i think merle’s backstory might be my favourite out of the tres horny boys because it’s so so fucking unique and thought-provoking
he’s this reluctant cleric who kinda got foisted into being a Pannite the same way kids in rural communities get foisted into going to church with their parents on sunday. only these imposed beliefs became the source of his magic and spellcasting and, at the end of the day, his primary source of utility
like kids i know who had to go to church with their parent grow up, move out, and are free to stop doing that and forget about religion entirely if they want. but Merle couldn’t because that’s All He Fucking Had. and he believes in Pan but it’s such a procedural and mechanic expectation of him at this point
and like… to have the crystal kingdom arc and to have this god that you work for, however reluctantly, but still stay true to - to have that god “lie” to you and wound you and to then turn around be asked to trust again? like. holy shit. what a heavy weight to shoulder. and he does it but now he’s bound to this belief because of his fucking prosthetic - faltering for a moment means losing a limb. again. like!!!!
i don’t know i’m sorry for rambling i just love Merle a LOT. his backstory is so cool. i wish he was my dad.
The Milky Way, as seen over rural Wisconsin. The Northern Skies collection is both a personal challenge to create multiple works using the same limited color palette, and a loving tribute to the night sky of the Upper Midwest, my home.
I feel like no one ever talks about rural girlhood, certainly not the way they talk about rural boyhood. my childhood was full of distinct imagery, like dirt roads between school bus and house, picking flowering weeds just to twirl them in my fingers, watching my friends kiss boys when they were too young, and struggling to find a place where I could wear dresseswithout losing the respect of other kids. I remember wandering through trails while it was barely raining and just seeing the hints of other houses, like I was in a maze of liminal space, and any tree I passed under might be the doorway to someplace else. small town boyhood is portrayed as this kind of innocence before masculinity destroys you, but I remember my small town girlhood as privacy, the space to think, a quiet kind of imagination, an almost shared awareness with my friends of a time limit on our emotional freedom, our ability to feel close to each other without self consciousness. I don’t know. I feel like we don’t romanticize the experiences of girls, and we should.
one night, i was way out in rural kentucky where my grandparents live, taking my dog out to pee. it was silent but for the wind and the pie tins my grandparents hang up to scare pests away from the garden, and the grass glowed in the moonlight. suddenly, there was a new sound, and i was left trying to comprehend the unearthly purrs and trills of what sounded like an enderman or a houndeye. i PANICKED. and that is the story of my first encounter with a wild turkey
Man like…Even as someone who uses the q word for herself/friends who are okay w it, I get INCREDIBLY uncomfortable when I see stuff claiming it is universally not a slur while completely ignoring regional dialects use of the word