, but playful in its own right, and finally brave enough to explore. These scenes suggest that Mobius is indeed happy at the TVA and, as we see in the finale, this happiness is solely rooted in his relationship with Loki and the emotional intimacy they share together.

Loki expresses concern for Mobius, noting that he has “never seen him like that before.” Mobius, interestingly, deflects every concern by absurdly blaming Loki: “He got under your skin”, “I was following you!” The psychological undercurrent here is that Loki is the reason why Brad got under Mobius skin. Loki is the person that Mobius will follow.

Loki takes Mobius’s distress in stride, responding in a way the Mobius normally would. However, Brad’s question piques his interest, and his own care for Mobius prompts him to gently challenge Mobius’s lack of interest in his own timeline. Mobius’s reason for avoidance is, “What if it’s something good?”

In S2E5, it’s interesting that “good” in this narrative is defined as a heteronormative fantasy of a house, two kids, and (possibly) a puppy and a snake. The “good” in Mobius’s original timeline, however, is imperfect. There is a partner that is missing (partners being a recurring theme in the series, particularly in S2E3), pronounced gone not once but twice. The entire scene between Don and Loki has been discussed at length by many, so there’s no need to reiterate it here. However, let’s bring our attention to Mobius’s avoidance of this “good” because this avoidance resonates with another queer experience.

The TVA, for Mobius, is the place where he studied, saved, and developed a close relationship with Loki. The fear of the “something good” is the fear of being confronted with something Mobius “should” want more than the TVA, and therefore “should” want more Loki. The fear is wanting something (or feeling pressured to want something) other than a queer relationship with no children. The question of “choice” is impacted by what is considered the “norm”.

S2E5 very pointedly focuses on the concern of choice, especially Mobius’s choice, in the bar scene between Loki and Sylvie. “Mobius should get a choice now, no?” At this point, Loki’s regard for Mobius has finally caught up with the romantic nature of Mobius’s feelings for him. And Loki, living his own queer experience, is also afraid of his true desires like Mobius. In being part of the intersectional queer community, the psychological need to guard against disappointment is high and commonplace. Desires are easily disappointed by the expectations of oppressive social mores. This survival tactic manifests itself with our hope and heartbreak with mainstream media, Loki the series being among them.

But Sylvie, the harbinger of true and absolute freedom, takes on the role of supportive ex and challenges Loki to answer Mobius’s question in S1E1: “What do you want?”

In this, Mobius and Loki’s individual relationships with the TVA are identical. It was never about where (the TVA), when (time works differently at the TVA), or why (the timelines). It was about who. It was about each other. The TVA represents a liminal space which became home by virtue of the people who brought love into it. The TVA is code for Loki and Mobius when each speaks of it.

Again, the artists behind the media must self-censure. In this, Loki also self-censures while giving the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. I want my friends back.” It cannot be denied that Mobius is Loki’s first truest and closest friend. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Mobius back.” Sylvie appreciates and validates this desire, but also points out that showing the TVA is something that cannot be unseen. The implication of this response suggests that Sylvie believes that Loki’s friends will feel compelled to join the TVA out of moral pressure. She reiterates the true lives that are being lived, and Loki, loving his friends, loving Mobius, elects to not take that away from them. “You are just fine without the TVA.”

Yet, Loki must choose an act of profound selfless love to save everyone. In doing so, he saves and frees Mobius in the way Mobius saved and freed him. The tragedy and, once again, poetic irony is that they both would have chosen each other. In giving everyone freedom, the true freedom of Loki and Mobius is sacrificed. This double-standard reflects in our reality between those who identify as cis and heterosexual and those who do not.

When Mobius looks at his timeline in S2E6, he does so for one reason: that timeline survived because of Loki’s sacrifice. He must honor that sacrifice and see what Loki protected. Mobius appreciates what he finds, but he doesn’t belong there. It is not what he ultimately longs for. And there must be worry, shame, in recognizing he would prefer to give up the house and two children if a life with Loki were a viable choice.

We all experience loss in our lives. Loss without a goodbye is also commonplace but is another pain that is more acute within the intersectional queer community. I speak of missed opportunities for happiness due to external forces. I speak of loss of self. I speak of loss of friends and family and home. I speak of death, losing a loved one without a goodbye, because same-sex lovers are not considered next of kin, an impossibility without marriage. Marriage echoes back to Don, who has no spouse, and Mobius, who has no partner.

#asks #loki #mobius #lokius #loki season 2 #loki series #loki meta #my meta #loki analysis #my analysis #queer community #queer #queer representation #queer relationships #lgbt representation #lgbtq community #lgbtqia

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dragonomatopoeia · 5 months

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Air's Bizarre Christmas Rom-Com Reclist

I am a fan of Romance Media, but even more importantly, a fan of mediocre art. As such, I have watched a lot of christmas romcoms. I have in fact watched Too Many christmas romcoms. While freelancing between jobs, I would put them on in the background as mindless noise to keep me company while writing copy.

This means that I am uniquely positioned to create a rec list of christmas rom-coms that meet a very specific set of criteria:

Is the movie interesting enough to make me actually Watch it instead of half-listening to it in the background?

Are elements of the plot bizarre enough to make me yell "WHAT" at the screen?

Would I rewatch the movie in the company of friends?

Any movie that fulfills all three of these criteria is eligible to join those privileged few, the elite ranks of My Christmas Rom-Com Rec List

A Chance for Christmas (2021)

Synopsis: "Influencer Christina Chance gets the opportunity of a lifetime: a lucrative sponsorship from the brand of her dreams. However, she soon discovers she's stuck in a time warp where the same Christmas Eve repeats itself over and over again." Commentary: This is a Tubi original, and it lives up to all the mess that status bestows. That established, my favorite parts of this movie are that the main character and love interest have the same kind of obsessive, perfection-driven marketing brain poison that lead them to try to min-max a time loop and learn zero lessons for the vast majority of the movie. There's a kind of frenetic, self-absorbed energy to each of the characters that's fascinating to watch. At one point the main character attacks a man dressed like Santa in an act of misdirected rage, and the love interest holds her concerned family back while yelling "SHE NEEDS THIS LET HER GO SHE NEEDS THIS". Also, the kids are actual characters with inner lives instead of props! There are structural issues with the movie, and in my perfect world, the protagonist would quit her influencer job, but overall, I enjoyed it.

A Christmas Movie Christmas (2019)

Synopsis: "A Christmas movie fanatic and her cynical sister wake up to find they are now the stars of a Christmas movie." Commentary: I have a soft place in my heart for scripts written by actors who have been trapped in this Christmas purgatory for years. There's a certain sensitivity to The Way Words Work that is nonexistent in most of these films. Especially since this industry relies on Never Retaking Any Line Read Ever because these movies are basically made on an assembly line. That is to say, this movie is a love letter and a list of grievances wrapped together in a metatextual bow. All of its jabs at the genre feel like they come from a place of familiarity rather than scorn, and the actors are obviously having fun. Line deliveries and elements of blocking feel like they have actual character work put into them, and one of the love interests feels like a Christmas Homunculi with no understanding that a world other than snowglobes and sugar cookies exists. But on purpose this time! If he encountered a turtle flipped on its back, he'd start feeding it christmas cookies, and the movie is Very Aware of This. It's fun.

Baby It's Cold Inside (2021)

Synopsis: "When a travel agent up for a promotion is directed to forget her tropical vacation and instead visit the world-famous Ice Hotel, she discovers that her sacrifices are more than compensated." Commentary: I'll be honest. This one is mostly here because the editing choices made me feel like I was losing my mind. I ended up dragging my roommate down to the living room at multiple points so that they could witness the same thing I was seeing. The jarring cuts, dropped story beats, and lines that lead nowhere make for an unforgettable viewing experience... except for the part where I have forgotten literally every other element of the movie. Except for the inexplicably evil love rival who becomes niceys at the end. I like her. Girlboss. This isn't even the only Hallmark movie that was set at and filmed at Hôtel de Glace in 2021. Truly the most Hallmark movie on this list.

Christmas Perfection (2018)

Synopsis: "Darcy's been striving for the perfect Christmas since childhood; thanks to a magical figurine her dream finally comes true." Commentary: I have already written up my thoughts on Christmas Perfection in EXTENSIVE detail here. Needless to say, I watch it every year. What a fascinating text. What an odd timeloop. It should have been gay.

Snowmance (2017)

Synopsis: "Each year Sarah builds her "Snow Beau" snowman with her best friend Nick. After another breakup, she begins to wonder if she'll ever find her own true love. A little Christmas magic brings her Snow Beau to life." Commentary: I cannot believe the snowman actually came to life. The snowman came to life and he's not even the primary love interest. Nick sucks in a normal possessive childhood friend love interest way, fuck Nick, everyone hates Nick, sure, but THE SNOWMAN CAME TO LIFE? THE SNOWMAN CAME TO LIFE AND HE TRIES TO SELL THE PROTAGONIST'S HOUSE!!!!! SHE LIVES THERE!!!!! This movie made me scream out loud multiple times. It is not good. Please watch it.

Timeless Love (2019)

Synopsis: "Megan wakes up from a coma in a hospital. The husband and 2 kids she just dreamed about aren't real. At her first job interview, she meets Thomas from her dream - or was it a vision years into the future?" Commentary: Listen to me. Listen. The establishing scenes of this movie are played completely straight. For the first chunk of the movie, it feels like this is going to be a dramatic, serious movie in a way that Hallmark Christmas Romcoms fundamentally are not, which makes it EVEN WEIRDER when it suddenly pivots into your classic nonsense. It entrances me. Who let this happen? Why is the medical professional who is assigned to help Megan with the trauma of losing her coma-construct family and recover from being in a literal coma cartoonishly evil? Why was the information Megan obtained from the coma dream accurate to real life? Why is she suddenly okay with losing her coma children as soon as she found the real-world version of her coma-husband? What a fascinating text. I have no clue what to do with it. But maybe you do. I'm folding it into your hands. Whatever happens next is your decision

#rec list #christmas #christmas ment #i didn't put the netflix movies on here everyone knows about those and they're trying too hard to be weird #where's the naive camp i ask you

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seraphiism · 7 months

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

( RUN TO YOUR DEVIL ; I'M SURE HE CAN HELP YOU. )

chara : ais fandom : touchstarved quote cr : bioshock a/n : if this makes sense , good . if not, blame maid ais ( this fic is not abt the halloween art, i just think he's neat )

i. SO YOU WILL CALL YOURSELF CURSED, your life riddled with havoc and death in innocence lost. in the road traveled, there are horrors untold, bandaged hands trembling as you hide them in fear of others and yourself. an evil deeply haunts you, finding belonging in your existence, in your blood, and in the corruption of what is meant to be good.

you will not drown yourself in damnation, not yet, but the water rises and rises, the murky tides seizing a coldness around your throat, a subtle violence looming in the waves that threaten to rid of your breath.

you have encountered far too many strange things in far too little time. at this point, you should be used to it, but there is something, or rather, someone, that constantly catches you off-guard. you find yourself at a loss, unsure if you wish to embrace it or flee from the feelings that stir your heart. how they frighten you so, and in his presence, there is always the quickening of your pulse.

but maybe you are reading too far into things. maybe you're just overwhelmed ; maybe the loneliness is getting to you, the starvation for companionship convincing your mind to make something out of nothing. but in the devil there is kindness, and in his touch, you cannot help but wonder : are you overthinking? or is there more to him, this demon that is made of cruelty and comfort?

ii. it begins with the learning of the seaspring, the radiant temptress : a sickeningly vicious crimson that envelops one in some means of escape , a void in which you lose yourself , intertwined with the existence of those who have succumbed to some sort of madness. the red in that resigned fate is the same as the red of his eyes, and in his gaze, you almost think you see regret amidst the scorn.

but you don't think for too long-- you can't, your balance suddenly off, consciousness nearly wiped out in the near fall into a crimson void. ais is quick to grab you, sparing you from a fate undeserved. it wouldn't have been fair, he tells you, if you didn't get to make the decision to take the fall on your own.

but there's amusement in the curve of his lips, and there's a warmth in the way his hand rests on the small of your back. there's something more, something else that you don't quite want to identify as he holds you close for longer than necessary.

and you let him, you do. you wonder if this is what safety is supposed to feel like. it terrifies you.

iii. it continues with the troublesome reunion at the bar : you almost want to drown the sorrows and stress away with the harsh taste of alcohol that leaves a burning in your throat, but you don't. you can't afford to lose yourself in the haze, can't afford to lower your guard. your nerves are frayed, mind on the edge of frenzy from the sheer exhaustion of the past few days. it's been too eventful. too overwhelming.

you need fresh air, a strange panic brewing in the roots of the soul as you feel it all sink in : your death , your revival , the encounters with those you want to trust but do not dare to. your hands rest on the bar counter, clenched, and your gaze almost seems... absent, he notices.

he may be occupied, may seemingly have his attention focused elsewhere, but there is something so fascinating and terribly entertaining about you that he cannot seem to look away. he may have taunted you earlier, pushed and pulled to see what your limits were, but even he has a heart, after all.

you feel a familiar presence near you -- a hand gently resting on your waist, a soft murmur in your ear.

"doing alright, sparrow?"

your body stills. you swallow hard, barely turning your head.

"i'm fine." you respond, and you slip away from his grasp, throwing him a brief glance before you sneak through the busy crowds in search of a calm you'll never find.

iv. and now-- now, you have come to a defeated conclusion : calm is the farthest thing that will ever be granted to you. doesn't matter where you are, doesn't matter what you do-- it would be too convenient, too kind, really, and you wonder if you are asking too much.

all you wanted was to try catching your breath, try finding some semblance of peace amidst the chaos. but instead, you found trouble, landed yourself in yet another dangerous situation, because what's a night out at the bar if there's no drunken fight? it's not fun if you're not dragged into some god awful brawl somehow. you don't question it. no point, not with your luck.

so now, you find yourself hiding in the dark alley, lungs burning with deprivation. the movement of your chest is subtle, shallow, and ais notices it-- it's hard to not notice, not when his body is pressed against yours, his hand over your mouth in determination to keep you safe and quiet.

he deems it an interesting predicament. you don't.

not with the lack of distance between your bodies, your back against the wall, his blood on your lips. his smirk falters only the slightest bit at your bite-- a surprising defiance he didn't quite expect from you. but the flicker of bewilderment soon twists into pure amusement, and you think you love and hate it. he keeps his mouth shut, and so do you, even when his hand falls to his side. nearby, there is a rising panic, then the quick steps of enemies fading as they make haste in their escape.

it's safe now. you let out a quiet sigh of relief knowing you've avoided harm once more, and though you hate to admit it, it's because of him. your gaze focuses on your surroundings, searching for the possibility that someone may be deceiving you, waiting in the shadows for the right opportunity to strike.

"you've got a bad bite, little sparrow." ais murmurs, and you feel his hand gently grip your jaw, forcing you to focus on him. "that's no way to thank someone who keeps saving your life."

there's a heat that suddenly rushes to your face. timid, you want to look elsewhere, but you don't dare give him the satisfaction of looking away. it's hard to focus, the faintest trace of iron on your tongue, the feeling of another's warmth against your body.

"so sorry, ais." your apology seethes with sarcasm. "next time, i'll be sure to be gentle."

he chuckles softly, doesn't even think about pulling away from you. not when you're this close.

"don't worry, pretty thing." he tells you, thumb tracing over your lips, and perhaps that smirk softens into something gentle at the sight of the crimson that is his. "my red looks good on you."

#touchstarved #touchstarved x reader #ais x reader #ais touchstarved #.: writing #im yellin i meant to write smth short !!!!!! i miss him dearly ( he is not real )

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canmom · 1 year

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Yes, what 'AI art' promises to do is something that has happened many times before in capitalism. Even in the 'art industry', we've seen technology all but do away with entire lines of work, such as the illustration styles that withered after photography proved to better serve the needs of advertisers and clients who wanted a realistic likeness.

And it sucked for those illustrators. Maybe not the well established ones, but the ones who had hoped to enter that industry. Just as it sucked for the textile industry workers when the mechanical loom appeared.

Trying to suppress AI art through legal means may be a strategy with little chance of success and high potential for collateral damage. The Luddites found that machine-breaking proved an ineffective strategy (edit: because the government killed them), the miners of Wales were not able to stop Thatcher closing the pits and importing materials (edit: because the government beat the shit out of them). But to treat workers - in one of the few lines of work to still offer any sort of intrinsic fulfilment, at least in theory - who may be responding in a knee-jerk way to an impending threat to their ability to continue that practice and possibly survive at all, with scorn and derision? To justify that with Marx? Come off it.

Certainly, sure, the real enemy was capitalism all along. If AI were never invented, art would still be a precarious industry where you have to work stupidly hard on a speculative basis to even get a chance to get a foot in the door. An industry valuing predictability would still prefer to elevate bland, repetitive artwork; it would still push the chosen few artists who make it and get jobs to work themselves into an early death; we would still be faced with the implications of turning creation into 'content' in a social media feed. In a less precarious world, one where artists were free to pursue our practices with ample support and no fear of not making rent if there's a bad month, AI image generators would not even be a concern.

But we don't live in that world and I have no idea how to bring it closer. There isn't a 'start the revolution' button I can just press if I don't like my lot under capitalism.

What AI promises to do, what its proponents claim, really is to make everything worse in this industry. AI has many limitations compared to a human artist, but that doesn't matter for doing damage. For the employed artist, the threat of AI is going to become a similar labour discipline tool as the threat of outsourcing to a country where labour is cheaper, or the threat of installing robot tills in retail. "Don't make too much of a fuss, we can replace you." It doesn't matter if it isn't entirely true, it's another cudgel against labour organising.

In the already often miserably exploitative world of small scale illustration commissions which many artists use to support themselves while learning? Now you don't just have to compete against Fiverr's race to the bottom. The good chaps at Silicon Valley have helpfully built an obedient data centre than can do a 'good enough' job for many clients even faster and cheaper, that never gets tired. You'd better hope you have a loyal audience already, or else the independent income and exec function to work on art as a hobby on top of everything else you need to do to get by. Illustration commissions is already a pretty saturated market, turning something that ought to be a dream job into a grind. So... let's add more pressure, eh?

Worse, a lack of realistic routes to learn will likely ripple on up, similar to how the miserable conditions and high attrition of inbetweeners in anime led to a situation where there aren't enough key animators, so the industry increasingly draws from self-taught hobbyists and relies on a limited pool of overworked sakkans to paper over the gaps caused by their lack of training.

None of these problems are unique to AI. But they're all going to be made worse by it. And obviously people are going to be afraid of that coming, before we know how it will all shake out for sure. That's not a stupid reaction.

The argument over what is Real Art(TM) may be corny, but it reflects the fact that for most of us trying to make art, it is not nearly so fulfilling to type prompts into a computer and pick your favourite result as it is to draw on your own visual library and experiences and understanding of light and form and symbols and shape and etc., to go through the meditative process of solving the problems of the drawing yourself, to get the satisfaction of 'omg I made that' at the end. I'm sure creating the AI system in the first place had that sort of fulfilment for its programmers, but using it is to be a curator more than a creator, or at least to shift the creativity into coming up with combinations of keywords rather than directly making pictures, and that just doesn't grab me in the same way at all. If people enjoy it that's genuinely great for them, but I don't think very many people who set out to be an artist would get the same satisfaction out of typing prompts. It's not something we wanted automated. (Perhaps we could compare it to creating an aimbot for an FPS game.)

But that's a fairly tricky thing to articulate, so it is not surprising that it gets mixed up in ideology like 'artiness is proportional to hours spent'. Unfortunate, but that doesn't make the intuitive alarm signal misplaced. If AI art can find a niche as just another tool for expression, great, I'll shut up - but if it becomes a widespread sentiment of 'why are you wasting your time painting, just let the AI do it', we've lost something valuable. 'We want to replace artists' is the explicit sentiment of many of the AI's creators and proponents, so it's not like this is a baseless fear.

Trying to develop an art practice under capitalism is always a pretty awkward bargain at best. AI won't destroy the drives that lead us to make art, and won't do much to liberate us either. My hope is that it will become an easily ignored sideshow to the kinds of art I like; my fear is that this is only the beginning of its impact and a lot that's valuable will be lost in the chaos.

Did photography 'liberate' illustration? It's true that after the demise of the realist painting of Loomis's generation, new forms of illustration arose: scifi and fantasy illustration, many kinds of stylised illustration. But idk, that argument feels weird - if you cut down a tree to build a house where it used to stand, and a new tree grows nearby, is that liberating trees? It's hard to put any valence on that. In any case, AI proponents are trying for a fully general replacement to all types of illustration, including potential new ones. (Perhaps that's nothing more than tech cult hype; at the moment its stylistic repertoire is more limited.)

And perhaps we might expect, as capitalism continues to throw off labour without much hope of new industries arising to absorb it, that there will come a point where the balance tips and for better or worse, a vast social transformation unfolds suddenly and unexpectedly.

Would be nice if I can live long enough to see it.

Living off commissions is already proving not viable for me, regardless of AI - so I'm training to go into a different creative industry (game dev) where there's more demand in the present era, and I'll have to develop visual art more slowly, with whatever energy and executive function I can spare. I hope I will enjoy working in game dev, and I'm lucky to have skills that even make it an option, but I don't love that I have to make that decision based on what can keep a roof overhead and not on what I most want to spend my time learning to make. And I can only imagine the feeling of someone who found a seemingly stable niche doing something they truly enjoy, and now face getting thrown back into this corner.

The AI problem may just be a symptom of capitalism, but that just makes it less tractable. It may be 'just a tool', but that tool is embedded in a whole mess of social relations. Who runs the AI, who stands to benefit? Better to articulate a critique of AI-in-capitalism that navigates around the blind alleys than to cast scorn on people reaching for the first way out they can see to a genuinely bleak situation.

#ai art #to add more trash to the gyre

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in-amor-veritas · 8 months

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incredible art by nyia.kylab on instagram

Was very honored to have a chance to write an interpretation of this incredible work of Ny's. I was shown the piece with very little context and it truly moved me, especially since I feel a very strong connection to Simon as a character.

༺💜༻

There are those who study dreams who have said that dreaming of clay represents a relationship that makes you risk losing your identity, the fear of losing who you are through being moulded to fit the purposes of someone else and not your own.

Simon may be sculpted from clay, and perhaps at first glance you may see how he has fallen into this pattern, how he has been used as a means to someone else’s end. How he has been stripped of his identity and painted over in the colours of something he’s not or he should never have had to be. He’s been painted as a caretaker to a father, a parent to a sister, a criminal to a classmate, an outsider to a society that will never accept him.

A danger to an institution that leaves little room for mistakes.

Even from Wilhelm, who paints him in the most extraordinary colours of love, who stained his heart with purple. For that person too he has been asked to change forms into something that is not his true to who he is.

Simon has given constantly of himself until there’s precious little more to give, until the signs of wear, the abrasions and stains begin to surface even in moments of fragile happiness and intense joy.

The process of moulding a masterpiece of entails getting your hands dirty, starting over when you make a mistake, to use an expert eye and hand and instinct in order to personify an idea or will.

Clay can be reshaped and remade again and again until it becomes what it was meant to be. To be kindled in fire and emerge as more beautiful and radiant terracotta, glazed in colour or left red. To become an unapologetic piece of art that is breathed to life by mistake after mistake, trial by trial, measured in small successes and great setbacks.

Because even when faced with impossible circumstances, when the world expects him to sacrifice his own morals, to be the bigger person, to hide his face and do what’s easy. When they try to silence him. Even when the exterior that protects his heart is beaten down, is stained by the judgments and needs and wants and scorn of everyone else. Even when they pull at him from every direction and suffocate him with hands that stain and leave imprints in the colours of what they tell him to be.

Gold

What they think he wants to be.

Purple

What he actually wants to be.

Simon is made of clay. And through fire, he will shape himself, rearrange the chemicals of his limitations to become an effigy no longer able to be remoulded to fit someone else’s vision. Although terracotta too is fragile, in the way that humans are, it is brave.

It is brave to be yourself in a world where people want to break you.

Simon is simple perhaps at first glance, rough-hewn to those who don’t care to understand him. But clay is tangible, and earthen, and real.

#young royals #wilmon #yr s1 #yr s2 #simon yr #simon eriksson #yr fanart #fanart interpretation #my words #I Love simon with my whole being #fanart #wilmon endgame #when is s3 coming #yr #wilhelm yr #nyia.kylab

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underfaller · 11 months

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Chapter 4: γ

Pairing: dottore x angel!reader

Summary:

✧˖°.I am the rot and the ache beneath your skin! I am the angel sent down from above!˖°.✧

You are a Heavenly Messenger from Celestia that's been captured by a mysterious Doctor

CW: noncon

Word count: 2.7k

Dottore looks through an old journal. His vermillion eyes flicker as he turns the pages. The 4-pointed sigil engraved into the leather front cover is a dead giveaway that this was from Khaenri'ah. Not only that, from what he could gather from the intricately drawn diagrams on its pages, Dottore is fairly certain that this journal detailed the art of Khemia.

The ability to create life.

The ultimate experiment in blasphemy.

He acquired the journal from an adventurer while on one of his expeditions. Of course, the young man had been less than eager to hand it over to Dottore. However, it’s a bit hard to protest against someone robbing you when your head’s detached from your shoulders.

There is just one simple problem: Dottore didn’t know Khaenri'ahn. Or at least this form of it. The words on the pages are useless gibberish now. He asked Pierro, but the old Jester told him that this form of the dialect was so ancient that even he didn’t know so Dottore was back to square one.

Typical.

Dottore isn’t too bothered. He’ll simply decipher it using the modern form of the language and cross reference it with the journal’s scrawls. What’s a dead language to a genius such as himself?

Dottore stuffs the journal into a drawer at the bottom of his desk. He puts his feet on the wooden top, swaying idly in his chair, his arms bend behind his head as he stares at the ceiling above.

The journal is only one project he’s working on. One project of dozens that he switches rapidly between. Despite being a dedicated and diligent worker, his attention span is the complete opposite. The man simply could not focus on one topic at a time. He jumped between them, obsessing over whatever interested him at the moment.

And at that moment, the topic is you.

You are certainly the most fascinating subject he’s had in awhile. Even more so than the Eleazar patients he experimented on while in the Akademiya. Your immortality is undeniably an invaluable trait, but there’s something else.

Dottore finds immense joy in experimenting on you.

He’d always had disdain for the gods, especially Celestia. Dottore thought them to be incompetent, arrogant fools. He knows he can surpass them. One day he would. They deserved to be overthrown--crushed like the maggots they were under his boot.

It’s what they would get for turning their backs on him when he needed them. He may have been accustomed to rejection, but that did not mean Dottore didn’t harbor scorn.

He’s actually very vindictive.

Dottore knows you’re simply a pawn of the gods. Yet, he can’t help but cave into his desire to torment you in Celestia’s stead. He sees the gods’ folly in you. Their stupidity. Their negligence. His dejection. He despises you.

So he made it his goal to destroy you in every way possible.

It’s then that Dottore has a twisted, yet hilarious idea.

What if he made you fall in love with him?

He already has complete autonomy to your physical state, but he wants more. He wants to control you mentally, psychologically, and emotionally. He wants you completely wrapped around his finger before he snaps you in two.

Dottore laughs aloud. Even by his standards, it’s devilishly cruel. It would be difficult, yes. After all, you were certainly a difficult individual. You certainly won’t fall for cheap tricks. He would have to be meticulous and cunning in his manipulation.

But difficult puzzles were always the most satisfying to crack.

Love is such a weakness.

Dottore picks up a manila folder on the desk. There’s dried droplets of your blood still on it. He smirks as he writes something in your file.

Experiment 42: Anaxiphilia

***

You were starting to wonder if it was you who was meant to receive divine punishment. That must have been the reason for your suffering. How else would you explain your situation? You must have done something wrong. Despite your defeatist attitude, that particular thought made you a bit defensive. You didn’t think you did anything wrong. In fact, you thought you were a pretty good individual up until this point.

But, there was a reason, right?

There had to be someone to blame.

Dottore kept you in a cramped cage when he wasn’t experimenting on you.You huddle in the corner of your metal prison, pressing your knees to your chest. Your wings are bound by a rough piece of rope. A wistful feeling tugs at your heart when you remember how you used to soar through the skies above Celestia. You missed it. You never thought you would, but you missed your home. You missed your mentor. You missed your old life.

You watch the clock across the room, its little red hand slowly sliding across the numbers like syrup. You could practically feel the seconds slipping away. Still, you had trouble keeping track of time in this lab. There was no calendar or window in here and Dottore refused to give you even the most basic information. How long had you even been here? Days, weeks…. A month? What the hell did it matter? You found it ironic that you’ve existed for over a hundred years, yet the short time you’ve been here felt longer than all those years in Celestia.

Perhaps it’s because that short time has been nothing but torture. You were starting to wonder if what he did was actually for research and not purely for his sadistic pleasure. You’d been sliced open more times than you could count and injected with enough substances to kill a small village. You’ve never been more acquainted with your own screams until now. Your eyes glance at the multiple bandages wrapped around your body. At least he would always bandage you afterwards. It was the one thing he could do to compensate for your cooperation in his experiments. Sometimes, if the Doctor felt extra merciful, he would administer a healing serum afterwards. However, he only did so in order to move on to another way to torment you. Something about not wanting a different experiment’s variables affecting his current trial.

You despise him with every fiber in your being. The man has an overbearingly unlikable presence. Even if you didn’t have reason to hate him, you would’ve simply disliked him based on that. He’s simply one of those people you could not get along with.

And that mask he wore, it was utterly pretentious and frankly, silly. Why hide your face constantly like that? He must be terribly hideous.

Dottore certainly knows you detest him. If looks could kill, he would’ve died a hundred times over. Even through your tears and pain, you aren’t afraid to tell the Doctor what’s on your mind. Oddly enough, he’s never lost his temper with you. Even when you curse and scream at him, he simply gives you that simpering, disgusting smile. In fact, Dottore’s mannerisms were often gentle towards you, even kind-- or as kind as one could be while abusing you. He often speaks to you as if he were speaking to a small child or a dog.

It makes him even more infuriating.

“How is my little birdie?”

You glare at him, not answering. He bends down, looking at you through the bars of the cage.

Of course, he’s smiling.

He unlocks the cage, opening the door.

You stay where you are, peering at him through your matted bangs.

“Still wary of me? I suppose that’s to be expected,” Dottore murmurs.

“You must be hungry. I brought you something.”

The Doctor places a plate in front of the cage, just a few steps away from you, as if he were trying to lure a wild animal from its hiding place. Despite the fact that you are in fact, starving, you give the man an incredulous look.

“Oh don’t look so skeptical,” Dottore retorts. “Can’t I be nice? You’ve been such a good patient. I simply wanted to reward you.”

His doting words make you even more suspicious.

However, your basic survival instincts are more powerful than your distrust in the Doctor. Slowly, you crawl out from your corner, approaching the seemingly inconspicuous dessert.

“What is it?” You ask hoarsely.

“It’s called Ptichye Moloko or translated, Bird’s Milk Cake. It’s a common treat here in Snezhnaya,” He explains, smiling. “I had an agent fetch me some from the city.”

“Is… Is it poisoned?”

You can’t help but ask.

Dottore bursts out laughing.

“Poisoned? Silly, it isn’t poisoned.”

“ I… don’t believe you.”

His smile falters a little. You were certainly beginning to get on his nerves. However, he doesn’t let his facade slip. Instead, he pulls his black glove off one of his hands, skimming the chocolate top with his finger and licking it. “See? Not poisoned,” He grins.

Seeing the Doctor not keel over from the cake makes you let your guard down. Perhaps this really was just his odd way of being nice. He doesn’t give you any utensils, so you have to use your hands. You take a small taste. It’s delicious. A bit tangy, but also sweet. Certainly more so than the gruel he’s been feeding you. Dottore’s toothy grin only grows larger as you continue to eat.

“That’s a good girl! Eat more!”

You quickly finish it, licking your fingers clean as you continue to look at the Doctor. Your eyes haven’t broken from him this whole time. Him sitting this close made you uncomfortable, like he would lunge at you any moment.

“Thank you,” You whisper almost inaudibly.

“You’re certainly welcome,” Dottore responds. “Now come. We have some testing to do.”

Oh.

You’d hoped he wouldn’t say that, that you wouldn’t have to endure an experiment today, but alas.

You stand up but as soon as you do the room begins to spin around you. You stumble.

“Oh? What’s wrong, my dear?”

“I…”

Your body starts to tingle, becoming warmer by the second. Your head is light and dizzy. You take a shaky breath. Dottore approaches you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Even that small gesture is enough to send shivers down your increasingly sensitive body.

“You’re already starting to feel it? It seems like your body is reacting well to the effects of the aphrodisiac.”

You look at him with horror. Your hand flies to your mouth, the taste of cream and chocolate still on your lips.

He tricked me.

Dottore chuckles, observing your realization.

You curse yourself. You should’ve trusted your gut. How did you fall for such an obvious trap?

This was all your fault.

“You lied. You did poison me.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch. What I gave you can barely be considered a poison.”

Dottore picks you up, bringing you to an all too familiar metal table. Your body feels like a ragdoll as he lays you on the cold surface. The sudden cold touching your sensitive skin causes you to inhale sharply through your teeth.

“I must say, it’s a pleasant surprise you’re able to elicit such a reaction. This will certainly be an interesting experiment for both of us,” The Doctor hums as he begins to unbutton your shirt, slowly removing your clothes. Your stomach drops.

No, no, no.

You try to push him away, but your arms are so heavy. Every move you make is laborious. You can only weakly whimper in protest.

“Shh.. darling,” He whispers in your ear. “Just relax now.”

The Doctor kisses you, sliding his tongue into your mouth. The slick organ overpowers your own, exploring every crevice and corner. As he pulls away, a thin strand of saliva connects the both of you for a brief second before snapping. You let out a small gasp as Dottore plays with your breasts. Even the slightest touch sends waves of pleasure throughout your body. Your wings quiver. You try to regain control of your body, but your resolve is quickly dissipating as your mind becomes foggy with stimulation. His hands move further south until they reach your thighs. His hands brush against the plump skin and you shiver a little.

“A-ah!”

Your breathing hitches as Dottore begins to play with your clit. He rubs the sensitive bud gently. The pleasure is almost unbearable and you whimper softly, squirming against his grip on your waist.

“You like that, don’t you, pet?”

You try not to show how much you’re enjoying this. You try to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from moaning.

Your poker face is terrible, he can read you like a book.

You can feel something building up inside you-- a tight coil begging to be released. The feeling grows more and more intense, but just as you were about to orgasm, Dottore pulls his hand away from you, looking down at you, smiling darkly. “We don’t have to do this, of course. I’ll only continue if you want it.”

You really don’t want to continue. You want it to stop. You want him to stop.

But the aphrodisiac has turned your body against you. Your cunt is begging for more. Your brain is screaming, trying to fight the effects of the stimulant, however, it’s no use. The only thing you can think about is the Doctor’s hands on you. You need that release. You need Dottore to keep touching you.

No! What are you thinking?

You wiggle, trying to rub against his hand and relieve the throbbing in your nether regions. He pulls his hand away once more.

“Hm? What is it you want?”

You whine a little.

“Use your words, darling.”

“I…I want you to continue, Doctor.”

Traitor.

“As you wish, my pet.”

He delicately inserts a finger into your cunt.

“Heh. You’re so wet already. I won’t need to use lube.” Dottore murmurs. “Hmm…and your hymen is still intact. That’s good.”

You’re barely processing his words. Your body quivers as the Doctor unzips his pants, freeing the erection that had been uncomfortably pressing against his pants.

Dottore climbs on top of the lab table, positioning himself at your entrance.

“This may hurt a bit as it's your first time, but don’t worry,” He whispers. “I’ll be gentle.”

Dottore penetrates your opening, roughly pushing deep into you. So much for being gentle. He’s big-- you're surprised you can even take it. You cry out, hot tears pricking your eyes as you grip onto him, your nails digging into his skin.

“That’s a good girl. You’re doing great.”

The tears are flowing now. You’re begging him to stop, but it comes out as incoherent babbling. It wouldn’t matter anyways, he wouldn’t have stopped even if you asked him to.

The Doctor laughs softly. Seeing you cry like this makes him even more aroused. That pitiful, humiliated look on your face is so pathetic, it’s beautiful. Blood mixes with your fluids as his thrusts become quicker.

Slowly, the pain and discomfort turns to pleasure. You soon start to enjoy the feeling of him. You grip him tighter, panting. Lewd noises escape your lips and you arch your back. The sound of your bodies fills the room as he continues to move inside you, going deeper each time. When he hits a certain spot, you yelp, your walls contracting around his cock. He grins mischievously at your reaction, continuing to pound that same spot over and over. You feel your core tighten once more.

You place your arm over your face against your tear stained eyes. You don’t want him to see how much you’re enjoying this.

Dottore chuckles and lifts your arm. “That won’t do. I want to see that pretty face of yours.”

“Ngh…Ha…Ah..!”

Your body betrays you once more and you climax.

He fucks you through your orgasm, grabbing your waist firmly as he keeps going fast and mercilessly. His thrusts soon become sloppy and he cums deep inside your womb.

The warmth of his cum fills your insides. Your body feels like jelly as you come down from your orgasm and the aphrodisiacs. You grip the Doctor's lab coat as you rest your head against his chest, visibly trembling.

Dottore looks down at your bleary tear-stained face, leaning down to kiss your forehead softly. “That must have been quite intense for you. See, wasn’t that enjoyable? If you continue to behave, we’ll have lots more fun like that together.”

“After all, you are my favorite test subject.”

#dottore x fem!reader #il dottore #dottore #fatui harbingers #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #dead dove do not eat #genshin impact fanfics #fic: dead doves do not mourn

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mask-of-prime · 3 months

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TLK: Bianka

Since I headcanon the Strange Lion's father is the Selfish Lion, I figured he had to have a mother, too.

Say hello to Bianka, the mother of the Strange Lion (Nyoka), and wife of the Selfish Lion (Choyo). She is a scorned rogue lioness from Mohatu's time as King, kickstarting a chain of infamous events throughout the history of the Pridelands and the Outlands.

She is a distant descendant of Mwanzo, leader of the Evil Lions of the Past. Like her forefathers, Bianka possesses Tsavo lion genes. Nyoka gets his Evil Lion heritage from his mother (yep, that means the Selfish Lion is actually married into this family rather than the heir, I came up with the idea of Bianka being the one with Evil Lion blood based on the vibes I got from the features I gave her).

Her restless desire to overthrow King Mohatu was brought on by the mystery of her ancestry, and the full story of her forefathers' legacy went unfinished, and even began to fade generations down the line. She recruited Almasi (a rogue from a far-away pride searching for her destiny), and Choyo (Mohatu's former business partner who was meant to help grow the pride after a massive loss to a devastating outbreak of rabies and drought-induced disease) to help eliminate the royal family that occupied Pride Rock by means of integration and deception. She would also groom her son into her plan to take over by integrating him into the pride to marry Princess Uru. This never carried through as Uru fell in love with the riff-raff pauper, Ahadi, and Nyoka had ultimately been banished for threatening the pride in a crazed state from receiving his Mark of Evil.

Her husband, Choyo, was not truly interested in her, and was even less interested in having a child. He only wanted the benefits that came with ruling a prosperous kingdom, such as all the food and water he could possibly mooch off of, and he can only achieve such things in an alliance with the conniving Tsavo lioness.

Bianka's disregard for animals other than her own kind had eventually been the cause of her downfall. Not long after her cohort Almasi had perished from dehydration and other complications from the drought (tragically just before Mohatu had found a luscious water source at the Oasis), Bianka had been trampled during the herds' race to said water source. She died while Nyoka was still very young, making him not so different from Princess Uru in that way, which he would often bring up in an attempt to court her. But his nightmare never ended there: His only living parent, Choyo, had been exiled for violating the delicate balance of the Pridelands' ecosystem for hogging limited supplies for himself, and for threatening other animals with violence. Mohatu, believing a child to not deserve to live with such a parent, combined with knowing about Choyo's reluctance to care for his only cub, had taken Nyoka in and raised him in his slowly growing, recovering pride.

Her untimely death at the hooves and paws of the Pridelanders followed by her husband's exile are what ultimately fired Nyoka's very own restless journey to finish what his ancestors started, and he would eventually go to carry out his plan to reclaim the kingdom as his own by continuing the cycle of taking over the royal pride through convoluted schemes of trust and persuasion (which ironically came to fruition posthumously after his protégée Scar killed him). Nyoka, unlike Bianka, made an effort to piece together his legacy through direct contact of his ancestors by performing a seance with the help of his cobra friend, Kuuma (will elaborate in future art).

(I know she and Almasi look like they could be sisters, but if they were, that would've made Scar and Zira, like, first-cousins-once-removed or something. I don't like using relations like that as a plot element sooo... I had them be a coalition of unrelated lionesses who just happen to have similar design elements lol. I based their friendship off of the fact that they've got similar designs, I thought juxtaposing their designs in the top sketch would help distinguish them.)

#The Lion King #The Lion Guard #TLK #TLG #Strange Lion #Selfish Lion #My Art

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void-ink-studios · 6 months

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Hidden Treasure

I put out a poll, and the people have loudly spoken. It's still up for a few hours, since I can't make polls last shorter than 24 hours, but there's a very clear winner.

Enjoy your food, y'all.

You can check out my other works with the links here:

Wrath of the Wishmaster

Touch of Light

Memories of the Homeland

Word Count: 3,000

Scarab had known for a long time that he was not what anyone would describe as pleasant to look at. That was something his coworkers had made certain he understood.

He knew bugs were not considered beautiful up close. There were parts people liked about them, the parts that get pinned and displayed in collections. The wings and carapace often shimmered with colors found nowhere else.

Maybe that's why his shell was the only part Scarab didn't feel the need to hide.

People admired it like a piece of art. They'd ooh and aah and admire from a distance.

Only from a distance.

Because people's admiration of bugs tended to stop once you get close enough to notice details.

No one liked the micro hairs in his joints. No one liked how he seemed to click and clack when he moved, like a doll. No one liked his needle-like claws that always seemed very slightly sticky.

And no one liked his face.

When he had first joined the pantheon, it was one of the first things he learned.

His face was called a lot of things. Unsightly. Unpleasant. Creepy. Gross.

His eyes were called too big. Too wide. Too intense a stare for people to handle.

His mouth was called disgusting. A horror show. Nightmarish.

When he had antenna, they were called unsettling with how they twitched and moved seemingly randomly.

He'd heard all of these things and more, both long before and long after he donned the mask.

No one liked eating near him, because no one wanted to see his proboscis and mandibles. No one liked walking next to him, because no one wanted to hear his odd clicking joints or an accidental chirp. And certainly no one liked looking him in the eye, because no one wanted to feel his stare of his too-wide eyes.

So no one sees his face, unless it's to intimidate. Because that was its only acceptable use, these days.

Scarab had accepted all of these factors long ago. He had accepted that companionship was off the table for him amongst the gods. The parts of him that would've made him preen back home are now objects of scorn and disgust. He accepted he was meant to be scorned, and it just made his job as Auditor simpler.

Which is why he was utterly baffled by Prismo and his behavior towards him.

Because Prismo threw everything he'd ever been taught about the gods out the window.

Scarab had been dreading his punishment as Prismo's assistant. Part of why he worked so hard as a God Auditor was so he had to spend as little time with other gods as possible. As much as he was used to their insults and disgust, it didn't mean he wanted to stick around and take them. But now, he was trapped, in a tiny room, with nothing but him and a Wishmaster he had trapped in a cube and tried to destroy. Prismo had more reason to hate him than almost anyone else.

But Prismo seemed more fascinated than revolted by his insectoid features. He encouraged them, even.

Eons of being trained out of his heritage, erased by a pink dream shadow, and an ounce of kindness and understanding.

They'd adapted to each other, quite thoroughly. Prismo had come to understand the many clicks and trills and chirps Scarab would make. He had given him liberty to make burrows into the Time Room walls to let him feel comfortable and safe. He'd even indulged his need to climb and crawl and explore in whatever little ways he can.

It was the first taste of true understanding Scarab had felt since he had left home.

And he hated himself for how much he craved it.

It was all Prismo's fault. Scarab had accepted his lot in life. He'd come to understand that friendship was not in the cards for him. But, there the Wishmaster was, throwing that understanding into chaos, filling his heart with stupid, poisonous hope.

Scarab was not meant for hope.

He was not meant for love.

The realization that that was what he was feeling sent the beetle spiraling for days. He of course did the not cowardly thing, totally didn't spend most of several days hiding in various holes he'd made and avoiding Prismo like the plague.

Totally not a cowardly move at all.

When he was over his minor freakout, he chose to swallow the poison down. Do what he always did. Take those feelings, squish them into the size of a marble, lock them in a box, and shove that box to the bottom of him mind.

It's nothing he hadn't done before. One must compartmentalize to cope with the existential dread of realizing you're never going home, everyone you've ever known or love has been dead for a very long time, and that home probably looks nothing like how you remember it. Shoving down complex emotions is easy.

He just had to remember one thing: Prismo has never seen his face.

It's the only reason he can think of as to why the Wishmaster isn't revolted. Because he hasn't seen the horror show of his face.

Scarab rationalized further. He's not appreciated or liked by Prismo, not really at least. He's just... an oddity. A novelty. Something to gawk at for a few centuries.

Prismo would drop the curiosity the second he sees what Scarab really is.

Because no one liked bugs. Not up close.

But, despite all his rationalizing, Scarab found himself stuck on what to do with it.

A part of him, a weak, spineless part of him, didn't want the kindness to stop. That part of him wanted to keep singing his native songs without scolding, to dig without scorn, to crawl without disgust. Even if he knew it was all novelty that would wear out eventually, the cowardly part of him wanted to prolong it for as long as possible.

But the other part, the one who gave up on being nice to gods a long time ago, wanted to rip the bandaid off, so to speak. That part of him wanted to show Prismo exactly what he's stuck with. It wanted him to drop the niceties already and behave the way gods are supposed to.

He gave you burrows and comforts on your bad days one side argued.

He'll grow bored or annoyed of you at some point, you don't want to get used to kindness by the time that happens the other retorted.

For weeks this debate raged in his head, his roommate none the wiser. He was starting to think this debate would just be the way of things for the time being.

Until, for the seemingly millionth time in his existence, Prismo threw a wrench into the works.

"Hey, Scarab!"

Uh-oh, Prismo sounded excited. That usually means Scarab is about to be dragged into something foolish, but he'd better just roll with it rather than deal with the aftermath later.

"Yes, Prismo?"

"I know you can't smell much, but can you, like taste stuff?"

Scarab blinked, confused at him.

"...Can we even eat in this form?"

"I mean, we don't really need to, but that's no reason to not enjoy snacks every now and then, right?"

Scarab held back the eyeroll. "No, I suppose not. To answer your question, if this form at all matches my corporeal body, then yes, I can taste things just fine."

"Awesome. Can I ask you a favor?"

"I have an inclination I don't have much of a choice, so, sure. What do you want?"

"Try this!"

And suddenly there was a pickle in Scarab's hand. He raised an eyebrow expectantly at the Wishmaster.

"I'm trying a new recipe. Usually I'd ring Cosmic Owl to taste test, but he's busy right now. Something about backed up tokens... Anyway, I figured I might as well ask my buddy!"

Scarab's brain finally caught up to the situation at hand. Prismo wanted him to eat this. In front of him. With no real way to turn around or conceal himself or his face.

Glob dammit.

"Uhm... I'll try it later..."

"Oh c'mon, please? I need to know if this batch is right before I try making more!"

Prismo was beaming at him. Smiling expectantly. When did that smile weaken him this much?

Okay, there was no way around this, not without deflating the Wishmaster's eagerness. Slowly, he opened the bottom of his mask, mandibles and proboscis unfolding clumsily. He kept his eyes off of the one watching him, eating the snack in silence. It was good, he'd give Prismo that, but everything he could say was drowned out by dread.

"I-It's uhm... It's good, Prismo."

There were a few beats of silence. Enough to make Scarab's fingers itch. Enough to draw his eyes back up.

Prismo was staring. At him. At his mouth, which he only just realized he didn't fold back up yet. Oh Glob.

"...Prismo?"

"Sorry, I just... I realized that's the first time I've seen you eat..."

Scarab couldn't place Prismo's emotion in his voice. He didn't stick around long enough to find out.

He clamped his mouth shut, his face plates making a loud cracking sound as they slammed closed in place. One hand unconsciously came up to cover it further.

"I-I'm sorry" he managed to squeeze out just before diving into the Time Room's lower levels.

Hide, hide, need to hide, need to protect, need to hide. He saw, he saw, he hates you, he saw your ugliest parts, he's revolted, hide hide HIDE!

He distantly heard Prismo yell after him, but it fell on clouded ears. Scarab made a mad dash; into the elaborate tunnels he had made throughout the basement, away from everything, away from him.

The beetle curled up into a deep, dark, forgotten corner of the Time Room and shook. He could hear his shell clicking together as he shivered, distressed chirps and trills punishingly falling from his mouth.

He saw. He saw and stared. He knows what you are. No one likes bugs. No one likes bugs like you. No one likes bugs up close.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare cry. This is what you get for hoping. This is what you get for thinking anyone would want to be close to you. Gods squash bugs like you. You're lucky you haven't been yet. You're lucky you're not in a terrarium or pinned up on the wall somewhere.

That voice sounded suspiciously like some of the other gods. It's not like it mattered. He just hoped Prismo never paid attention to where Scarab was building his tunnels.

"Scrabs? Buddy, where are you?"

Scarab squeezed his mandibles tightly shut, trying and failing to block his distressed noises. He used to be so much better at holding these back, when did he lose so much self-control?

He couldn't even swallow down the embarrassing whimper he made when Prismo's bright blue eye locked onto him from the burrow's entrance.

"Scarab, bud, what's wrong dude?"

He wanted to hiss. His hindbrain was telling to hiss, scare away the threat, make him leave, protect the burrow, but none of it was happening. Because hissing would just expose his mouth again...

"...Go away, Prismo..."

"Was the pickle really that bad?"

"No you fool!"

"Then what's wrong? Something's wrong, and I don't wanna leave you hanging."

Something in Scarab's chest snapped.

"Just drop the act, Prismo! Stop pretending to like me already!"

"Woah, woah, what? What act?"

Rage, that was a much easier to understand emotion than the ones Scarab's been grappling with for weeks. Rage was easier to understand than this strange, vague attraction to the Wishmaster, rage was easier to understand than what possible reasons Prismo had to be nice to him, rage was familiar. He was desperate for a return to understandable. So he reveled in it.

"Stop trying to trick me, Prismo! I never thought of you as a cruel god, but you're shaping up to be one of the worst out there! Poisoning my mind with... with this nonsense!"

Prismo seemed to flinch at his tone. Good. Maybe that'll get him to stop whatever it was he was trying to do.

"Scrabby, what are you talking about? I thought we were buddies!"

"That's just what you'd want me to think, isn't it? Try to be my friend, fill my head with hope, so it all comes tumbling down harder. It's quite devious, I'd almost admire it. Tell me, is it something you came up with, or did one of the higher ups give you the idea?"

Prismo's eyes filled with... sadness. No, wait, that's not right... He should be getting angry! Disgusted!

"Scarab..."

"How dare you, Prismo. How dare you make me think I'm... that I'm something tolerable to be around. No one likes bugs, Prismo! I learned that lesson a long time ago. No one likes bugs, unless to pin them on the wall or pull their legs off! So stop pretending like you're not revolted by me and just get on with it!"

In one final act of defiance, he opened up his mask entirely, hissing and putting on full display his disgusting face. His mandibles clicked wildly, and his eyes bore right into Prismo's.

There, that ought to do it.

Except Prismo didn't seemed frightened. Just... sad. No, no, that's not what he's supposed to feel... No, no, that's not correct.

His hiss wavered, his voice starting to break.

He saw something pink move closer to him. He closed his eyes and braced himself. For what, he didn't know. But he knew to expect something.

Except, it didn't come. Tenderly, he opened one eye, to see Prismo's hand, about a foot away from him.

Just like he had done when he found him in the pickle cubby...

Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't... cry...

"S-Stop it... Please, just... stop..."

Prismo made no move closer. But he didn't pull his hand back either. Scarab flexed his clawed hand for a moment. He could swipe, and the Wishmaster would feel it but...

He couldn't...

He awkwardly reached his hand forward, letting it overlap into that vibrant purple. His entire form shivered at the contact, especially Prismo's thumb petting his claws.

"Don't you dare, Prismo... Don't you dare make me feel like... like you actually care..."

"I'm sorry no one's made you feel like that before."

Scarab's breath hitched. He shook his head. Don't cry don't cry don'tcrydon'tcrydon't-

"Can you come out of the hole, Scarab?"

The hold on Scarab's hand lightly tugged him forward. He wasn't sure why, but he let himself be tugged. Maybe he was just too tired to fight it anymore. Prismo at least gave him the privilege of staying mostly in the hole, just his head peeking out.

Which was... still open. Prismo was this close to his real face...

Scarab panicked and tried to close it back up, but a soft touch stopped him. A hand. A gentle one, on his cheek.

His cheeks felt wet suddenly. Had he started crying? When did that happen? Regardless, a thumb brushed the tears away, as Scarab was painfully aware of Prismo examining his face.

"You're, like, a little hidden treasure, you know that?"

"...What...?"

"Yeah. I like your eyes... And I'm sorry if me looking at your mouth earlier is what freaked you out... It's just... I'd never seen anything like it before."

"I apologize for inflicting it onto you..."

"Woah, that's not what I meant. Look, I don't know what anyone else might've told you, but I think they just had no taste. I think you're beautiful."

Scarab's mandibles clicked together, his eyes wide in sheer disbelief. Beautiful... Prismo called him beautiful...

"I... I-I... I don't know what to say..."

"Was that too forward?"

"N-No! I've just... never heard... anyone use that word to... describe me..."

"Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself? You're gorgeous. Elegant. I've always thought that. I'm just happy I have the complete picture."

Scarab wasn't sure how or if his dignity could survive this moment, but the sniffle he just made probably didn't help.

"Hey. Can I... try something?"

Scarab gave a tiny little nod. And then suddenly Prismo was kissing him. On his mouth. On his real mouth.

Kissing was not something that came naturally to Scarab. His species did not kiss, not in this way. But Prismo made it feel thoughtless. He closed his eyes and melted into it.

His mandibles even found use, gently cradling the Wishmaster's cheeks before they pulled away. Both of their cheeks were flushed.

"Did you... like that?" Scarab felt stupid for even asking, but his brain had turned to mush the second Prismo touched his cheek. The Wishmaster gave him a warm, kind smile, nodding.

It didn't even end there. The pink projection scooped the beetle up and began peppering soft little kisses all over his face. On his cheeks, between his eyes, on the joints of his mandibles, even right between where his antenna belonged.

The chirps Scarab made should've been a bit embarrassing, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. Not in the first moment in eons he's felt treasured. Valued. Beautiful.

"May I try something?"

"Go ahead, gorgeous."

Scarab held Prismo's face, bringing their foreheads together. The beetle nuzzled that spot tenderly, chirps morphing into purrs almost. He privately mourned his antenna, which he could imagine carding through the Wishmaster's hair.

"Well, aren't you a sweet thing, Lovebug?

Scarab sputtered at that, face flushing a deep shade of blue. He loathed Prismo's smug chuckle as he kissed at his plated neck.

"You're terrible."

"Thanks." He let out a content sigh, nuzzling back against Scarab's head. "...Can we head back upstairs now? I think someone needs some more smooches on his gorgeous little face."

"You are actually insufferable. But... yes. I would like that."

The two stayed practically glued together for quite a while afterwards. There was a warmth now. A light, pleasant warmth, one that filled up the Time Room quite nicely as they cuddled. Scarab's chirps echoed softly off the walls as Prismo rubbed pleasant circles in his back.

And Scarab, for the first time in thousands of years, didn't feel the need to put his mask back on.

He didn't need to. Not for Prismo.

Who seemed to like bugs much more than one might expect.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #Wrath of the Wishmaster

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maniculum · 3 months

Text

Bestiaryposting Results: Kengliwa

So, as it seems everyone made note of, this week's creature was exceptionally easy to guess. (To the point that a couple people did actually go ahead and name it, which I can't be that annoyed about because I don't think anyone missed this one.) I actually thought about not including it -- I cut a few that were particularly obvious like this one, but this entry was just so beautifully written that I didn't want to not post it. Maybe I should have done a separate post like with the dogs... live and learn, I suppose.

Anyway, previous entries and results can be found here: https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. And the entry everybody is working from is at the link below:

Art below the cut in rough chronological order, as per usual.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) decided to go a bit Beatrix Potter, and produced some frankly adorable shrew-like critters. (And her own alt-text, thank you.) They're dressed in these nice black coats and bowler hats so they can look like the "black column across the fields" described in the entry. I love everything about this. Also, if you want to see a version of this without the linework, check the link above.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) decided to work off of the assertion that Kengliwas prefer wheat to barley because "barley is food for beasts". Naturally this means the Kengliwa must not itself be a beast, and Silverhart reflects that by medieval definition that excludes pretty much everything but birds and fish. So here we have a very small mouse-bird (the results of this one are all very cute, I have to say). And of course it's a flightless bird, because the entry describes them as walking. I'm really struck by the general composition of this one; the tiny bird clinging to the top of a wheat stalk is so well depicted. The colors are great too.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) followed the same "not a beast" logic as Silverhart, though they also name "serpent" and "worm" as potential non-beast categories. They also picked "bird", because the Kengliwa brings grain back to its nest, and birds have nests, so there you go. I appreciate that they've continued with that connection by having the interior of the Kengliwa burrow lined in a manner reminiscent of birds' nests. (And also that they provided alt-text, thank you.) Speaking of which, check it out, burrowing birds! With a cross-section of their burrow! Delightful. They further speculate that the symbolism attached to this one must be pretty weird given the mixed feelings the author seems to have, so I went and checked...

... there's actually not a lot of symbolism on this one. The highlights are that the divided grain supply represents the division between the Old and New Testaments, and barley represents heresy which is why it is scorned. (Pretty sure lots of people in the Middle Ages ate barley, but I suppose they preferred wheat.) The symbolism is all "things we learn from the good example of this industrious creature", and the entry quotes Proverbs 6:6 -- I'm not copying it here, because even though I'm pretty sure everyone knows what the animal is, the verse in question does name it, and we have a procedure here.

Anyway, as always, I recommend clicking on the link to CheapSweets's post to see their detailed explanation of their design decisions.

@theforceisstronginthegirl (link to post here) has drawn some ants in their agenda book. I have to admit, I'm not fully sure whether this was meant to be an entry, but you know, there's a picture (with alt-text and everything!) and it's tagged "kengliwa", so in it goes. Honestly I think the highlight here is that they described the creatures in the picture as "scribbles with jobs" which I think is a fun way to describe bugs generally. Very dynamically drawn scribbles too; they're quite expressive.

@pomrania (link to post here) has drawn a strange and adorable critter. It's giving... lizard-squirrel. Squizard. Particularly delighted by the fact that multiple people decided that such an industrious fellow should be wearing tiny clothing. I think the bag with one (1) grain of wheat in it is a nice touch. You just want to root for this little guy, you know? Also it's worth checking out Pomrania's linked post and associated progress post for some interesting steps in the design process for this one.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) continues to deliver beautifully stylized art. They note that they considered rodents, but figured medieval authors would not be nearly this positive about rodents stealing grain, so instead they're lizards. Very good lizards, too! I love the patterning on them and the expressions on their faces. The one on the left scorning the barley is particularly delightful. Coolest-capybara also wonders what the original animal is classified under, if not "beast" -- to which I must say, oddly enough, this one is in with the beasts. I think. Right after this entry is the start of the "birds" section, and right before it is are some various mammals. So either this is the end of the beast section or it's, like, a palate-cleanser in between.

@strixcattus (link to post here) has also given their Kengliwa clothing, but for a very specific reason: as others have noted, the Kengliwa scorning barley because it's "food for beasts" implies that the Kengliwa are not beasts. Therefore, in Strixcattus's interpretation, they're people. Which is indeed the only non-"beast" category of animal that nobody else has mentioned, as far as I can figure. They're darling. Love the one on the right that appears to be chewing on a straw like your stereotypical farmer, except of course the straw is a single seed with like a bit of stalk attached. And I know I always say it, but you need to go read the linked post for this one. Maybe it's just because worldbuilding is my jam, but I'd happily read a lengthy TTRPG supplement about how Kengliwa society operates. They're like... medieval Borrowers who farm lichen and domesticate ants. I want to know everything about this.

Anyway, here's the Aberdeen Bestiary version:

That's right, they're scribbles with jobs!

Seriously, it turns out Theforceisstronginthegirl drew basically a dead ringer for the medieval version. Compare the two; the biggest differences are the medium and the fact that the Aberdeen Bestiary includes a nest.

But yes, they're ants. We all know they're ants.

Which should, as CheapSweets alluded to, be classed in with the worms! (Remember, that's a flexible term in the medieval era... especially since this is a Latin text, so it's vermis, like Modern English vermin.) There is a section labelled De vermibus, and these guys aren't in it! It could have really used them, too; I think the Ant entry by itself is the same length as the whole "worm" section.

Anyway. Hopefully next week's will be less obvious... okay, I just checked, it's barely less obvious. But I would put money on nobody guessing the one that posts on the 19th (though that's a pretty short entry, unfortunately).

#maniculum bestiaryposting #kengliwa

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