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[maculategiraffe]

also the baby will now be sitting and silently playing while adults talk and not seem to be paying any attention and then suddenly pipe up to interject with his thoughts. but the funniest part is that when we have been talking about him he will join in talking about himself in the third person. like

my sister: so how long did he nap?

me: only about forty-five minutes. he--

baby: he was all done resting and he felt like he was rested enough to go play!

or

me: he ate two bowls of cheesy rice and he tried a sip of this milk, but he didn't want any more than the one sip.

baby, from across the room: he only liked it a little bit.

[maculategiraffe]

the baby was telling me and steve all about how he wants to be a daddy when he grows up and steve was like "who will be the mommy?" and the baby was like "mommy will be the mommy, duh" and steve was like "well mommy is YOUR mommy but you will need to pick someone your own age to be the mommy when YOU are a daddy"

(personally I don't care for the whole Is This Your Little Girlfriend line of conversation but whatever. I didn't want to make a thing of it in the moment)

and the baby was clearly thinking hard about all the kids his age he knows and finally he named one of the little girls in his preschool class. call her jenny

and steve was like "oh, why jenny?" and the baby said "because she is kind, and she would be kind to our little children"

[maculategiraffe]

my dealer: yooooo this shit is straight gas 😛💲💲 this strain is called "Jesus of suburbia" it'll make you feel like the son of rage and love 🔥🔥🔫💔

me: yeah whatever i don't feel shit

5 minutes later: bro i feel like i'm at center of the earth in a parking lot of the 7/11 where i was taught

my buddy jimmy pacing in the corner: the mayor of jingletown is lying to us

[maculategiraffe]

If you're a writer you're supposed to write a lot of bullshit. It's part of the gig. You have to write a lot of absolute garbage in order to get to the good bits. Every once in a while you'll be like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time writing bullshit," but that's dumb. That's exactly the same as an Olympic runner being like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time running all those practice laps"

[maculategiraffe]

i miss science class bro. we dont put things under microscopes as much as we should

[maculategiraffe]

okay 23 minutes of relaxing time

[maculategiraffe]

sounds silly but. one of the greatest things ever as someone with a trauma background is learning that things aren't inherently as bad or as scary as I thought. it IS possible to assemble Ikea furniture without arguments. is IS possible to discuss boundaries without having something thrown at me for speaking out of turn. it IS possible to spend hours on end sharing your favourite things with your favourite people, and not get called annoying for it. the world is an incredible place

[maculategiraffe]

"i cant watch shows about fantasy kingdoms without thinking about how they should be abolishing the monarchy" that my friend sounds like a skill issue

[maculategiraffe]

not ONE among you moved to stop me

The Necromancer's Marriage Season

by Carambola Troisieme

Chapter One

"There now," declared the dressmaker. "Don't you look just lovely!"

Abella Trine opened her eyes, which she hadn't realized she'd closed-- well, it wasn't as if the dressmaker actually needed Abella's attention, or any but the most passive cooperation, as she bustled around Abella with a tape measure and a wrist cushion full of pins-- and stared at her reflection in the full length mirror before her. She didn't think she looked "just lovely" at all. She looked the same as always-- too thin, without the voluptuously rounded curves and swells of the other girls her age, and too pale. Her thick chestnut hair, as always, was dragged back from her face in a tight, heavy bun to get it out of the way, not teased into shining waves or towers of curls crowned with rhinestone-studded combs the way other girls wore theirs. Abella's high cheekbones, along with the slight hollows beneath them, lent her face a sharp, eager look that seemed to intimidate any potential suitors, even before Abella opened her mouth to prove just what good reason they had to be intimidated.

"I'm not going to pretend to be one of those silly girls without a brain in her head just to persuade some other brainless fool to marry me," she had told her mother, who frequently wrung her hands over Abella's marriage prospects. Although both of Abella's parents always proclaimed their pride in Abella's brilliant intellect and achievements in the field of flesh magic, she couldn't help but sense that they would have been happier if only she were the kind of frivolous idiot who enjoyed parties and flirting, so that she could land a suitable spouse and begin decorating a nursery for the darling, rosy-cheeked, sticky-fingered grandchildren they so obviously craved.

"Very nice," she said to the dressmaker without enthusiasm, looking at the confection of pink silk, laces and ribbons that unsuccessfully attempted to disguise her sticklike body as a potential object of romantic admiration.

The dressmaker momentarily pressed her lips into a tight, thin line-- an expression Abella had seen on her mother's face too many times to count-- and then reconstructed her face into a cloyingly artificial smile that reminded Abella of the dress.

"Of course," she remarked, "you can't get the full effect with your hair in that unflattering knot. Once we've settled on a hairstyle--"

"This is my hairstyle," Abella protested. "I like it this way. I can't practice theorems with my hair falling down in my face and getting everywhere."

"But my dear Lady Abella," the dressmaker smiled. "You won't be practicing your theorems at a party, will you?"

If only I could, Abella thought glumly. Better yet, if only I could stay home from the party and practice my theorems in peace.

She would never understand people who actually looked forward to parties. Take Cassiphone Dritte, whose dazzling prowess with the blade seemed to come to her effortlessly, without need of the long, arduous hours of study and practice Abella's own discipline exacted. Cassi's skin was golden by nature, darkened further in summer by Domenicus's rays, a few stray tendrils of black hair usually escaping from her long plait to frame her face, her bold dark eyes flashing and sparkling with mischief and joie de vivre.

Although they had virtually nothing in common, Cassi was actually Abella's "best friend," Abella thought wryly, which sounded less pathetic than "only friend." Cassi had been the only one of their peers to penetrate Abella's reserve-- perhaps because Cassi wasn't sensitive enough to be aware of it-- and continued to call for Abella and invite her to the parties she seemed to attend every night of the week, undeterred by Abella's frequent excuses and demurrals. The truth was, Abella had more of what Cassi called "fun" when she was shut up alone in her laboratory, practicing her constructs, the warm-cold flesh flowing beneath her deft fingertips as she shaped it to her will, than at any party she'd ever attended. Especially the parties Cassi favored, where lustful eyes skated skeptically over Abella's stiff, awkward body and unconvincing smile to dwell appreciatively on Cassi's curves and curls. Abella sometimes suspected that was the very reason Cassi wanted her there: as an unprepossessing foil for her own ripe beauty. Perhaps that was why the dressmaker whose creations flattered Cassi so perfectly had created a gown for Abella that didn't suit her at all. Or perhaps it was simply that no kind of frock Cassi and her dressmaker considered suitable for a party would suit Abella, any more than the parties themselves suited her.

If only Abella could be left alone with her work, instead of being harassed to socialize, to "meet people," to "put herself out there," to demonstrate her nonexistent charm and beauty to a bevy of potential suitors. She didn't even want to get married. She was busy.

"It's lovely," she told the dressmaker politely. "May I go now?"

She could see at a glance that her reaction had disappointed the woman, but the dressmaker merely said, "Of course, my lady," and began the interminable process of removing the pins from the frock that Abella had probably just agreed to buy.

[maculategiraffe]

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[maculategiraffe]

It doesn't matter if that fic has been in your drafts for years and is now self-indulgent to the point of parody. If Steven Moffatt is allowed to do it professionally, you are allowed to do it for fun.

[maculategiraffe]

early to bed and early to rise leaves a man so fucked up that he dies

[maculategiraffe]

on a minor laura jean libbey kick and kind of annoyed that the only audiobooks of any of her novels I can find online are being read (by volunteers; I am not unappreciative!) in a quiet, measured tone suitable for bedtime. whereas the audiobook narrator of a laura jean libbey novel should sound like she is either in the throes of, or on the verge of, a complete hysterical breakdown at all times. also you would have to do really exaggeratedly deep voices for the men and high pitched breathy voices for the girls and mustache twirling voices for the villains and although I am not normally a fan of music in the background of audiobooks, some of these paragraphs are definitely designed to have the swan lake tchaikovsky violins kick up during them.

also specifically in the case of this one (jolly sally pendleton, or, the wife who was not a wife) I think there should be a sad trombone "womp womp" every time anybody says the name "bernardine"

[maculategiraffe]

girl: ahh i've just been dealing with a lot y'know? it's like the world wants me dead haha

me (completely stonefaced): i will be your shield

her: what?

[maculategiraffe]

white heathcliff… it’s me i’m instagram face cathy ive come home

[maculategiraffe]

congratulations 🎉🎉🎉👏👏👏😎😎😎

and the office I left a voicemail for yesterday called me back today and I answered the phone and got the appointment made!! witness me 🔥

@maculategiraffe hey that mood when you've made several phone calls in *one* morning, you know?

they all went well! hurrah!

[maculategiraffe]

"i had straight As in high school i don't understand why college is so hard" get tested for adhd. if you were tested as a kid and they didn't diagnose you it was cause your grades were good then but you've since lost the routine and structure in hs that kept you on top of everything so go get retested. go get tested for adhd. go