#The Periodicals Shelf : queue tag

[nitewrighter]

Since we have an influx of people coming in from twitter and discussing the whole culture of retweets vs. reblogs between the two sites, I'm going to take a moment here for some

Queue Propaganda

First off, what is the queue?

It's a posting mechanic that you can customize for yourself so that rather than immediately reblogging something, you can arrange for it to be posted at a later time. Your queue on tumblr can fit up to 1000 posts! Wow!

Why would I want to do something like that?

There are lots of reasons! For me, I like the idea of having something that consistently posts throughout the day for my followers in different time zones. I also like to support artists by reblogging, but I don't want to spam their notifications all at once and create an impenetrable wall of reblogs from the same artist on my dashboard, and the queue allows me to distribute those reblogs over a longer period of time, basically giving said art a more extended period of circulation. The queue also has a 'shuffle' function, so if you have a whole bunch of reblogs from one person, you can 'shuffle' it with other items in your queue so your dash has a bit more variety. If you're an artist, you can also set up your blog to reblog your own works so that they can show up on feeds at a later time. It can also be useful if you're reuploading a bunch of your art from twitter onto here and maybe don't want to dump it all at once.

Do we have to have a queue?

You do not! You can come online and spam reblog a bunch of jackshit or whatever suits you! I just think it's a nice feature!

Is there queue etiquette?

Nothing heavily enforced, but a lot of people will use a queue tag (often something quirky and specific to their blog) to indicate when their blog is posting from their queue, which also doubles as a 'hey just because I'm posting doesn't mean I'm online' sort of message. Some people will have a silly queue-specific pun for their queue tag, and others will just tag their queue with 'q,' it's really up to personal taste. You can schedule as many or as few queue posts a day to suit your tastes.

What's up with the post scheduling? Is that the same thing?

It's in a similar category, but it's more specific. When you schedule a post, that's basically set at the time you set it to post at, regardless of what's in your queue. The post is visible in your queue, but it stays fixed at the date you scheduled for it, regardless of what you add to your queue or how many times you shuffle it. This is very useful if you have content or reblogs meant for specific events and holidays!

Okay but what is the general vibe around queues? Do people like or dislike when you queue their posts as opposed to immediately reblogging them?

A queue *is* a reblog. There is a bit of a joke with queue users on this site where it's like "I'll see if they like my post within 6-8 business days" but it really is a useful form of posting because it extends the sort of... digital shelf life of content. No one is insulted if they see you reblogged your post with a queue tag. A reblog is a reblog, regardless of what time it pops up on the dash. No pressure.

[treesap-blogs]

Happy Saturday! Here’s a review of “The Outlaws Scarlett And Browne” by Jonathan Shroud!

Hello, Tumblrians! Whilst we may not be nearing our 20th Tumblr Review yet (although the combined superpowers of my depression and my ADHD may get us alarmingly close to that goal in a short period of time if I don’t exercise restraint and stick with the 3 books per week thing), it is a special occasion nonetheless! This marks my 13th review! I don’t know if any of you guys know this, but 13 is my favorite number!!! (I like the supernatural/superstitious connotations with it. Mysterious!) (and partially out of spite, I like to think of it as lucky. Not that we’ll need that for this review, anyhow.)

Anyhow! Time for my personal favorite section, presumably your least favorite: 💫Book Backstory Time💫, the segment in which I explain how I encountered a book, a la Blob Of Text On A Recipe Before The Actual Recipe! I found out about it from Mellowkotto’s stories on Instagram, particularly when they talked about the bank robbery scene at the beginning. For some reason that was enough to sell it to me(which is so funny, because they just talked about liking Scarlett), and I ended up talking about the book to my mom because I’d put it on my notes app TBR. Didn’t catch onto why she asked at least twice or thrice for the title despite her only reading nonfiction books, but she messaged my mildly rich grandfather who gets my brother and I annual Christmas gifts, and swear I remember I opened up a December 2021 Christmas present to find it inside! (Goodreads lists a different release date for that?! Maybe it’s just the UK version or something, I live in the U.S. and it probably was put out at a different time. Plus, my copy has a different cover than the one I put under my “Read” folder/shelf.) I read the first fifty or so pages that night by the light of a Skittles-scented candle, and got to 100 or so by the end of winter before being a little burnt out and stopping. That was before I had a consistent reading schedule, though! Once I got one in 2022, I read a bit further until I forgot about it in my reading queue that was full of library books(literally the only reason I read fast haha), until I basically cleared that up this year and finished it! So it has technically taken me over a year to read this book. Lovely.

The Outlaws Scarlett And Browne is the first in a trilogy(only 2 books are out at the moment), following young adult crook Scarlett McCain. She’s on the run after committing a bank heist(which is slightly unusual for her because the stakes brought on by being chased by the law after just robbing a small bank are weirdly high?), and whilst doing so she encounters a boy around her age named Albert Browne. How did he end up the only remaining person in a bus that got completely totaled? Scarlett doesn’t know. But he tags along, and whilst they flee from the law through the woods, it seems like Albert’s hiding a lot of things from her. Is he a threat? Is he as he seems? What even is he hiding that makes officials so eager to catch him, and why is he wanted? Again, Scarlett doesn’t know. But she’s about to find out when they hesitantly form an alliance of sorts that develops into a friendship.

To be honest, I knew nothing about Jonathan Stroud until I picked up this book. Lockwood & Co., while not being his debut series, was by far his most popular (and no longer has a niche audience now that the Netflix series is out), and that’s kind of all I knew about? Ghost stuff and teens. And before that there was a different series that flipped magical realm morals on their head, and got him in the public eye(Barthemius, was it called? Some distinctly European fantasy name like that). So that set a lot of peoples’ expectations for this book very high, and many believed it didn’t deliver on that because it wasn’t as strong or original as some of his other works. I can’t comment on it that much, as I have no other works of his I can go off of, but I do think the overall world just doesn’t stick out for me.

Firstly! The plot, while interesting, didn’t really have anything I was all too surprised by. It felt like other things I’d find in other novels: a heavy reliance on “biological perfection” and the extreme lengths went to preserve that(albeit they were barely shown for this book, only mentioned frequently and remaining a looming threat), futuristic European setting (divided England was an interesting concept though, and London being split up into the islands for the refugees to inhabit), guy with secret dangerous powers that are probably enough for the FMC to worry about if their motives are unclear. (Here though, Maroon’s dynamic—the ship name for Albert and Scarlett, get it because scarlet and brown(e) make maroon—is left up to interpretation as to whether it’s strictly platonic, or a romantic thing, something worth nothing because that last bit is usually something an FMC is drawn to in a romantic subplot.) It was also simultaneously the first and not the first fantasy dystopia-ish novel I’ve read?! (I started it a year before The Belles, but finished it afterwards.)

With that said, though, there was one welcome change of pace I enjoyed: the lack of gender stereotypes with our main characters? While Scarlett faces some sexism during the book, her femininity isn’t used as a way to paint her out to be “less than”, nor is she automatically reduced to a “Not Like Other Girls” archetype by putting other women down for being “too girly”(something that might happen, with an action heroine written by a straight male author). Albert was also one of my favorites!! He’s unashamedly that person who posts about “haters being jealous of his childlike wonder”(please don’t take this literally it’s a meme reference, social media does not exist in TOSAB lmao), but then he..sometimes kills people too lmao?!?! Morally reprehensible ones, granted, but he’s still doing it with his volatile abilities and it does get suspicious the sheer number of foes trying to track him down(which is due to his abilities, he can make things go ka-bloom if he gets too scared, and he can also read minds without the tiring emotional outtake). I loved his duality as it was humorous at times, and that he was written to be more like a young adult than a stereotypically “guyish” or “manly” deuteragonist. 

(Shoutout to Joe though, for trusting Albert with Ettie because he’s good with kids, even though he has abilities that could accidentally kill her, and not trusting Scarlett with her because she’s not good with kids even though she’s just some powerless person who’d have to put physical effort into harming Ettie lmao. Saw a reader point out the irony in that, though it was funny in hindsight.)

Him and Scarlett were solid protagonists, too! It took a bit for Scarlett to warm up to Albert, but by the end of the book they cared a lot about each other, and it was sweet to see that both in how glad they were the other person was still alive, and how Albert took a page out of Scarlett’s book and was inspired to stand up against Dr Calloway(the scientist who’d been abusing him for years). (Heck, the two even decided to briefly take care of their companion’s granddaughter together! The moment in that sketchy building where they’re trying to calm down Ettie and lead her back to the boat so she doesn’t get eaten by monsters is my favorite part.) They also had distinctive personalities, which contrasted in a way that made their dynamic interesting. Their banter was interesting! (I giggled a few times but Scarlett definitely went a bit too far in some of her insults before she warmed up to Albert, like..girlie was out of left field once in the book particularly, and I think people who’ve read it will know when💀)

Anyways. Conclusion is, I thought this book was okay. Had I not been brought here by a pre-established Shroudverse fan, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much! About 1/3rd through, I relied on the guidance of My Chemical Romance’s music in order to give me motivation to reach the halfway point. Perhaps Shroud’s other books are stronger in themes and plot, but at least the characters stuck. (I’ll give that to him, he can write MC dynamics well.)

Book rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️/5 stars. (This rating’s a versatile one, I’ve realized? Some 3 star books are mediocre, others are enjoyable but lack a few things to make them amazing.)

~Paz, signing off!

(Book content/trigger warnings: Some instances of physical/emotional abuse,  frequent mentions of ableism and slavery(the latter is not racial and isn’t described on page), general violence like guns and a bit of blood, sexism/misogyny.)

[e-l-c-kingor]

[ It's been a whole year of this blog now, what the fuck- ]

[professordrarry]

Blairon Blaise wants Ron back and knows EXACTLY how to persuade him

One, sorry this has been in my ask box so long and two, sorry I went silly instead of steamy 😏 you know what I'm like. No telling which you'll get lol.

"We aren't speaking," Ron said petulantly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Blaise smirked. "Then why are you here?"

"Malfoy said laser tag. Laser tag is the great equalizer."

"That it is!" Harry called from behind them , slinging vests over both their shoulders. "Shoot your ex with lights and pretend it's a real war! What can go wrong?"

"Oh, relax, Harry," Draco drawled. "It's dark and big and there's lots of stuff to hide behind. They won't even see each other."

Blaise smirked, looking directly at Ron, who scowled and stalked away.

"Oh this is a terrible idea," Blaise chuckled, throwing his vest on and grabbing one of the ludicrously large laser guns off the shelf and joining the queue of teenagers and other 20 somethings who had decided this was their Friday night.

Draco had briefly summarised what this game was about, and it didn't sound that complicated. Anything that Ron was guaranteed to show up to this month was a win, so he only needed a quick briefing before he agreed. The little Muggle girl at the front of the queue with a loud voice went over the rules. Blaise only heard a few—like the assertion that he couldn't climb or run—because the first thing she mentioned was 'no physical contact', and his mind was immediately flooded with images of physical contact in the big, dark space he'd been promised.

Of course, the second the air raid siren signaled the start of the round of pseudo-combat, Blaise wished to Merlin he had been listening. All around him, the Muggles fled, leaving him standing in the empty space in front of a closed door, fog and blaring lights disorienting him immediately.

"B, move!" Draco demanded.

Blaise took off running, up a ramp and behind a pillar, finding a glass encased cubby hole through which he could watch beams of red light and try to control his breathing. Every once in a while, someone would fly by him, silently pointing their light-y guns at him and making his vest buzz. But he didn't move to defend himself. He didn't move, period.

He lost track of time. He lost track of his friends. He became incapable of deciphering up from down, in fact, as his world narrowed to his little cubby.

"B?" a comforting voice said gently, leaning down into his face before sitting heavily. "B? Nice cover you've found here. Having fun?"

"Thought we weren't talking," Blaise murmured.

"That was before you were curled in the fetal position on the floor of a Muggle game for children."

"This is war. Children should not be in war."

Ron gently pried the gun from Blaise's hands and tilted his face up. "Yeah, on that we can agree. Come on, we'll leave."

"Harry's party."

"They won't even notice. Come on, there's frozen yogurt across the street."

For five minutes, Blaise was silent; through the process of Ron getting them released from their captivity by pushing a large, alarming red button. Through the removal of their vests, assisted by Ron. Through Ron's assertion that Blaise did not need medical attention, just some fresh air. It wasn't until they hit the bright sunshine that he even managed to open his eyes and notice that Ron was holding him by the elbow, the closest he'd been in a month.

"Darling, if this was your plan all along, it's a bit dramatic," Ron teased, pulling him along into the dessert cafe he'd obviously spotted on the way into the tag parlour. "I'm a big fan of froyo. You could have just bought me some."

"I-I'm sorry."

Blaise grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him back out the door, leaning against the wall.

"I'm sorry I didn't call that day, right after. And I'm sorry I didn't call for a week after. I was embarrassed. I was... Stupid. Am stupid."

Ron looked at him for a moment, his face impassic, before he seemed to lose control and burst out laughing.

"Luckily, you know exactly how to get me back," Ron said with a wink and a grin. "Make me save you, then buy me ice cream."

He leaned in, crowding Blaise with his height; he was so fucking tall, it was annoying. And safe. Safe and annoying and perfect and so badly necessary in Blaise's life. He really needed to stop fucking up.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, as Ron's face inched closer.

"We're good. I swear. Now kiss me before I change my mind about the ice cream."

Blaise laughed, kissed Ron fiercely, and then took hold of him with a plan to stop letting him go.

[starswornoaths]

Pros and Cons of dating: Serella Arcbane

Uthen’s can be found here!

Pros: 

-Does her best to listen to and accommodate boundaries, and is attentive

-P a t i e n c e

-Has no expectations of anything at all whatsoever; whatever you’re comfortable with is as much as she’ll ask for

-As a giraffe, she is tol, and can reach the top shelf. Will be happy to do so.

-A decent cook/baker! While you can certainly find better, she’s got family recipes for comfort foods that have generations of love in them and are tasty!

-Will fite, and if need be die for you

-Yes she built those arms to protecc but also??? built for snuggles??? and hugs???

-Loves physical affection! And giving compliments!

-You’re never far from her thoughts- she’s away from home? She’ll find something that reminds her of you and arrange for it to be sent with a heartfelt note! Makes sure you know that you’re loved and thought of as often as she can

-Encourages open communication and working as partners

Cons:

-M A R T Y R. Seriously, be prepared for her to take responsibility for anything and everything. If something goes wrong, she takes the fault for herself- whether or not it was actually her fault. This can make arguments/disagreements literal hell because she thinks she has to fix it herself.

-While she encourages communication and working together as equals, be prepared to just be without her for long periods of time, and often when you might need her, she will be away on Scion/Alliance business. She doesn’t mean to be unavailable, but that tends to come with the territory.

-Offshoot of the last one: be prepared for her to be emotionally unavailable. She doesn’t love you less, but past relationships have taught her that when she needs emotional support that she’s just going to have to learn to do without. That can make talking things out with her difficult if she’s disassociated from the situation.

-For as long as she’s a Scion and serves the Alliance, you have to be fine with never being her first priority. Emotionally, physically, or mentally. She is not one for emotional dishonesty- she will tell you upfront where you sit on the queue of people who need her, and spoilers: you’re at the bottom.

-Hesitant to fully open up to/fully let herself love her partner(s.) She will never be unfaithful or try to withhold affection or anything, but if she is pressed into a living situation/partnership where she does not feel fully heard/respected, she’s gone.

-Never ask her to give up adventuring or serving the Scions/Alliance for you or you’ll leave. She’ll help you pack your fucking bags and pay for your carriage to wherever isn’t with her.

-Stubbornly reckless: so long as she has obligations to fight, she will not care how worried you are about her; she has a job to do, and if she dies doing it, so be it. She’ll only apologize for upsetting you, and continue as she always has.

-Has severe trauma from a multitude of things, and will very likely not open up about them without a lot of time, trust, and patience between you.

-Is a fatalist about relationships, jumps into them with enthusiasm but also the assumption that they’ll eventually ask her to change herself or get tired of her/her baggage. She knows she’s a lot.

tagged by: @dragons-bones! Thank you, darling! <3

tagging: @ahlis-xiv, @rhymingteelookatme, @glyphenthusiast, and you!

(doing Uthen’s in a separate post bc this one is long enough wtf)

[crazyfreckledginger]

Damian Wayne Taking Care Of You When You Are On Your Period Would Include

Requested by @gallfreyangryffindor: "Hey do you think you write some headcanons for how Damian Wayne would treat his SO with their period? 😘😘😘"

A/N: Hope you like it! x) Sorry for all the other requests, they have been queued but I cannot change the placement of this post in the queue!

Poor boy

He didn't understand anything that was going on with you.

He was actually scared of you.

Crazy psychotic clown? No, big tough guy that loves beating people up and that drugs himself to have more muscle? Nope, Hay guy that's supposed to be in a field to scare crows off and has somehow come to life and developed a poison that shows your worst fear? Meh, only a little. Innocent smol bean girl with extreme mood swings? Hell yeah.

He was so confused and somewhat mad with himself, he thought it was his fault.

You were either very clingy and cuddly, mad or sad.

But he asked his eldest brother and his most trusted butler.

They were amused at how distressed he was.

Even after the gruesome explanation he was still shocked when you were whining "I'm bleeding, it hurts!!"

So he does everything in his power to make you feel better.

Compliments all the time.

He will do anything for you.

He'll even go a hundred kilometers out of town to get that 'thing that warms your stomach to make you feel better device'.

Buys you gifts and food for your unusual cravings.

Actual cuddling on the couch with you, watching your favourite chick flick movie.

He will fall asleep through it.

And then had to live through your crying because you wanted him to watch the movie too.

And he never fell asleep again.

After a few times you had your period, he made a list of all the things you need during your period.

Even wrote the reference number, packaging colour and location on the shelf for your pads and tampons.

He feels so sorry for you.

You are in so much pain.

He would do anything to take the pain away from you, even take the pain for you.

Massaging your stomach on the couch.

Kissing your forehead.

Holding and occasionally squeezing your hand.

Warms baths for you only obviously.

Hot chocolates.

Spooning you in bed (though that's all the time).

Always laying and sleeping on him. He needs to feel your weight on him to reassure himself.

You need more sleep due to the pain waking you up at night, so he makes an effort to fall asleep too.

Sometimes if not most times, he calls Bruce to say that he will not be patrolling for a few nights so that he can take care of you.

Constantly does research to find the best ways of taking care of you.

He's such a great boyfriend.

Tagging: @lumifuer @ijustwantmyshipstobehappy @plethora-of-things @xlatinaax

[thetrashbang]

The Creeping Death Of Multiplayer’s Persistent Social Spaces

I didn’t hang out much as a teenager—or at least, I didn’t think I did. In fact, if you’d asked me to, I would’ve most likely looked at you like I was some distant intergalactic visitor from an alien society; the kind that doesn’t understand the concept of things like sleeping, or capitalism, or brunch. “’Hang… out’?” I would have asked, making sure to enunciate the quotation marks with as much feigned confusion as my tiresome pubescent whine could muster. “Like, just sit around somewhere? Why? What would we do?”

The subtext was intentionally clear: if it didn’t involve video games, I wasn’t interested. And yet, as obstinately, destructively anti-social as I was during this crucial developmental stage, the reality was that I had favourite hangout spots just like any awkward youth; a special variety of hangout spots that—thanks to the changing landscape of online multiplayer models—I now worry may be disappearing forever.

Shared virtual spaces aren’t anything new. Ever since the first mainframe programmers found themselves with too much time on their hands and not enough online pornography, people have been using computers to enter shared worlds, chat with one another, and (usually) kill things along the way. Client/server models—wherein a multitude of players connect to some central host machine responsible for running the game and maintaining its world—have endured since those primitive times, through the rise and fall of deathmatch, all the way up to the present day. The spaces have gotten larger, the rules have diversified, and the technology has become exponentially more complex, but the basic model remains popular, both on an abstract and practical level. In computer communications they call it ‘star topology’, because of the radial organisation of connections: a set of clients all linked to a common focal point, through which they act and communicate. Simple and reliable—well, as long as somebody doesn’t unplug the hub again, mum.

But what does ‘a server’ even mean these days, anyway? Contemporary online gaming has done so much to cushion its audiences from the fiddly details of its implementation that their role has become amorphous at best. For many games, ‘the servers’ are just the developer’s anonymous workhorses, of which everyone is vaguely aware but nobody ever sees; nameless machines working behind the scenes, providing temporary receptacles for a matchmaking algorithm to funnel players into. For all intents and purposes they’re totally interchangeable, distinguished only by their physical location. People file in, people play a game, and people file out. No muss, no fuss.

That wasn’t how Counter-Strike: Source did things, though.

No, it was quite a different story. Like many multiplayer shooters, the overwhelming majority of servers were operated by the community—often with their own customised map lists, rules and mods—and the only way to play was to explicitly pick one from a list. Crucially, this gave them distinct identities and distinct audiences, as they were always all-too eager to announce. “24/7 DUST2 NO SNIPERS” proclaimed one server name, promising endless no-nonsense shootybangs for the most vanilla of vanilla white boys. Names like “GunGame DeathMatch #1 | SKINS | STATS | RANKS” and “Lo-Grav ScoutzKnivez 100tick” jostled in the browser’s mix, alongside more mystifying and exotic options that would no doubt download hundreds of scrappy custom assets at the drop of a hat. Clan tags and URLs were proudly displayed, like club logos and sponsorship placards, signalling that their servers were not just a service delivered from on high; they were a product of people coming together, passing the money tin around, and carving out a space for themselves.

A space. That was what was most important. Not the physical space of a shelf on a server rack somewhere, or the transient virtual environments we’d perpetually pepper with bullet holes, but the abstract, persistent space of the server session itself, shared by every connected player. A space in which everyone is implicitly present and able to speak with one another, communicating through the chat box and an untold number of scratchy, low-quality, early-2000s headset microphones. With a matchmaking service, that nameless space only persists for the duration of the match before being recycled and lost forever, but when it has a name and an address, it becomes fixed; a point that people can find and return to again.

What happens when a space has all these qualities? When it’s available to many, appeals to a relative few, and has room for a few dozen at most? When it enables play and conversation, and allows them to coexist with minimal detriment to either? When it can be counted on—barring unexpected downtime at the hands of a cheap, disinterested server host—to always be exactly where you left it? A space like that can only take on the role of a focal point; a place of casual congregation. People drop in and drop out, some only staying for minutes at a time, but there are regulars in the mix; familiar names, recognisable avatars. People with nothing in particular to do and nowhere special to go, drifting in from school and work and heaven knows where else, ready to get back on a treadmill they’ve been turning for the better part of a decade. These spaces, these servers, were my hangout spots. They were the secluded cafeteria table, the climbing frame at the local park, the chalked-up goalposts on the wall behind the deli. Places that would give you something to talk about. Places that gave you an excuse to be there, for as long or as briefly as necessary.

It doesn’t feel quite right, waxing nostalgic about a period of my life when I so carelessly frittered my time away, learning nothing, scarcely developing as a person, ensconced in an atmosphere so masculine and juvenile that it’s a wonder it didn’t permanently turn me into the worst kind of gamer. And yet, it’s rare to experience such a natural sense of tight-knit community in the world of video games: no lobbies, no premediated arrangements, no guilds, no forum boards or profile pages, just people informally sharing a space, coming back again and again to a hub until they gradually get to know one another. Death in Counter-Strike is often swift, and—until the next round, at least—quite permanent, so it’s not uncommon to find yourself without much to do for the next few minutes besides spectating the remaining players and chatting with your fellow deceased. Here’s the guy who inexplicably snipes better when he’s drunk, and there’s the head admin who pops up once in a while to abuse his divine powers and fuck with people. Here comes the exhausting pre-pubescent kid who gets ritualistically teased, and over there is the guy who probably hacks but is too charismatic and fun-loving to ever ban. Did I form lasting friendships with any of them? Good lord, no. But they made for far more engaging playmates than complete strangers plucked arbitrarily from the matrix, and they couldn’t have become that without the common ground that the server provided.

For me, those days of inhabiting such a shared social space are gone; thrown into the dustbin of my teenage time-sinks alongside Runescape and habitual masturbation. Like many other people with fruitful, busy lives, I’ve grown to appreciate the convenience of being able to jump in a queue and just get a straightforward, uniform, as-intended multiplayer experience with people who are more-or-less appropriate competitors, no matter how thickly the dust has settled between sessions. But what is multiplayer when everyone’s either a total stranger or an established friend? What is multiplayer without any sense of place, or belonging? The prevalence of matchmaking systems, and the gradual shying away from community-run servers, has made online play more accessible—and rightfully so!—but the, temporal, fleeting, impersonal encounters they create are no social substitute for the virtual equivalent of the skate park outside Leederville station. We’ve wedged other systems into place to try and connect people across the treacherous, shifting waters—friend lists, teams, guilds, that sort of thing—but like many one-off secondary social networking solutions, they usually serve only to formalise connections already made through other means. “How do we play? Oh, right, I have to add you on this thing first. What’s your tag? Yeah, yeah, sent.”

None of this is necessarily an attempt to champion one thing over another: I don’t believe that the model of using servers as small-scale social hubs should supplant other multiplayer models, nor do I think that my endless hours spent being gunned down by the same few-dozen maladjusted young Australian men was a proper substitute for developing… y’know, actual social skills. Nevertheless, as with most tectonic shifts in gaming, it’s hard to shake the feeling that we’re not collectively fully aware of the significance of the baby currently riding out the door on a tide of bathwater. Multiplayer should be about people as much as it is about play, and as long as both are involved, there ought to be room for the chalked-up goalposts on the wall behind the deli.

[e-l-c-kingor]

While there's of course more to it, Edwin's perfect partner boils down to someone he's hopelessly in love with, and is likewise hopelessly in love with him.

[e-l-c-kingor]

instructions: bold whichever hobby your muse feels deeply passionate about, italicize the ones that are more like casual interests for them, & finally strikeout the ones that they are not likely to take an interest in.  repost, do not reblog!

birdwatching, pottery, oil painting, drawing, singing, acting, breakdancing, fashion design, cooking, baking, mixology, bodybuilding, beekeeping, crocheting, knitting, sewing, embroidery, fishing, flower arranging, gardening, graphic design, rock climbing, surfing, swimming, lute

kayaking, canoeing, rafting, metalworking, foraging, candlemaking, rapping, mixed martial arts, karate, judo, taekwondo, kung fu, muay thai, brazilian jiu-jitsu, krav maga, aikido, boxing, fencing (watching others do it), tennis, table tennis, stamp collecting, wrestling, capoeira, archery, swordsmanship (again, watching others), viola

kickboxing, origami, gaming, photography, paintball, parkour, figure skating (watching others), rollerblading, reading, poetry writing, scrapbooking, skiing, snowboarding, scuba diving, snorkeling, woodworking, video game development and design, whittling, whale-watching, yoga, meditation

stand-up comedy, gymnastics (watching), skydiving, travel, blacksmithing, baseball, basketball, volleyball (watching), golf, american football, rugby, cricket, soccer, cosplaying, hunting, horseback riding, jogging, larping, cycling, shopping, sailing, sculpture, vlogging, journaling, palm reading, tarot cards

witchcraft, ballet (watching), jewelry-making, topiary, tabletop roleplaying, calligraphy, pole dancing (mostly watching, of course, but he has tried it a few times), zumba, rock collecting, crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, motorsports, taming animals, hacking, tattoo artistry, storm chasing, ballroom dancing, flower pressing, competitive eating

flying planes, flying spacecrafts, blogging, model building, model engineering, building with legos, building in the sims, stenciling, soapmaking, miming, ventriloquy, computer programming, trivia, ghost-hunting, chasing down mysteries, kite flying, hiking, robotics, watercolour painting

softball, house flipping, sudoku, chess, winemaking, breadmaking, cheesemaking, gossiping, clubbing, salsa dancing, poker, badminton, bowling, ice hockey, track and field, cross country, astrology, stargazing, colouring, prose writing, makeup artistry, quilting

leathercraft, piano, violin, acrylic painting, guitar, ink painting, sketching, flute, clarinet, hula hooping, toy collecting (specifically LEGOs and Furbies), spray painting, research, language learning, board games, hairstyling, keeping up with the latest trends, brainteasers, cartography, drums, comic book collecting

digital painting, songwriting, cleaning, freestyle dancing, podcast hosting, toymaking, bingo, pilates, sightseeing, cheerleading, wine tasting, camping, antiquing, metal detecting, art collecting, home brewing, memorabilia collecting, tapestry weaving, thrifting

shoemaking, furniture building, home improvement, essay writing, leaf pressing, conducting science experiments, skull collecting, mountain biking, dumpster diving, roasting coffee, brewing tea, harp, puppetry, skateboarding, saxophone, trombone, tuba, trumpet, cello, ukulele

Tagged by: @brokentoys

Tagging: @elisethetraveller, @thehighscarecrow, and @tucker-vision

[e-l-c-kingor]

@elisethetraveller sent:

“Edwin, how likely is it that you can be convinced to teach me how to bind books?”

"Well, if you bring me a 10 page MLA format essay on why I should teach you, and a sample of your preexisting knowledge..."

Scrunching up his nose with a smile, he assures, "only kidding. I'd be more than happy to mentor you."

[e-l-c-kingor]

♢ for something to make our muses laugh during sex + [penetrate] and [restrain] (reversed) for @boyish-drinks (Fitz)

Pausing mid tying binds, Edwin asks, "is something funny?"

To his credit, Fitz only sounds slightly nervous as he says, "this, uh, just isn't quite where I expected my night to go."

Edwin giggles at this answer, finishing the rope knot before rolling Fitz over onto his back. "I assure you, I am full of surprises."

Fitz can't help but chuckle at the cliche saying. Fortunately, Edwin doesn't seem insulted, rather laughing with him as he straddles the mechanic, splaying his hands over the other man's chest for leverage. Having already prepared himself- whilst simultaneously riling up his companion for the evening- Edwin doesn't hesitate to lower himself onto his erection, softly whining as he's filled. The inventor makes a show of setting a pace with little time to adjust, slowly pushing himself up as much as he can without letting Fitz slip free, tossing his head back to moan as he quickly sinks down again. Whether Fitz is inclined to praise or scoff at Edwin's performance is irrelevant, as the way he twitches inside him and cants his hips ever so slightly tells him all he needs to know.

Changing pace completely, delighting in the frustrated noise Fitz makes, Edwin sits up and lightly rocks his hips, fluttering his lashes as he says, "you know, you are allowed to participate as well." He slides his hands down his chest to rest on his hips, rolling his own once. "Encouraged, even."

"Yeah, right," Fitz says, but complies nevertheless, thrusting up into Edwin, who gives an appreciative hum.

Raking his nails down Fitz' chest, Edwin grinds against him, spurring him on with moans and teasing. Biting his lip and tensing slightly when his present lover brushes up against his sweet spot, Edwin nearly loses his composure, just managing to hold himself together and continuing to torment Fitz. Leaning forward to bite his neck, pulling his hair, scratching him again, drawing groans and grunts from him as he's wound tighter and tighter.

As Fitz' movements becomes faster and more erratic in that telltale way, Edwin rides him expertly, squeezing his legs around the mechanic's just enough to keep himself steady as he takes away one hand to stroke himself. He gives in to his own pleasure soon enough, coming in spurts on Fitz' chest with a wanton moan. Just as his bedfellow reaches his own finish, however, Edwin pulls himself off him, severing all connection and stimulation to his twitching member. Fits understandably swears in frustration with his orgasm being ruined, canting his hips in a vain search for friction.

Once the mechanic is through with his pointless struggle, Edwin coos and tips his chin up for a kiss, giving his lip a sinful lick. After a moment of waiting patiently, Fitz becomes fed up and pointedly struggles with his bonds.

"Ah-ah, not yet," Edwin says with a smug chuckle, reaching behind him to grab Fitz' cock to stroke. "I'd say we still have... Five more rounds to go?"

Fitz only groans in reply, letting his head flop back against the mattress.

[e-l-c-kingor]

While Edwin's family was certainly well off financially, he didn't grow up with the stereotypical rich kid privileges. As such, while he did have quite the assortment, he didn't have the hoarde of toys one may assume a child of his wealth to have. This most certainly contributed to him loving and cherishing every toy he had.

Edwin's top four toys growing up were Barbies, stuffed animals, LEGOs, and Furbies. He would often build houses and palaces for his Barbies to live in, or making vehicles for his Furbies and stuffies to accompany him around the house in. He would almost always carry a Furby or stuffed toy with him when he went out to the store or some such place- he used to have a couple Barbies in the rotation as well, until his older sister Idalia made him too embarrassed to do so anymore, and his parents gently talked him out of it.

While he's outgrown the first two, he still greatly enjoys the latter pair. He has a few of the bigger LEGO sets as well as some architecture sets that he occasionally deconstructs to rebuild again. He also still has a couple Furbys from his childhood, and- among his other tinkering hobbies- enjoys repairing them when he comes across them. Unsurprisingly, he has strong opinions on all four types of toys.

[e-l-c-kingor]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓

*repost, don’t  reblog!

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇

# 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂  :    1    /   2 /   3 +

𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴  :  high /   average   /   deep

𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃  : yes  /   soft   /   no

𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚁  : confident /   shy   /   approachable /   hostile   /  other

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴  :   slumped   /  straight / stiff /   relaxed

𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂  :   head tilting /   swaying   / fidgeting  /  stuttering   /    gesturing   /  arm crossing   /   strokes chin   /   ah, er, um, or other interjections /  plays with hair or clothing /   hands at hips   / inconsistent eye contact /   maintains eye contact  /   frequent pausing   / stands close   /   stands at distance

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐓𝐘  :

𝚅𝙾𝙲𝙰𝙱𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁𝚈 :★ ★ ★ ★ ★

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 :★ ★ ★ ★ ★

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙲𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 :★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘  :

𝙵𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈 :★ ★ ✩ ✩ ✩

𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚃𝚈 :  ★ ★ ✩ ✩ ✩

𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 :★ ★ ★ ✩ ✩

𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐘.   arse. ass. asshole.  bastard. bitch.   bloody.   bugger.   bollocks.   chicken shit.   crap.   cunt.   dick. frick. fuck. horseshit.   motherfucker.  piss.   prick.   screw.  shit. shitass.   son of a bitch.   twat.   wanker.   coward. pussy.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓?   contractions or enunciation ?  straightforward or cryptic ?   jargon or toned ?    complexity or simplicity ? finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind ?  masculinity, neutrality, or femininity ? formalities or abrasiveness ?    praise or equivocation ? frankness or lies ?  excessive or minimal hand gestures ?   name-calling  or magnanimity ?   friendly or blunt nicknames ?

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝙳𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 ?

almost always   /  frequently   /   sometimes  /  rarely   /   almost never

𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁’𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙰𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚂 𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙻𝚈 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 ?

almost always   /   frequently   / sometimes   /   rarely   /    almost never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?

almost always   /   frequently   /   sometimes /   rarely  /   almost never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?

almost always   /   frequently   / sometimes /   rarely /  almost never

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚄𝚂𝙴 ‘𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙼’ 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 ?

yes /   no   /   only ironically

𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃.  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙳𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚄𝚂𝙴 ? 

but /   though   /   although   /   however   /   perhaps  /  mayhaps

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 ?

walk away   /   ask if that’s everything   /   say that that’s everything  /   give a proper goodbye  /   tell their company they’re done here   /   remain quiet  /  they don’t

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 ?

titles  / first names  /   surnames  /  full names  /   nicknames

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙾,  𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 ?

upper / middle /   working   /  lower

𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙺 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 ?

accent   /   vocabulary   /   tone /   level   /  politeness /   brusqueness   /   it doesn’t

Tagged by: @brokentoys

Tagging: uhhh steal it :p

[e-l-c-kingor]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

"With a mouth but no way to speak... With legs but nowhere to go... With a mind but no way to think... With a heart but no way to feel.." -Unknown

The ceasg, known in Scottish as Gaelic as Maighdean na Tuinne, "maid of the wave", are a largely peaceful seafaring mermaid-like fae with a rightful fear of humans. They hail from the depths of Scottish folklore, swimming innocently up and down coastlines, playing in lagoons. Their harmonizing voices can be heard drifting through the morning fog, luring sailors to their ultimate demise. Their seemingly lackadaisical living conditions sports one major drawback.

Captivity.

If a ceasg is captured by a human, he or she owes their soul to that individual and must grant them three wishes in exchange for their release. They can be forced into marriage and bear human children who are fated to become world-renowned sailors. After a while, the ceasg will grow weary of dismal human life. Depression rests on their shoulders like a cloud as they long for freedom. For the sea. They may fight back against their captor and can only be overcome by the destruction of their very soul, usually kept outside of their own bodies.

You have always been... distant. You'd rather simply fantasize about new and grand other worlds than ever exist in this mundane reality. You may be artistically inclined but your creativity is not just limited to artistic prowess. You have always longed for something more, almost as if you are out of place with the rest of humanity. This can occasionally lead to feelings of isolation or deprivation. You thirst for something which you cannot quite articulate as you follow the song of your heart wherever it may lead you. Perhaps you are a hopeless romantic, looking for a fairy tale ending. You follow the song as it draws you deeper and deeper into the inky depths, pulling you further and further from home. Your wanderings have caught the attention of a ceasg who is determined to protect you, wary that you may meet the same fate it will inevitably meet someday. Be careful out here in these unfamiliar waters,

...the heaviest of chains never manifest themselves physically.

Stolen from: @brokentoys

Tagging: steal it :p

[e-l-c-kingor]

anonymous | For every... [ No Longer Accepting ]

’(´∆｀*)’’(´∆｀*)’

anonymous | For every... [ No Longer Accepting ]

’(´∆｀*)’

Instantly, Edwin begins writing beneath the sheet, gripping his pillow and pulling it against his body, rutting against it. He's certain every single one of his nerve endings are going to explode, spots dancing behind his eyelids tightly shut, tears at last escaping down his cheek. The emptiness combined with the utter overstimulation is surely going to drive him insane, desperate for someone, anyone to touch him instead of himself. He babbles incoherently between moans and whines, hands beginning to ache with how hard he clings to his pillow.

He isn't sure when he blacked out, but it couldn't be for long given the evening sun still in his window. With a small groan, he stretches his limbs out, grimacing as at least two joints pop in protest. Next, he adjusts his pillow to be under his head while still hugging it, burying his face into the fabric. Taking in his slowing pulse, the pangs in his muscles with each beat of his heart, Edwin entertains himself thoughts of doing this again...

Though, he thinks to himself, it would be better to have someone orchestrating it. At least the aching would mean something then.

[e-l-c-kingor]

anonymous | For every... [ No Longer Accepting ]

’(´∆｀*)’?

Dwindling attention focused as much as he could make it on the contraption on his workbench, this inexplicable climax catches Edwin completely off guard, making him jump in his seat and let out a small shout. It almost instantly devolves into a cracked moan, a fist slamming against the table's surface as his forehead does the same. He can feel the sweat from his skin collect on the wood, eyelids fluttering while being squeezed shut, electricity arcing through his raw nerves. It blazes through his very muscles, burning every single one, making him keen into the table, uselessly bouncing in his seat as he desperately seeks out some other stimulation.

He doesn't bother to raise his head for a long moment after it passes, content to sit there, melt into a puddle on the floor. That's certainly what it feels like is happening, his brain mush and body taffy.