AnasAbdin

if i look back, i am lost
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art blog(derogatory)

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@vevy-vell

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Death Note AU where hbomberguy makes a five hour long video about youtuber Light Yagami that's initially completely unrelated to the murders (Light would probably plagiarize or have really unhinged right-wing political takes if he was on youtube)
but halfway through he reveals that while researching he stumbled upon evidence that Light might be behind the Kira murders, and then spends like fourty minutes explaining the concept of a shinigami, an hour explaining how he thinks Light used one to commit murders, and then another hour explaining Light's ideology and why the concept of criminals being inherently evil is flawed
He finishes the video by addressing Light directly and telling him that he (Hbomberguy) had his name legally changed before uploading the video, to something that only he knows, making it impossible for Light to kill him
Now Light. I know you're still watching, and I'm sure you've tried writing my name in your book. Or you've at least considered it - after all, if I die, then it points pretty clearly to you as the killer. But then, maybe Kira is just going to try to kill me in order to frame you. We get it, you're very clever.
If watching this whole video hasn't changed your mind - made you *think* about the humanity of the people you are just callously sentencing to death - then I'm at a bit of a loss. But I do know one thing you don't:
My legal name.
That's right. Before I uploaded this video, I changed my legal name, and have encouraged those in my life to do so as well. Frankly, trying to decide what my new name would be probably pushed back this video's release like, a month.
(Aside: Actually it didn't but we can all just pretend it did, it's way more interesting than the minutiae of real issues that cropped up)
So. Is Light Yagami Kira? I can't say for sure. It turns out, accusing a public figure of serial murder comes with a lot of legal ramifications! You would think I'd have learned by now that talking about people has "potential consequences" like "being sued by extremely litigious individuals. "
I spent a long time thinking how to end this video. The only thing I came up with is that there's no way to judge a person by just a list of actions alone. And yes that includes Light, the wanker. Courts spend weeks and weeks trying to litigate criminal cases and they still get it wrong! So even though I think he may be the actual scum of the earth, I hope I'm wrong. I want to believe that, given the opportunity, he wouldn't take the ten seconds to write down my name and take my life with just a flick of his wrist.
*long beat*
But I still changed my name so don't even think about it you little sh-
*bouncy credits music*
why does sequential art require you to make multiple images? does anybody understand this?
[ID: Scott McCloud's persona from his book "Understanding Comics", zoomed in closely to his eyes/glasses. End ID]
on kim kitsuragi's eyesight and grief
(originally rambled on the SB discord)
so we know canonically kim's farsighted but there are some comments about him needing visual descriptions, struggling with both things nearby (footprints) and far away (the church through the binoculars)
when it's so all encompassing, it means the hyperopia has increased and it's often a symptom of glaucoma, which can get pretty bad if neglected. it makes me wonder how healthcare works under the Coalition govt, and if RCM officers have access to specialist medicine, honestly, the way Kim talks about funding and task distribution, it makes me think it's not actually common
i think the fact that he's literally depicted as composure, harry's awe at how cool kim is, even interactions where he pushes you to get your shit together paint the image of someone with a ridiculously high self control
arguably problematic, like someone who can't or doesn't know how to put down the walls and let anything in, or out
think that a young kim, understanding that his eyesight was getting worse, would seek refuge in that faƧade, refusing to relinquish control
plus of course, systemic racism, homophobia and juvie cop just adds to a delightful combo that ends with him being an absolute rock in the face of chaos
you can't let your guard down if you want to stay alive in Revachol, as it is
and life goes on, and his grasp on himself feels less and less protection and just How Things Are
the thing about glaucoma-induced sight loss, though, is that you don't notice it's happening
one day you just try to do something that you're so used to doing and you suddenly realize you can't, anymore
kim handles it, of course. there's no point in losing his shit over it. each year his prescription gets higher, his shooting scores get lower, and things fade out in the background. there's no time to mourn when you need to keep it together for the sake of your city.
he gets to martinaise expecting a run on the mill murder and comes out crumbling. harry as a miracle, the phasmid as a miracle, and the end of everything, also, in a way, a miracle. he gets home, concussed and exhausted and for the first time he allows himself to feel gratitude and loss. at least you got to see a giant stickbug. but it, too, shall pass.
omething shifts in him, maybe because when you are faced with the inevitable death of all you know and love, perhaps the only thing you can do is love while you can. it's not easy by any means, after 43 years of being a walking volumetric shit compressor.
i do think he ends up transferring to the 41st, and that when he says he likes the views better than in his GRIH office, he means it. he looks out of the window and he sees splotches of grey and orange every evening, hears bicycles zooming past. he misses seeing the buildings beyond a mass of concrete, but he feels the lives, he feels the kind hands of la RevacholiĆØre on his face and that is enough.
Ā sunsets are easy, but not everything is.
in october '52, he fills in his last crossword. he doesn't know it will be his last, until the next day he sits at the kitchen table, opens the paper and realizes he can't even see the grid. he mourns that, as he always does, retroactively.
53 brings the suspension of his driver's license. on the day he gets the news, before he has to go to a cobwebbed office to get the watermarked card cut up, he calls Harry. it's 5 in the morning, and he is tired, and he still comes running. they drive alongside the coastal highway, from Jamrock to Martinaise, thrash seeping out of the windows in the darkness of a very early morning. he thinks about asking Harry to help him push the Kineema into the waters of Martinaise. Then he thinks about pollution, about feeling so empty that you'd drive your car off of a waterlock, and he discards the fantasy. Harry doesn't say anything, for once. Kim holds out a hand, and he takes it. He thinks about getting used to this and almost passes out.
I'd like to think Jean and him bond over horses, over crass jokes and lack of balance and being in love with Harry, though neither say it out loud.
Jean teaches him how to ride, and Harry straps a small speaker to the saddle and they call the mare Coupris. Kim laughs for the first time, openly, in months. After a lifetime of being different, understanding, deep in your bones, that different can be inequivocally good does really change a man.
ther times it's harder to hold onto that thought, of course. There are harder things to mourn, despite it all. The violence and loneliness of orientation and mobility. Internalizing that a cane can only get you so far. The stares. The loss of independence. He endures this as penitence, some vestigial Dolorianismus.
Walking down the harbor and realizing that you are lost, that you are lost in what was your home and muscle memory can't save you, and you look for the cranes to tell you where the gate is and all you see is endles butane staring back.
He's in Harry's apartment one Friday night, leaning in and kissing Harry. The bucket list of the apocalypse, complete. Here you are, Kitsuragi, you are a blind, gay cop of Seolite descent and you are blissfully at peace with the end of the universe.
en you pull back, and things ache again. They always will. This certainty solidifies as you look ahead and desperately wish you could see Harry's face, but you can't. You can't see him aging, you can't see him loving and some nights you are aware that you are forgetting how he looks.
He wonders how an instant can hold so much tenderness and sorrow, and if that is what the Phasmid felt, a grief for all humanity.
Thankfully, it's a dull ache. Your city loves you, your partner loves you, and the world is no lesser for any other sense.
At the edge of the world, Harry holds onto Kim the Pale is slow and insidious, but also terribly kind Harry forgets his face, too. The layouts of the streets, the colour of the sunset. He can't ride horses, cars, at the end of all things Kim knows loss, and as they fade, he also knows love. AprĆØs le gris, le monde encore.
re ehrc guidance. which is not legally binding.

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Iām just saying if Daniel Radcliffe, the literal protagonist of the Harry Potter franchise since the age of ten years old, was able to disavow JK Rowling and move on from the HP universe then actually what the fuck is anyone elseās excuse. There is no one else on the planet who can say their entire childhood was HP more than that guy and he still cared about trans people more than the average tumblr user who says āweāre protesting by making all her characters queer and trans!!ā like you can do better. You should do better.
my problem really deeply is how shallow a tolerance younger people have for old queer media. like yes, it's dated and some of the politics don't hold water anymore, but to ignore older media simply based on that is to loose EVERYTHING we have bc we don't have a lot. just because queer themes caught up more recently doesn't mean we should rehash everything to fit into a more "presentable" format that is only considered modern bc of the puritanical blacklash of the last several years and sanitization of queer themes.
The show/book/podcast right now that you think is groundbreaking, has great representation and ideal political positions, that makes you feel seen and validated like nothing ever has before? In twenty or thirty years, if you are so lucky, you'll get to look back and watch kids who weren't born yet make fun of it or criticize it for its flaws, for how it didn't use the current correct terminology or was wrong about something that is now taken for granted, or ignored things that are now considered essential to the queer experience. Maybe you'll even notice those flaws yourself when you revisit it. Then you have a choice: throw away the whole thing, or say "hey kids, this thing might seem dated or misguided to you now but at the time it was great, and it's still really important to me."
This is why I will fight for both Rocky Horror and Rent until my last dying breath. Queer art made by queer people must be defended and celebrated even as we acknowledge change, progress and the things that have always been problematic.
Historically, one of the most reliable sources of widespread banditry was rulers ramping up military recruitment for major wars, then cutting their soldiers loose afterwards without pay, leaving a bunch of heavily armed men with military experience floating around broke and homeless.
Knowing this, whenever someone jokingly refers to raccoons as "trash bandits", I get a vivid mental image of, like, a raccoon succession crisis leading to a raccoon civil war, the aftermath of which forced the former soldiers of the losing side (who are all raccoons) to take up the life of the raccoon outlaw.
Imagine you're a plague rat, enjoying life with your plague rat friends and having a good time infecting and conquering this one dirty, violent city. Everyone fears you and you're unbeatable and amazing and everything is perfect, and then, out of nowhere, this fucked up dude shows up, and you squeal in delight because you love fresh meat and of course you're going to try and eat him whole... but no, oh no, he's devouring your friends, he's munching on them while they're still alive like they're fresh Gristol apples, and the last thing you see as he feasts on your warm flesh and holds you in his bloody hand that shines like the void under the moonlight, are his dead and empty eyes.
many on here need to be learning this lesson

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im gods weakest faggot
iām gods strongest tranny letās team up. what if we called ourselves team rocket
im gods most literate cat can i join
Iām a straight up mob boss with a lioness for a pet, youāre all hired.
my yellow rat and I find this really offensive and problematic
explosion at health potion factory 0 dead 0 injured
The way adult fandom people hold indie online creators and cartoons to a much higher standard than their actual local politicians. You could be putting that energy into terrorizing and protesting conservatives at your town hall and actually make a good material impact on the world but instead you're background checking everything the trans woman who made the amazing digital circus has ever said
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but itās also kind of an amazing two-line poem? āHis Wife has filled his house with chintzā is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and āchintzā is a perfect word choice hereāsonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then āto keep it real I fuck him on the floorā collapses that whole mood with short percussive soundsābut itās still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8
I hate that my aesthetic sense agrees with this but everything you just said was correct
I went back to dig up this post because I was thinking about poetry.
This is one of those non-poem things that are among my favorite poems.
As the OP stated, the use of alliterative consonants is aesthetically just great, especially the placement of the strongest use at the end: āfuck him on the floor.ā The use of āchintzā is indeed great word choice.
Because Iām insane, decided to scan the poem:
Not only is the second sentence, indeed, perfect iambic pentameter, the entire poem is perfectly metered, though the first sentence has four iambs rather than five.
There are further things I love about this poem, though: I like the casual connotations of ākeep it realā juxtaposed with āchintz.ā It causes me to interpret the āchintzā more strongly as meaning something fake, a facade. There is also of course the coarseness of āfuck,ā which is a contrast with āchintzā but a different kind of contrast, gutsy and carnal where āchintzā is flimsy and inanimate.
And then there is the storytelling: there is SO MUCH storytelling in just these two lines. To break it down: The speaker is having sex with a married man, in the house he shares with his wife, which is āfilled with chintzāāsomething that here connotes fakeness, in contrast with ākeep it real.ā
The illicit encounter in the poem takes place within a house filled with facade, the flimsy construction of the wifeās marriage and domestic sphere, but the encounter itself is a taste of something āreal.ā Thatās a story, and itās just two lines.
This is EIGHTEEN SYLLABLES, yāall. The amount of meaning condensed into these eighteen syllables is stunning, and it is so elegantly done.
From a technical standpoint (and ive taken 300- and 400-level poetry classes so I can say this) this is damn near flawless as a poem.
Kept thinking about this ever since I saw it and had to do something
there's art now
Ah dang to go further; the floor is framed as a refuge. As if there is literally no other space in this house that hasn't been populated by his wife with flimsy inanimate fakery. There is no space for this man in this house save for the floor. There is no space for him on the sofa, oon the counter tops, and most notably, no space for him in the marital bed.
Iād also like to point out the use of the word āhas.ā The wife has filled the house with chintz. She isnāt filling the house with chintz. She doesnāt fill the house with chintz. She has filled the house with chintz. Use of the past-tense makes the wife a subtly removed element in the story, someone whose presence we see in the environment, but who is blissfully distant during the actors throes of passion. There is an element of physical as well as emotional separation from the wife that is catalyzed by being fucked on the floor. Use of the past tense is an end to the wife presence in the actors life, a carnal catharsis amid cold fragility and emotional distance.
This is my new favourite post in the world
everyone cheer for the one (1) time tumblr had reading comprehension
And, predictably, it's because it was about gay sex
When I was a kid, maybe 14 or so (which is, you know, 20+ years ago), I belonged to a Yahoo! mailing list for an anime called Gundam Wing. It was mostly populated by other teens, of varying ages, as it was started by a teen and her friends. Eventually it migrated, when Yahoo! groups started as forums, and even branched off into non-GW related stuff in a second forum.
One of the things I remember the most clearly is the oldest person in the group. Her name was Steelsong. She was a 40-something Dom with a sub whose name we knew even though we knew nothing else. She ran her own fanfic archive because the web was still handmade HTML and navigated in webrings and Iām pretty sure Google didnāt exist or was only barely, barely launched and not well known. She was kind and patient and we loved her. She treated everyone on the group with the respect given any adult, even though most of the rest of the world was still treating us like we were children. Not teenagers even, but children. She never once condescended to any of us, never made our youth a barrier to her respect, never treated us like we were incapable of being full people or like we were less than her because we were young.
I remember that she hosted our fanfiction, as absolutely terrible as it was (and I still have some of it, I am WELL aware of how cringingly terrible it is, just absolute nonsense garbage), right there alongside of other fic that was soul-achingly beautiful. Not a separate section for her friends or for kids, just right there like we were good enough to feature alongside other authors. I never once received crit from her that I didnāt ask for, only support. Only love. I am still writing today partly because Steel was so kind about our fic, fanfic and original.
I remember that when I started doing clay sculpture, she commissioned a tiny pair of dragons from me, to support me doing artwork. She sent a check my mom cashed for me, and my mom helped me mail it when it was finished. It broke in transit, and Steel assured me that she mended it and that it was still beautiful. It was a small gold dragon curled up with a small silver dragon.
I remember that her patience knew no bounds. I remember that she was there for us, regardless of reason. When we wanted to know silly things like what to do with a single AA battery, she answered. When we had serious questions about sex, she answered.Ā When we had questions about writing, she taught us. When one of our group members, a young gay teen in Australia, ended up in the hospital and then stopped making posts, and we all knew what had happened, she let us talk to her about it because we couldnāt go to our own parents, even though we had just lost a friend.
She was not a replacement to my parents, but she was an extra parent, in some ways. A friend, certainly, but someone that had been through more life than we had and was willing to pass on knowledge if we asked for it. Someone older that we trusted with things that were too uncomfortable to go to our parents or teachers or whatever about, because we already knew she wasnāt going to judge us or something, and that we would get an honest answer.
I donāt know why Iām remembering this so hard tonight, and Iām not sure if thereās a point to sharing this, except that I know sheās gone now. She was ill the last time we spoke, and her site went down a long time ago, and I miss her. She was a huge influence on my life, then and now. She was hope, for me, that life as an adult didnāt have to be boring, it wouldnāt have to mean giving up the things I loved and Becoming Only Responsible With No Fun. Her presence meant I had hope I could still write and play with friends even when I wasnāt āa kidā anymore. And sheās gone, and I miss her, and I wanted to share her from the perspective of youth, and the perspective over twenty years later has provided me.
And I think of her, when people go off about older folks being in fandom with younger folks. Iām an older folks now, or at least middle aged folks because there are certainly folks older than me still, but I wasnāt always. Iāve been here since i was a younger folks, and I know how much Steelās presence and support meant to me, how much she helped not just me but everyone on that group. And I think of the people saying older folks donāt belong in fandom, and that they shouldnāt interact with younger folks at all, and I just think⦠I canāt agree. I needed that kind of solid presence in my life back then and even at the age I am now, I need the folks older than me to stay. I want them here.
So I guess, like, if youāre here and youāre 40 or 50 or 60 or 70 or 80 or whatever, I want you here in fandom with me, still. Your presence here is a comfort. It is hope. It is a reminder that life will continue to be fun, even as I get older, myself. And if youāre younger and you have this sort of elder in your groups, I hope that they are like Steel. I hope they are kind and patient and supportive, and that knowing them gives you hope for your own future. I hope in twenty years you look back and remember them fondly.