The best part of being a bounty hunter was the chase, pursuing prey across planets and star systems, using every trick she could until she ran them to ground. The worst part was the time after the capture, when there was nothing to fill the days as she waited for a new contract.
Personal
The stuff about me and my life. The “diary” side of blogging.
Of Goth Diversity
From Gothic Charm School:
Let’s bring back the “creature” in Creature of Darkness. Fuck flattering. Let’s all swamp our respective social media accounts with true photos of the goth subculture: we aren’t all thin, young, pretty (which mainstream culture genders as feminine presenting), white. We don’t all have perfect makeup, perfectly styled hair or wigs, and immaculate clothes from goth brands. We don’t have to be hot, we don’t have to be conventionally attractive. We have to be ourselves. Because being true to ourselves is an act of rebellion.
The Lady of the Manners would REALLY like to see photos of goths who don’t fit the stereotypical gloom cookie mold: BIPOC, plus-size, older folks, trans*, non-binary, everyone. Let’s show the diversity in the subculture. That way the next time someone says they’re not pretty enough to join us in the gloom, we can point them to a tag and say “here we are, and you are welcome to lurk with us”.
Co-signed (with the recognition that I am thin, white, and generally within conventional masculine beauty standards). I’m certainly not as young as I once was, never was much with makeup (simply never explored it) or styled hair (mine was far too curly and unruly), and aside from my more recently curated collection of kilts, never really pursued goth fashion beyond black t-shirts, black jeans or cargo shorts, and black Doc Martens or similar stompyboots.
There’s a lot more to the goth culture than what floats to the top of the algorithmically curated feeds. And you’re all “pretty enough” to be goth.
📚 forty-six of 2020: The Eyes of the Beholders by A.C. Crispin ⭐️⭐️⭐️ #startrek #tng 🖖
Nice to see an encounter with something so alien so to be literally incomprehensible. A bit heavy on references to TNG episodes to prove that the author watched the show; otherwise good.
After weeks of trudging through the monotony of desolate wilderness, it was startlingly obvious when their journey was nearing its end. Not just a line on a map, the border was actually a glimmering line in the air, beyond which flowering plants and tall trees grew once more.
All he wanted was to never have to deal with another winter in his life. Living in temperate climates wasn’t enough, because he might have to travel, or be invited somewhere. He wanted to make sure winter simply didn’t exist. Ever. Anywhere. And so he built his machine.
It had started simply enough: Use music to determine the tuning frequencies fed into the dimensional portal generator. Hooking up a second and connecting them using a mixer was a lark. But when the DJ started to fade from one universe of song into another?
Best. Rave. Ever.
From Daniel Jalkut:
“Thanksgrieving, the holiday on which Americans remember those whose lives were lost in reckless family gatherings, is observed on the second Thursday of December.”
He looked over the valley in amazement. Instead of wooded slopes on either side of the small river, there was a town that looked as if had been there for decades, with ships docked at a pier, and though it didn’t seem possible, small, winged people flitting between buildings.
He had long since lost faith in his ability to reliably predict what was and what wasn’t possible. Mystical creatures surrounded him, magic was not just real but apparently limitless, and most amazing of all, he’d been fed a dish of Brussels sprouts that was actually quite tasty.
“How is it you’ve been able to manage being isolated out here for so long?”
“I was born in 2013. My parents were fanatical antivax isolationists, so I didn’t see anyone other than them from 2020 until they died in 2033. I never developed much dependence on other people.”