#ignore the cat fodder

[mythicamagic]

Two Black Sheep: Scar x Female Rover oneshot

Summary: Rover crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding his probing gaze. “We likely don’t have much time so I’ll get straight to the point: how are they treating you here?”

Scar’s mirth died down, smile turning patronizing. “Much like our little game in the village, I’ll let you work out the truth for yourself. Truth is always better as a wonderful discovery, rather than fodder fed to you by someone else.”

Female Rover x Scar.

-----

AN: This game isn’t even out yet what am I doing?

This takes place a little later on in the story, so mild spoilers (though I don’t know if they’ll still include this story beat into the released game after seeing it in the most recent Beta test). I fell in love with Scar as an antagonist while watching content creators stream this game so here we are. 

Rated T, 2500 words. You can find this on Ao3 too.

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Jinzhou city lay quiet and peaceful at night, a shining, glittering jewel of captive lights in the dark. Despite traversing through much of Huanglong, the sight of the pale fortress remained a stunning one to Rover. It stood tall and protective of its people, but she’d always gotten the sense there was more to it. A strength built into the stone; or a set of metal teeth lying in wait beneath its demure exterior. 

This suspicion was confirmed upon stepping into Jinzhou’s underground prison. The first few floors were pleasant and bright, only a few guards posted at the doors. As Rover was led deeper however, taking a lift down, down, down into the dark depths of Jinzhou’s fortress, the atmosphere palpably changed.

It reminded her of entering a Tacet Field, feeling subtle vibrations hum in the air. Strong energies called out in the dark; prisoners waiting in their cells. Not all of them were Resonators, but she felt them nonetheless. They were agitated and restless, some pacing in front of the doors to their cells as she stepped off the elevator and passed by. A few were tied up even when secured behind metal bars, their arms strapped to their torsos.

It was a different side of Jinzhou that Rover had been unfamiliar with until now; a grimy and cruel underbelly. She faced forward when some prisoners began shouting, cat-calling her and rousing the attention of the hallway in a domino effect as she passed by. The guards eventually stopped at the very last door of the hall- this one without the luxury of a window to peer inside the cell. The great iron door hissed and groaned on its hinges as the locks slid open. 

Rover caught the moment the lights switched on before she was ushered in. 

He’s been in total darkness all this time?

She outwardly gave little reaction at the sight that greeted her. Naturally stone-faced, Rover relied on her blank mask like a crutch in that moment. A wide metal collar sat around the prisoner’s neck-  steel spikes lining the inside pointing inward toward his jugular like a circle of teeth. Poles connected the collar to the cell walls, forcing him to stay on his feet in the center of the room. She noted his arms were bound behind his back, no signs of wounds on his body.

Blearily eyes blinked at her, adjusting to the light. 

Scar lifted his head slowly. Interest livened his features the second it seemed to click who he was staring at. He jolted, rattling the poles and sucking in a sharp breath, as though imbued with life.

“Well, well...this is a pleasant surprise, dear Rover,” he rasped. Mismatched eyes smiled with laser focused intensity. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rover ignored him and forced a smile at the guards flanking her sides. “You can leave me alone with him. I’ll be alright.”

The men exchanged worried looks. “It is not that we do not trust you, illustrious guest. It is that the Magistrate gave clear orders that we protect you at all times during your visit. Leaving you alone seems unwise, given the level of notoriety this criminal has earned.”

Jinhsi. She was probably right to be concerned. Scar hadn’t been easy to capture and the level of security surrounding his cell was testament to his abilities. One slip up meant escape. On the other hand, Rover couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something uneasy in her gut.

“I’ll be vigilant. Your priority should be to keep him detained, not my safety,” she turned and laid a hand on the older guard’s arm, looking up at him through her lashes. “If anything happens I’ll call for you, I promise." She squeezed his bicep for good measure.

The guard shifted, clearing his throat. He gave a nod and gestured for his companion to leave, giving her a tight squeeze on the shoulder in parting, finally leaving the room. The metal door slid shut behind them with a hiss.

Left alone in the quiet room together, Scar was quick to quirk a brow. “I didn’t know you were capable of using your appeal like that. The poor man will be thinking about your pretty face for days. Be careful such tactics don’t land you in hot water.”

Rover crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding his probing gaze. “We likely don’t have much time so I’ll get straight to the point: how are they treating you in here?”

More open surprise flitted across his face. It was such a sharp contrast to his usually unflappable, grinning persona. Scar tilted his head and gave an impish grin. “How interesting! You surely didn’t come all the way here just to inquire after my wellbeing. Did Madame Magistrate put you up to this? A new tactic to get me to talk?” He chuckled, rattling the poles with the force of his stifled laughter. “It’s impressive, I’ll give her that.  Very compelling. I’d much rather talk to you than anyone else in this forsaken place, even if it becomes an interrogation.”

Solitary confinement certainly hasn’t impacted his ability to talk, Rover noted dryly. His voice sounded slightly hoarse to her ears though. “Just answer the question.”

Scar’s mirth died down, smile turning patronizing. “Much like our little game in the village, I’ll let you work out the truth for yourself. Truth is always better as a wonderful discovery, rather than fodder fed to you by someone else.”

Shifting her weight, Rover took one step closer, then another. His predatory smile widened at her proximity, flashing teeth at her steady approach.

Thinking things over, Rover glanced at his torso. His tight red and gray bodysuit revealed his proportions a bit too well at times, but it hid everything of his skin.  

Well if she wanted answers she could just ask his body directly. 

Rover reached out and poked beneath his ribs.

“Gn!” a harsh breath hissed out through clenched teeth, his whole frame shuddering. Scar grinned soon after, shooting her a wary look. 

“Wasn’t much of a wonderful discovery, was it?” Rover drawled, reaching behind her hip and taking out a container. She shook it, depositing food rations out onto her open palm. Maintaining eye-contact, she bit into the dried meat, chewing and watching how his attention dropped to her lips. His mouth thinned into a hard, grim line. 

The sound of a stomach rumbling filled the room. 

“We’re two for two,” she noted, securing the container again and taking out her water bottle. His gaze was immediately wide and imploring, gazing at it longingly. 

Rover sighed, offering the rim of the bottle out to him. “I don’t think I need any more evidence. Just drink already.” 

Scar lifted his head, that unusual pale white hair of his sliding into mismatched eyes. She’d been able to look into them once before, when he’d initially been apprehended. One flinty gray, the other a dull red. She’d been distracted back then, but without so much as a window inside the room to draw her attention away, Rover could admit there was something beckoning about his appearance. He wasn’t unattractive by any means- though she quickly shook that thought away.

At his uncharacteristic silence, Rover frowned. Putting the pieces together, she lowered the bottle. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what worries you.”

He laughed. “Oh dear sweet Rover. I don’t think you're capable of poisoning anyone. Far too earnest for such underhanded methods,” he shook his head. “No, no. It’s not you I doubt. Madame Magistrate though- and those guards? They’d jump at the chance to slip a member of the Fractsidus a little something. What’s more, they have the perfect little scapegoat right here.”

Inferring his meaning, Rover’s blood ran cold, becoming uncomfortably aware of her position. “...They wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t they?” he purred, leaning as close as he dared, heedless of the spikes threatening to puncture his skin. “I’ve told you so many times now not to misplace your trust. Especially not in those you barely know: and with amnesia making you so ripe for manipulation its a recipe for hurt,” he practically sighed the words. His tone was casual, but he was smiling, very, very widely. “If you really did come here of your own accord, they’ll mark this day on your record. A smear. They’ll have eyes on you, watching your every move- anticipating the day you turn traito-!”

Rover shoved the water bottle against his lips. She tilted it up, pushing her fingers into the gaps between the collar spikes to try to alleviate their pressure against his neck. “Just drink. You talk too much.���

Scar made a noise, spilling some liquid- water running down his chin, before he gave in and ultimately drank. He gasped as soon as it seemed to register how thirsty he really was, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed with heightening desperation. 

Once finished, Rover lifted the bottle away, noting the faint sneer of his mouth. 

Cutting her gaze to the ceiling, she lifted the bottle to her lips and titled it back, catching the rest of the remaining water on her tongue. “There. If they want to poison you, they’ll take me out too in the process.”

He blinked rapidly, the derision quickly falling from his expression. He glanced at her hand still woven between the spikes and collar, registering her touch for the first time. 

“You’re such a strange existence,” he murmured softly, turning the full force of his attention onto her. Rover felt her gut lurch the second heat touched his cheeks, reddening them. “If you’re not careful, you’ll win more than just my attention. I’m already serious about obtaining you for the group. If I started to want you for myself…hmn…” a rumbling noise of contentment escaped the depths of his chest. “Just picture it; two black sheep. Ostracized from their herds for different reasons, but finding solace in each other’s jaws. A beautiful picture.”

Rover took out her food ration, bumping it against his mouth to try to prompt him to eat again and hopefully stop talking. “I do one nice thing and you’re talking as though we’re meant for each other,” she sighed, glancing at the door. “I don’t know how long we have left. Eat.”

Opening his mouth, Scar accepted her offering, chewing while staring at her with that keen light in his eyes. 

Seeking to snuff it out, Rover straightened, bearing down upon him with what she hoped was an intimidating glare. “Let’s not get carried away here, Scar. You’ve murdered people in cold blood. You’re still planning on hurting my friends if you ever get out of here. Nothing’s changed between us, are we clear?” she said firmly.

“Crystal,” he swallowed, bypassing her glare to look up at the ceiling with a dreamy gaze he sometimes gained, voice becoming light hearted. “I’ve no plans to hurt your friends specifically though. All that matters is you and me in the grand scheme of things. I really couldn’t care less about those outside of our circle enough to actively target them. It all just sort of…happens in the moment when they come between our little talks.”

Releasing his steel collar now that he’d eaten, Rover made to back away- only for him to lunge- the poles shrieking, collar straining against his neck.

Their noses brushed, breath intermingling. Rover froze up, all her instincts she’d naturally fallen into when fighting Tacet Discords blurred away into nothingness. Her heartbeat slammed into her ribcage. She couldn’t move suddenly. 

The instability she’d glimpsed so many times in his gaze was back with full force. A kind of euphoric high brightened his irises. “You haven’t asked me anything about Fractsidus! I find that so strange and fun. If you were here on Madame Magistrates orders, you’d be going back empty handed. So…” Scar’s lips ghosted her cheek without pressing down, resting snugly against the shell of her ear. “Why did you really come here?”

Goosebumps raised on her skin. Rover yanked her head back, summoning her best poker face to look at him dispassionately. “I’ll let you work out the truth for yourself,” she said. “Truth is always better as a wonderful discovery, rather than fodder fed to you by someone else.”

She then grasped him under the ribs, threatening to squeeze whatever injuries lay hidden beneath his clothes. Scar inhaled sharply against her cheek- before falling into a sinfully low groan. 

His exhale was shaky, relishing the pain. “You truly are magnificent at whetting my appetite, Rover. A sublime prey.” 

When their pupils next met, Rover’s widened, finding those gray and red eyes equal parts deranged and manic.

Scar laughed when she broke away, his shoulders shaking with mirth. She stiffly moved back toward the safety of the door, banging on it twice with her fist.

His uproarious laughter followed her all the way out, ringing in her ears long after the steel door had shut behind her. She stood amongst the concerned guards, shying away from their casual touches. 

“Are you alright, miss?”

“Did the interrogation go well?”

Rover looked at the younger guard sharply. “I didn’t go in there to interrogate him,” she gritted out, curling her gloved hands into fists. She stepped closer. “There’s no light switched on in there when he's alone. He’s malnourished and dehydrated. What’s more, the guards are delivering corporal punishment behind closed doors. This was an informal inspection, sir. One which you failed.”

His face turned red comically fast. “M-my lady! What would you have us do?! He’s an S rank criminal! We’re too concerned he may escape if we ease up his living conditions.”

“Besides that, he’s a murderer-” the older guard cut in. His eyes narrowed, roving around her face critically. “If you have any sympathy for that man, save it for his innocent victims.”

She rounded on him with a hard sneer. “I don’t condone his actions. However, there’s too much we don’t know- and letting him die means allowing his knowledge and information to die with him. I won’t let that happen if I can help it,” she muttered, turning on her heel and storming down the hallway the way she’d come. Changes would be coming swiftly to Scar’s living situation if she had anything to say about it. Without her memories, information was more important to Rover than anything, and perhaps losing Scar didn't matter to the Jinzhou officials- but it mattered to her.

She could feel their judgemental gazes boring into her back. Maybe it had already started. No, it had started the second she’d requested a visitation without being ordered to see him. Rover half expected Scar’s warning to come true- for the various Jinzhou officials and citizens to start suspecting her of fraternizing with the Fractsidus.

That was fine with her. Though he unnerved her, something about Scar kept forcing Rover to pay attention to him. That no matter how strange and misleading his words were- there was a grain of truth to them somewhere. 

Or, perhaps, he’d been a complete and utter liar from the very start, designed to make her doubt herself and everyone around her.

Either way, Rover saw the value in finding out the truth for herself. 

[generalluxun]

Miraculous S6 Prediction

So this kind of came to me while mulling over the expected 'fallout' of the S5 finale's... choices for Marinette. There's a clear setup for a blowup in the offing. The Big Lie is going to be impossible to keep going. Cat Noir is not Adrien, and she would of course tell him what was happening... However, a counterargument is that ML has a history of dodging weighty and morally complex emotional conversations. It loves to set them up! There are so many running all throughout the show and it's great fodder for fanfic, but the show itself tends to slap a one line band aid on major emotional issues then just move on. It's a choice.

But I don't think they can just *ignore* it either. They als have a history of being very... nervous?... aware?... insecure about what they might be called out for as plot holes. They redifine powers in minute detail (rooster/Snake) they devote entire what ifs to 'Why this wont' work' and create episodes to recontextualize humor as trauma with a wiff of (unfounded IMO) blowback.

So what is a solution to this catch-22?

The Guardian's memory loss. Contrive a means for Marinette to have to pass on the box so she loses her memory. We might gnash our teeth, but consider it from the writing room PoV.

Marinette is now free and clear to never have that hard talk with Adrien. She doesn't know! The Love Square is completely reset, and they can 'flip' the whole thing again, with Adrien trying to reconnect with the girl he loves who doesn't remember him. She gets reintroduced to being Ladybug, to Cat Noir. They can farm it all over again! they can't do a 1 for 1, but they have a wonderful tapestry to work with and a lot of fans will be enthralled by 'How does it happen differently this time?'

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Love and hate, how much more are we supposed to tolerate?”

whumptober 2022 // Ambessa Medarda x Reader

ao3 — https://archiveofourown.org/works/42234144

There lives a cat in the neighbouring establishment. A chubby chunk of golden fluffiness oozing charisma, I usually take it on myself to caress and play with her.

In the beginning, she does not appear too keen on garnering my attention, but as time goes by, every time I make a move to scratch behind her little ears, she will readily tilt her head, putting her head rather eagerly into the palm of my hand. Then, she will happily revel in the attention as I proceed to rub beneath her soft little chin.

In all honesty, the cat does not leave a lasting impression on my mind. When I am elsewhere, I do not think of the cat. Nor do I mention the cat in the conversations with my friends.

Not once, even in passing, does the cat flash through my mind as I go about my day. Nevertheless, every time I return home, or whenever I cross paths with her on my way out, almost always, I will indulge the creature.

There are times when I am in rather a hurry. Believing that I am about to shower her with belly rubs and ear scratches, the cat tends to meow expectantly at me every time her obsidian, marble-like eyes lock onto me. On such days when I have a lot on my plate, I will whip past her with only an acknowledgment thrown her way, often even forgoing the gesture and disregarding her existence altogether.

Even though I have no place for the cat in my head, I wonder if the cat on the other hand thinks of me otherwise, or perhaps it is possible that she, too, enjoys the moment while it lasts, but carries me in her mind no more beyond our few interactions.

It gets me ruminating on the subject.

What if, contrary to my earlier assumption, the cat does in fact look forward to seeing me every day?

How will she feel, I ask myself, when she realises that despite her calling for me, I have wilfully ignored her?

Will it hurt her to understand that she is as important to me as a piece of fodder?

Before now, I have no way of knowing.

But, I think I have come to understand how the cat may have been feeling.

I am presently living the life of the cat.

While she has only but quenched her own thirst by humouring me, I have been a fool to mistake a fleeting fancy on her part as an everlasting craving.

Only the most foolish of fools could have dared harbour the feeble hope that someone who thinks nothing of them, someone who have no place for them in her life would waste her affections on them.

Such fool is me.

Who else can I blame but myself?

Turning a deaf ear to my brain’s cautious reminders only to naïvely pursue my juvenile heart.

“Do you think sweetmeats are meant to be consumed on a daily basis? Do people?”

She has asked me out of the blue.

“I don’t think so. My confectionery receives familiar faces but only once in a while.”

My eyes have moved from staring straight ahead into particularly nothing onto studying the valleys and mountains of her face.

“I do however have one patron who frequents the shop. I find it peculiar because she doesn’t strike me as someone with a sweet tooth.”

“Looks, little one, can be deceiving. Do you still remember what I’ve said to you during our first meeting?”

“How can I forget?”

“Contrary to what my appearance likes to suggest, I am not immune to pretty things. Nor am I unsusceptible to sweet stuffs.” so she has said.

“Ever since your first visit, you have come here almost every day. And yet, to this day, I’ve never seen you ingest anything close to sweets. It only fuels my suspicions when I find you one day throwing your purchases away.”

“Hmm…so you were aware. One may declare themselves a possessor of massive sweet tooth, but can they confidently say that sweets are all they need to survive? After all, not only can too much sweetness do more harm than good to your body, they also do not give you any real sustenance. They are merely titbits to occasionally indulge oneself in.”

“This is no longer strictly about the sweetmeats, is it?”

“Ever the brightest girl.”

“Lady Medarda, why exactly do you keep coming here if not for the confectionery?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. It will change after today. In fact, everything will. But, to answer your question, do you really have no idea?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going away.”

“What? Where? How long?”

“Far. Indefinitely.”

“And? Why are you telling me this?”

“For once, I don’t have an answer. I think when all is said and done, I want you to at least be aware that I am not here for the sweetmeats, but for the person who is behind their creation.”

“And will knowing it change anything?”

“Frankly, I don’t believe so. As pretty a sight as sweetmeats are to feast my eyes upon, I must accept that they come with damaging risks. I, as a person with more foes than friends, cannot afford a thorn in my flesh.”

If I tell you that I use to hate her guts, will you find it believable?

I do wonder at times when does the line between love and hate become but a blur?

Where does hate really end and love truly begin?

One thing I do know is that before I know it, I have started hanging onto her every word like a clingy little kitten.

How much of what she has said have been the truths and how much, the lies?

Then, when she hugs me suddenly, and my body is cradled close to her chest, I have half the mind to believe that buried in all those lies is at least a truth somewhere, or perhaps mixed between a few truths are lies everywhere.

“I have been taught that the only real effective way to deal with your weaknesses is to get rid of them once and for all. A wolf, after all, is never known to be merciful.”

But at the end of the day, as I lie motionless on the frozen ground, the only source of warmth coming from the gradually increasing pool of my own blood, I decide how ironic it is that the hands that, once upon a time, have breathed life into me have essentially become the very ones that have all the intentions of plucking it right out of me.

“Say goodbye.”

Will you think me crazy when I confess to you that while being cocooned in her surprisingly gentle arms, even taking a knife to the chest has felt more like a triumph than a downfall.

[amplifyme]

Going to keep this short because A. life and B. not a ton of progress made! :DDDD

Cat and Mouse 

It’s an even richer reading experience now that I have faces and voices to put to each character. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Sam was the man killed in the episode Snow, right? 

Nan’s extrapolations on Vincent being named after a saint makes me wonder if perhaps I did hit on a grain of an idea by drawing parallels between the injuries of Jacob from the biblical canon and  Jacob Wells/Father. At the very least, I’m going to pat myself very prematurely on the back. XDDD 

Mitch, unlamented? Was he the criminal in S1? If so, great callback, Nan! 

Nan’s notes on Cullen are really incredible, honestly-- she sets so much up already by going backwards in time. Great reread. 

Cullen needing to be more cautious with the children around. Kanin not yet knowing all the ways of Below. Vincent telling Father but not telling him about Cullen's deal of silence. All interesting.

I prodded sis about her thoughts on Nan's "version" of Father. Sis: “I still think she does Father really funny.” 

“Better to volunteer, he thought, than to wait for the inevitable to be forced, however courteously, upon him.”-- OOoooooh, like The Alchemist and The Outsiders. Cool stuff, Nan. 

“Vincent slid his palm across, beyond the timber-reinforced doorway, were water-carved: this slightly tilted, tall cavern was a section of the channel of a lost subterranean river. No one knew why or when the river had stopped flowing.” Is that… is that a reference to the INCIDENT in Part III when Vincent lets the water loose? “Where a river had been, a river might suddenly return. The possibility of flood couldn't be ignored.” IT IS A REFERENCE. 

“He ruefully slapped his bad hip—an old injury, aggravated by arthritis.” So, Sis relayed to me about Roy's story at con about the origin of Father’s injury coming about because of Roy’s back luck with hips and swimming pools-- which, that’s perversely hilarious and makes moments like the above hit a little bit different (aside from Nan’s backstory, of course.) 

Btw, sis inhaled most of the con and has been telling me bits and pieces. Thus far, I’m hooked on Nan and she’s hooked on any BATB 1987 bts content.  

“Accept my warm welcome to the ranks of the chronically uncertain.” What a hilarious line from Father-- and what weight this conversation has, especially with Nan’s backstories she will continue to unfurl in the coming chapters. LOVED it. 

Father and his chess and Vincent’s “Sixty-two… if one happened to be counting” was exquisite. 

Vincent pondering over the boy huddling in the dark, hungry and alone, for “reasons he could put no name to”-- incredible. 

Gotta scuttle off! Be back soon with more~! :DDDDD

Hey! Sorry for the delay responding. I just pulled myself out of the rabbit hole.

Let's Talk about Cat and Mouse, one of my favorite "Young Vincent" stories.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but Sam was the man killed in the episode Snow, right? 

I think that's safe to assume.

Mitch, unlamented? Was he the criminal in S1? If so, great callback, Nan! 

Yep, Mitch Denton from the episode The Beast Within. He also plays a small but important role in my fic The Possibility of Being. Nan and I shared a certain curiosity about a few of the one-off characters on the show.

I prodded sis about her thoughts on Nan's "version" of Father. Sis: “I still think she does Father really funny.” 

Like funny as in amusing, or funny as in not in character?

“Better to volunteer, he thought, than to wait for the inevitable to be forced, however courteously, upon him.”-- OOoooooh, like The Alchemist and The Outsiders. Cool stuff, Nan. 

And on many other occasions over the years, I'm sure. There's just so much fodder for fanfic in the BATB universe, so many unanswered questions, so many missing years.

No one knew why or when the river had stopped flowing.” Is that… is that a reference to the INCIDENT in Part III when Vincent lets the water loose? “Where a river had been, a river might suddenly return. The possibility of flood couldn't be ignored.” IT IS A REFERENCE. 

Another of the many seeds Nan planted from early on. She had a remarkable gift for that sort of thing. She was very much a gardener. I'll post a quote from GRRM when I'm finished here, where he distinguishes between two types of writers.

Btw, sis inhaled most of the con and has been telling me bits and pieces. Thus far, I’m hooked on Nan and she’s hooked on any BATB 1987 bts content.  

I wish there was more video of Nan. She was a blast to hang out with. But your sister certainly has lots to discover and enjoy with all the con videos.

“Accept my warm welcome to the ranks of the chronically uncertain.” What a hilarious line from Father-- and what weight this conversation has, especially with Nan’s backstories she will continue to unfurl in the coming chapters.

I love Nan's Father. Yet another character that she absolutely nails. There are some fans who don't care for Father and I've never understood that. I always loved him as his own person, as well as the relationship he and Vincent have. You'd have to be blind not to see how much they love and respect each other. That's part of why the events of the trilogy was such a blow to Vincent's peace of mind.

Father and his chess and Vincent’s “Sixty-two… if one happened to be counting” was exquisite. 

Though we don't see it often on screen, I'm convinced Vincent has a very wry sense of humor and he and Father likely took affectionate shots at each other all the time. Life Below couldn't possibly have been all drama and angst. These folks liked to have fun too.

Vincent pondering over the boy huddling in the dark, hungry and alone, for “reasons he could put no name to”-- incredible. 

Perhaps a bit of Buster's memories of abandonment bleeding through to Vincent? That's what I've always thought anyway.

Okay, time to wrap this up. I've got to do one more read-through before I post my new V & D fic. 😁

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

By the by, regarding all the recent DreamWorks developments: KUNG FU PANDA 4 almost out, THE WILD ROBOT trailer out, the recent release of ORION AND THE DARK (still have to watch it, it's part of my animation ketchup alongside Pixar short SELF and a few other things), etc.

I have no reason to speak of this new MEGAMIND "movie" that's really just a pilot movie to a streaming series made by DreamWorks Animation TELEVISION. Not worth the energy, nothing for me to really talk about. I see some people on twitter all abuzz about it, with considerable fury. How DreamWorks fucked this up so bad! And how DreamWorks is so "inconsistent", how the WILD ROBOT is going to be an "apology" for this MEGAMIN- roflmao are you **serious**? Are you SERIOUS right now?

Different studio, number one... This would be like someone grilling Disney in spring 1994 for THE RETURN OF JAFAR, and suggesting that THE LION KING made up for that or whatever. Do these people hear themselves when they talk? DreamWorks' TV division has been making all sorts of lower-budget streaming fodder for years now, and they've only ramped it up in the recent years. These are the equivalents of the Disney DTV sequels and spin-off things.

But also, there are a concerning amount of animation fans out there who seem to look at DreamWorks - like any big studio - like it's one person. One author directing every movie. A "Mr. DreamWorks" fellow that directed everything from THE LAST WISH to TROLLS BAND TOGETHER to this MEGAMIND direct-to-streaming thing. If "animation is cinema" to you, then you ought to understand WHO is exactly working on these things... Not the buildings where they're being made. And think twice before you use THE LAST WISH as a meter that TROLLS 3 or *heck* any DreamWorks movie needs to live up to. Never mind that each filmmaker has their own aims. Maybe TROLLS 3 or whatever isn't made for *you* specifically, and that someone else out there really likes it. And that's fine. DreamWorks can make fantasy adventures about swashbuckling cats for general audiences, and movies for 6-year-old horse girls, and a lot in-between. Something for everyone!

I know, it's a bit hard for some people because animated features are literally branded like that. It's never Joel Crawford's PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH, it's DreamWorks' PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH. Ditto Walt Dohrn's TROLLS BAND TOGETHER or Kirk DeMicco's RUBY GILLMAN, TEENAGE KRAKEN, Mike Mitchell's KUNG FU PANDA 4. THE WILD ROBOT is getting an extra level of love because it's from a pretty well-recognized animated movie director, Chris Sanders. Some other directors in animated movie-making don't have that pedigree nor level of love, that household name status... They tend to be overshadowed by the studio name, the BRAND.

But I look past that. And each production has its crews, its circumstances. I can only imagine what the people working on the MEGAMIND thing had at their disposal, ya know?

I also get that a legit DreamWorks Animation theatrical MEGAMIND 2 is something a lot of fans wanted. I get that. It's okay to feel that, even as a direct-to-streaming movie and show, there was a downgrade in quality here. But like a lot of various fandoms, I feel it's expressed with the tact of a freaked out horse, kicking its back hooves all over the place. I generally tend to ignore things like this, I kinda know what I'm getting myself into. I grew up in the '90s, when it was not only Disney direct-to-video sequels everywhere, but tons of other stuff too. There was a FERNGULLY 2 and a SECRET OF NIMH 2 and BALTO 2 and a SWAN PRINCESS 3, 4, 5, 6 just kept going, and seemingly a gazillion LAND BEFORE TIME sequels. In addition to other weird random animated bin fodder. And I remember as a kid, them just mostly being... Whatever, for me. That's this MEGAMIND thing. It's not for me. I didn't bother with that BAD GUYS Christmas special, either.

Especially when there are other things for me to worry about in life. I just genuinely don't enjoy ranting about these things, or getting all upset about them. Even when I kinda want to (like with, say, TRON: ARES, a film I'm largely unhappy about), I have to tell my 31-year-old self "No... No..." I try to be fair in my criticism most of the time, especially when talking about - say - recent Disney Animation films or whatever. So yeah... No reason for me to dive into MEGAMIND TV Movie Thing. I guess this was my James Rolfe GHOSTBUSTERS No Review I Refuse moment, lol.

[whipplewhippler]

So what's up with your The Battle Cats Au?

hi HI thank s SO much for expressing an interest in this !!!

the au is mostly going to establish a relationship between d’arktanyan and S. Gao. (yes I know there is like 0 canon in relation to how they feel about one another but roll with me!!)

essentially, d’arkt has always wanted S. Gao to approve of him, to think of him as more than merely war fodder (this is kind of set in a universe where the epicfest Ubers have like. a guild? ish? and s. gao mostly focuses on trying to hone the members’ offensive abilities? that bit is still a wip it sounds kind of strange i know)

And so he does everything in his power to get S. GAO’s attention on him. he does favors for him, essentially worships the ground he walks on. but this routine becomes incredibly draining once it occurs to d’arkt that S. Gao literally could not care less about him (or anyone else, for that matter. S. Gao just wants to further his own power even at the expense of other people.)

s. Gao isn’t just indifferent, he’s also just. a straight-up ass, lol. he’s ignorant and inconsiderate and manipulative and was astounded to find that d’arkt was habitually none of those things (see, initially he was going to try and live vicariously through d’arkt, but the kid was ‘too much of a pushover’ to ever shape up to the majesty S. Gao became.)

D’arkt is.. frustrated at S. Gao’s indifference, to say the least.

So in an effort to prove his strength to him as best he can, he challenges S. Gao to a sparring match. (I mean, d’arkt calls it sparring. S. Gao takes it as a threat and he’s infuriated because now he’s convinced D’arkt is trying to upstage him with his STUPID morals)

S. Gao is.. unnecessarily ruthless (And grieving Iz + Mitama keep trying to point that out because S. Gao keeps striking poor D’arkt while he’s trying to recover from his last few hits)

Eventually d’arkt DOES get a hit in with his sword (and it’s a damn good one, too. right between the eyes.) and S. Gao gets so angry he claws d’arkt’s face with such force that it propels him into a nearby river.

D’arkt is beaten (and now down an eye, to his and all his spectators’ horror) and D. Iz and DMitama jump to his defense before S. Gao can do much more. (I want to write Dkasli and Dphono into this somehow???? dk how ill do that JUST yet but im figuring it out)

S. Gao is feeling satisfied with himself, but his rage is not yet satiated. so he essentially exiles d’arkt from the guild because he claims that d’arkt is disrespectful and knows nothing of being a true warrior.)

D’arkt is distraught. like. beyond words. but he recollects himself and leaves without a word.

the reason d’arkt is so valiant is simply because he doesn’t want any other cat (or any creature, really) to have to go through what he did. it is not revenge he wants, not at all. he simply wants justice and he aims to dish that justice out, and the way he chooses to do this is by sparing others from the fate he had to endure. one day, he will return to the guild and liberate his friends from S. GAO’s cruel leadership. (he also doesn’t expect to see S. Gao on the battlefield and especially not fighting on the same side as he, but that is another story for another day.)

uhgfhfh that was So JUMBLED but that’s prt much what I have thus far. yesyes I know Dkasli, Dphono, and D.Garu aren’t in it but i will hopefully add them in time!! I know I want D. Garu to sort of function as S. Gap’s cosigner (and he ALSO resents d’arkt because he feels he’s trying to replace him as GAO’s right hand man.)

[b0rtney]

Trolls pretending to be nice, and nice people pretending to be trolls

As an author trying to promote her independently published novel on a clock-sounding app ticking away towards monetizing our attention and its purchasing power more and more openly, it's rare that a video of mine gets more than 500 views despite my nearly 80,000 followers. I did have a video recently get 'big' (around 100k views in 24 hours or so), and it was, of course, about shonen anime and the dearth of enjoyable ones recently made, in my opinion. I am a pretty lesbian girl with purple hair, so whenever I make any content about my opinions on male-targeted anime, I get heated responses. Death and rape threats in quantities large enough that I've privated my channel for three months are reactions I've gotten from the community at large, and nothing really dents your self-confidence after that, so I was ready for that as I waded through over a thousand comments to farm for content that I could somehow, in some way, relate back to my novels. To my absolute pleasant surprise, most of the comments were very respectful, even when disagreeing vehemently with me! I was able to have fun with replying to as many as I feasibly could, giving my opinions on different shows and, finally, someone asks the golden question: "if you think you can do better, why don't you?" They were intending to be condescending and a little snide, but my eyes lit up like a cat at Christmas lights and I immediately replied with a video to the effect of: "I'm so glad you asked! I can do better, and here is where you can find me doing better in all of the genres I'm critiquing plus a few more." The response in the comments of that video were overwhelmingly positive. "This sounds so fun!" and "Can you give me a link to copy/paste?" and "When is this coming out?" I got a few sales out of it even. Thank you, catty internet troll! From that video, I got a series of comments essentially telling me to check my DMs, from a 25-year-old amateur beatboxing guy. I don't accept unsolicited messages willy-nilly, but when I checked my 'message requests,' I found this guy essentially saying my work was awful, but he was going to give me five stars as an Amazon review anyways, so I could grow my influence. I laughed and ignored the message. Two hours later, this guy sends a second message saying he "thought about it some more" and was actually proud of me, saying that the flaws he had previously pointed out could be workshopped into a passable narrative voice and, for an amateur author, I was doing pretty good.

Beloved friends, I have been writing for 15 years. I have written over 70 short stories and eight or so novels, with frequent workshopping from other professional and academic authors. I have a degree in English and Creative Writing.

That all to say, this guy was not getting under my skin, because I know my writing is good and that guy is just a dick explaining my own field to me. Whatever. I laughed about it with some other writing friends. Later, in the comments of that same video, I got a commenter who called me, "cringe," and "hateful." These comments stuck out because they felt strangely dissonant for the video they were posted under. There was no reference to what was cringe, and the video is expressly kind in tone and content. Someone else commented asking them, "what do you mean?" and the troll replied, "just watch her other videos" while calling me hateful again. I saw the same account post similarly rude comments under several of my other videos. All of them had the same general theme: something that was not, in all actuality, very mean or based in reality, but would make great rebuttal fodder where I could paint myself as a poor, sweet victim of a cruel smear campaign. Not just that, they were liking several videos too! As I said, I've experienced hatewaves, so I can recognize them, and this was decidedly not that. No, this person, the best I can tell, is trying to help me and my content by getting people to rush to my defense! It seems to be a burner account, with no followers or following, so there's no way to tell if it's someone I know, but what a strangely kind thing to do!

Keep on trucking, you kind little troll account! And to anyone reading this, be aware that these algorithms on these clock apps farm negative content, so while I can find the beauty in it, please release yourself from the expectation that it must be so enjoyable.

Oh, and buy my book.

[gloryundimmed]

Your muse as the solar system

bold what applies / repost don’t reblog!

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura (4/12)

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement (5/11)

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips (3/11)

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains (1/11)

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands (1/11)

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue (8/10)

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies (6/11)

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just.. way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing (4/11)

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke (4/11)

NEPTUNE • an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song (5/11)

PLUTO • angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth (7/11)

Kai is: Mars!

tagged by: nooooo oneeee​

tagging: feel free to ignore if you want! @ryogai, @lured-into-wonderland, @gunrising, @ofoccultism, @sansloii

[sp1resong]

notes re: the background riverclan cats (in the rewrite)

largely for my own reference

(i will be ignoring most family tree things from before tbc. because there are many things wrong with the family tree. there r way more half-rogue kits in this universe because that is the only possible way to fix whatever this is)

(i'm also cutting out like half of these guys because there r way too many of them)

havenpelt and sneezecloud are girlboss and malewife

minnowtail is actually somewhat smart!! she's also super stressed and overworked (everyone expected her to be named deputy after reedwhisker; she pretty much preforms all the leader/deputy duties that mothwing and frostpaw can't)

curlfeather is a pretty good mom and seems like a great cat in general, but something's just a little bit off...

fognose (or fogfeather bc i hate the -nose suffix) and splashtail r super close; they seem to believe they can only trust each other. siblings > whatever the fuck kind of soap opera/tragedy is going on. overall they seem to be coping... fairly well, which is to say they're not curled up in the corner screaming.

podlight cares abt his sister!! and his family!!! unfortunately, recent events have made him rather tense and quick to suspicion. at gatherings and any such political discussion, he is loudly in favor of giving leaders less power and individual cats more (curlfeather and several others have similar ideologies, but he's by far the loudest)

lizardtail is... well. before the whole... everything, he was responsible and clever, but now he's just kind of. vaguely paranoid and snappy.

both of gorseclaw's siblings r dead and at this point he's just waiting for himself to be next. he doesn't want to die, but like--everyone else is dying and he recognizes himself for the death fodder that he seems to be. he's coping with this remarkably well, if you consider just accepting your fate as cannon fodder 'coping well'.

shimmerpelt is, despite what her name may evoke, actually fairly aggressive and a skilled fighter. she is sarcastic and rather blunt. recent events have left her snappy and constantly on edge.

mistpaw and greypaw are close friends with frostpaw. they r coping very badly with the whole 'parents-dying-suddenly-and-oh-stars-everything's-gone-to-shit' thing but. they're alive, at the very least. they're the only ones that frostpaw told about curlfeather's last words. mistpaw is more aggressive and snappier, while greypaw is more withdrawn and nervous.

might add a few more later. i don't feel like trying to navigate the wiki any longer

(edit: cut out some guys i had in a relationship because i realized they were closely related. maybe i should've used the website family tree instead of the impossible-to-navigate wiki)

[captivegod]

" There were Five ... "

NARINDER, meaning " LORD OF MEN ". the FIFTH bishop of the OLD FAITH, DEATH in flesh.

AGE: unknown

SPECIES: black cat

PRONOUNS: HE/HIM, IT/ITS

as a bishop, NARINDER fills the role of DEATH, bringing an end to one's journey. shepherd of souls, he not only reaps all that breathes, he also guides them to the afterlife. a simple line, a balance that keeps the mortal world from collapsing.

( but DEATH is not static. DEATH and LIFE are NOT opposites. )

he witnessed it all. the crowns require blood to keep their power, sacrifices are necessary, that is true. the higher their devotion is, the higher is the power bestowed upon the crown bearers. ( but how far can they proceed with indiscriminate slaughter of their most devout subjects? )

the one who reaps could also sow. the death cat gathered his beloved siblings, and proudly presented them with his new idea of change. before their very eyes, a high ranked worshipper, who once fell for him, was completely revitalized; their soul brought back from the deep ether of the afterlife. an once lifeless body was alive and breathing again.

the other bishops did not approve such outrageous violation.

upon witnessing the "miracle", all Four were quick to berate their brother. HEKET'S words were so foul, it could turn a pile of fresh produce into compost. LESHY, the youngest, did not hesitate to join his dear sister in the slandering of their sibling, his eyes staring at him, judging him harshly. KALLAMAR, always a coward, turned his back on him, refusing to listen to any more of that altercation. SHAMURA, old and wise, finally stepped in to put an end to the mess. there would be no unnecessary banter among the high bishops, they claimed.

soured by the rejection from those he regarded the most, NARINDER retired himself, but his mortal escapade would not slide. he had just upset the natural order of this world. a council was held in secrecy, the revolted gods gathered up to discuss the destiny of their scorned brother.

at last, after much deliberation, there was an agreement.

DEATH was the sentence.

Four approached One. Four attacked One. their battle, a mighty one it was. the Bishops shook the entire Lands of the Old Faith down to its core; the clash filled the very sky itself, burning it up in an offensive sanguine hue. his brethren's power was formidable, for but a moment-- just as soon as he had been cornered, ready and ripe for execution, the world grew dark even in spite of his illuminated sight. was this it, then? was he to be slain by his own siblings, as predator to prey? by those whom he had once regarded as family? such betrayal cut far deeper than any of the wounds that now pierced his flesh. once a bishop, he was no different than the sacrificial fodder often offered before the Four. his fate was clear; it was DEATH.

( but how do you kill DEATH? )

amidst the darkness that now obscured his vision, fervor rose to a unfathomable level. it coursed throughout his body and mind, power boiling and surging forth from every vein. wrathful GOD rose from the floor, his once familiar appearance now warped and twisted-- eldritch in nature. was it power of his own that held him so, or something born from HATE? scythe now in hand, the tables had turned; he would unleash HIS judgement upon the Bishops. HEKET, the foul-mouthed sister, had her throat ripped from her maw. she would no longer SPEAK EVIL.

LESHY, the judgemental brat, had his eyes torn from their sockets. he would no longer SEE EVIL.

KALLAMAR, cowardly and ignorant as ever, had his ears cleaved in one fell swoop. he would no longer HEAR EVIL.

SHAMURA. ah, dear SHAMURA…wise and analytic, clever and bold. narinder had always looked up to them for their intelligence and levelheadedness.; yes, out of all of the Bishops, they were certainly the one he had the most respect for… but they had made a fatal mistake upon deciding his fate. NARINDER did not hold back upon his eldest sibling, assaulting them with reckless abandon-- splitting their skull wide open, just as they had his trust in them. they would no longer THINK EVIL. of course, such a transgression as his could not be forgiven, would not go unpunished-- and just as he soon as he had prepared to deliver the finishing blow, dooming his siblings to the same destiny as they had intended to force unto him, Four used their remaining power to shackle NARINDER, sealing him away in a last-ditch effort to survive the onslaught. Four sent their beloved brother to a place beyond the ether. renegade Bishop, betrayed by his own blood, sentenced to an eternity of humilliation, as those whom he had once called family basked in the light of their glory. his arms, held tight by the chains of his siblings' scorn, corroded flesh away until only bone remained. he could no longer DO EVIL.

" Five becomes Four …. "

THE HUMILIATED WILL BE EXALTED. THE ONE WHO WAITS BELOW SHALL RISE ONCE MORE. so many attempts at finding a vessel for his power, each one resulting in utter failure. time and time again, so many mortals found themselves unable to bear the weight of the red crown, surrending its power before him once more. WEAKLINGS, FRAGILE MORTALS HARDLY FIT FOR EVEN DEVOTION FODDER. was this to be his destiny, then? to succeed only in finding incompetent vessels, ones eternally unable to free him from his undeserved imprisonment? for the longest time, he waited, believing this fate to be true…

but destiny has a way of changing on its own whims, and at long last, the prophecy of his fated savior had arrived before him.

" A LAMB, HUH ? "

[csvent-2]

It's always so interesting how people can have such wildly different experiences in the same species.

I've had a great time in Skire, for example. You do need to be a bit pushy and hang around a bit (and yes, do some gift art). I see people commenting on others' art all the time? Skire is also very, very lore-heavy once you get into it. It's becoming very focused on character development. So yes, you'll see people sharing their Skire characters a lot and because Skire designs are weird alien eyeball cats and stuff, the way people share and interact is a bit...zany. If that's not the vibe you're after, I can see how it'd be weird or off-putting.

A noisy, pushy server isn't for everyone. If it's too stressful or annoying for you, I hope you can find another character-based group to have fun in.

Know where I've had terrible experiences? The Grem server.

Now THERE'S a place to be ignored, talked over, left out of the little cliques, etc. Struggle to get anyone to show even a teensy bit of interest in my characters, even though I do my best to follow that do unto others stuff.

Art not god tier? Too bad, ignored. Not popular or at least semipopular? Too bad, ignored. Ong especially when you need to talk to a mod. It's a total roulette where maybe you get an answer in a reasonable amount of time or not.

Trading scene? AWFUL if you aren't part of the clique or don't have a design that's in a million people's dreamie lists. My friend has tried to help pull me in to the community, but for some reason, it's just not working.

I will say that the server is slower-moving most of the time, and therefore less pushy and quieter. It's not quite as focused on character development, plus Grems are more...normal looking. So if you can fit in, it's a certainly more relaxed environment. I prefer the noisy, pushy environment where I'll eventually be seen over whatever you have to do for the Grem server.

As CS matures, I think it's become clear that, once you can interact with species healthily (minimum FOMO, minimum hoarding/foddering,etc), it all comes down to a matter of taste. Some species might be better than others in certain areas, sure, but overall, it comes down to what you as an individual like and can tolerate.

🌸

[gruusha]

❤️ my first roleplay memory

🛍 the one thing i wish all of my followers knew about me

-- -- -- ʀᴘ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

my first roleplay memory

w... warrior cats rp... on a game... that will not be named... when i was 12...

the one thing i wish all of my followers knew about me

may come as a surprise but i'm a little insecure regarding my place/desirability in the rpc (my main blog primarily but it's happened on my pkmn blogs too) because it seems like the amount of time i waste making people starters only for them to go ignored & never replied to has been increasing drastically lately.

i need feedback from you. communicate with me if we're trying to get something going, and i don't mean "hey this post was great" etc.

i mean: if i make you a starter you ACKNOWLEDGE it in some way. or heck even multiple starters and they collect 0 note dust (fool me once shame on me fool me twice --)

i mean: if i send you messages expressing my interest to write i don't get left on read and nothing moves forward.

i mean: if we discuss a thread idea and i reply, i'm not left hanging.

i don't care if you like something i make you (besides the initial "hey i see this!") i need you to actually give me something constructive that signals to me you Actually intend on replying and pushing our idea forward, and i didn't just waste my time making something for you. it can be talking about our characters and their bond / things related to our plot / sharing hc's / building our character's place with each other + in the world etc. in DMs... doesn't have to be "hey i'm working on a reply for our thread rn". i'd be happy even just shooting the shit ooc!!

i just want to know you're actually interested in our plot, our character's bond, my portrayal, and me as a writer.

i am soooo goddamn tired feeling like i'm the only one actually interested in the plot we've discussed in DMs. i'm so tired of people keeping me for follow count fodder when they actually, apparently, have no real intent to interact with me. i would genuinely have never met you if your actions don't match your words.

this is fervent and i'm not sorry for it. writing is actually extremely important to me (a creative outlet, a coping mechanism, and something to get away from reality with) and my existence on tumblr has been a never-ending struggle to find people who are as invested in our "stuff" as i am, only to be let down when i think i find someone who turns out to be not nearly as attached. it makes me feel like a fool, and over time it's made me bitter.

@avacynthia

[hiddendreamer67]

Tiny Mer!Sanders Angst Pt. 12

Part 12 to a story based on @secretglittersauce‘s tiny mer!sides angst prompt. Infinitesimal Fins is BACK, baby!!! And Virgil’s depressed, but what else is new? :D

October prompt #13: Shake

Potentially triggering content: depressive/suicidal thoughts

Check my reblog for links to the previous parts. I also have a writing blog now! @hiddendreamerwriting

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Virgil’s gaze snapped up, hearing the sound of the front door opening. Remy was back.

No, the human was back. The one keeping him captive and separated from his brothers. However, despite this, Virgil didn’t have the energy to even continue actively hating on the human. 

Who cared if he was judged for it? It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Virgil was just going to die one day trapped away in this cage like some sort of defenseless animal- possibly one day soon, based on how his stomach kept growling at him. 

Every few days his primal instincts caved, eating a piece or two of the floating tidbits that could hardly be considered ‘food’. They were vile, but nutritious. Virgil was forced to live another day. Today was just another one of those days.

Remy set his bag down, and Virgil watched the way his eyes scanned over Virgil’s enclosure. Inspecting the way Virgil sat in the same position as always, dejectedly slumped against the back glass wall in the east right corner. Sulking. Brooding. His tail twitching restlessly every so often, but Virgil had grown accustomed to ignoring his fight or flight reflexes. There was nowhere to run and nobody to fight. Instead Virgil forced himself to grow idle, accustomed to his new life of loneliness that was all his fault.

Sometimes Virgil wondered if he was the last one left. He had never heard word of any of his brothers when they left the pet shop for good- perhaps they hadn’t ended up with such fortunate owners. The idea of Virgil being the one to get lucky would be a sick twist of fate, wouldn’t it? Virgil got them into this mess, and now Virgil would be the only one to survive it. 

Virgil huffed, pointedly avoiding Remy’s gaze as the scrapping of the desk chair echoed in his ears. He was meant to be grateful, he supposed. If not for this human, Virgil would have been sold off as baracuda chow. And yet Virgil kept wondering if perhaps that would’ve been a better fate for him- he was of no use to anyone. Virgil had only ever been a screw up his whole life, so why not just be done with him? It was the circle of life. Being eaten by a bigger fish would at least have given Virgil a purpose that wasn’t merely being a pathetic anchor holding his brothers back.

And yet….. And yet. Virgil glanced up at the few remaining pellets of flaky fish food floating idly at the top of the water. Only three pieces, when earlier in the day there had been seven. It seemed that despite himself, Virgil couldn’t seem to let go. 

He wanted to live, to swim with his brothers through the reefs and have Patton hold him close and exchange quips with Roman and for Logan to teach him all the best ways to defend each other. Virgil missed ducking through the seaweed forests and tending the algae even if it had a habit of obnoxiously growing all over the cave. Indeed, the young mer was so selfishly invested in the idea of normalcy that he was still terrified of leaving this life behind, even when Virgil knew he’d never have any sort of happiness like that again.

“Glad you’re eating again, gurl.” Remy commented, and Virgil felt the currents shift around him as that plastic net came and went, scooping out the soggy flakes to be replaced in the morning. Perhaps sooner, if Remy was going to try to make him eat twice in one day. Virgil doubted he’d give the human the satisfaction. 

Usually, this would be when Remy took his leave. He’d make some sort of snarky comment to tease Virgil, maybe tap on the glass a bit to get a reaction and ensure Virgil wasn’t truly a living corpse, and then go do whatever the hell it was he did when the loud music blasted through the walls and made Virgil’s head spin.

It seemed today was not set out to be a usual day.

“I talked about you at work today.” Remy said casually, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. It was impossible to see the human’s eyes with the black sunglasses he always wore, but Virgil could tell Remy was staring him down. “Thomas came in.”

Thomas? Virgil didn’t know who that was, or why he would care. One human was already far too many in his opinion. 

“Turns out he and his little fish bud have been getting along swimmingly.” Remy paused, lowering his shades. “Pun intended.”

Little fish bud? Wait… did that mean… was Thomas one of the humans who took his brothers away? Virgil was suddenly much more enraptured in this conversation, and he cursed his poor memory for not knowing which brother this might be. Patton? Logan? Roman?

“I hear you’ve been holding out on me.” Remy tsked. “Tommy’s mer talks.”

What? Virgil frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. How was that possible? And why would they do that? Humans couldn’t be trusted. But then again… wouldn’t his brothers know better than he? But what if Remy was just lying? 

Remy leaned closer, removing his glasses entirely to inspect Virgil in a way that made the mer truly feel like he was back on display at the pet shop.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” Remy murmured. “Boi I might be trippin’ but if you can talk, you better start speaking up about why you’re so cranky all the time.”

Virgil froze, trying to make no indication either way, not wanting to do the wrong thing and screw up everything somehow. Should he speak? But Virgil didn’t even know how, the human’s words were so sharp and light whilst Virgil was used to the deeper rumblings of the sea.

Virgil watched warily as Remy’s hands came up on either side of the tank. He yelped, thrown into motion as Remy shook the container. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be a nuisance, throwing Virgil out of his familiar corner.

“Well?” Remy pressed, pausing his movements and letting the whirlpool still, swirling Virgil around in a circle. “Go on then, say something.” 

Virgil grimaced, glaring down his annoying human who couldn’t seem to understand that the mer just wanted to be left alone. He certainly wasn’t going to try to appease Remy now. 

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.” Virgil spat in his native mer tongue. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to; Virgil wouldn’t even know where to start. Remy quirked an eyebrow, watching Virgil’s lips move. 

“Gotta speak up if you want me to hear you.” Remy commented. “Can’t hear you underwater, lil’ beta.”

Virgil’s nose twitched irritably at the nickname, but he didn’t bother replying this time. Instead he stuck out his tongue, shaming Remy in true juvenile fashion. For a moment Virgil felt a familiar pang of nostalgia, remembering the way Roman would let out that silly noise of offense whenever Virgil did the same to him. 

But Roman wasn’t here.

“...fine then.” Remy sighed dramatically, releasing his hold on the tank. “Guess you don’t have anything important to say, anyway.”

Oh, Virgil had plenty of important things to say. He wanted to screech at Remy for hours, scolding him for never saving his brothers when they couldn’t save themselves. Virgil wanted to yell at all of humanity, shaming them for exploiting Virgil’s weakness to get their grimy paws on everyone else. 

But most of all, Virgil wanted to shake his fist at the world, cursing life for its cruelty and assuring the universe that Virgil wasn’t going to submit so easily.

And maybe… Virgil moved his lips again, attempting to replicate the way Remy so easily pushed air from his lungs. He glanced up at the surface of the water, the light shining down for once not feeling so oppressing. Was this his chance? Some sort of sign from above, showing Virgil the way out of this mess?

There was no guarantee that Remy would listen. Virgil would probably swim out of this feeling crushed and alone, Remy forcing him to talk and taunting him once he knew why Virgil hated this place. But at this point, Virgil was running low on options.

Virgil would practice. If he couldn’t do it, then fine. But he was tired of not having a say in his own fate.

[angermango]

Magax (Neopets) redesign

Got inspired again after the Gilly redesign from before for another fun take on an existing character. Here’s the original edgy old cat who was woefully neglected by TNT in terms of character potential given he had a whole ~mysterious dark past~ and a documented rivalry with a fairly popular villain.

I was doing something more on the consolidation of designs path as Magax has had a load of designs over the years (and/or TNT was inconsistent in their art and designs sometimes...) so I tried to keep the elements of his core look while adding little embellishments or flairs. I like to think of Magax as a weary old soul who lives in a graveyard hunting ghosts and monsters every night so he looks kind of mangy and mean from years spent out alone in the deep Haunted Woods - but I’m sure it’s just his face, he’s probably an okay guy.

So yeah I kept most of Magax’s iconic features like his earring, eye scar, and goatee seeing as those seem to be staples in his look

Since I made him scarred all over I tried to make Magax’s famous eye scar stand out more so it’s a bigger, more raw-looking mark rather than just a thin line. I like to think that he got it when he fought Hubrid Nox for the first time after he turned his back on the way of evil, and during the battle Nox nailed him in the face with something that later became a trademark of his look.

Added on more scars and a chewed up ear to up the Edge on the look and show off that he’s a fighter, the old grizzled lone warrior type

The scarf is a nod to one of his prehistoric designs where he had a red cape and totally different armour - maybe it’s the same cape, worn with age and repurposed to keep his neck from getting chilly without his mane now

Clawsss

Does Magax wear manacles? Gloves? Neither? The NeoTeam artists can’t seem to decide, so why not all at once in a fingerless-glove-with-braces combo?

Magax has always worn this kind of vest thingy in some form and it’s changed colours from grey to black to green so i settled for a dull near-black green since green seems to be a part of his thing. He also kind of just wears it as one layer without anything else underneath, which I mean fair enough when you’re a magical warrior you probably don’t worry about that stuff. I put a kind of singlet underneath you can barely see just so he can say he’s got some layers

The belt combines his old design buckle and new design where he has a random bag on it but i figure a guy’s allowed to have somewhere to hide his... whatever is meant to be in there

His green magic is just rendered like that because I was having fun with layer blending modes and filters. The Flash-era effects don’t really give his magic powers much in way of visual flair nor are they that consistent: They look more or less like solid green bars and orbs in his games, while in other official art it’s rendered either like flames or lightning (plus his Neopets TGC card had him down as a Fire element alignment). I did a bit of both because Rule of Cool but I imagine that his magic is unique in that it manifests pretty much however he wants as a kind of pure raw energy magic.

His trusty Darklight Axe I gave it a little bit of a makeover too with a heavy battleaxe design and engravings on the head just because it looks sick. I assume it’s made out of the same green magic he wields so it’s kind of like a solid power construct or something (like Green Lantern? idk) I find it weird that his axe is only shown in art and alluded to in his Neopedia article as if it’s a normal if not staple part of his arsenal - heck, even his name suggests it’s like his signature weapon of choice, yet he doesn’t actually use it in his games to fight and instead just uses shooty beam spam

Bonus: OG Magaxes for comparing -

[yanderes-galore]

I request yandere hank (from madcom obv) with an agent from A.A.H.W darling

Yeah sure! My first actual Madness Combat request that isn't the Emoji game stuff I did ^^. Enemies to One-sided Lovers let's go-

I hope it's good! First time writing Madness and all-

Yandere! Hank J. Wimbleton with A.A.H.W! Darling

Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Attempted murder, Kidnapping, Implied stalking, Manipulation, Intimidation, Forced relationship, One-sided love, Murder/Death mention, Sadism.

- You're already miserable as is....

- The A.A.H.W has poor working conditions and you're already under the constant threat of being murdered.

- Via the Auditor, Hank himself, or an experiment gone wrong....

- You're already rather on edge in your suit, the weapon you wield being a basic handgun.

- You are aware your purpose is to be fodder.

- Yet you don't have a choice.

- When you finally meet Hank J. Wimbleton, you give it your all.

- You do what you can when it comes to damaging him.

- You at least show more skill than other agents your rank....

- Enough to win mercy from the murderous man.

- Hank doesn't talk much and he himself isn't too sure why he hasn't killed you like the rest.

- You have mixed emotions about the position you're in, he can tell.

- Even when you're pinned to the floor, his weapon pointed at your face, you hold your gun at him.

- Even when you know you'll die either way you persevere....

- Which may have been what made Hank leave you be.

- Mercy is normally never in Hank's vocabulary.

- He takes joy in mowing through Grunts like they were nothing.

- However, here he is, gazing thoughtfully at the now unconscious agent in front of him.

- He leaves you be, continuing on with his goal whatever it may be.

- Hank's sudden act of mercy scares you.

- What will the Auditor say about this?

- Is Hank just saving you for later?

- What made you catch his eye?

- Hank is a very hard Yandere to read.

- You won't entirely know why he likes you, he just does.

- Completely by chance it seems.

- This is not the first encounter you have with him, either.

- Far from it.

- You'll meet him again, this time with somewhat better gear.

- Then you'll see, once Hank catches sight of you, he ignores everyone else and beelines it for you.

- Others can try to stop him, you can also try to run, but he has a goal.

- He doesn't care about the other Grunts or agents. He'll end them with ease if they try to stop him.

- He wants this one.

- Hank wants you.

- Once he catches you he just... stares.

- His grip is tight around you, you hear faint pants from behind his mask.

- Hank likes to look at you.

- Even if you are on opposite sides, you trying to kill him and failing miserably, he finds himself adoring how you feel against him.

- Sure, you're fighting him when he pins you in a secluded place....

- But you're just so pretty to look at.

- You didn't think your job could get any worse.

- Yet now you are learning that Nevada's most wanted is obsessed with you.

- Hank plays this little game of chase for awhile before he finally shifts to just, stealing you from your place of work.

- You can't tell if you're relieved or terrified....

- You were almost used to the threats with working for A.A.H.W.

- Now you had to figure out if you could survive with Hank breathing down your neck and dragging you around Nevada.

- Hank's also incredibly close to you all the time even if you fight him about it.

- He's like a strange cat.

- Observing you and yearning for you to touch him for affection.

- Your touch surprisingly calms this murderous beast.

- Even if you're aggressive he finds it cute and funny when you pound against his chest/back.

- Don't worry about Deimos and Sanford not trusting you, Hank makes it clear why you're here.

- Hank's weird obsession over this one agent actually throws the two for a loop-

- Hank also doesn't want the agency finding you, fearing they'd terminate you.

- So you're forced to give up that suit and shades you grew accustomed to-

- Instead you'll be given clothing he managed to collect. (Probably from dead bandits or something-)

- That way no one can find you/recognize you.

- No one would want to mess with who Hank cares about anyways, unless they have a death wish.

- You aren't sure if your odds for survival increased or decreased after this.

[notmuchtoconceal]

two autumns ago, my grandmother developed pancreatic cancer.

we hadn't been close in some time.

she was as much the victim of my grandfather as my mother was the victim of my father -- though unlike my father, he was simply a decent, if foolish and sometimes selfish man with a tempestuous nature... in many ways simply a man of his time.

growing up, the house was always littered with the warmth and sheddings of the many animals she kept. cats. dogs. she would howl like a madwoman every sunday when the bears scored a touchdown, pounding the floor until that fateful fourth of july i served the volleyball which knocked her down and shattered her hip.

she would tell me my lifelong aversion to football was the result of her performing this elaborate display of devotion as she cradled me on her lap as an infant, shaking and rattling my frail body.

there were periods in my life -- where i was severed from my body.

the predominant feeling i retain from childhood is of being a mind trapped inside a skull, looking out through a porthole into a wide world, and finding myself unable to form words, stammering through pauses, as the people who towered over me told me who i was and what i should think, and my own thoughts would wither behind my eyes as i seemed to accept that the things i said were not how others thought, or the thoughts i should be thinking.

my grandmother -- prone to the stress of a husband who ignored her, who belittled and minimized her -- would at times naturally take these frustrations out on the only ones she could.

not the animals. never the animals. animals were innocent.

human beings were capable of premeditation, envy, malice.

it was never as bad with her as it was with my dad. there was never any prolonged degradation. never any being cornered as i tried to get back to my room. never any beating. never any breaking down doors. never any laughing at me as i cried after he knocked my mother unconscious seconds after he begged me to come and help him.

in some ways it still hurt more, simply because i was closer to her. the dramatic stuff tends to fade over time, as it becomes the fodder for funny stories. the dramatic stuff gets you sympathy. the dramatic stuff can't be overlooked. people feel it in the telling.

the little things -- that's not so clear.

they build up. there's always plausible deniability.

it's not something i suppose a person would expect, but the pain which lingered longest was frustratingly abstract.

i felt as though neither she nor anyone else could ever know me.

not because i was particularly deep, particularly insightful, but because i felt they weren't seeing "me" -- or rather, they could see nothing but "me" and "I' was the one who was doing the thinking.

as far as i could tell -- they didn't know "I" existed.

they thought "I" was being made up.

suppose children really have no business thinking as much as i did, unless something compels them to. my mother always told me she wanted me to just be happy and be a kid, but my not thinking would be an invitation to slavery. if i didn't think, if i took my father at face value, "I" would not have made it out alive, though i doubt anything too terrible would have happened to "me".

there was no risk of violation to my bodily integrity.

my parents wanted me to work and play sports.

the part of me which is "me" could have endured any blow. had endured many blows over the course of my first two decades.

psychic integrity was irrelevant.

"I" was invisible. "I" knew i was powerful, but fragile.

"I" just wanted a chance to be alive.

"I" had no idea why my own father wanted to kill me --

kill me and take control of "me".

why my own father wanted to live inside my body.

my mother told me she thought i was too sensitive. i guess she hadn't had a truly good mindfuck in awhile, the tread having long gone off that tire many years before i was born.

my grandmother, with her emphasis on the furry, fleshy, soft and comforting, combined with what seemed her total disregard for me as an intellectual entity, drove me to feelings of years-long dehumanization, as though i was worth nothing above the level of a beast, a man though i longed to be in every sense of the word.

i felt sick.

i felt sick, as though i could never be anything more than a pet to women who wouldn't love me.

for years, the thought of pup-play shit made me gag, i could only think about how my grandmother would stroke the ear of her timid yorky, cuddled up in her lap, crying and whining when she was gone, no different from your typical heterosexual man.

the timeframe is a bit hazy --

i was deeply hypnotized, heavily using weed, and have since suffered a subsequent mental breakdown or two.

(self-diagnostic and repair refines with age)

sometime during my descent into bodily gnosis through meatheadification, i became aware of the stark similarities between men and dogs -- their pack nature, their tendency to patrol, to mark, to retrieve, and slowly and steadily i began to integrate these qualities more directly into my conscious awareness, letting me follow inclinations and modes of thinking i'd long repressed.

so many things which had once seemed unbearable --

no longer troubled me at all.

the way in which our culture discusses human emotions, particularly at present, is biased towards how women think, as it is typically the job of a woman to help a man understand how he feels.

to a typical woman, many normative masculine drives may seem inexplicable or psychotic, and this has its origins in our hunter-gatherer roots and millions of years of evolution -- trends in social construction being additional factors on top of this, as civilization is in part refinement, simplification and subversion of nature.

men have urges they can't meet with women.

men need to know how to function in a pack to be fully themselves.

if a boy is not sufficiently confident in his own thoughts -- say, for he has no clear role models and disruptive tendencies which tend toward anti and asocial behavior -- he may be prone to problematize his own masculinity, for he has no yardstick for what even constitutes masculinity, let alone positive examples to emulate.

i'm not an isolated example.

i know dozens of men who've manifested similar symptoms.

the patriarchal mid-century american society infantilized women, who then infantilized men, who then together created an infantilized generation, and all the meanwhile technological acceleration and a trend to convenience have left many with the belief that masculinity is obsolete, men and women essentially the same, and gender itself an outmoded institution to be replaced with an asexual or intellectualized performative mode endlessly subverting itself.

as long as we have physical bodies, we need gender.

gender needn't be tyranny. gender is personality. gender is ostentation. gender is burlesque. gender is part of the basic grammar of how we present ourselves to others. gender should be fun.

our sexed bodies possess an element of terror, particularly to those who live primarily in the mind and experience visceral urges as a sharp intrusion into what is otherwise monastic harmony, but to deny what we would prefer to ignore is simply to languish in delusion.

for centuries, man experienced himself as an untouchable entity at the center of the universe, and the ascent of the natural sciences, with their revelations of a heliocentric solar system and man as the generational progeny of apes deflated our grandiose ego.

the tendency then became -- man is no different from any other animal. the animal body is a biological machine. any considerations of a soul or higher power is a foolish notion fit only for social control, still clung to by imbeciles without the strength to face a cold, uncaring and strictly deterministic reality.

this was a knee-jerk reaction. a rationalization from betrayal.

man is not the same as every other animal.

man has an indisputable animal origin. man retains his vital animal instincts. man has the capacity for violence, rape and predation.

man has also elevated himself above nature. man has appointed himself caretaker of the natural world. man is capable of tremendous reason, beauty and widespread organization and construction.

the urban centers -- at the scale they occupy -- reduce us to the level of insects. many bodies within a hive. towering cell walls constructed from materials of our chimerical making.

man is not an animal -- man is every animal at once.

man is every animal at once, for man retains a piece of the transcendent. our capacity for higher thought, the logos, of which christ was historical personification and model

(reason, peace, love)

is what the hypothesis of god describes -- it is what exists beyond our bodies, and yet which we know to be a part of ourselves; that which allows us to remake the world in the image of ourselves, for we can see the ways in which the physical world is a series of the same repeating shapes and patterns, and what we see is what we are.

no other animal can think the way we do.

no other animal can think.

man remains animal. man remains uniquely special.

(least as far as the planet earth is concerned)

my grandmother told me she never wanted me to be cold.

her own father was an asian alpha male with a gambling addiction who took full custody of her and her sisters. she would describe how she would lie awake at night, listening to him bring his mistress into the apartment, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor.

clack clack clack

it terrified her, i think -- that he was both the man she knew, and yet had the capacity for violence.

as though he were two men in one body.

intuitively i could connect this line of thinking to a previous comment she'd made about viggo mortensen's stunning performance in david cronenberg's a history of violence -- where his character, a mild-mannered small business owner, simply through the subtle motions of his eyes, flips the switch and becomes the mafia hardass he'd been in a previous life, now for the purpose of protecting his family.

on some level, she never wanted me to be a man because she never wanted me to leave or to hurt her.

i didn't know what i felt -- when i found out she had cancer.

i didn't feel anything.

i didn't know -- that my own emotions weren't mine.

i didn't think about it. it was always there.

i didn't talk about it with anyone.

on a subconscious level, i committed myself to a controlled demolition of the man i thought i was.

i knew i needed to break.

i knew i couldn't keep going on as though the way i was was normal.

at the time i had been talking to a boy i was quite fond of, who like most of my best submissives and conversation partners, often had a better understanding of who i was than i did.

i told him i never wanted him to leave me, knowing full well that would drive him away, which it immediately did.

then i was wanting for a brother cell. i was desperate again.

that i knew, on some level, that "I" wasn't the one steering my destiny drove me into increasingly elaborate rationalizations.

the increasingly stupid decisions i made, as though that other part of me was pushing me to confront my past failings by reliving them in the present moment drove me to notice lapses in memory, moments where it seemed as though "I" was speaking, but my voice seemed to be hijacked -- made me take note of a lifelong tendency shared by my brothers and i where a comment is spoken, thinking it sounds wholly innocent, followed by a pause for we realize something about our tone or phrasing marked it with a subtly venomous intent.

you can't suppress how you really feel forever.

you -- some part of you -- will find a way to make you accept.

one afternoon my father came home, fresh from the realization he had a bastard son and no obligation to care for him, and hopped up once more on getting off scot-free being worthless, told me i'd be caring for him in his old age, changing his diapers like he changed mine. he lifted his eagle and his cross, his dual totemic gods of christianity and nationalism, as if to blind me with their aura.

he was a godless man.

he didn't believe in love. he didn't believe in service to his country.

his only god was his own ugly self-gratification.

he, as a father, destroyed himself by destroying his progeny.

my father was nothing.

i don't remember the exact words that followed.

i told him he could rot. he never took care of me.

he was no father of mine.

then, spellbound, the other part of me spoke up --

i lost time.

i only remembered a few hours later what i'd said.

why can't ya please your wife, dad?

the look on his face. his impotence revealed. his simpering, childlike nature. he could only run. run far from me. run towards the woman he claimed to despise, and yet who was the only one who truly wanted him, as he was the only one who truly needed her.

my father. my mother's first and only.

the next time i saw him, fresh from a shower, naked, he lowered his head in shame.

son, he said.

i laughed at him. it was good and right.

narcissism is a shame-based distortion. an authentic narcissist is trying to be an imaginary perfect person, for they can only conceive of themselves as the sum total of their ugliest and most traumatic moments. my father was a scared, pissing little girl castrated by his own domineering mother and was too weak to raise any of his four sons -- then he blamed my mother for us being fags.

it seeped into me.

for years i could only deny all the ways i was exactly like him.

he was the only man i knew. they sent me to a school outside my district, using my father's mother's address, and i had to lie about where i lived or get kicked out, so i didn't make many friends.

after twelve months into my relationship with @flyoverkushtaka the stress of being betrayed by two resentful hangers-on i thought were lifelong friends finally got to me, and i ended up howling at him over cam for close to three hours, blistering him with obscenity after obscenity as he sat there in a state of shock and endured me.

i never wanted anyone to see me like that.

i would rather have died than let someone see me like that.

the next night -- two hours before we were to get on cam again, i collapsed on the floor of my bedroom, racked by agony as though my own nervous system were throttling me -- sobbing, mewling, yelping I WANNA DIE I WANNA DIE I WANNA DIE I WANNA DIE

he didn't stop loving me -- after he saw me like that.

i never thought -- anyone could love me after they'd seen me like that. i thought that i was broken. i thought that any slip up and i'd be garbage again. nobody would invest the time into me -- if i wasn't already their perfect and beautiful fuck fantasy.

my grandmother must have heard it.

the walls are thin. my brief high school theatrical career proved i was the rare sort who knew how to project.

she was the only one who was willing to listen.

she was the only one who would confess and apologize for her complicity in the abuse. my mother cried, denied, minimized, gave up, succumbed further to delusion. even though she had cancer, even though she was struggling through weekly chemo sessions, my grandmother was willing to listen. she was no fool. she was genuinely considerate. she was willing to endure it when i screamed at her.

on some level, she enjoyed it that i screamed at her.

on some level, i was filling her with my vital force.

rage is motivation. depression is defeat.

on some level, exposure to my vitriol, my passion, my raw animus, further mobilized her body to stifle its treacherous rebellion.

my grandmother is the source of so much of my courage, my creativity, my wit. in many ways, she's the only member of my immediately family outside my brothers i have any lasting and consistent affection for, for a part of me is truly her.

-- and she didn't have to rape herself into me to do it.

she has no cancer anymore. she has half a pancreas.

it's not clear how much longer she'll be around.

i feel as though i've lost too much time.

a whole three decades spent in struggle. there is no price too steep to pay for control of your own mind.

your mind ought be a devoted and loving partner to your body.

i fought, and i pushed back, and i cut myself off from other people at great personal and social expense because freedom meant something to me. my father, though a mediocre democratic man looking only to coast, did imbue me with a love of liberty that i have no qualms about watering with blood, beautiful bloom that it is.

no sacrifice is too great to be the man you are.

so many of the things i thought i'd wanted -- i only wanted because i was desperate for contact with other people, and the only way i thought i could get that was by being something i'm not.

it don't have to be this way, bros.

people will respect you -- people will wanna be around you -- if you know what you stand for and aren't ashamed to be who you are. you have no good reason to back down so easy.

the types of people who get avoided -- they're the people pleasers.

they're the types who come on nice, yet have no kindness inside of them -- they know they're too weak to get away with being the assholes they are, so they fake nice and lie their asses off.

even if you're insecure, even if you don't know what you want, even if you need help, if you own your bullshit, people will respect that.

if they don't -- that's not your problem.

you don't need to be liked. they don't need to like you.

everyone expects the bullshit. everyone knows they want something different. when you speak your truth, you attract the people who wanna live by your truth. when you pretend to be someone you're not, you surround yourself with other people who aren't.

everyone wins -- when you become the man you're supposed to be.

pretty simple shit when i say it like that, huh bro?