Author | Southern | Mvskoke | Under 18 or an anti? This isn't the blog for you | Your resident spiteful Southern never-do-well | Aspiring YA Author | I block liberally | Screenshotting my bio does not an argument make | Supposed to be a writing blog, really just a depository for anything I find interesting |
~ Under 18s DNI. This is an 18+ zone. You will find dicks, HYDRA Husbands, Hogan’s Heroes, and other sundry things that minors probably should not see.
~ I will ask you to unfollow if I think you’re under 18. If you lie to me about your age and I find out, you’re getting blocked. Don’t be that person. Save us both the misery. You’re not that clever and I’m not very patient
~ I can’t believe I have to say this, but antis DNI. I will block you. I have no desire to argue with you because it’s going to be like talking to a brick wall for both of us. If you leave a nasty message in my inbox, that’s an automatic block. In other words, if you are here to make an ass of yourself, kindly fuck off
~ I am STRONGLY anti harassment/pro ship. If that bothers you, hit the back button now. I’m not changing for some random person on the internet
~ Similarly, TERFs and racists fuck off. I will block you without a second thought. I am nonbinary and Indigenous. I don't want bigots here
~ I do not respond to donation posts unless I know you. Don't even ask. You're clogging up my inbox.
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~ Somewhere between 18 and 40. Exvangelical, asexual, and self described basket case
~ I go by Coyote, Ace, Kay, or Kiri. Do not use she/her for me
~ I like Marvel, Star Wars, Hogan’s Heroes, Rat Patrol, Soldier Boy, and Warrior Cats
~ I like animals and own livestock. They’re my pride and joy. Expect shitty pictures sometimes under the tag “wolf pack”
~ Personal posts are under “dispatches”, “original content? on this blog?”, or “in light of recent events”. If you don’t want to see my rambling, I recommend that you block the tags. I talk about being queer and asexual a lot. If that bothers you, you probably shouldn't be here
~ Author website is currently no longer functioning because I want to find a better option
~ I’m actually not a mean person, despite how this might seem. These are my boundaries and I will ask for you to respect them. Ask to tag triggers and I’ll do my best to remember them. Please don’t ask me to manage your triggers, though. I can hardly manage my own. I don’t need the extra stress. I’ll do my best, but that’s all I can do
~ My inbox is on! Anons included. Don't be an ass, okay?
These things are subject to change and my editing them whenever I damn well please. If you don't like it, tough.
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I ran into this post years ago and to be honest, it has completely reoriented the way I engage with food.
Like. I’ve always sorta understood that things grow moldy or stale or sour or such if left out, but I never really internalized it in a meaningful way.
But now I’m just like.
Yeah. The hungering dust. There exists omnivorous dust in the air that will eat my food if I don’t.
Those bagels have been sitting there for a week. Are we going to eat them soon or are we leaving them for the hungering dust?
Pizza’s been sitting out on the counter for an hour. Everyone’s enjoying the pizza, but if we don’t want “everyone” to include the hungering dust then we should probably put it away soon.
That’s just. That’s how food works to me now. There exists an invisible predator in the air that hungers for your yummies, and it will not hesitate to eat your food if you don’t make the effort to protect and preserve it. And eat what can’t be preserved before the dust can.
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i wrote this post over on bluesky today and, after receiving a few of the predictable "but what if i Want to write badly" responses you get to any opinion that can be taken as prescriptivist writing advice, i thought i'd talk more about what i'm getting at.
basically, it's an issue of suspension of disbelief. there are a lot of things in fantasy and historical writing that we're willing to look past. dragons, potatoes, the divine right of kings. we are able to suspend our disbelief that a monarch could be anything but a despicable tyrant if the story we're being told is convincing enough, or plays to our comforting worldviews about nobility and Great Man theory. we can also suspend it if we straight up didn't know that europe didn't have potatoes pre-columbian exchange. basically--it means it doesn't bother you that these elements aren't perfectly realistic. fiction is not required to be realistic. clue's in the name.
but there are some things we just can't ignore. some things hit us as out of place for the setting we've been presented, or the world as we understand it. it pulls us out of the story by reminding us, in that moment, that we are reading a constructed narrative made of a series of choices by an author. and for whatever reason, they made a Wrong choice, like plucking the wrong guitar string.
bdsm safety protocols are the classic example, since a majority of people that encounter this sort of thing often enough to identify it online are reading fanfic and romance. things like a red light/green light system appearing in a chinese fantasy world where cars have not been invented, or cowboys intuiting the concept of a safeword while having spit-lubed anal sex in the desert. absurdisms that break suspension of disbelief, because who is teaching these cowboys the principles of consent. nobody.
now, we've beaten the dead horse of 'don't write like you're afraid of a callout post' a million times when it comes to including bdsm best practices in writing. you are allowed to write whatever you want forever, and if what you want to write is perfectly safe, negotiated sex between two adults who would have never received sexual education and probably thought a woman's uterus wandered in the body depending on the temperature, you are free to do that. i'll think your writing is bad, but you don't have to care what i think. you don't have to care about the people who'd get upset at cowboys doing unnegotiated "lasso tricks" either.
anyway, i'm getting off track. the actual point of the post above was that i see this same kind of thing with modern terminology for queer concepts in completely incongruous settings, and it pulls me out just as bad as any cowboy therapyspeak. i simply do not believe the local dirt farmer who binds his chest and changed his name from helen to troy would call himself "trans". i do not believe the wizard who has no time or interest in sex would call himself "asexual". and 1800s english dandies would not be calling themselves "gay" unless they were in a holiday mood.
that doesn't mean they couldn't understand those concepts, but it's not the language they would use to express them, because they would not have it. you see this with discussion of actual literal history--we technically cannot call historical figures "gay" or "transgender" with 100% confidence, even when their behavior lined up very closely with our modern idea of those concepts, because those people did not have our modern idea of those concepts. would they have identified that way, if a time traveler taught it to them? possibly! but we can't know that. they might like "transsexual" better, even if it's no longer in vogue.
and much like nobody is teaching cowboys the concept of aftercare, nobody is teaching our dirt farmer troy the word "trans", which is itself a shortening of several words that have come in and out of fashion as recently as the last century. troy would be calling himself something else, if he even has a word for what he is.
and that's where you, the author, have a Choice. there's plenty of reasons to default to the modern term--you're writing for a modern audience, you want to be clear about your representation, you're afraid of getting yelled at for getting something wrong--but i think it's the wrong move in any serious writing. because what you're losing by doing that is an opportunity to get creative and actually say something with the character, rather than tick a box.
troy might describe himself as a man trapped in a woman's body, because that is how he experiences it, and that experience informs his character. or he might think of himself as a man who just has breasts, because he's always been a man and has been treated as a man, and he's never had to examine it. or he might call himself a "rock", because he lives with dwarves and that's the dwarven word for masculine-presenting.
or he can just say he's "trans", and you don't explore what it means to the character in the world he lives in, while also implying somebody sat this boy down on a stump in the dirt fields and said the word "transgender" to him, and then said it often enough he shortened it to "trans". while living on his dirt farm. where he would never have seen a pineapple.
i am more interested in a troy who doesn't have a perfectly modern understanding of what he is and what he wants, because that's where a story lives. i don't read to see my understanding of things perfectly mirrored back to me, i read to experience something different. i want to read about the guy who calls himself a slur because it's the only language for himself he has, and what that means to him. i want to read about the guy who never calls himself a man, but understands implicitly that he's something different. i want to read about messy, complicated people who don't know shit from fuck. it'll absorb me a hell of a lot more.
anyway.
this is all opinion and i am just one guy so you're allowed to disagree with me. i just won't be interested in your work if you do. and that's only a loss if you make it one.
I am trying to figure out how I want to draw Magnus, huge fan of the constant magical snapchat filter he has going on for himself. Allows me to have fun with his lost eye.
There’s an emotion only unlocked when you live in a house with multiple stories. I call it “the stair emotion” and it’s when you realize the object you need is on the other side of yet another trip up and down those goddamn stairs. It’s the closest I get to transcending the desire for material goods. Maybe I don’t need that notebook. Maybe I don’t need anything.
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once I saw this tiktok video of this girl showing off her massive collection of dishes she’s stolen from restaurants and all the comments were going crazy flaming her were not gonna make it what is wrong with the youth of today that they’re scandalized by the idea of stealing a ramekin from Applebees
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These were produced from around the time of the Roman annexation of Egypt in the late 1st century BC to around the Christianization of the Roman Empire in the 3rd century CE.
They were a continuation of the Egyptian tradition of funerary masks but rather than sculpting them and making them of precious metals, they began painting these lifelike portraits.
It’s hotly debated whether this is an example of Greco-Roman realist style imposed on their subjects, or a home grown Egyptian development of their own ancient tradition. Those who say it’s more Egyptian than Roman point out that there’s no surviving paintings in the rest of the Roman Empire that were this realistic. Those who say it’s more Roman than Egyptian point out the arid climate left these portraits intact, and beleive the others in the rest of the empire were lost.
Personally I think you can call them Egyptian because these people, whether of Roman or ancient Egyptian descent, are still the ancestors of the modern Egyptians today.
Despite the realism you can see a slight exaggeration of the eyes, smoothing of the skin and inclusion of certain important objects around the subject’s head. It’s a pattern that would get more and more pronounced until it became the style of Byzantine iconography in the Orthodox Christian Church
Something so good about Emps giving birth deep below Terra. Going back to the primarch rearing quarters, since it's a place he originally constructed to raise his children in safety. It's giving animal hiding away and making a nest for their future offspring to a perfect degree.
I imagine this is where he would have also gone back to when it was time to birth Celestine, since the chambers never got to fulfill their original purpose and were already perfect for raising a little godling.
The sliver of Malcador’s soul that remained there when he died (in Fury of Magnus, not his final death) reaching out, trying to comfort him through the pains of labor at Celestine’s birth, perhaps finally able to truly reach his mind in its exhausted state, after 10,000 years apart. Incorporeal hands folding around the Emperor’s hand, grounding him, whispering I am here.
Perhaps he thinks it was all a hallucination, afterwards, an imagined comfort and nothing more. But perhaps he sees the truth, and little Celestine grows up with two fathers.