#boxed valences

[inspiredlivingspaces]

IG luxemagazine

[humanmorph]

i do still (occasionally) (also when keith mentions it) think about how noone really interacted with phrygian much outside of their humanoid shape much (room, place, objects etc), and when they did it usually went with a general sense of that being so strange / weird / kind of offputting. and of course part of it is that it's jokes from the cast & saying things like 'i don't want to party inside of you' are just kind of funny, i guess*, and on the other hand (watsonian) i can buy it from the characters who were raised with/under anti-branched propaganda, HOWEVER

Get over it!! Get over it!!!!! Skill‼️ Issue‼️

[shibusawaz]

im a big fan of the human connection and all but you guys are connecting with me too much please i dont want to explain our chemistry worksheet to you i dont want to hear about your mental illness. please let me listen to this thrash metal band i found in peace

[unopenablebox]

today feels like it is not actually occurring

[tropinano]

List of As Many Fiction Podcasts As I Could Think Of

NOT ORGANIZED! This is a big list of fiction podcasts with no descriptions, meant for the sole purpose of picking one based on the title and just trying it out. Just a big ol' list of titles. Kindof like a blind date! Explore a couple of the ones that intrigue you and come back later for more.

The Hotel

The Night Post

I am in Eskew

Whisperling

Residents of Proserpina Park

The Daedalus Compound

EOS10

The Magnus Archives

Francis Forever

SMILE GROVE

Janus Descending

The Godfrey Audio Guide

Old Gods of Appalachia

Camp Here & There

The Way We Haunt Now

Jack of All Trades

SUPERSUITS

Illuminati Interns

Death by Dying

Life with Leo(h)

Hello from the Hallowoods

Malevolent

The 12:37

Spirit Box Radio

Lost Terminal

Desperado

Neighbourly

The Switchboard

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality

Aurora Everlasting

The Swashbuckling Ladies Debate Society

CARAVAN

The Amelia Project

Jar of Rebuke

Monstrous Agonies

Where the Stars Fell

Kisses In The Dark

The Town Whispers

Uncommon Commons

The Author's Anathema

Elevator Pitch

Brimstone Valley Mall

Kane & Feels

Middle:Below

The McIlwraith Statements

Caledonian Gothic

I have seen Niagara

Petrified

In Darkness Vast

The Outside Tapes

Seren

Gather the Suspects

This Foul Earth

John from Home

Glasgow Ghost Stories

The Tower

The Antique Shop

either

Tales from Aletheian Society

The Secret of St Kilda

The Green Horizon

Road X

THE NOWHERE MALL

Seven of Hearts

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio

SubverCity Transmit

The Nuclear Solution

Inkwyrm

Jim Robbie and the Wanderers

Burst

With Caulk and Candles

This Planet Needs a Name

The Glass Appeal

Mar's Best Brisket

Nym's Nebulous Notions

Midnight Radio

The Bright Sessions

When Angels Visit Armadillo

The Mysterious Secrets of Uncle Bertie's Botanarium

Nowhere, On Air

Dark Ages

Welcome to Night Vale

The Silt Verses

Care & Feeding of Werewolves

The Bridge

The Far Meridian

ars PARADOXICA

Among the Stars and Bones

Counterbalance

Primordial Deep

Hannahpocalypse

Someone dies in this Elevator

Mabel

Seen and Not Heard

Abyss FM

Bodies in Space

Among the Stacks

Station Arcadia

Station Blue

Mnemosyne

Wolf 359

Tranthologies

Mx Bad Luck

SAYER

Limetown

What will be here?

Wake of Corrosion

The Pasithea Powder

SINKHOLE

Tell No Tales

The Vesta Clinic

Dreamboy

Georgie Romero is Done For

The Domestic Life of Anthony Todd

Alice isn't Dead

Stellar Firma

Unwell

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

The Heart of Ether

The Orbiting Human Circus

Wooden Overcoats

Greater Boston

Valence

Moonbase Theta Out

The Penumbra Podcast

Desert Skies

Deviser

Leaving Corvat

Red Valley

Back Again Back Again

Sidequesting

[albatris]

hewwo

I deleted the opening of rentalcar from tumblr months ago when all the ai nonsense happened but now it's back again because I'm me. it's fresh and edited! and shorter

here's the new chapter one for your viewing pleasure. enjoy! or don't. don't let me tell you how to live your life I'm not your mum

hi taglist hello - some of you have already read this! I hope you're having a nice day though 😎

@transmasc-wizard @saturn-iidae @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @silverwarewolf @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @plasticseaslug @jetstargenderfuckery @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @junoshusband @writing-is-a-martial-art @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @sleepycaprine @cream-and-tea @gailynovelry @lefttigerobservation @indecentpause @writingsfromspace @carnivalls @violetfoxsketches @approximately20eggs @mohluskiepedard @desastreus @kk7-rbs @cee-grice @northwyrm @xylophonicsynapse @careful-pyromancer @recapitulation @incandescent-creativity @whole-buncha-snakess @mysticalalleycat @thatonecrowguy @va-nila-bean @televisionjester @excessive-vampires @walkman-cat @davycoquette @xenascribbles

tw for paranoia, anxiety, hallucinations, swearing, general feelings of unease

Nat Finch blinked awake.

He was slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his rental car, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, his body aching like he hadn’t moved in centuries. His feet were bare. His throat burned. His head throbbed. Curled over his shoulders was the familiar softness of the blanket from his back seat, the one he’d been meaning to give to the Larsons for two weeks now. A deep night breeze leaked through the slightly-open window to his right, the cold gnawing at the dampness that clung to his clothes, to his face and hair. He felt filthy, filmy, disgusting—more so than usual.

A muddle of memories and flickers and voices fought for space in his brain, bumping up against each other and overlapping, threads escaping every time he thought he’d grasped one. He was overcome, for a single surreal moment, by the sense he had just awoken from an exceedingly peculiar dream.

Nat Finch sat up, groaning.

Disturbed by the motion, plastic crinkled in his lap. A collection of granola bars was scattered over him, a few of them having tumbled down onto the seat next to him and the floor below. Like someone had dumped them unceremoniously over his head and just… left him like that.

He recognised the brand, vaguely—something hoity-toity and ridiculous he’d seen at the supermarket, fifteen dollars a goddamn box—but they weren’t something that had any business being anywhere near him. His bank balance barely scraped double digits at the moment.

“Who the fuck…” Nat paused, not sure what question he was even supposed to be asking. “Why the fuck…”

His attention edged upwards, to a scrap of cardboard folded neatly in two and perched atop his dashboard.

DO YOUR BEST! it read in a childlike handwritten scrawl.

Nat squinted harder. “What the fuck.”

He tried to think. His brain, sluggish and laden with fog and aching, refused to provide any context for the mystery shower of nutrition. Or the note.

Or… anything else, for that matter. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he didn’t remember stopping his car. He remembered leaving work, but it had barely been dusk when he’d left work and the trip from Stop ‘N’ Go to his apartment was fifteen minutes, tops.

It was not dusk anymore. The black outside was the pure solitude of the witching hour and the world beyond his window was silent, save for the buzz and pop of a single faulty streetlight a few metres ahead and the chittering gossip of crickets. No people. No cars. No movement.

Nat’s dread climbed. He craned his neck and strained to decipher his whereabouts. The lonely light offered only flimsy, spluttering illumination—some of it splashing into his car, some of it into dry grass and mesh fence lining the side of the road, most of it merely into the rumble of gravel directly beneath it. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was where he was.

The disco ball hanging from his rear-view mirror glittered at him, blinking urgently.

He shoved the granola bars off himself, suddenly feeling contaminated. A strident, pulsating pain forked through every inch of his body at the movement—he gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss and a wince. The blanket went next, ripped from his shoulders and hurled at the opposing window in a multicoloured flurry. It crumpled to the passenger seat and Nat stared at it, prickling all over with the suspicion someone else had placed it on him. Someone else had been here. Watching. Leaning. Looming. Touching. His hand flew to the window winder and wound it, sealing the opening. Sealing himself in and the outside out.

And then he sat still, mind reeling, chest tight. Panic twisting in his stomach. He waited for his brain to kick over, for his memory to rush back, for the moment he shook free the dregs of post-sleep disorientation and went, Oh, that’s right! That’s why I’m here! That’s what’s going on! How could I have forgotten?

A minute passed.

And another.

Frozen.

Rigid.

Nat swallowed, hard. Nothing clicked into place. Nothing clicked and nothing clicked and nothing clicked. Why not? He’d left work and turned left down Rake Street like he always did. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

The night outside was alive. With every flicker-out of the streetlight, the dark whined at his window, still trying to reach him. A tapping, a whistling, a whispering in its own made-up language. Nat. Nat. Nat. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. The dark that should not have been there. The dark that should have been dusk.

He'd lost hours. Hours. What the hell had happened to him? The note on his dashboard sat there, smirking. It knew things he didn’t.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Five things he could see were that gaudy leopard-print steering wheel cover, the smeared windscreen from too-old wipers, the radio, the hazard switch, his own hands, crusted in cracked, dried mud.

Four things he could feel were the press of the seat under him, the press of his work uniform over him, the sting of the cold on his feet, pain, pain, pain.

Three things he could hear were crickets and streetlights and dark.

Two things he could smell were the dull citrus hum of the vent-clip air freshener and the fact it was doing nothing to hide the fact he hadn’t showered in a while.

One thing he could taste was—

Okay, okay, alright. Okay. That would do it. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed out. Calm. Calm. Calm.

He reached gingerly for the ignition, exhaling in relief when he grasped the key still inside. He had that, at least. He hesitated, perched on an agonising threshold between hopeful anticipation and whatever reality was about to find him.

He turned the key.

Nothing.

He turned again.

Nothing. The car stuttered and clicked uselessly, refusing to start. Relief left him as quickly as it had arrived. Flat battery.

Nat breathed, “Ah, fuck.”

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

He twisted towards the back seat, feeling along the faux leather for his work backpack. He hauled it to himself and rammed an arm inside to seek his phone, shoving through a jumble of familiar shapes—notebook, hoodie, empty soft drink can for recycling, empty soft drink can for recycling, gum, nametag—ah, there it was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Nat whined, his finger colliding with the power button. “Please, please, please—”

Nothing. Flat battery.

Nat breathed in.

Nat plonked his forehead back down on the steering wheel and released a long, agonised wail.

Simmering anxiety climbed into roiling terror. Terror branched sideways into paranoia. Paranoia bloomed up through his chest and into his throat, where it squeezed tight and threatened to choke him. He’d lost hours. Anything could have happened to him. Anything could have been done to him.

The dark outside mocked and laughed. The disco ball blinked its rhythmic little warnings. He could feel it all, even when he wasn’t looking.

Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel.

“No shit,” he muttered back.

What next?

He lifted his head and flipped the sun visor down to look at himself in the mirror. With no phone screen and no overhead light to guide him, it was hard to get a full picture. He tilted his head, twisted his neck, attempted to catch himself on some jittering streetlight. He snagged a few glimpses—a dribble of blood from a presumably cracked lip here, a smudge of dirt on a cheekbone there. The collar of his shirt looked bloody, too. His hair wasn’t sitting right, tangled black all caked together and hanging in thick clumps. Two trembling hands lifted, the quiver partially from weakness and partially from fear, and Nat gripped at his face. Tugging along those familiar edges and curves and juts, finding them not so familiar. Finding them wrong. Hollow. Caved in. His fingertips wandered down towards his jaw—

—and along the thick, uneven mumbling of stubble that hadn’t been there when he’d left the apartment that morning.

Nat’s heartbeat tripped up. He hadn’t lost hours.

He’d lost days.

Nat breathed in. And in. And in. Not enough. Too fast. His chest heaved. His lungs refused to fill.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t have lost days. He couldn’t have lost days. Jesus Christ, Nat had never been the shining poster child of mental health, but he’d never lost days. He’d been God knew where for God knew how long. He’d been—his feet were bare, his hands and face were streaked with mud, someone had clearly been messing around in his car—he’d been taken. Drugged. Kidnapped. That scribbled note? Do your best? He was being toyed with, probably by some deranged serial killer. And what was with the granola bars? Some kind of clue? A message?

He had to go. Run. Get help. Something close to a whimper climbed up his throat and fell from his lips. His hand crept to the door handle and stopped.

He’d seen horror movies. Not many, but enough. The chase, the hunt, the twisted mind games before the inevitable kill… these were part of the fun. There was probably someone watching him right now, folded into the shadows and out of sight, waiting for him to panic. Waiting for him to make his first mistake and step outside.

Waiting for him to start the game.

He couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t stay.

Could he stay? Could he just wait it out? Someone would find him. Someone would look for him. Someone would look for him, right?

No, no one would look for him. No one would care enough that he was gone.

No, there was no way they’d let him wait this out, whoever they were. They would find some way to lure him out, drive him out, force him into the waiting hands of the night air. Unprotected. Alone. All at once Nat felt a million eyes boring into him, leering from beyond the black, drinking in his every move. He shoved himself lower in his seat, clutching his dead phone to his chest.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

He tried a final time to reason with himself.

When he’d worked twelve hour shifts four days straight, he’d started being dogged by the idea that someone had snuck a microscopic tracking device into his takeaway pizza, which he had subsequently consumed. When he’d been behind on rent for the third fortnight in a row, he’d become fixated on the idea that other customers in the supermarket were reading his thoughts and laughing at him. Look at this fucking loser. Grimy hair and track pants. Can’t even afford instant ramen.

Panic and stress tended to climb on top of him bit by bit. Panic and stress tended to twist all kinds of everyday events into all kinds of unnatural, terrifying shapes. It was normal. Even the tiny, audible hints of speech pushing through the dark, giving voice to his anxiety, those were normal under the right circumstances. It was all… no, not normal. It was a pattern. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. Tomorrow, he’d understand he’d never been in any danger.

So even though he was here now, helpless and stranded in the empty night, barefoot and filthy, abandoned by his memories and surrounded by leering scrawled words and fucking rich-people granola bars—he had to take this moment of clarity and hold it tight.

Tomorrow, this would all make sense.

DO YOUR BEST! the dark around him sang.

“Go to hell,” Nat spat.

And with that, he wrenched the door open.

[alexanderwales]

I'm writing a blog post on bureaupunk, and ...

Have we really not come up with a better suffix denoting genre than "-punk"?

Bureauwave? Bureaucore? Bureauporn? I think these are all different degrees of legible, with different meaning and valence. Anyway, here's my attempt at cleaving at the differences:

Bureaupunk has a focus on the bureaucracy, generally in a dystopic way, probably with a main character who is rebelling against the system. Probably has themes of individuality.

Bureauporn has a focus on the bureaucracy, but with a more positive valence. It's focus is like that of a watchmaker identifying all the parts and how they work. The main thrust of the work is gleeful explanation.

Bureaucore uses the aesthetic of bureaucracy. Fluorescent lights, a sad box of doughnuts, timesheets, meetings that could have been emails, ID cards on lanyards, cubicles, etc. Not even necessarily about bureaucracy.

Bureauwave is romanticized or stylized, nostalgic. I generally do not actually think that people feel nostalgia for any kind of bureaucracy, but maybe this would invoke a certain era of history, when everything was done with reams of paper, when everyone wore uniform black suits with black ties. An aesthetic that never actually existed, maybe.

But of course for the thing I'm writing, I want to be pointing to all of these, the works that have been influenced by the bureaucratic memeplex in all kinds of ways. So I don't know, it's something to think about.

(If you have any examples that would fit, let me know, I'm trying to make a fairly comprehensive list that reflects something that I think already exists, this is not a manifesto about what should be, but rather me trying to ponder a thing that exists.)

[boombox-fuckboy]

Don't know anyone here? Pick one and go listen!

Am I missing your favourite? Are they from a fantasy? Let me know!

[acepodcastweek]

Did I miss your favourite? Let me know! Maybe they've even featured in another poll.

Don't know any of these? Pick a show and go listen!

Want to know more about Ace Week Fiction Podcast Festivities? Click Here.

[hailmaryfullofgrace55675]

it’s really something how whatever valences people attach to fandom and fanfiction cause them to treat the ao3 and fanfiction hosting generally as something it’s either wholly pointless or just kind of cringe to care about, as though “millions and millions of hours of human effort and care at creative work” and “millions of pieces of art that people have various emotional attachments to” aren’t obviously worth preserving and obviously very sad to contemplate the destruction or long term inaccessibility of. it would be sad if a large percentage of the graffiti in the world suddenly flaked off every surface it’s on. it would be sad if a large percentage of the children’s finger paintings tacked to fridges and tucked away in boxes suddenly crumbled. it’s sad when a collection of pulp novels hosting the last copies of some hastily written and hastily enjoyed books is lost to fire or flood, it’s sad when the film a bunch of old porn was recorded on degrades past the point of total irretrievability. sure, each medium contains works that could be judged to have broader cultural relevance, ~true artistic and/or historical value, but that’s not really the point. even if they’re only valuable to the people who made them and the people who love them it would be sad for them to be lost.

[hazelsmirrorball]

The Red Container

summary: Jason chickens out last minute to Y/n’s Christmas party so she decides to make it up for him.

pairing: Jason Todd x Fem! Vigilante reader

a/n: Merry Christmas!!! I hope you guys had and amazing Christmas here’s my gift to you guys. The last part will be on new years eve!! I’ll try uploading some stories for new years unrealated to this one!

christmas masterlist

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4.

Jason anxiously rubbed his palms against his pants attempting to calm the nerves overtaking his body. He slowly reached his hands to the front door slowly hovering his hand but before he could even knock one the door quickly opened.

“Hey I.. What are you doing here” The person in front of him exclaimed, closing the door behind him and pulling Jason away from the front door.

“I could ask you the same thing! What the hell are you doing here Dick?” Jason exclaimed angrily, glaring at his brother.

“ It’s my best friend's Christmas Party, that’s why I am here! Now why the hell are you here” Dick responded, pushing his shoulder softly.

“Well, a friend of mine invited me to the party. That’s why I’m here” He mumbled while holding up the invitation he had received.

“ A friend? We don’t have mutual “friends” Jason. Wait, since when do you have friends?” Dick Annoyingly asked while glaring at his younger brother, not even giving the invitation a second look.

“ She’s more of a coworker” He mumbled hiding in his back pocket the gift he intended to give her for christmas.

“A coworker? As in a Red Hood coworker?” Dick responded in a sarcastic tone leaning against the side wall of the house.

“ Yes, asshole. A Red Hood coworker. She had been on my ass inviting me to go to her holiday parties for a few months now. Decided to drop by. I should get going” he mumbled, straightening himself and walking towards where he originally came through. He could hear Dick mumble a soft good under his breath.

When Jason was far enough he could see a shorter silhouette stand next to Dick outside. She excitedly waved her cup in the air and leaned against Dick.

“Who was outside?” She asked quite loudly in an attempt to valence out the music that was coming out through the open front door.

“No one. I just needed some fresh air ``he said, smiling softly at her. Jason slowly gripped on his hands watching the scene unfold. Not wanting to keep the fiasco going he went on his way. Failing to hear Y/n’s last words.

“I’m waiting for a friend of mine so if you see him, tell me. Please”

…

Jason looked at the view in front of him taking in the beautiful cold night. He regretted not entering the party. Dick always got on his nerves but today, he wanted to kill Dick. Part of him knew she was going to be mad. He had promised her he was going to the Christmas party. He had to be there. s/h/n was the only person that actually had genuine interest in his life. She wanted to be included and genuinely cared for him.

“Hey, turn that frown upside down. Santa doesn’t want frowns today” That beautiful voice took over his ear making him completely warm.

“Well, I wasn’t on Santa’s nice list so I don’t think he would mind if I frown” He said, chuckling softly.

“I think Santa reconsider because he left a little something on my tree for you” Y/n said sitting next to him, their knees rubbing softly. Y/n and Jason felt their faces heating up, but neither of them had the nerve to move their legs.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, s/h/n” He responded, breaking the silence staring at masked covered face.

“ I didn’t get you anything, Santa did, now here” She smiled softly, handing him a red gift bag and their usual red container.

“Before I opened this, Santa also brought something to my house, the only gift under my small one dollar tree was for Santa’s number one person on his list. Here” Jason softly handed her a s/c small box.

“You didn’t have..” She started covering her mouth with her hand.

“I didn’t, Santa did,” Jason said playfully, hitting her side. Y/n chuckled softly, throwing her head back while shaking it.

“On the count of three we opened the gifts then”

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

“You fucking didn’t” both of them exclaimed at the same time looking at each other holding their gifts up.

“How did you even know I wanted this?” Y/n exclaimed, holding the beautiful pearl necklace in her hands.

“You were ranting about wanting that necklace one night that we passed by the store while patrolling,” Jason said, trying not to give him importance.

“That was like five months ago” She exclaimed, shocked while looking down at the necklace.

“I was quite dedicated to getting that gift for you,” he said, chuckling softly.

“And you said we weren’t partners” She responded his shoulder softly

“I have to keep you around! You grew on me” Jason said, laughing softly.

“I’m the best. I know, now what did you think of your gift?” Y/n asked, getting closer.

“I love it! How did you know I read? More specifically, how do you know I read romance novels?” He said holding up the four books she had gotten him.

“I saw you eyeing those books while we were patrolling a few months ago”

“I guess we have the same tactics”

“I guess we do”

They stayed in silence looking at the gifts. Jason slowly looked at the box, noticing a small letter. He slowly read it and Y/n nervously rambled.

“ I know parties aren’t your things but I really want you to come. So the last party of the year is going to be a masquerade ball. I'd appreciate it if you took the time to go.”

“I try to go” he said softly, Y/n quickly hugged his frame not wanting to let him go.

“Thank you” she said softly against his chest.

“No need to thank me! Merry Christmas, s/h/n” He said leaning into her softly.

“Call me Y/n”

“Well, you can call me Jay”

“Merry Christmas Jay”

“Merry Christmas Y/n”

[MASTERLIST]

request are open, xoxo.

[swallowtailed]

HELLO. PALISADE 29

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

the tension. the drama. the acting. the sheer fucking bravado. can we get a round of applause for ali’s work in this downtime!!!!!!!!!

actually, shouts to the entire cast, there was not a minute of that episode that was not incredible. TTRPGS!!!

after the (genuinely gripping) debate about what moves to use, the actual fight between brnine and dahlia ended up being really grounded in a way i loved—no auto-win, no huge move to pull out, just a series of attacks. great tension.

speaking of tension, this episode felt like the real refresh after the stellar combustor arc. one big victory, a clean escape, and then time to run a few downtime scenes afterward and fully reset. also exactly the kind of wild win i wanted post-combustor, lol. (notably the same sort of double-impact midseason finale as in partizan lmao.)

oh my god, and the MUSIC. this new track absolutely bangs. i think ali said the moment of killing dahlia was “uncool”, which was very funny given that the soundtrack made it actually the coolest scene ever put to audio.

figure managing to summon brnine back was amazing. (they can cry again!) and that they did it with the tapes of valence and gur—the memory of valence felt very present in brnine’s scenes in this downtime, even without brnine ever saying their name. grief’s a funny thing. (similarly: brnine nearly telling thisbe to check in with phrygian. and “phrygian made the best cereal box mazes”, a line that i will be remembering literally forever.)

and like, the scene with gucci. god. something very compelling about gucci saying “i don’t know what to do with the way i feel about you so i’m going to ask you: what do we do” and then framing a different set of bare little hopes and a different huge frightening future that has suddenly opened up. what do you do when it turns out you actually get a chance to live. same question. you know.

i’m not entirely sure what’s going on with divines and their relationships with mortals right now, but i think something is starting to shift. thisbe and the cadent—this strange method of communication—brnine’s adopted gods—the afflictions and the delegates and partial palisade himself—the reveal that the branched are posthuman and postdivine; dahlia following a similar path—something is changing. post-combustor, something could change. maybe it’s no one thing, but an expansion, out of the confines of the divine principality. that in itself would be a victory. 

also noticing that any divine brnine meets becomes a dog to them—asepsis, integrity, commitment. still don’t know where to even begin with this. (… insert HOUNDS joke here)

so much happened in this episode. what the fuck. incredible work all around. excited for next week????????????

[driderwife]

not anticipating huge response but if u feel like asking me questions abt my OCs particularly Valence or whoever feel free to reply here!!

I’d open my ask box but I have anxiety lol and I wouldn’t be turning anon on anyway; if u ask me stuff I’ll make new posts answering :3

[bellshazes]

I was going to reply on your post about C vs CC distinction but I couldn't, so I hope you don't mind me asking here - my brain wasn't cooperating today so I was struggling to read it and comprehend it properly as written. But does it basically boil down to the fact that it's difficult to create a distinction between what's considered "character" vs "creator" in the digital medium Minecraft offers for storytelling? That there's no real way to draw a distinction between "this PERSON did this in the game" and "this CHARACTER did this in the story's world" because it's told on a platform and in a way that makes it hard to find a non-fuzzy divide, and that we shouldn't necessarily try to find that line anyway? Basically that - when it's so hard to define canon when "canon" is influenced by the person both on and beyond the screen, and interactions between "characters" are often colored by the creators behind them, and when the story being told is never really fully concrete anyway, it's just...better and, honestly, more fun to just enjoy the nondefinable art form for what it is? Because if that's what you're saying, I wholeheartedly agree. ^^

When the story's medium is a sandbox game, it's much more fun to interpret canon and its connected fanon as a sandbox too, something malleable and formable and explorable in a flexible way that doesn't rely on defined boundaries to be enjoyed. It's sand. You can make a solid sandcastle for a while, but eventually the water that packed it together dries and the wind blows and things shift again, because that's what sand does. Just - let sand be sand. :3

(And if I've totally misinterpreted then I apologize, it's been a long day and like I said, my brain's not cooperating hah.)

~ Pixie

I definitely didn't get back to my original point in that rambling reblog, so I think you've gotten what I was trying for up until the idea that the SMP Thing is nondefinable. I really struggle articulating this all the time and people often do take it the way you have, so it's a failure of explanation on my part...

It's not resolvable into a single truth, but currently the dominanf response to that is to throw the baby out with the bathwater and say if there is no canon, everything is equally true no matter what the text says, because the text is as (un)real and unknowable as my own imagination. I comprehend that this is very fun and believe this approach has absolutely no moral valence. often this evolves into annoying (imo!) fandom standards that become quasi-canonical due to sheer popularity in the group sandbox but whatever.

However my patented peter bellshazes perfect world involve not this kind of overwriting being a dominant fandom mode, but people taking the lack of One Single Master Story all other pieces fit into as a joyous invitation to pick apart all the threads on their own and how they relate without forcing them into anything and seeing them more clearly. It's to me like the difference between trying to force jigsaw puzzle pieces to fit that are from different boxes and - I don't know, like a complex 3D sculpture that is one object but portrays different images at every angle its viewed from. And people discovering that instead of taking photographs to find the One True Angle in 2D, walking around to examine the previously unstudied backside.

that's abstract but in practice it means like... idk treating it more like a vivisection. I love taking different perspectives apart as standalones, and also interrelating them, but finding joy and spaces to explore and discuss and feel through in those individual examinations, and not forcing them to make sense in some master truth. It makes me appreciate different approaches to the medium more, how tone and technique contribute beyond C!Cubito Is This Trait or whatever. I like it when people articulate if we think about THIS event and how it was shown in THIS way (in terms of acting/performance, editing, cuts made or not made, ) then the story is like this and what's in the gaps or what if it extended or what would it have looked like if different choices were made from a craft perspective or how does that contrast with or contextualizes a different series or scenario. throwing nothing out but never looking for a grand unified theory of truth.

Again no moral valence but i just feel like maybe if I can articulate my brand of fandom joy people might want to give it a try! and I genuinely appreciate people who care enough to try and parse what the hell I'm getting at bc it's almost always only when I try and answer questions that I feel like I get better at explaining what I was trying to say, so!

[g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e]

｡⁠☆Aot characters as song☆｡

｡⁠☆Levi Ackerman☆｡

Gilded lily - Cults

Fourth of July - Sufjan Stevens

I'm tired - Labyrinth, Zendaya

Cry - cigarettes after sex

Wicked game - Chris Isaak

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｡⁠☆Hange Zoe☆｡

Captain save a hoe - E-40

Why didn't you stop me - mitski

Wicked games - Chris Isaak

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｡⁠☆Erwin Smith☆｡

Untrust us - Crystal castles

PRIDE. - Kendrick Lamar

Smells Blood - Kensuke Ushio

O Children - Nick cave & Bad seeds

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Eren Yaeger☆｡

Dark red - Steve Lacey

Watching him fade away - Mac Demarco

Exit music(for a film) - Radiohead

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS - Tyler, the creator

Wicked game - Chris Isaak

O Children - Nick cave & Bad seeds

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Mikasa Ackerman☆｡

Kerosene - Crystal castles

Liquid smooth - Mitski

He needs me - Shelley duvall

Using you - Mars argo

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Armin Arlert☆｡

Step on me - The Cardigans

My Alcoholic Friends - The Dresden Dolls

Beauty is empty - Mars argo

---------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Annie Leonhart☆｡

Daddy issues - The Neighborhood

Child Psychology - Black Box Recorder

Girl Anachronism - The Dresden Dolls

Softcore - The Neighborhood

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Bertholdt Hoover☆｡

Romantic homicide - d4ad

Softcore - The Neighborhood

Lights are on - Tom Rosenthal

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Reiner Braun☆｡

Crack baby - Mitski

Better than me - The Brobecks

Softcore - The Neighborhood

Daddy issues - The Neighborhood

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Zeke Yaeger☆｡

You can be the boss - Lana Del Rey

Daddy issues - The Neighborhood

Cigarettes out the window - TV Girl

----------------------------------------------------------

｡☆Porco Galliard☆｡

Dead but pretty - IC3SPEAK

Spit in my face - ThxSoMch

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Ymir☆｡

Mary - Alex g

Good looking - Suki Waterhouse

Child Psychology - Black Box Recorder

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Historia Reiss☆｡

Who is she - I monster

Class of 2013 - Mitski

Step on me - The Cardigans

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Jean Kistein☆｡

Spit in my face - ThxSoMch

Better than me - The Brobecks

You can be the boss - Lana Del Rey

No Surprises - Radiohead

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Connie Springer☆｡

Class of 2013 - Mitski

Francis Forever - Mitski

Watching him fade away - Mac Demarco

WASTE - kxllswxtch

Malmo - Mook

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Sasha Braus☆｡

7 weeks & 3 days - yungatita

For the first time - Mac Demarco

Lights are on - Tom Rosenthal

Wicked game - Chris Isaak

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Marco Bodt☆｡

I Bet on losing dogs - Mitski

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Gabi braun☆｡

Punk tactics - Joey Valence & Brae

Softcore - The Neighborhood

Girl Anachronism - The Dresden Dolls

----------------------------------------------------------

��⁠☆Falco Grice☆｡

For the first time - Mac Demarco

Mrs Magic - Strawberry Guy

What would I do? - Strawberry Guy

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Pieck Finger☆｡

Softcore - The Neighborhood

Mary - Alex g

He needs me - Shelley duvall

Beauty is empty - Mars argo

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Yelena☆｡

Mary on a cross - Ghost

Swimming pool - Marie Madeleine

Child Psychology - Black Box Recorder

Liquid smooth - Mitski

----------------------------------------------------------

｡⁠☆Dina Fritz☆｡

The other woman - Lana Del Rey

----------------------------------------------------------

Reiner - Bertholdt - Annie - teen titans go

----------------------------------------------------------

Erwin x levi - butch 4 butch

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Mikasa x Eren - Dangerously yours x cigarettes out the window

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Ymir x historia - lovers rock

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2:26 2023/02/11

☆ Playlist ☆

[podcast-pet-tournament]

The submissions to the podcast pet tournament are now closed!

Sorry I am closing the nominations a little early! I've gotten 108 submissions and around 50 different nominees! Thank you all so so much!!! I have narrowed it down to 48 (not counting Khoshekh and Admiral), so the brackets will mostly work! I will put all the pets under a readmore at the end of this post. Feel free to send me and submit pet propaganda, as there are quite a few pets that people probably don't know that well!

All the podcast pet tournament posts will be tagged as #podpetfight if you want to follow it or blacklist it!

MAY THE BEST PET WIN!

Here are the cats nominated:

The three man-eating cats (Death By Dying)

Cosmo, Revel and Eggroll (Spirit Box Radio)

Frumpkin (Critical Role: 2)

Soap (Valence)

Eldritch (Kalila Stormfire's Economical Magick Services) 

Pippa (The Penumbra Podcast)

Archemedes (Ars Paradoxica)

Curator's cat (The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality)

My cat (The Lost Cat Podcast)

Ambrosius (Fawx & Stallion)

Pepsi (Modern Prometheus)

Toast (The Secret of St. Kilda)

Sans (Middle:Below)

Morpheus (EOS 10)

Darwin (The Bright Sessions)

Khoshekh and Admiral will have their own private smackdown and the winner will go against the final champion!

Here are the dogs nominated:

Castor and Pollux (Moonbase Theta, Out)

Jackie and Heidi (Hello From The Hallowoods)

Snoopadoop (Cabin Pressure)

Bruno (WOE.BEGONE)

Bella (The Cellar Letters)

Sodapop (Believer: A Paranormal Mystery)

Kodiak (Friends at the Table)

Fairy (Mdzs and The Untaimed)

Here are the birds and rodents nominated:

Henry (36 Questions)

Cupid (Wizard Seeking Wizard)

Charles (Unprepared Casters)

Devorah (Vanishing Act)

Bert (Hello From The Hallowoods) 

Metatron (Campaign Skyjacks)

Doctor Harris Bonkers (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty)

Ratty (Archive 81)

Madeline (Wooden Overcoats)

Waine (Pixie)

Small Fry (The Penumbra Podcast)

Nicky jr. (Dungeons And Daddies: Odyssey)

And here are the rest of our nominees, some of which you probably couldn't legally classify as pets:

Steven (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Waffles (Red Valley)

Earnest (Gastronaut)

Blessed Eternal (Wolf 359)

Lizard (Just Roll With It: Apotheosis)

David (Forgive Me)

Virgil (Trials and Trebuchets)

Diamondis (Adventures of the Forget-me-nots)

Daffodil (The Night Post)

Pawpaw (Not Another DnD Podcast)

Snippers (The Adventure Zone: Graduation)

Bingus (Just Roll With It: Convergence)

Ps. If you catch a misspelling please shoot me a message, there are a lot of pets that I am not very familiar with

Pretzel (Just Roll With It: Riptide)