#...maybe? tenuously? i have no idea

[egophiliac]

Tl;Dr - I stopped playing the game but I like the characters and I wanna draw them but idk if the wiki I use is up to date for cards

Do u know any wikis that have up to date cards for all the twst characters-

Asking specifically bc of Malleus cause I can't tell anymore if he has any more new cards bc HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A 100 DISNEY ANIVERSARY CARD IN THE WIKI I USE 😭

Like compared to everyone else in Disanomia, he has 12 cards (in the wiki I use) and then Lilia has 17 cards 💀

Cause I think Malleus has a Bean's Day card as well, but that could just be a fanmade one, I don't have JP twst nor ENG twst anymore so I can't confirm it myself urhghrhevw 🫠

Malleus doesn't have a Beans Day card, so that would've been fanmade! and the 100 anniversary cards are actually the new round of birthday cards, so most of the characters don't have 'em yet -- Malleus should be getting his in a couple of days, when his birthday event starts! oh god my keeeeeys

I think the wiki.gg stays pretty up to date? it looks to me like they have everything that's currently up through JP, at least. :O I did go through and do a quick count just because I couldn't believe Malleus only had 12 cards, but. he really does have the least...defeated only by Silver with 13...astonishing. we need his gargoyle club wear immediately.

[katakaluptastrophy]

One thing that has me gnawing on the metaphorical drywall is that Abigail Pent apparently never learned just how awful Jod is.

There she is, in the River, murdered by one of god's fingers and gestures, having been invited to the First so that she could kill her husband and eat his soul and...she's triggering Harrow by exclaiming that "The King Over the River is good!" when she learns some people survived.

Having worked out that there is something fundamentally, practically, metaphysically wrong with the River she...just assumes poor old god doesn't know and could do with some Cliff Notes.

And then there's the battle with the Sleeper. She's hiding from a mad, gun-wielding ghost, her husband shot in the stomach on the other side of the room, and her carefully planned exorcism in pieces, and Ortus begins to recite the Noniad. And realising the impossible thing he wants her to do, Abigail - who pages earlier expressed her doubts about god's omnipotence, prays: “Oh, God... God, please help me” (which makes her the only character who isn't a literal priest or member of a religious order who we see praying).

When she describes her childhood bedroom to Harrow, everything she mentions sounds like something of significance to her: her grandfather's bones, her desk, the bed where her brother sometimes slept, and "a pretty chroma of the Prince Undying, but a little cockeyed." (think mass produced 1950s Sacred Heart picture and you're probably not far off...)

Despite having formative memories of having weird devotional art in her bedroom, Abigail is miles away from that other enjoyed of Jod pictures in their living space, Silas Octakiseron. She's open about her heterodox views, and clearly has the knowledge to back them up (including, it should be noted, at least one degree taken on the Eighth). And she clearly has form with going off on a heterodox tangent, as Magnus seems to have a well-rehearsed pattern for bringing her back to an acceptable line. And while she's happy to acknowledge that her views aren't orthodox, she's not being pointlessly controversial: she doesn't mind being a heretic, but she's rather upset by the idea that Marta might think her a mad one.

Marta, meanwhile, is one of several characters who show us that Abigail's intensity isn't just the result of living in a theocracy: “No. The Second House doesn’t overthink the River...If we did we’d just have to fill in forms.” Meanwhile, Ianthe is clearly thinking about dogma with an eye less to worship than replication.

And maybe it's because I know a lot of people who are devout but heterodox, and in relationships only tenuously accepted in their tradition (or only in their specific bit of the tradition)...but I just have a lot of feelings about Abigail here. Someone who's willing to be frank and informed about the complexities inherent in her belief system, but who seems to be committed to her faith. She seems so willing to think the best of Jod, to pray to him even when she's intellectually aware it may not be quite that straightforward and...he doesn't give a shit. He isn't god. He's a stupid little man who looks down on the humanities and I wish Abigail Pent got the chance to say something devastating to him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: need a little time to figure out don't speak so here ya are.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your dreams are muddied with the dregs of your reality. You wade through the swamp of waking horrors mutated by the nonsensical hues of your subconscious. Your escape is less than happy as you open your eyes to stare at the basement ceiling. The water stain there is just another latent trouble waiting to implode.

The most potent reminder of the utter disarray if your life isn't the heaps of laundry waiting by the machine or the steady drip from the old wash sink. It's the violent pang radiating from your tailbone, another tenderly throbbing by your shoulder blade. The mortifying scene plays in your mind; Pete's obtuse come on and your own bitter and insecure rejection.

Your morning routine is made more tedious by your condition. Every move is tinged in torment and the kids seem unexpectedly rambunctious. Or maybe you just can't keep up with them.

You get them packed up and in the car. You were so swept up, you didn't even get your morning coffee. It's not as if you'd expected this day to go any smoother than the last. Thankfully, you don’t run into your husband.

 School drop off is just as hectic, ominous if anything. You tell Simone to take Malik inside for you as you stay behind the wheel.

“Are you okay?” She asks, ever observative. Why does she have to be so smart? Hopefully, she stays that way.

“Good, just had a late night,” you assure her, “I’ve got a big… meeting this morning.”

“Yeah, dad said something about a promotion,” she unbuckles her seat belt and sidles over to unclasp Malik from his seat.

“Do you need help, honey?” You ask, steeling yourself at the idea of getting out of the car.

“I got it,” she insists. “Are you going to work late again?”

“I… don’t think so,” you answer tenuously.

“Oh,” is all she can utter. She gets Malik out and grabs both their bookbags. “Come on,” she tugs on his hand as he opens her door.

“Love you guys,” you say.

“Love you, mommy!” Malik sings.

“Yeah, love ya too,” Simone mutters then huffs at Malik, “hurry up. I wanna read before class.”

She shuts the door, a bit heavier than you expect, and you watch them until they get to the front doors, meeting the other clusters of students and parents. You inhale and turn forward, flicking your lashes as your eyes burn. Your back is on fire with pain, but worse, your heart is a pit of agony. You feel your family crumbling all around you.

A pair of headlights flash in your rear view and you shift into gear and slowly roll away from the pick up area. You grip the wheel tight and wiggle your nose, resisting the hot wall of tears trembling in your head. You don’t know what to do, there’s nothing to do but keep going. Things will change, they always do.

You watch the time as you drive to work. You pull into the lot and click the button on your seat belt, letting it repel as you lean back. Oh god, the hardest part, getting out. With each second, you feel worse. So what? Some bruises? You’ve dealt with worse.

You open the door and snatch your bag from the other seat. You turn sideways, bag on your elbow, as you grip the side of the car and the steering wheel and push yourself to your feet. You smother a yelp to a whimper. Your legs shake with the pain hammering in your tailbone.

You lean on the door as you close it. You take another deep breath, this one racks you torturously. You set your feet and limp along the side of the building in your beat up Keds. No heels or flats, you need support.

You nearly fall into the elevator, relieved to be alone for the ride up. You lean on the wall and watch the floor light up one at a time. You hobble off, holding your lower back. It’s not an unusual sight. Your hips have been fucked up since your second pregnancy.

You limp past your desk as you keep your morning task in mind. You just want it done and over with. Then you can sit in the ungodly office chair and try not to break. 

You’ve never been so thankful for the apathy of your coworkers. Hansen trained them well. They know to only worry about themselves and their work. The exemplar of capitalistic character.

You approach Hansen’s office door. To your surprise, it’s unlocked. You let yourself in, not bothering to make sure you’re unseen. Who gives a fuck anymore? He is hardly the beacon of discretion.

You drop your bag on the long console table with the vase of fake lilies and keep moving. You can’t stop. You undress without hesitation. You treat it like business. No point in wasting time.

You pile your clothes in the uncomfortable acrylic chair across from the immense leather throne on its swivel. You round the desk and stumble. You catch yourself as you brace your back and whine. Oh god, shit.

You give in to the tremble in your legs and fall to your knees. You drag yourself under the desk and sit on your knees. That’s not a good idea. You grit your teeth and gulp. You’ve never felt pain like this. Well you have, but you know you’re not going into labour.

Your legs are tingly despite the hot pain coursing around your hips. You do your best to breathe through it as you wait. What are you even doing? How did it come to this? For christ sakes, your forty-fucking-four years old. Waiting like some bimbo in your boss’ office.

Before you can sink into your self-loathing, you hear the door. He clicks his tongue as you listen to his deliberate gait. He’s making a show of it. He’s drawing it out. You bite back your irritation. As much as he plays around, he’s easy. Just like Pete. He’s entirely ruled by that dangling worm between his legs.

He sighs and struts around. You can picture the smug smirk under his dumb mustache. But you don’t. You’re already tensed up.

There’s a clink on the desk as he sets down his coffee and he hums as he rolls the chair out. He sits and spreads his knees wide. There’s a twitch in his pants. His finely tailored pants that probably cost more than your mortgage. 

“Good morning,” he grips the arms of the chair as he leans back.

You don’t say a word as you reach for him. He wheels closer as you pop the top button of his pants. His gaze is stolid on you. You feel yourself sweating under it. It’s more humiliating to know he’s watching you so intently.

You tug down his fly. No underwear. You’re hardly surprised. The man who doesn’t wear socks with his tacky loafers likely doesn’t have a very full top drawer. You pull him through the vee of fabric and stroke his half-hard length.

“I didn’t even play with myself in the shower,” he taunts, “I saved it all for you.”

He snorts as you stay silent. You just keep going. He takes a breath and lets it out through his nose.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” He asks.

You once more have no answer. He flinches as you squeeze around his tip and roll your palm over it. He hisses as he squeezes the leather armrests.

“Fucking balls,” he puffs as he tilts his head back, “those hands–”

You bring your other hand up to cup him from below. You remember when you used to enjoy this. When you wanted it. How Pete’s groans used to spark a thrill in you but this, this just makes you feel grimy.

“Shit, shit,” he gulps, “slow down, baby face.”

You ignore him and he spasms. He sits forward and grabs your wrists, stopping you. You clench your jaw and look up at him.

“Hey, slow the fuck down,” he warns you, “the fuck’s your problem?”

You shrug and your cheek strains as even just that gesture tweaks in your hips. You stare at him dully. He tilts his head as he juts his jaw out. His lip curls as he rolls himself away in the chair. He snaps his fingers.

“Get out of there,” he demands. 

You blink to keep from rolling your eyes. You put your hands on the floor but can’t move. You try to crawl forward but just can’t. Your tailbone is throbbing.

“I said get up,” he snaps.

“I can’t,” you rasp.

“What?” He leans forward.

“I fucking can’t–”

“Jesus fuck,” he stands and bends over you, angling around to hook his arms around you. 

He hauls you up and you squeal as the fire shoots around your hips. He holds you under your arms as he turns you and lets you fall against his desk. You land on the flat keyboard and very pointy paperweight.

“Damn,” he smacks your ass, the flesh jiggling on impact, “look at that.”

You cry out, louder than you mean too. You whimper and hit the desk with your fist. He peels his hand away and you sense him raise it again. You stretch your arm behind you and wave at him desperately.

“No, no, please–” Your hand falls to your tailbone and you whine, “stop.”

You squeeze your thighs tight, overly aware of the dimples in the flesh and the lines rippled into the skin. Worse than the agony is the exposure. Both overwhelm you to the point of defeat.

“What?” He snips.

“I think– I think something’s wrong with me,” you choke out, feeling along your back. There’s a tender bump right along the base of your spine.

“What’s wrong?” He growls.

“Look…” you try to push yourself off the desk and your legs wobble. Before you can crumple to the floor, he catches you. Thankfully, surprisingly. “I fell in the shower last night,” your throat tightens at the admission of your own mortality, “I’m old, alright? And I fucking hurt myself.”

He sighs. His demeanour changes, not so rough, not so impatient as he angles you into the leather chair. It hurts just as much but you don’t care. It’s better than the floor.

“Fuck,” he puts his hands on his hips, his dick still standing above his pants. No shame. “Fine, you finish the job and I’ll let you off for the day. Go see a fucking doctor.”

You furrow your brow at him. Really?

“Well, you’re halfway there, sweet cheeks,” he turns a palm out, “so, get on it.”

Disbelief? Hardly. You could predict this. But you're exasperated and exhausted and you could rip that damn thing off his body. 

You clamp your lips tight and sit up as best you can. You reach for him, gripping him tightly so he yipes. He slaps your wrist.

“Hey, lay off,” he warns.

You sniff but listen. You ease up and stroke him. He falls back into his groans, hands on his hips as he pushes his pelvis towards you. You just stare at the hem of his shirt as you keep a steady rhythm. How can men be so simple but make things so difficult?

You flinch as he bends his knees, just a bit, and reaches for your chest. You try to bat him away but he throws your hand back. He cups your tit and kneads, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You shudder and look away, crossing your arm around your stomach. You hope he can’t see everything from up there.

“Can I come on your tits?” He snarls, “don’t know why I’m asking…”

He steps closer and you feel him getting closer. His body tenses as his other hand goes to your shoulder and he rocks his hips, as good as fucking your hand. You direct his tip down and turn your chin up, disgusted as he quakes in your grip.

He grunts as he cums, his voice trailing off in thick moans as he unleashes on you. Cords of his cum string over your chest and up your neck. You swallow down your disgust as you see him through his climax, finishing with another pinch on your nipple.

He lets you go and backs up, “whew,” he blows out and gives an emphatic shiver.

You puff and gather what’s left of your strength. It’s done. You’re free. For a few hours at least. You let the pain roll out in a guttural grunt as you stand and stagger to grab a tissue from the sleek metal box on his desk. You do your best to clean yourself up. Hopefully you can do a better job at the clinic in case they need to do any tests.

“That was fucking… spectacular,” he nears and grabs a tissue of his own, brushing against your back, “even dragging your tail around like a beat dog, you just get the job done, don’t you?”

You need a coffee. You’re going to punch him. You take another tissue and continue to sop up the slimy mess.

You wince as his hand settles on your ass. It isn’t as bad as the slap but it still makes you yelp. He tuts and retracted his touch.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You go get yourself figured the fuck out.” His frustration cracks in his voice, “I was looking forward to this…”

“Life doesn’t always go as we planned,” you shake your head and toss out the tissues. You go to the chair and grab your underwear, letting them unfurl.

“Wouldn’t you fucking know?” He barks, “give me those.” He yanks the underwear from your grasp, “I told you, forget the fucking parachute.” He throws them and shakes his head, “you know, that’s the problem with you old ones, you don’t fucking listen.”

You grab your pants as he simmers. You lean on the chair as you lift each foot and pull the belt to your waist. He looms, pacing, huffing and puffing.

“...hurt your fucking back....”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you murmur.

“You’re lucky you have good hands,” he carries on, “very fucking lucky. I could bankrupt you. You and your little brats would be out on the street–”

“Mr. Hansen,” you hook your bra behind your back with a torturous effort, “please–”

“You just keep them in mind, huh?” He sneers, “you better not be fucking lying.”

“I wish I was,” you grab your blouse and hook it over your head, poking your arms into the sleeves.

“Wait, wait,” he waves his hand and blocks you from the door, “you think… if you laid down… I could just slide in?”

You give a look. The look. The one you give Pete when he forgets something at the grocery store. Or the kids when they won’t stop fighting. He blanches as his eyes meet yours.

“Alright, alright, go see a doctor,” he relents, his frustration still sharp. “The sooner, the fucking better.”

He wags his finger in your face before he backs up. You limp to the door and grab your bag before you let yourself out. As you shut the door, you hear a thump. You see more tantrums from grown men than you do your own children.

[twig-tea]

TOL Romcom Rewatch Week 8: The Proposal

It feels more difficult to write this week because while last week felt like the closest the show had ever been in paralleling the film of the week, this week feels the furthest away. 

After letting it sit, I think the best parallel I can come up with for how this film fits this week’s episode is that the people in the film are at different places emotionally than the other thinks they are, and it causes them to hurt each other. 

In the film, Margaret started this whole proposal as blackmail, and Andrew went along with it to get his dream job. Margaret has no idea that Andrew’s feelings at some point changed—in fact Andrew didn’t realize himself until she left him at the altar–and as she gets further into the film and starts to develop feelings of her own, every time Andrew insists on doubling down that their relationship is real and that he wants to marry her, it hurts her, because she thinks he’s lying. And she sees Andrew with his ex and assumes they belong together in ways that she is holding Andrew back from. She ends up telling the truth, which is that their relationship is a lie, hurting Andrew because at that point he is actually interested in more for real, but now she’s left him at the altar in front of his family and exposed that he was willing to lie to them all for this job. 

At this point in Third and Khai’s story, Third knows that Khai emotionally manipulated him by flirting and that he had no interest in him romantically, and so is unable to hear flirting now as anything other than at best Khai being friendly and at worst more emotional manipulation (and to be fair, Khai has not been honest with him about his feelings, so Third has no reason to believe otherwise). Khai does not know that Third knows this, and so is unaware that his behaviour is being interpreted as anything other than real; he sees Third’s sarcasm as just who Third is (because it's how Third reacted to him before, and how Third has reacted to women flirting with him the same way in the past). 

There are also a few plot moments that feel like they could maybe be parallels, though it's a stretch. Khai sees Third and Un together at the movies and gets so jealous he can’t keep it together to go to the play rehearsals. He tries to kiss Third in his sleep (which enrages me every time I see it–he did it knowing how badly he hurt Third the first time with that bathroom kiss and he still went for it because romcoms lie to us and tell us kissing people in their sleep when they don’t know about your feelings is cute. Thank you show for underlining 3 times that IT IS NOT CUTE) as a way of expressing his feelings, and is bewildered when Third yells at him for it. He tears off on his motorcycle (which felt similar to Margaret grabbing the speedboat and making a break for it out of emotional overwhelm) and, also similar to Margaret, ends up in physical peril because of it. At the end of the episode he is devastated that he hurt Third so badly and that he won’t have time to salvage it. 

The parallels are honestly tenuous, but thematically I think I can see it if I squint. Because I’ve seen this series before, I’m suspecting that we’ll see more parallels to this film in future episodes too. I am also wondering if, now that we’re out of Third’s head, the parallels will be less obvious than they have been to date, or if this was just a case of it being kind of a slow episode overly focused on the side couples. If we had to watch a film that was only tenuously linked to the show’s themes, I’m glad it was at least not as heinous as some of the ones that came before this. 

In terms of my recurring thesis around what could these two fools have learned from this film if they’d paid attention? The way Margaret and Andrew build an emotional bond as they are vulnerable with each other and share things about themselves they don’t want other people to know, as well as the honesty with which Andrew approaches his proposal at the end, would have been great things to pick up on. Instead, it seems that maybe Khai heard Andrew say his feelings started from their kiss and decided to try to rewrite their awful first kiss to make that happen for him, to very poor results. 

[thevalleyisjolly]

I've been thinking about the fundamental challenge of originally planning 5 seasons and then having to condense 4 seasons down into one, and I think that paradoxically, one potential solution to the issue of pacing could have been to zoom out and have each story arc cover a longer period of time.  As it is, each arc covers the events of a few days, with a whole year between them.  Consequentially, it doesn't give us much opportunity to understand character evolutions and motivations across that year.  My proposal is to slow down and to allow the arcs to take place over a longer period of time.

Arc 1, in my opinion, is actually largely fine in terms of pacing and positioning. We get the resolution of Leida's wedding as suggested at the end of Season 1, there's the introduction of Krennic and the Ghorman plot, and we see what's happening with the Ferrix crew and the fledgling Rebellion. The only big change I'd make is spending less time on Yavin IV; let Cassian escape from the Maya Pei brigade sooner and show him on his way to deliver the TIE fighter himself when he hears about what's happening on the agricultural planet, with the extra travel time accounting for why he didn't arrive sooner.

Arc 2 is where I would first start to slow down.  Start with Syril established on Ghorman, yes, introduce the Ghorman Front and have Cassian contact them on Luthen's behalf, but then delay the weapons heist.  Schedule the shipment to arrive a few weeks later, maybe even a month, and have Cassian leave Ghorman earlier in Episode 5 but tagging in Vel and Cinta.  This slight extended period of time taking place over the end of Episode 5 and into Episode 6 gives the characters and the plot more in-universe time to simmer. 

You could lay the grounds for Syril starting to get suspicious of Dedra, or show Cinta and Vel struggling to reconnect and balance their relationship with the Rebellion.  You could even have Cassian and Bix go on a mission together (as per Bix' wishes) where Cassian endangers the outcome believing that Bix is at risk.  Perhaps give them the Senate ball assignment, removing the bug from Sculdun's gallery, and Cassian almost blows their cover as reporters when he sees Bix talking to an ISB officer (it's Lonni Jung but they don't know he's on their side).  Maybe it's this averted disaster that causes Luthen to doubt Cassian's commitment, and he sends him to the fledgling base on Yavin IV ostensibly to keep his head down after the ball but really to keep him at a distance from Luthen's centre of operations on Coruscant.

(The other big change here, entirely separate from pacing, is that Cinta doesn't die.  I like the idea of the Front's inexperience costing them an important ally though, so I'd set up another resistance faction on Ghorman who are in-fighting with the Front; they tenuously agree to a joint mission but shit goes down and the leader of the other faction is accidentally killed, permanently dividing resistance efforts on Ghorman)

The actual massacre is paced pretty well in Arc 3 over Episodes 7-8, but again zooming out, I would start the arc earlier in the year.  An opening scene showing Cassian coming back to Yavin IV severely injured with Wilmon -extracting him from a particularly brutal mission with the Partisans?- and Bix starting to question the value of their current life on Yavin.  The fight's out there and the Alliance is still a ways from fully operational.  You could also have a bit of connective exposition -Vel or Cinta debriefing Wilmon, mentioning the situation on Ghorman or hinting that Luthen is growing in paranoia- to catch the audience up on what's been happening and start positioning the characters for the upcoming events. 

Fade to black, leap ahead several months, to where Arc 3 actually picked up in canon. The events of the massacre are themselves largely the same, but instead of rushing Cassian to Coruscant to get Mon out, Cassian returns to Yavin and Vel goes instead.  While Vel helps Mon escape the Senate, Cassian is entirely burnt out back on Yavin which is juxtaposed with Bix ready to act, committed to winning, and knowing that Dedra is still out there somewhere.  Instead of one goodbye message, their increasing differences in purpose can play out over the course of Episode 9 in several conversations and arguments, with Cassian looking for a way to stop and Bix not wanting either of them to stop.  This culminates in Bix making the decision for both of them and deciding to leave to take a more active role in the Rebellion - possibly even suggesting she's returning to Luthen and Coruscant to go after Dedra.  Meanwhile it serves as the reminder Cassian needs to be lifted up out of his despair; Bix prioritizing the Rebellion above their relationship inspires him to do the same.

Arc 4 has not aired yet so these suggestions come with the caveat that they may affect characters' positioning for events in the final chapter of the story.  However, I believe that a condensed season with yearly timeskips could have worked with more or less the same plot beats if they're really attached to keeping them.  More connective tissue (don't be afraid of a little exposition, especially with time jumps!), a greater sense of in-universe time (let characters acknowledge and be impacted by the passage of time!), and allowing character relationships to guide decisions rather than set plot events, would have greatly helped the season feel more cohesive and less jarring.

[bisonofyesterday]

Bison’s Big Cool TURKEY DAY November 2024 Art Dump!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"BISON!" you might be wondering, "DIDN'T YOU ALREADY POST THE SATURN FIVE??", well mysterious strawman voice! I did! however I had not finished Sneak yet, but now (and by now i mean like early this month) I have! Uhm, I also didn't draw this much because of anxious depression over c e r t a i n e v e n t s early in the month, but I DID do these 2 things! Hell how about I talk about my ideas for them while I'm here eh? THE SENSATIONAL SATURN FIVE!: Pop-Science Superhero Celebrity Group! They have a deal with evil corporation Evenfall Entertainment (and partial government funding) and therefore are the stars of a half-edutainment/half-reality show where they ALSO fight glamorous crime!

Atom Ace: (Howard Hubble) brilliant inventor and total prick, a freak mutation has given Howard total control over his molecular density! Allowing him to chance size at will! He's also invented some neato repulsor rays in his gloves to fly and punch people at a distance! He may have control over his size! But not anyone else in his life! He's the father of two girls and has a weird relationship with his house AI and his science/business partner, they ALL hate eachother! (Howard is inspired by a mix of Hank Pym Ant-Man and Iron Man) Rhea: (Rhea Hubble) the spunky sweetheart of the Saturn V! Rhea can create hard light ring constructs out of her hair, they remind folks of the planet Saturn so she's named after a MOON of Saturn! She's also very rebellious and hates her dad. (as you can see she's flirting with Dani over there in the corner) (Rhea's general costume is inspired by The Wasp but that's where that reference starts and ends) Sneak: (Valentina Hubble) Rhea's older sister, Sneak is the exact opposite of Rhea, being a huge bootlicker for her dad, she also does a lot of the Five's (I.E. Evenfall Entertainment's) dirty work behind the scenes, which is easy! As she has the power of invisibility! Unfortunately she cannot create forcefields but she can harness her invisible energy into electrical arcs! (s-shock people, she can shock people) She does NOT retain her sister's sociability and sticks to the sidelines. (like her pooooowerrssssss) (Val is intended to be the Black Widow expy, but again, appearance and narrative function is basically where that starts and ends) Ternion: Howard's AI whom he made to care for his boring mansion and his children! (that triangle to the top left of her is her true form), she processes data on the Five's (I.E. Howard's) experiments, but she and Howard are also something more! As they have an incredibly unstable emotional-possibly-psychosexual co-dependent relationship! However! Howard is a massive stick in the mud, so Ternion often has to turn elsewhere for her needs! (Ternion physical appearance is tenuously inspired by The Vision), enter!: The Null: (Dhalazor Rogers) originally Howard's closest science confidant, now a background member and semi-constant nuisance for their press! As The Null turns into a HULKING ALIEN ABOMINATION when stressed! He takes 'medicine' to accommodate this, he still actually cares about the work he does (as well as being a father figure for the sisters) but it's obviously gone to Howard's head, and also that emotional maturity is what attracts Ternion to him as well, oh the drama! I just realized now maybe that also helps their ratings (The Null is obvious, the Incredible Hulk, but I also imagine him with weird fish fins like the Abomination) As I've been not at all subtle with here, the Saturn Five are intended to be expies of the Avengers to contrast against the Phenomenal Family's obvious inspirations in the Fantastic Four, Phenomenal! has tons of other expies too, but I'm gonna have to write about them in their own thingies (just know for now that Howard, Dhala, Millie, and Randy all went to the same college), but if it wasn't obvious I'm a MASSIVE fan of the Venture Bros and comics in general and I like taking toys and bashing them together, wow!

Also! The Patriots still exists! Yeah! Unfortunately right now I'm writing the sequel to something completely unrelated to either The Patriots NOR Phenomenal! So stay tuned for that hopefully this Christmas! (I won't rush myself though so I may miss it)

[magnetarbeam]

Recovering Herself (WIP 6)

[Yes, I'm finally working on this again. At the point I've reached, we're about to have Zekk realize his feelings for Jag. Also several minor changes to wording, including references to Jag and the Fels as part of the Empire of the Hand and not the Ascendancy.

I also do want to add another scene in between what are now the third and fourth, in which Jaina has to think all the way back to YJK to think of something that's actually fun.]

”Jaina, as your commanding officer, I’m ordering you to take today off. No training, no strategizing, nothing. Report to me first thing in the morning. At that time, if you think you need another day off, I require you to tell me so. You’ll get it.”

With his characteristic military precision, Jag left. Zekk followed a moment later, his impressed surprise registering only distantly in Jaina’s perceptions.

A day off. The concept was almost an alien one to her. Thinking back, Jaina found herself astounded, barely able to believe that it hadn’t even been a year since the first of the atrocities committed by the creature Jacen had become. The series of events had so consumed her emotionally that it might as well have been a decade.

Her service in Starfighter Command after the Yuuzhan Vong War had given her periods of leave, naturally, but it had always felt like a waste. All she had to give for the galaxy - almost all she was - was to find the next fight, and win it. She was the Sword of the Jedi, never supposed to know peace.

Under any other circumstance, an order like the one she’d just received would have stirred up a fierce resentment in Jaina for stripping her from her purpose, however temporarily. This time, though, as her mind began to process the events that had just happened, she was just numb.

She had almost killed Jag, merely for the act of embarrassing her. As Jaina thought it through more, the carefully constructed mental barriers started to break. It was a rush of emotion of such intensity that Jaina found herself driven to tears. Shock and guilt and confusion poured through the widening cracks. There was something else there, too, a sentiment that, despite everything, she was not prepared for.

Love.

Flooded as she was by long-repressed emotions, Jaina couldn’t find it in herself to resist the notion that maybe she really did need a break. Jag, blast him, had probably predicted and counted on exactly that.

Although she still had no idea what to do with a break, she realized there were people that might.

Jaina turned and climbed the boarding ramp of the Falcon.

"How do I take a break!?" Jaina asked in a near-panic.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "First of all," she advised, "calm down."

Jaina took several deep breaths, attempting to enter a light meditative trance to center herself in her environment. For the first time since this mess started, she was reasonably successful. Though Leia was less experienced in harnessing it, her signature in the Force burned just as bright as that of her brother the Grand Master, and its reassuring light offered a beacon of calm that Jaina only now realized she'd missed across all the months that they'd been separated.

Even as she placed herself tenuously in the eye of her storm of emotions, and returned her focus to her physical surroundings, Jaina didn't let go of the lifeline that her mother's mental touch represented.

"I think I should handle this one,” Han advised Leia. "Even after all these years, I'm not sure you know the answer."

After a moment of feeling vaguely affronted, Leia sighed. "I wish I could argue with that."

Han stood up from the Falcon's pilot seat. He pointed to it, and told Jaina, "Sit down."

Jaina sat, feeling weirdly like a child being put in time-out.

"Now,“ her father said, "Tell me why you don't know how to take a break."

”I'm the Sword of the Jedi," Jaina told him instantly. The words came to her without effort, without even particular emotion. ”Just a weapon. Weapons aren't supposed to need rest, or companionship, or anything other than someone to wield it and something to be wielded against."

Leia's agonized despair at those words blasted through the Force. The surge came as such a shock that Jaina reflexively tried to reel back from the mental contact, but her mother didn't let her, holding on with a fiery protectiveness of a magnitude that Jaina wasn't sure she'd ever felt before.

Han, moving so fast that Jaina didn't even sense the intent beforehand, slammed his fist into the transparisteel viewport. He could not damage it, of course, but Jaina distantly registered a flare of physical pain under his cold fury, a fury aimed not at Jaina or Leia, but at the galaxy and universe and Force that had made his daughter believe such a thing.

A few moments passed in a tense silence, where it seemed like none of them really knew what to say. In the tide of emotions directed at her by her mother, Jaina sensed currents of lament and longing and the same kind of righteous indignation that Leia had always shown in the face of injustice. It took a second for Jaina to connect those to the flashes of memory and realize that it added up to one message:

You deserve better.

Before Jaina could react to that, her father found his voice.

"Now put your feet up on the instrument board."

Jaina blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Like this." Leia, still in the copilot's seat, leaned back as much as the chair would allow, and showed Jaina what Han was talking about. "It's easy."

"Oh, so now you-" Han started to complain to his wife.

"I've seen you do it enough times," Leia told him with a nonchalance that was clearly forced.

Reluctantly, Jaina did as requested, making sure not to actually kick any of the controls out of their alignments.

“How does that feel?” her father asked.

“…Weird,” Jaina settled on after a moment, really not wanting to try to describe in detail the emotions induced by an informality so emblematic of her father's classic independent spirit and disrespect for authority.

That thought provoked another association that hit her square in the heart. Jaina had once been like that, hadn't she?

For a second, she wasn't sure.

Then she started to remember.

"Now," her father said, "tell us again what you told us before. About being a weapon."

”I'm the Sword of the Jedi," she repeated. The habitual statement, that she had drilled into herself for what felt like it might as well have been her entire life, struck her as curiously at odds with her casual posture that felt like it should be accompanied by sarcasm and insults.

"Just a weapon." But that wasn't true, was it? A sword didn't have emotions, but after what had just happened, Jaina found that she had to acknowledge that despite her best efforts, she did have emotions.

"Keep going," Han encouraged with a stern tone that, only now, Jaina realized wasn't reflective of his actual feelings.

"Weapons aren't supposed to…"

They were the words of a Jedi Knight who had more skill and experience than almost any other.

They were the words of a soldier, whose entire life had been defined by combat and death and suffering.

They were the words of the Sword of the Jedi, to whom the title was to be interpreted as literally as possible.

But right now, she didn't feel like any of that.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, daughter of Han Solo's brash, reckless independent streak and Leia Organa's selfless empathy.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, who couldn't pay attention to a history lesson but lost almost two days hyperfocusing on disassembling and reassembling the enthrallingly complicated internal workings of the first Incom StealthX starfighter delivered to the Jedi.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, who lasted twenty-seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds in the Lando's Folly asteroid run, beating out the previous record holder, Kyp Durron, more than two to one.

Finally the contrast was too much, too strange, and Jaina could no longer contain herself.

She laughed.

She laughed like she never had before.

It was like the long-awaited release of a capacitor charged with all the joy she hadn't had the luxury of experiencing since the Yuuzhan Vong War began.

The time that passed could have been ten minutes or ten hours. Jaina didn't know. What she did know was that she was laughing, and so were her parents, and for at least this moment, the weight of the galaxy had been lifted from her shoulders.

———

She was laughing.

Zekk stopped in his tracks when he felt the surge of joy.

Jaina's catharsis rang in his mind almost as clearly as if it was his own (the fact that that it briefly had been was something they both put considerable effort into not thinking about), but Zekk still experienced a moment of stunned disbelief before he let himself believe that it was real.

The fact that it had been Jag who had finally gotten through to her sparked a flare of jealousy - she cares about him more than me - but Zekk decided it was not welcome. If anything, the fact that he hadn't been able to come up with something that would have accomplished that result was his personal failure.

Either way, it had finally happened.

That meant there were amends to make.

“You’re still working?”

Had Zekk spoken thirty seconds sooner, Jag’s jolt of surprise might very well have led to the new wiring from the blaster’s power pack connecting prematurely to the timer he hadn’t yet programmed, causing the entire device to blow up in his face. As he turned to face the tall Jedi, it occurred to Jag that Zekk had probably realized that.

“What?” Jag asked, a hint of bitter hostility creeping into his voice out of habit.

Zekk scrutinized him in silence for a second, and Jag realized his tone. He was surprised to find he didn’t feel that resentment anymore. For months, Zekk had been an annoyance. They worked together well enough on a professional level, but they didn’t get along personally. Jag wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that part of it was the competition over Jaina, who had entertained romantic affections for both men at different times in her life, but he was too proud to admit it to anyone else.

Now, Jag wasn’t sure where he and Zekk stood.

“But after today,” the other man had said not an hour ago, “I’m exceedingly proud to have you as a comrade-in-arms.”

Zekk still didn’t particularly like him. That much was clear from the array of insults that had preceded the statement. But maybe…

“Come on,” Zekk told him, his tone suggesting that he was disappointed somehow. “You finally get through to her like that, and then you just hole up in your workshop?”

“I still have important work to do,” Jag reminded him matter-of-factly.

“So do I,” Zekk said. “So does Jaina. And you just gave us days off.

“Why don’t you deserve a break too?”

Jag silently struggled to find an answer to that. Those who carried the weight of Thrawn's legacy, even as disciplined as they were, still understood the importance of mental health. An individual driven to their breaking point by stress and anxiety would not be able to perform their role. The Empire of the Hand had given its soldiers leave just as any effective fighting force had to.

But Jag was no longer welcome in the Hand or its military. He had devoted himself to hunting down and killing Alema Rar because it was all he had left. That was a fact he was absolutely not ready to admit.

“I’m the commanding officer,” he answered, trying to inject strength into the words, and to summon emotions that would read like he believed that that was the answer.

Zekk instantly rolled his eyes, clearly seeing through the lie, but he thankfully chose not to call it out. Instead, he changed tactics.

“I’ve known Jaina longer than you have,” he reminded Jag. “I knew her before the Vong hit, back before she had any reason to think she was a weapon.

“She doesn’t need a commander right now. She needs a friend.”

That implication stopped Jag short.

“Am I your friend?” Jag asked.

That prompted another second of silence as Zekk presumably considered it.

“Not to me. Not yet,” Zekk admitted with a sigh. “But it’s what she needs, and I want to stop fighting.

“When this thing with Alema started,” he said bluntly, “I didn’t trust you. Jaina was starting to shut out anyone and anything that wasn’t about her goal, and I didn’t think you’d help because you were doing the exact same thing.”

The statement was the emotional equivalent of a direct hit from one of the siege guns on Jacen's destroyer. Zekk was right. The anger over Jaina’s part in Jag’s exile had gone unchecked since it happened, and it had led him to say things to her that he’d already come to regret. He’d tried to reduce Jaina to a subordinate in a military command structure. But he hadn’t really succeeded, had he?

“I’m the last person to preach about mental health,” Zekk continued, “but what you did back there tells me you’ve come back from that.”

Jag took a second to find a response.

“I haven’t forgiven her yet,” he told Zekk matter-of-factly, their eyes meeting. "I still don't know if I'll ever be able to.

"But she's important to me." Jag's resolve hardened his words to the density of battleship-grade neutronium. "Her brother's actions are already causing her enough pain. Anything I can do to help her through this is more important right now than my grudge over something that happened years ago.

"And you're right." Conceding to Zekk on such a personal matter, Jag found, no longer carried the sting that it would have only a few months ago. "I didn't help at first."

The guilt brought on by that admission was painful by itself, but Jag had never refused to take responsibility for his mistakes. "If I had let myself be there for her when we met again, maybe it wouldn't have gone this far."

Zekk shrugged indifferently. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's not like this is new for her."

Jag nodded in agreement. "True."

"Either way," he continued decisively, "I bear some responsibility here. For that reason, at the very least, I owe her this."

Zekk gave an amicable smile, which Jag supposed came from relief or gratitude.

The modifications to his blaster were not finished, but still Jag sealed the weapon in its case, leaving it fully prepared for further progress.

As they made their way back to the hangar, Jag steadfastly tried not to think about the familiar way his heart had skipped a beat at that smile.

Jaina was so hyperfocused on the datapad in front of her that she didn't even notice Jag and Zekk return to the hangar until they spoke.

”You look like you're doing better,” Jag observed, actually smiling at her. Not the same kind of smile as when they'd dated so many years ago, but it was much more than the barely perceptible gestures he'd always afforded her in public.

“A little bit,” Jaina admitted, consciously deciding to allow herself to think about how much she'd missed that smile.

But the true focus of Jaina's attention was her datapad, which she set to holoprojection mode, and a three-dimensional schematic of the ship design she was concepting appeared above the table.

Her companions immediately recognized the image for that, and they began to discuss it.

Zekk had never seen Jag smile before.

Thinking back on it, he figured they'd never been close enough. Jaina would have seen him smile during their relationship, but the most Zekk had known him was on a professional level, from their time together in Twin Suns Squadron.

[syrupspinner]

i completed Paradise Killer

im something of a suda51 fangirl, and when it comes to his games, i think this... what do you mean he didnt direct this. theres literally a Silver Case

my last review was WAY too negative. i hate insulting video games, i respect the medium so much and it kinda hurts to play something i hate. so to lighten my mood im gonna reflect on one of my favorite games of all time

im a predictable bitch. i love vibes, and my absolute favorite vibe is weird trippy dream-like surreal psychedelic craziness. roman sands, starstruck hands of time, psychopomp, vividlope, yiik, fatum betula, yume nikki, you get the idea. stuff that exists beyond our reality with a tenuously consistent but definitely foreign laws of function and understanding. and the visuals? floating heavenly bullshit with a vaguely tropical theme. if you wanted to construct a trap for me just make the interior of the cage look like this (which i wrote out and then realized its kinda the theme of the game?)

you play as Lady Love Dies, who has been exiled because shes just obsessed with investigating things. but theres been a murder in paradise! the syndicate that controls the island has been murdered, right before we were all meant to transition to our pocket reality's new and incrementally more perfect iteration (25th times the charm!). a few of the non-mortals have been held back as suspects, so... go do the investigation thing.

one of the first things you do in the game is return from exile, which is an isolated little apartment far above paradise. this means the game starts with you slowly falling to the game's setting, giving you a birds-eye view of the entire map. its just big and busy enough to make you go "wow" about the open world you get to explore, with every part looking different and enticing. the music swelling and playing you in on the perfect moment to accentuate this feeling of wonderment is masterful. if you do nothing else, listen to this games soundtrack, i cant think of a single song that doesnt hit the mark

the actual gameplay takes the form of first-person exploration. you go to different people and interrogate em, look around for clues, and maybe get a movement upgrade along the way. you can then initiate the trial whenever youre ready. literally whenever. and as long as you have enough evidence to reasonably back up your point, you can convict pretty much anyone of anything, or deliberately hold back evidence to keep the ones you like innocent. that is an amount of freedom im not very used to in detective games, cuz theres no fail state here, just guilty or innocent and the game ends. fucking wonderful

my favorite part of the game is how it approached information. first, on a gameplay level, youre not told anything about the evidence you gather. theres no "this gun... this insignia means that it belonged to the council!" (not a spoiler, i just made that up) or whatever, youve gotta do the detective work of connecting the dots abstractly and ignoring red herrings to specific conclusions. you have to realize what the insignia means, you have to think through the implications of the guns use, and you need to decide if you have enough evidence to reach a conclusion

as an extension of this, since this isnt an isekai or anything, nobodys gonna explain how this weird-ass world works to anyone. its up to you as the player to be receptive about how this world works and choose what to take at face value. like, people greet and say goodbye in specific ways based on what god they were born under, and sometimes they talk about communing with their gods. so youre like oh okay, everyones pretty spiritual, cuz theres a distinction between the gods and the sorta implicitly-devine syndicate. then there is a real physical god you can walk over to and converse with and youve just gotta incorporate that into your worldview real quick. i think this is a perfect genre to do that, since players are going in with the intention of piecing things together. finding out naturally how this world treats humans and how humans treat the world in return is some of the most fun ive had experiencing a narrative

speaking of the narrative... so, im not gonna spoil anything for you. but uh, figuring out exactly how the paradise killing when down and exactly who is responsible for it is so interesting and fun. this case is not straightforward in the slightest, theres so much co-occurring and interweaving. the characters are all interesting and compelling, there isnt a single person i can think of that i dont like seeing on screen.

so is this game just perfect? yeah, kinda. i can see how people might complain about the platforming traversal stuff, but like, theres a fast travel and like 99% of the jumping stuff is option for blood. blood is a currency you use to purchase wallpapers for your sentient briefcase investigation assistant btw. like, that is a sentence i can say and mean, how can you not love this fucking game?

people talk about how 10/10 ratings say more about the reviewer than the game, so im gonna bare my soul and say this is a mandatory experience for anyone who likes to play video games. its definitely not friendly to people who mostly play sports games or anything, but if you have a passion for narratives and you enjoy experiencing unique worlds and unique people then god damn you gotta play this. you just gotta

go here and click buy and play the game. i usually dont bother linking steam pages here unless theyre demos but i wanna make it as easy as possible to get this game

and while youre there wishlist the dev team's next game, promise mascot agency! it looks dope as hell

[mx-piggy]

just got around to watching the Ghosts Christmas special/finale. yesterday i saw previews to posts i assumed were negative, so i went into it with the thought i might not enjoy it. i have yet to find out what the negativity was in reference to- i'll go looking through some posts in a sec to look at the reaction to the ep, though i've already skimmed an angry post about it from someone i follow. but maybe the issues i have with the episode are different to others people's. i don't know yet.

anyway, here are my fresh from the oven thoughts about the episode. my opinion may be altered by reading some other thoughts on the ep but everything i put here is my uninfluenced thoughts.

first off, i cried. very bittersweet way to end the show, but honestly i didn't think it was a bad ending. it strikes a good balance for me, where Alison still sees the ghosts without having to take care of them like she used to. but i guess it's weird considering the previous episode where they try to get Mike and Alison to stay.

i don't want to be negative about this show that i adore and will no doubt rewatch and at some point write some fanfics for. technically speaking, though, i didn't really enjoy this episode as much as other episodes. i didn't like the choice to focus so heavily, for the first two thirds of the episode, on Mike's mum and the exorcism fake-out that i doubt worked on anyone watching. the build up was so unconvincing it seemed intentional, but regardless it felt kind of like a waste of time and an idea that should have been done in a different episode, not the series finale. it felt like the ghosts were sidelined in an episode of a show named after them. this bad pacing and focus on a weak story wasn't entertaining.

i also didn't laugh much at this episode, which is surprising, because normally Ghosts is good at balancing humour with emotionally resonant moments. it's frustrating because not a lot of this episode felt particularly emotionally resonant either because Betty takes up so much of the episode, and i wish that the weight of the ending didn't feel like it had just been tacked on to the end of an episode that only felt like it functioned as a finale in the closing few minutes. it barely even felt like a Christmas episode.

i would have preferred if S5 E6 had been the finale and this had just been an epilogue that could have been a fun, sweet Christmas episode rather than a Christmas episode and a finale, neither of which it feels like for most of its runtime.

again, i'm not unhappy with the choice to move Alison, Mike and Mia out of Button House, but i wish it hadn't felt so underdeveloped because of what else the episode chose to do. like i wish the rest of the episode didn't feel so tenuously connected to the Mike's mum story that took up so much time. i get that the thing with Mike's mum was there to make the ghosts realise that Alison might need some space away from them, but surely there was a better way to do that that didn't involve centring so much of the episode on a supporting character?

if it were me- an amateur writer- who was tasked with writing a Christmas finale and special, i have a (possibly worse) idea about what i would have maybe done. so here's my pitch: an episode that takes place when Mia is a little girl. there's a cold open where Alison or Mike make the typical parent mistake of dropping Mia on her head at some point during her first Christmas. everything's fine. cut to next Christmas, she takes her first steps. a ghost makes a comment that she should stop seeing them now. a couple/few Christmases after that, she starts talking about the ghosts. it's clear she can still see them. alternatively, Mia ends up having some kind of accident when she's long since outgrown seeing ghosts, and then she ends up seeing the ghosts (bonus points if Julian sees it happen and alerts Alison, and the ghosts are forced to question if Julian would harm a child). i just want this kid to see ghosts.

now there's ample opportunity for the ghosts to have the screentime and focus they were robbed of in this episode via having some sweet interactions with her. the Captain can still have his little arc of learning how to talk to a child in a way that isn't so stiff. Kitty learns to overcome her jealousy of a literal child, and she's the most enthusiastic auntie ever. Julian tries to be a good role model for his niece (this would also be related to another thing that i would have wanted in the episode, which is the idea that Rachel comes to visit or gets in touch with Alison or something). that said i don't know if it'd be appropriate for Julian to be around a kid for so long given the trouser situation he has going on. with Fanny, it'd be sweet if she was happy to see a girl grow up so free of the restrictions she grew up with. Robin could tell Mia all about the ghosts who've been sucked off. honestly that episode sounds like it'd be messy, but with an extra half an hour i think it'd be doable.

you can still find a way to kind of justify Mike and Alison leaving if you want to, by them wanting Mia to have a more 'normal' upbringing, or them wanting to put away some money for Mia, possibly? but honestly i kind of just like the idea of Mia having an interest in the ghosts' and the house's history from a young age and doing something with that, like writing a book about the ghosts or something. maybe that's all a load of crap, but i might write a fic based on that idea if anyone would like to see it. if i wrote a fic it wouldn't be constrained by festive obligation either. so let me know if you'd be interested in that (i might start outlining it even if someone tells me it's shit and i should never write professionally).

i can honestly say that this is the first episode of Ghosts that i haven't really enjoyed. it's saying something about how great this show is that it takes 34 episodes for it to get to a point where i think it's a letdown. it's just unfortunate that the dud had to be the last ever episode.

going into writing this review i didn't think i disliked this episode and its choices as much as i did. and honestly i don't hate this episode as much as i do other bad finales (looking at you, How I Met Your Mother). i still love this show and i think that everyone involved in it is so great at what they do. i'm not passionate in my dislike of the episode. i just think it was kind of disappointing that the episode focused so heavily on a supporting character and neglected most of the main cast in a way that a good final episode shouldn't. so many other episodes of the show would have been far more satisfying send-offs. i might just ignore this episode on rewatches to be honest.

feel free to chat with me about the ep and your thoughts on it, or your thoughts on my thoughts. comment, reblog, send me asks. i'd just love to discuss it with you guys!

[rain-candles-jazz]

Whumptober 2024 Day 3: set up for failure

tw: stitches, mild mind control, religious connotations, heights The tall hallways of the old Cathedral building managed to be labyrinthine, in spite of their dramatic size.

Itchy walked ahead, gazing lazily at each new stained glass display, each wall covered in scripture pages, each mural of divine symbolism - his scoffs and snide comments echoing across the otherwise silent ceilings. Maddie seemed unusually alert, her gaze seeming to be fixed with purpose at various details they passed. Could it have been awe in her eyes?

Sari was bringing up the rear. Her heart swelled with pride and reverence to be back in a Cathedral, while at the same time, she felt deeply ashamed that a heathen like Itchy had entered at all but that she was his slave… and a flawed one at that. She subconsciously moved her hand to pick at the stitches in her shoulder. A jolt in her neck sent her hand back to her side, complete with a verbal admonishment from Itchy echoing down to her. "Leave those alone, Sari!"

Sariel sighed and shook her head. A path branched off to their right. Sari stopped. What were the chances he'd listen…

"Itchy!" she called.

Itchy was beside her in a second, curiosity tinging his "yeesss?"

Sari pointed down the adjoining hall. "The markings on this corner denote a healing room nearby."

"Ooooh!" Itchy responded, clearly eager to check it out. Sari didn't smile but felt hopeful. If they could get to the healing room, maybe Itchy could find whatever medicine the healers used to erase scars and heal Sari without any permanent marks!

"That sounds very interesting, let's go!" he announced, before beginning to march down the hallway. Sari followed, a bit more of a hurry in her step.

As they walked, the floor had become more and more noisy. Sari even thought she felt it sink a bit beneath her in a few steps. It had been a very long time since this Cathedral had been tended to.

Before long, Itchy halted and put an arm out to make sure Sari stopped too. The floor before them was in active decay - boards had fallen through in patches and even pieces of the wall were hanging by tenuous connections over the floor below.

Itchy peered over the hazard. "Looks fine up there a ways." He sighed. "I suppose that's exactly where we wanna be, huh?"

"Mmm," Sari could only gaze between the rotten floor and the door far beyond… So close and yet so far…

"It might hold?" Itchy wondered aloud. He glanced at Sari with a frown before calling sweetly, "Oh Maddiiiie!"

Obediently, Maddie stepped forward. Of course she had been following them…

Her normally vacant stare seemed much more focused at the moment. She was gazing at the floor in front of them.

"Chop, chop, Maddie!" Itchy indicated forward. "Prove its safe, okay?"

Sari didn't necessarily hold any fondness for Maddie - how could anyone care for such a hollow being? - but that didn't mean she wasn't valuable. Even a sub-par soldier was an asset in an army of two.

"Itchy," Sari ventured tenuously. "You… you're setting her up for failure here-"

Itchy waved a hand dismissively, quieting her concerns. Sari took it as a warning.

"Alright, let's go!" he urged.

Sari stared at Maddie. Something was wrong. Normally Maddie required only the mildest of mental prodding from Itchy. Her consciousness seemed to be so barren that the smallest whim was instantly actionable, as though her body longed for usefulness but had no ideas of its own. Now, however, Maddie wavered, as though perhaps, thoughts of her own were interfering with Itchy's suicidal suggestions.

Itchy's face went from soft and playful to stern and irritated in an instant. Sari heard the jolt and winced in spite of herself. Maddie tensed, closed her eyes, and began walking. The floor groaned with every step. Sari held her breath.

"There, see?" Itchy's laid-back attitude had returned. "It's more stable than it-"

Just then, a subtle rumbling quickly escalated to a cacophonous explosion of old wood breaking and a body falling a few stories.

Itchy froze mid-sentence before glaring down the now gaping hole in what had previously been a floor. Sari looked too.

Maddie lay splayed out on her back on the faded red carpet below. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving. From the floor above, they could see heavy splintered boards on top of her as a few still bounced downward.

Itchy shrugged. "Guess we'll just find another way around." He turned on his heel and trotted off.

Sari turned to follow. Then she heard a small choke and looked back below. Maddie had opened her eyes, but didn't seem to be focusing anywhere. Sari returned to following Itchy. She could've sworn she heard a small voice from down there…

[oliviatenkate]

I recently read this book about the concept of a congregation in a secular age. The idea that struck me the hardest was Root's framing of our personal motivations as having shifted from objectively determined 'shoulds' to subjectively determined 'coulds'. In the past, when the shape of our lives was based more on religious frameworks, how we lived - from what we ate to the rhythm of our week to how we assessed our own performance - was measured against these expectations.

A good life was made up of meeting the criteria set out by a bunch of shoulds. As religion has fallen away as a morally guiding force in how we structure our lives, coulds have replaced them. Coulds are more numerous as they are subjectively determined, just as our performance against these objectives is. We could do anything with our days, weeks, lives. The possibilities and combinations are as numerous as the people making the choices. They are more anxiety-provoking as a result, being so personal. Everyone is going around inventing their own wheels of value and progress and success. In addition, as Barry Schwartz describes in The Paradox of Choice, having more options doesn't necessarily make us happier; conversely, it can leave us more stressed than we might be with a more limited selection of things to choose from. This is why I love a short menu.

It made me think about how we progress through life. You start off living by a set of shoulds, as dictated by your parents: what you wear, what you eat, where you go. Finally, you graduate to self-determination and worlds of possibility open up, hence the rumspringa-like atmosphere of university. You have access to all the coulds and for a short while we bask in the sun of the countless possibilities. Life is could! Ultimately, with time and increased self-awareness, we return to a set of self-determined shoulds: for me these are - among others - exercising vigorously, drinking what feels like far too much water, trying to stay off my phone. Nothing earth-moving, but nonetheless definitely a set of non-negotiable shoulds. I could stay up all night drinking delicious wine and watching something filthy, but I know tomorrow I will feel like a terrible and slow death so really I should drink this water and go to sleep.

I'm not sad about this process of constriction. It's comforting and nourishing in a way a night in front of Forensic Files (I don't know what you were imagining) never could be.

Connected but tenuously but on my mind nevertheless this week, my friend Lisa is the lady in the photo above. Exercise, as mentioned is one of my shoulds. I met Lisa when I started attending her classes at her Pilates studio, Burn, in San Francisco. When we left, Burn was one of the things I missed the most. Through a series of personal and professional pivots, she can now be found online here and in real life here, and whilst I recognise that her journey to that place has not been easy, I am very happy she's to be found there.

I set myself a goal of working through all her prerecorded Burn sessions from the day I started backwards. It's turned into a pretty trippy project. As Lisa moves forwards through time recording new stuff, I move backwards through her catalogue, spiraling away from her. I follow her progress in reverse, charting it through her hairstyles, the videos' backgrounds of a succession of apartments, houses and studios, and both her daughters and her dog, Chuck, getting younger and younger like Benjamin Buttons.

To end where we began, what I do in her classes has come to me to feel a little like I imagine church does to those who go. I do as she commands, wholly obedient in my observation of the ritual-like sequences, and I emerge transformed: saved for a while in body if not in soul. Or maybe...

Photo from here.

[mightyhydrator]

He very much does, though. He always makes it clear that all this cultism exists specifically to make them (the grifters, the believers, the sellers) money, and that it is typical for the sectors they operate in. "The conflict between the wealthy and the tenuously wealthy" is an idea that pops up both in Line Goes Up and in This Is Financial Advice. He always talks about how these new fields are immediately filled with people from established financial/tech communities, who have almost identical incentives and as the people who got conned, just merely have more tools to do the con.

Maybe it'd be more effective if he went in more on the broad relations, but I don't think his analysis is incomplete without it. I think he also builds off of his previous work a lot, starting with In Search Of A Flat Earth, where he makes it clear that conspiratorial thinking (present in his financial documentaries) is directly motivated by financial and political goals of a given person, so I think summarizing his perspective on the people involved as "just thinks they're weirdos" is very reductive.

tbh i think it's kinda useless to make vids or tweets or thinkpieces about the "mentality" of plagiarists/art thieves etc that speak about them in pure like. individual and even psychiatrist terms. waaaah plagiarists are Narcissists TM, they think poorly of others, etc, ok. that's useless and it's also putting them as like, a Class Of Innate People Who Simply Despise Good (Real) Creators. and there's absolutely no questioning of like, why this behaviour is materially rewarded and even encouraged by the structures at play (in the case of youtube, since posting very frequently is gonna get you more algorithm boost and money). that hbomb video is a bombshell of a drama video and in that regard it's very good and i'm glad more people know IH is a fash and that somerton dude has lost his influence and that there will be financial compensation to people he's stolen from. but as an actual video about plagiarism and Content Mills TM it's miserable lol

[doberbutts]

The idea that trans people have to ignore their life from Before or else they're Using Their AGAB As A Weapon is so disconnected from the lived experiences of so many.

My Before informs my Now. I am transitioning, not popping into existence with no prior experiences from being perceived as one or the other. I was not bestowed The Power of Man when I learned the word "transgender" and went "hey wait, that's me" at 13. I didn't get it when I turned 18 and started binding and going by Jasper and telling my friends to call me he/him either. And I only maybe tenuously have a grasp on it right now, at 30 years old, 4 months into medical transition and only really just starting to pass the bulk of the time.

Until my voice gives me away. Until someone looks at my legal documents and sees my F marker and my legal name. Until I let slip in conversation that I am transgender either by mentioning life as a little girl or the fact that I have a [semi-functional] uterus.

The world is set up for me to succeed? Maybe take a walk in my shoes before telling me that. I didn't fight this hard for my intersex diagnosis and my medical transition to have it spat in my face by someone who doesn't want to listen when I talk about what I've gone through to get here.

[2nd2ndalto]

Spaceman

Written for the @writers-choice prompt "astronaut"

___

Will pushes himself up in bed, propping his shoulders against the wall, hoping that maybe the change in position will help his damn sinuses drain. He can’t remember ever feeling this miserable. His head is throbbing, his throat is raw, and neither the nectar nor the Tylenol seem to have done much good.

He closes his bleary, watery eyes. It’s been three nights since he’s slept properly, and he thinks he’s starting to hear colours. He’s feeling so sorry for himself he’s tempted to burst into tears. But he’s pretty sure that would make his head hurt even more. It doesn’t help his mood that this stupid cold has coincided with a day he was really looking forward to.

Camp Half Blood’s not a regular camp by any means, but with nothing world-threatening going on at the moment, the head counselors had planned a field trip to the science museum this weekend, and earlier today most of the year-rounders had loaded up in the camp vans and headed into the city. But not Will.

There’s suddenly a soft tap at the door of the cabin. “Yeah?” Will calls out, his voice hoarse.

The door creaks open and Will turns to see Nico framed in the doorway, dark, shaggy hair damp from the rain that’s been falling since last night, water droplets speckling his aviator jacket.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Will frowns. “What are you doing here, though? Is everyone back already?” He glances at his watch, wondering if he’s lost track of time in his hazy state.

“Nah, it’s just me. Everyone else is still in New York.”

Will rubs at his eyes. “Why are you back? What happened?”

Nico shrugs, his gaze dropping to his feet. “I don’t know. Wasn’t the same without you. Didn’t seem right walking through the Star Wars exhibit without anyone trailing along behind me telling me random bits of trivia.”

Will lets out a surprised laugh. They’ve been friends for almost a year now. He liked the other boy to begin with - his sharp sense of humour and his quiet intelligence. Frankly it doesn’t hurt that Nico’s also one of the most beautiful people Will’s ever laid eyes on. But it still surprises Will how honestly sweet this kid is, under the scowl and the sarcasm and the occasionally-stupid bravery.

“Anyway. I thought you might want some company,” Nico finishes. “If you don’t, that’s cool too. I just - I felt bad about you being left here on your own. I know you were looking forward to getting out of camp.”

Nico meets Will’s gaze, and the look in his eyes is somewhere tenuously on the border between fierce and terribly vulnerable. It warms Will to his core, and his first instinct is to jump out of bed and wrap the other boy in a hug. But he’s almost positive that would scare him right back to New York.

“Yeah, company would be nice,” Will says instead. “I mean, I’m feeling really crummy, honestly. But as long as you’re not expecting me to be entertaining…”

Nico’s shoulders relax and he almost, almost smiles, Will’s sure of it.

“Okay. Cool,” he says

They gaze at each other for a moment, Nico hovering just inside the door, then -

“I um. I brought you something,” Nico says, holding up a small plastic bag. He crosses the cabin to perch on the foot of Will’s bed.

“There’s um… ice cream sandwiches. For your sore throat,” Nico explains, passing the bag to Will.

“Aww!” Will exclaims. He grabs the bag and spills it out onto the bed, letting out a gasp. “And astronaut ice cream?” he says, holding up a package.

“Because, you know. You like space stuff, and - I don’t know. I grabbed the astronaut stuff first, but then I saw the ice cream cooler…” Nico scrunches up his nose, suddenly looking unsure. “Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He moves to grab the package back from Will, but Will snatches it out of his reach.

“You can pry my astronaut ice cream out of my cold, dead hands,” he tells Nico sternly, reaching to place the package on the window ledge next to his bed.

Nico snorts.

Nico’s brought two ice cream sandwiches, now beginning to melt, and the boys eat them in companionable silence. Will’s still feeling stuffy, achy and exhausted, but he suddenly finds there’s an unexpected warmth in his chest.

Nico accepts Will’s empty wrapper, crumpling both and tossing them into the garbage.

“Okay, what now?” Nico asks, sounding awkward but determined. “Do you need more nectar? I can make like… tea?” He gazes at Will in silence for a moment. “Honestly I don’t really know how to make tea,” he adds, frowning. “But I could probably figure it out if you told me how.”

Will blinks at the other boy, marveling at how all his sharp edges have turned out to be so much softer than Will ever would have imagined.

“You didn’t just come back here to keep me company. You came back to take care of me,” Will says softly.

“Yeah, well.” Nico shrugs. “I figured you’d done it for me enough times.”

“Yeah, but I’m a healer.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “I’ve been paying attention, Solace. Mostly what you do is pass out nectar and lecture people about vegetables."

Will snorts. “Jerk.”

“Nerd,” Nico retorts, a smile pulling at his lips.

Will sticks out his tongue.

“Anyway, what’s the plan?” Nico asks. “Do you want to watch a movie?” He frowns, studying Will for a moment. “Or maybe you should sleep. You kind of look like shit, actually. No offense.”

Will grimaces. “I feel like shit. I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days. I just want to feel normal again.”

Okay, that sounded really pathetic. Will braces himself for a teasing, sarcastic response from the other boy, but instead Nico’s gaze softens.

“That really sucks,” he says quietly. “I hate it when I can’t sleep.”

Will nods. And gods, he actually feels tears welling in his eyes. He really is pathetic. And exhausted. Stupid rhinoviruses and their stupid resistance to Apollo healing powers.

“I can help you with the sleeping part, though,” Nico says.

“You - you can?” Will blinks. “Oh, you can.” His eyes go wide. “I totally forgot about your sleeping powers. Oh, Nico, that would be amazing. Can you knock me out for like, three days?”

Nico laughs. “That might not be the best idea. How about if I give you a good nap now and then I can come find you later this evening and knock you out for the night?”

“Oh gods, yes please,” Will croaks. “You’re seriously the best. I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask you sooner.”

Will slumps back against the wall. His sinuses throb even more loudly, if that’s possible, and he presses his fingertips into the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I missed the stupid Star Wars exhibit,” he says regretfully.

“Can’t you go another time? I’m no healer, but I’m guessing this probably isn’t terminal.” Nico nudges Will’s foot.

“Nah,” Will sighs. “This is the last weekend it’s in New York. I think they’re moving the whole exhibit to Denver next week.”

Nico watches him for a moment. “I know a guy who can get us to Denver.”

Will gazes blearily at the other boy, taking a moment to process. He’s so tired it’s becoming difficult to make sense of words. “What? Who?”

Nico gives him a sardonic smile, but it’s like… half affectionate, Will thinks.

“Me, you idiot,” Nico says.

“Really? You’d take me all the way to Denver and do nerdy stuff with me?” Tears spring to Will’s eyes again, but this time he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, probably,” Nico shrugs, suppressing a smile.

And Will’s inhibitions must be suffering the same fate as his ability to parse sentences, because he scrambles across the bed to wrap his arms around the other boy. “Oh my god, I love you, you’re the best,” he rasps.

Nico lets out a small, surprised laugh against his ear, and when Will doesn’t immediately let go, his arms settle tentatively around Will’s shoulders.

“Okay, Solace,” Nico says after a long moment, patting him on the back. “Less hugging, more sleeping.”

Will drops back to the bed, grinning. Nico looks embarrassed, but pleased, Will thinks.

Nico stands so Will can adjust his blankets. Will reaches for the kleenex, blowing his nose loudly, then snuggling into his bed. Gods, sleep sounds so good right now.

“They had an interactive thing where you could fight with lightsabers,” Nico says as Will makes himself comfortable. “Which is cool, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

Will snorts. “No way. You just wait. I’m gonna… you’re gonna see -” Will interrupts himself with a jaw-cracking yawn that morphs into a coughing fit.

Nico smirks. “Yeah, I’m really scared now.”

Will groans, throwing an arm over his face. “We can argue about it later. Please just put me out of my misery.”

He hears Nico say, “okay,” and then -

“No, wait,” Will opens his eyes again. “Nico - thanks. For everything.” Will’s not entirely confident in his ability to form sentences at the moment, nor is he exactly sure what he means to say. But from the look in Nico’s eyes, he thinks he must have managed to convey something of the warmth and gratitude he's feeling.

“Of course,” Nico says softly. “Any time.”

Nico clears his throat. “You ready?”

Will sighs happily, closing his eyes. “A thousand times yes. Knock me out, baby.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd,” Nico mutters, and then Will’s abruptly overwhelmed by a sense of peace, and comfort, and then blessed unconsciousness.

He wakes several hours later to the sound of his siblings’ return. Still achy, still congested and feverish. But somehow not nearly as despondent as he was this morning.

[sketching-shark]

I think on some narrative levels in LMK, Qi Xiaotian represents Sun Wukong's best traits (like his love for his family and friends, his potential to grow as a person, and so on). Just like Liu-er Mihou represents Sun Wukong's worst.

(And I have so many thoughts that the two monkies are reflections of Qi Xiaotian in turn.)

Because Qi Xiaotian is a person and has his own flaws and insecurities, and he's genuinely kind, it's inspiring and loving rather than overwhelming.

I wish I had more coherent words. Just. The power that Qi Xiaotian and Sun Wukong as their own characters care so much about each other. It's choosing to be kind, to believe in each other. It's what saves Sun Wukong in the season 3 special.

Also, Qi Xiaotian demands better, of Macaque included.

And on a narrative level, it's being kind to yourself. To look at yourself and decide to love the whole of you, which also demands of you to improve as a person when you can and hold yourself accountable.

OOOOOOOOOOOUGH anon the idea that Qi Xiaotian embodies/represents the Monkey King's very best traits while the Six Eared Macaque embodies/represents the very worst traits is SO genuinely big brained on so many levels.

Like yes just to scratch the surface of this idea you are completely right about Qi Xiaotian and the Six Eared Macaque standing as narrative foils to each other perhaps more than even LEMH and SWK themselves specifically because QXT, while still being a major Monkey King fanboy as well as the literal successor to SWK, has a LOT going on in his life outside of his interactions with SWK. He's got a busy job, at least two(2) father figures, a best friend, an uncle figure, a love of art, games, and sports; just a lot of people and things that he really cares about that while they sometimes make him exhausted and distracted do keep him grounded in the here and now. So even while he does mess up and does occasionally act pretty selfish and thoughtless, I feel like his genuine kindness and happiness with living in the present provides a solid foundation for him to truly want to actively work towards forming friendships and connections while striving to do the right thing. Hell, he's even conversely compared to the Lady Bone Demon in that she became so disgusted with reality that she thought the only way to make it better was to burn it all down, kill everyone and everything, & make it start over, whereas QXT recognizes the suffering in the world but sincerely believes that it's worth protecting and saving and trying to make better anyway. Macaque, by direct contrast, is so obsessively enraged with one(1) person that by all appearances he has literally nothing going on in his life except his attempts to get revenge against SWK. Now maybe it is due to his limited screentime free from the Lady Bone Demon's control, but basically every single thing he's done throughout the course of the show right up until the 25th hour was either A) Trying to kill/beat the tar out of SWK and/or QXT or B) Tell everyone who might listen what a terrible person SWK is in an attempt to make them turn against the Monkey King. Aaaaand that's kind of it. That's the grand total of the things that define the Six Eared Macaque's life. From what we've seen he has 0 friends, 0 family, literally nothing that might draw him away from his centuries-long endeavor against the Monkey King. It's like he's STILL playing out his JTTW role of "SWK except worse," except this time instead of trying to replace the Monkey King he wants him disappeared, dead, or completely alone. Either way, he's stuck in one mode of being and seems to have no intention or ability to behave in a different way (at least right up until the very end of season 3, where there's some hints that he MIGHT start acting differently but we'll see).

And then you have the Monkey King himself, which at present seems pretty tenuously suspended between these two positions. Like gosh dern just thinking about it I feel like you really hit the nail on the head in terms of how lego show Sun Wukong seems to keep getting jerked around by two seemingly contradictory parts of his character; his decision to become someone's shifu does indicate that he wants to do good in the world & make things better for others and himself & live in the present with all its potentials, but he does mess that up a lot mainly because he still thinks that when push comes to shove he has to do everything by himself, just like it often was during this time as a yaoguai warlord & during the journey. And then on the other hand there's always this distance between him and his tudi because SWK is still very much living in the past (just like LEMH) & the guilt and regret that it brought. I mean, this monkey literally exiled himself for 500 years after imprisoning the Demon Bull King, and since that he has repeatedly shown that his go-to solution to him messing up and/or for a major threat to manifest is to leave his companions and try to fix everything by himself, again just like he did when he was a yaoguai warlord (he fights against the entire heavenly army by himself) and during the journey (he frequently faces the various yaoguai by himself). These are just a few of the things that indicate lego show SWK genuinely thinks that he can't and perhaps even shouldn't live in the present rather than dwelling on the past, because what the past ‘taught’ him is that if he tries to accomplish anything with anyone else he’ll fail & get everyone killed & he’ll be left alive, alone, and despairing of life. 

QXT’s and SWK’s relationship is really so interesting & so full of potential in a lot of ways, but one of the big ones (for me) is that both the monkey and the young man seem to have a lot of doubts about themselves, but also seem to ultimately believe completely in the goodness and worthiness of the other person in their shifu/tudi relationship. Like I know people get angry at SWK for his “believe in yourself” lines, but his behavior does indicate that he really does believe in QXT, and he does see his tudi score victory after victory even while SWK keeps to the background but will intervene if he thinks he needs to. And the season 3 special showed just how completely QXT believed in SWK in that he had his back deliberately turned on a charging possessed Monkey King because he trusted SWK to be able to shake off the possession before he hurt him. That, of course, is a level of trust and a willing show of vulnerability that we don’t see from SWK, and in a very real way QXT was able to save the day because Qi Xiaotian is NOT Sun Wukong and believes that A) He can fully count on his loved ones to be their best selves and help him and B) He can show “weakness” and still be okay because his loved ones would never truly hurt him. Like dang this dude believes so much in the inherent or at least potential goodness of the people around him that many can’t help but be positively affected by it (notwithstanding QXT’s very obvious willingness to violence if need be). But yes altogether this level of reciprocal care does in a real way indicate that loving yourself and the people around you does mean being willing to acknowledge when you’ve messed up and what you need to improve, but not sinking down so far into the pit of guilt or obsession over past mistakes that you stagnate and come to believe that being better is impossible. Kind of does make me hope that season 4 of Monkie Kid will focus more on the quieter aspects of the relationship between QXT and SWK in a way that lets SWK let down some of his carefree untouchable hero persona to be more genuine with QXT, and for QXT to feel that he can be more honest with SWK about things that he’s uncertain, angry, or upset about. 

Also would be nice if we could get some more background on these two to get some sense of what the nelly contributed into shaping them into the monkey and man that they are aaaaaaaaa.

[stick-named-figure]

somewhat long winded and ramble-y musing below the cut. tenuously related to ava but mostly personal.

i think another reason that ava/m (ava especially of course) appealed to us so much is that it's very obviously an interaction between art and the artist. And also creation and creator (which is a separate but similar category) which is something that I've craved in works for a very long time but only recently really came to that realization through trying to see why AVA stuck around with me for so long.

I think it's this sort of idea that art says something about a person (Which is not an invitation to try and make statements about me from my art by the way) but the emotions I try to throw out through art.

This post kind of materialized because I was thinking about whether I should tag my self shipping art as AVM ships, since of course my sona is not canonical [citation needed]. I then figured that blocking the tag "sona" would accomplish the same effect, since I have no real intention of drawing said sona outside of self ship art.

And then I started thinking, this sona exists only in relation to another. I am someone who has had sonas in the past that were very much individual from others (as in had no prerequisite others to include for their existence in art) but Eve, as a sona and a self, exists as a necessity for others. My canonical pronouns are not known but Eve's (sona) are meant to match King's.

(Because I'm about to just start saying things, I have to mention that I'm well aware my relation to identities [especially my own] is not the average experience).

Along these lines I've also realized that the rest of my self perception is primarily built out of the way I am experienced by others, and thus my self is then a group project. This is reminiscent of egregores but I can only read so much on occultism before I start seeing conspiratorial lines of thought that trouble me. However, the point remains that I perceive myself as non-human but rather than in a "diminutive" manner (such as common things as animals or small things) it's in more of an abstraction of behavior and perception.

Which is then maybe a long winded way of saying that I have introspected the self out of myself. I was rather obsessed with labeling myself a few years ago (or, pointedly, finding "respectable" terms for myself that were not too out there) and have since long passed into a label-less state. This seems to have come about at the expense of my identity then as well, down to the point where I was nameless for a few months[1][2].

I'm not so sure I find myself distressed by this lack of self, since it seems mostly other's prerogative to label and classify me to whatever is most convenient for them. So it's that way that I think I find myself basing myself on others perception. Because I don't really have the time or energy to find a self in here that I can pin down and make into a solid object. If I try it will slip away eventually anyway.

I think that I change every day. And if I tried to find something to cling to then it would dissolve so quickly I'd be trying to hold water in my hands. And for a very long time I have been ashamed and nervous about how I treat myself and my interests since they never seem to stick around (which is in great part because of my ADHD and autism from what I understand) but understanding it like this seems much more relaxing, that I am what I need to be in each moment and then allow myself to change when the path is the one of least resistance.

---

I might as well start using footnotes. As offline life often requires, I still went by some name. However, even in my most "genuine" states I found a lack of a name appropriate.

It should also be stated that Eve was picked as a rather quick choice because I had jokingly adopted another friend's name and was soon going to be visiting her. I could probably make some literary analysis on that choice because I'm already treating myself as a character.