#i need to rebagel this

[fauvester]

What was garak like as castellan? (ps your art is 💞💕❤️❤️💕💞💕❤️💕💞💕)

OOHOHO GARAK AS CASTELLAN....

I think his time in the Federation has, despite his best efforts, affected his outlook on politics. He's a wary centrist now, as if Cardassia has the luxury of political discourse not related to basic sustenance.... trying to delicately excise the most distasteful parts of the prior totalitarian regime while still supporting the structures that keep people alive.

I don't think there's a way to be a well-liked leader after an annihilative disaster, honestly. Garak's not an exception. He's NOT a popular Castellan, but he WAS the least bad choice immediately on hand, and he's adept at securing badly needed aid from Federated interests. He can be very persuasive and diplomatic, and he circumvents or cuts through the bureaucratic and political obstacles that would've trapped less canny men. He's in power during the setting of the foundation of the Cardassian economic miracle and he stalwartly weathers years of vicious criticism and assassination attempts (that he easily evades). As soon as he retires his approval rating goes from like 15% to 80%. He's the Grandfather of Cardassia, their mercurial constant, their deviously bitchy figurehead who can hold his own against any rival leader. The wily old regnar who raised a generation of hungry utopian statesmen. A Castellan to be privately eviscerated and publicly saluted.

Mostly he's just trying to go home at some point during the night to quietly whisper 'good-night' to his kids and husband, though

[aesfocus]

I made a personal side-blog even tho this is a personal blog?

IDK I just wanted to excitedly talk more about things that aren't video games, like MTG or cats or makeup, or warhammer whenever I start building and playing again. It's mostly going to be personal photo-dumps and me excitedly talking about things, but please feel free to talk to me over {here}!

[neurotonic]

Ask and you shall receive the song rec. It's called 'Nighttime Affair' by Crawlers (sane album that inspired my starstruck fic but shhhh.....). The narrator would be Prism in the song's scenario & it'd probably be set post Solaris leaving,,,,,,,,

@enhanced-operatives-division

OHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!! it's getting late for me so i'll listen to it tomorrow but :eyes: INTERESTING scenario..... excited to hear what it's about :3

[godblooded]

my aderall script is refilled, i have a j, chilis, and garlic wings. time to chill.

[alteredsilicone]

this is just a sketch but do you see what im cooking

(this is the first thing you see mounted on the wall when you enter Albrecht's boudoir)

[yloiseconeillants]

man okay time to rebagel everything back over to the allagan blorbo sideblog

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

reblob. reblag. reblurgh. rebup. redonut if u agree

[irlpinkiepie]

sometimes it sucks being openly gay and trans but sometimes you're out grocery shopping and there's an old irish bear there who compliments you on your collar and invites you to a gay social downtown and suddenly it is all worth it

[fincherly]

(Click for quality!!!)

Decided to open commissions to get out of artblock -- DM if interested!

(I'm only taking on a few at the moment, so patience is appreciated!)

[elibean]

someone please stop me from making a very poor financial decision

[bogunicorn]

i have like 5 posts in my drafts about that therapy-speak article, but they distill down to "half of it was legit, half of it was obnoxious whining, you are not owed anyone's attention, especially if you aren't at a certain level of emotional intimacy with them to begin with, why do y'all want exit interviews with people who clearly dislike you so goddamn much".

anyway ghosting is like... fine, actually. most people don't ghost out of nowhere, and frankly the desire to have someone DM you and explain all the shit wrong with you instead of just peacing out and making their issues with you Not Your Problem is a little screwy to me.

but also i'm convinced that at least half of the people who are like "at least tell me why you don't like me" actually mean "i would rather you feel obligated to sit there and take it while i tell you what a shitbag you are for not wanting to be my friend", but they know it makes them sound like an asshole.

[razorsadness]

Hey Nelson Algren: Chicago, they tell me you are wicked and I believe them for I have seen the black-eyed bat-winged goth chicks smoking clove cigarettes luring the suburban boys with come-hither sneers. Hey Carl Sandburg: this city broke my nose and emptied my pockets but I’ve never loved a lovelier town more than I’ve loved her: broad shoulders, soot in her hair, arms marked by railroad tracks. O hog-butcher concrete charmer, smashing all my dreams like the empty bottles I threw off the roof that night in Roscoe Village.

She’s an ugly broad but around here we celebrate the ugly things. We pick the flowers growing in the vacant lots, wind them into wreaths to crown our dirty May(day) Queens; make toasts with half-flat champagne we find in dumpsters. We smell like unwashed pussy and dumpster juice. We sing: rock on Chicago. Fuck you punk rock.

I wanna write a history of Chicago punk and leave out everyone I don’t like. I wanna write a history of Chicago punk and leave out everyone I slept with, but then there’d be no one left. I wanna write a history of Chicago punk but instead I’m writing this: my history. This fanzine dedicated to my own personal mythology. This track list of my greatest ghost stories. This guided tour of my Chicago, this vicinal ode, this litany of neighborhoods: Pilsen. Roscoe Village. St. Ben’s. Boystown. Logan Square. Wicker Park. Rogers Park. Lincoln Park. Lincoln Square. And Lakeview, Lakeview, always Lakeview and the center of the universe: Clark and Belmont—

I washed up in the Punkin’ Donuts parking lot, kissing some sailor, sipping some illegal elixir before a show at Metro. The midwest darkness sagging the rooftops, the streetlights fading orange on, cigarette-eyed skinheads leaning against graffiti-scarred walls. I was a nighthawk at Clarke’s, a strip of photobooth pictures at Schuba’s. Captured forever in the ink and emulsion, a black and white kid pouting, sneering, posing for the flashbulb, hiding behind the curtain. Hey Jessica Hopper: all the zinesters seemed tired last night.

Exhausted from carting boxes of Xeroxed manifestos miles to the Fireside Bowl in the December cold. Aching arms and slush oil in my steel-toed shoes, city wind peeling the fishnets from my legs, lifting my plaid skirt, Monroeing me with no glamour. I just wanted to be carried away in the pit by the hands of my brothers, instead I sat in the back behind a card table. Wanted to sneak into the bathroom and drink the blackberry wine I’d smuggled in my water bottle, wanted to dance up front, hips swingin’, elbows akimbo, to surf the crowd—instead I sat there silent while people flipped through my most secret thoughts and at the end of the night I left alone and far too sober, with a few more bucks in my pocket.

Hey Brendan Kelly: I rode the Metra train south from Wisconsin with my notebook, leather jacket, and a bottle of vodka so acrid it might as well have been paint thinner, stripping the glow off my guts, scribbling the suburban backyards, apocryphal graffiti, down in lousy poetry. I got to Chicago thinking I’d be some poet-punk-star, some next you, Lou, Patti, but no amount of black leather or rotgut booze could make me cool. I draped myself in punk fashion and a bad attitude but beneath the black leather and torn denim and the pseudo-vicious sneers, beneath the hair dye, I was just bad skin stretched too tight over neurotic coffeebones and a mashed potato heart, such a puddle of goo I couldn’t even talk to my crushes like a normal person. Instead I wrote about them in my zine, made them a mix tape, gave them a copy and ran away screaming.

Hey John Kezdy, hey Jeff Pezzati: I came to Chicago hoping I could make some kind of mark but mostly felt like I got there five, ten, twenty years too late, so I just stayed out late spoiling my liver, I drank to the wonder, the poor drunk gods of Chicago punk rock, wandered the back alleys past the vacant lots, the frayed places, the soundless rust—and this haunted town flung her magnetic curses at me, ruined me into loving her so real, took every penny I’d crushed on the train tracks as tithe, tried to kill me—

Chicago made me her monster.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from the novel/novella/epic poem/memoir/zine/whatever/hybrid thing I’ve been trying to write for like, a decade

[zenmai--jikake--no--komoriuta]

Dawntrail down 30mins before emergency maintenance! fun expansion! I have a few issues here and there but it was still a good time overall, the final boss was fire and I am satisfied with what it turned into in the end-- THE IMPLICATIONSSSSSSSS 👀

[vanessarama]

.

Feeling very discouraged lately. I would love love love to live in my own place, ideally get out of this fucking state, but it feels so impossible. No matter how much money I save, something happens and I have to use a huge chunk of it. I got a promotion and I, excited, did the math of what I could afford for rent. Still not enough. Rent here is insane. Trying to move out of the city and either have a nightmare commute 2 days a week or find work elsewhere feel so daunting and idk what the right choice is. The idea of finding a new vet for my cats, and WORSE new doctors for my fuckiiiiing history of cancer feel EXTREMELY daunting.

But lately everything about living in this house with my family chafes me. I love them, but I’ve realized how enmeshed I am with them, how I’m never really myself talking with them because there are some things that aren’t safe to talk about without it turning into a fight.

It’s so fucked up that a single person can’t afford to live in their own place here. I don’t make minimum wage by any means, but it’s still!! Not enough!!! The only way I could live comfortably is living with someone else and that’s not what I want!!!

Anyway. You know. It’s the usual. I’ll get over it. Have a nice day.

[dragonowlie]

Seeing something cute and reblogging it, then immediately seeing the poster's URL and thinking "while the post had nothing to do with their URL, the sentiment their URL is nothing I want to have on my blog" and immediately un-reblogging it. I hate it when that happens

[sercphs-a]