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The Shadowden

@thewingedshadow / thewingedshadow.tumblr.com

Truck Driver/Writer/Artist/Bead Addict
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In the spirit of fairness, every RPG franchise that’s given us an endless succession of reedy twentysomething twink protagonists also owes us a middle-aged woman who’s just fucking jacked.

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Possible variations that technically satisfy all the qualifying tropes of one of the Standard JRPG Protagonist Backstories™:

  • Ex-nun whose convent got burned down by the baddies, and now she’s on a quest for revenge. She’s jacked as fuck because she was the church’s bellringer. (Yes, it’s extremely unlikely that a small convent would have those massive iron bells, but just go with it.) Lightly armoured paladin type whose smiting powers all have a bell/thunder damage theme.  
  • Rural schoolteacher whose class happened to contain the Sacred Child of the Whatever; when the Dark Lord’s servants came, it turns out that monsters aren’t good at telling human children apart, so they snatched the whole class. Clearly this will not stand. She’s ripped because she takes her physical education curriculum seriously – picture a gym-teacher-themed grappler tank.  
  • Big, strapping fiftysomething farmer who’s basically a genderbent riff on those Dad Games that were a thing a few years back, and the other party members are her variously biological and adopted kids. Interception tank with a healer off-spec, except all of her buffing and healing abilities are flavoured as her shouting at people to get back on their feet, dammit.  
  • Literally the Chosen One, but due to a misalignment of the stars, the Call to Adventure came thirty years late, during which time she’d grown up and become a blacksmith. Spends the first act thinking the messenger of the gods is some sort of scam artist, but plays along because okay, let’s see where they’re going with this. Another paladin type, this time with a fire/metal theme.  
  • Acolyte of the Great Tree charged with experiencing the wider world. She’s the normal age for this sort of thing, because the Great Tree doesn’t give perilous duties to mere saplings; plays the “fresh-faced novice out to see the world“ trope straight, except she’s like fifty years old and built like an oak tree. Earth-flavoured defender type with a quarterstaff that weighs about thirty pounds.

I’m totally stealing the Great Tree Acolyte.

No more wise old mentors. From now on your mentor options are

1. old mentor that turns out to have at least the same amount of chaotic dumbass energy as the protagonist

2. mentor that is the same age or younger than the protagonist and is only in the position of mentor because they have experience with one specific thing, but in every other respect they are just as young and dumb as the protagonist is

actually there’s a third option

3. mentor who is technically an adult and is Authoritative in the eyes of the teen protagonist but actually they’re like 31 and their internal monologue is just “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” all the time. bonus points if their mentorship consists of giving the protagonist bad, morally dubious, or legally sketchy advice. Bonus points if they are internally like a super attached parent and have mega anxiety over their doe eyed teenage hero child. Extra bonus points if you manage both of those last two things at the same time.

Okay but the dumbass has to win out a majority of the time.

Alternatively: A fourth type of mentor, which is “ancient nonhuman that is super wise and full of knowledge of magic, but knows like zero things about human customs, everyday life, or like, how to operate a microwave.”

There are varying degrees of this.

Young, Naive Protagonist: I really like this girl, but I don’t know how to tell if she likes me...

Ancient Dragon, Unaware That He Has Unwittingly Become a Father Figure: Just regurgitate some prey in front of her and see if she accepts it.

Ancient Dragon, Realizing He’s Out of Touch: Hail, librarian! I’m in search of books on how to care for a human adolescent.

Librarian, Terrified: ...that’ll be the parenting section

I love everything about this

Your sailor nickname is [what color your shirt is] [your first pet’s name]. You are [phone battery percentage] years old. Your ship is the HMS [last thing you ate].

Grey Rat-What-Are-You-Doing, 61, of HMS Oatmeal, pleased to meet you.

Gold

All those young artists

got told grow up

gotta get a real job

make that money

sketchpads bought with allowances

what a waste

you won't ever make a living

not a real living

not a 'taking the kids to Disneyland' living

I had the textbooks

with a pencil sketch of mountains

on page 242

drawn by an accountant

taught by a teacher

who left a landscape

on the inside back cover

of Basic Algebra

How many eyes

were forced back from beauty

by the insistence that trying

longing to capture

seeing outside

of an appropriate career path

was pointless?

Unless your vision

encompasses the exploitation of others

the confiscation of the label 'visionary'

in service to greed

then nobody cares,

Grow up they say

grow up

give in

grow up

give up

I’m in this picture and I don’t like it.

X

Stainless steel eyes

you give back everything take nothing

I see the curve and curl

of my world between your lashes

You see the wreck and ruin

burning tires by the old school

get your nipples hard

make your moist lips part,

A pile of pallets is my pulpit

Jim Beam and Ritz sacraments

for the trampled masses

who wander over from the Wash-O-Mat

yeah got my crozier

in these gray jeans

I would give you my benediction

a blessing that won't get you into heaven

but you might not care

for a while

artisan

Build something broken

your eyes down

hunched over

gather baubles trinkets

a feather a shiny moment

push them in your pocket

til a dark corner

on your knees

take your treasures

rename them

pretend this puzzle

was meant to be

brush away the dust

a stray tear

glue it all together

coax it to life

by promising it belief

so this time

it doesn't shatter

at the first touch of doubt

Maybe I should do that more often. Since creating that space just for the "Neighbors" thread the characters have been a little more open to me. Of course it helps when you actually like them. Trust me, as @thewingedshadow mentioned, it's totally possible to have characters you not only don't like, it actually makes you uncomfortable writing them.

Because, despite what a Creative Writing professor I had thinks (and I'm not joking) fiction doesn't always have some level of autobiography to it. If that were even slightly true Stephen King would have killed off most of Maine by now.

It's entirely possible to create characters that you're genuinely scared of, I have a number of those. Sometimes I wonder where they come from. I think every one has some... autobiographical detail, but some are too weird, too scary to be entirely me. I don't know where they come from. I stopped asking. I used to talk to my characters in my head all the time when I was younger but society always told me it’s just not done.

Sometimes I think about places I have seen while driving and then I imagine the people that live there and people just... materialize in my head and tell me stories. It’s weird but also makes my world a bit less lonely.

I don't know if you remember me but I haven't been on here for ages - last time I came looking your account was inactive and I got angry and never went back. Now I went in to find a poem of yours that I was thinking about and saw that you're back!

I'm very happy you're back. I haven't touched a truck wheel in over two years now but I have a 1,5 year old son and that probably accounts for something. I miss the road every day. I've only been in long distance for a little more than a whole year and by now it seems like a completely different life and I spent an hour today reading through your tumblr and I'm just... I miss driving so much.

Hills and trees and the eternally twisting
White line on the grey canvas of the road
The world is cast in a frame like a picture
Painted inside a black lined box
Sunlight breaks on the dirt splattered window
The wheels whisper their never ending song
Every new day and every new bend of the road
This never changes, now and forevermore
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I absolutely remember you, my truck driving friend from Germany! Yes, I deleted my allnightsong blog. During a periodic meltdown. When I went to reestablish my blog I couldn't use allnightsong for some reason and so became allnightsong2. I'm very glad to hear from you and congratulations on being a mother!!

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Oh I’ve been a mother before - my daughter is turning 14. It’s just a whole different story now. Being a mother at 32 is different than being a mother at 19. I think. More things hurt. But one also has more patience. Sometimes. I have thought, I have dealt with moronic fourwheel drivers and dispatchers and crazy bike students on a daily basis, so what’s a baby compared to this? Turns out, a baby is a lot more exhausting than the stupidest dispatcher out there. It’s easier to be stuck in traffic for 5 hours than to lie in your bed awake for 2 because the baby doesn’t want to sleep for some reason. You can listen to loud music and eat unhealthy stuff and talk to people on the phone when you’re stuck in traffic, but you have to be still and hum monotone melodies when you’re trying to get a baby asleep.

He’s not that much of a baby anymore even if he now calls himself mama’s baby, in the cutest manner possible. He likes trucks. But honestly, he likes pretty much everything. Dogs. Cars. Snails. 

Meanwhile, I’ve been hanging out on Instagram posting beadwork pictures and the occasional shot from when I’ve been on the road, but Instagram has a different kind of community than tumblr had back then. I’ve been told tumblr is not what it had been. But then again, what is?

I miss the road with a passion. But the road won’t probably go anywhere in the next few years.

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We forgot about it

I once signed up to participate in a study on how depression affects memory, forgot I was meant to go do it, and when I emailed to apologise to the PhD student running it she basically told me that a) she was very used to this happening and b) the weird irony of her theories’ correctness making it very difficult to arrange proving them had by now gone from infuriating to hysterical

I’m trying to expand this project and add all kinds of new features. If you want to help, you can pledge 1$ to my patreon here, and in exchange, you’ll get access to a second project where I try to create the coziest/warmest art collection on the internet.

odin is like “when thor was born the sun shone bright upon his beautiful face. i found loki on the sidewalk outside a taco bell”

Oðinn spake:

Bright the sun shone | at the time of Þor’s birth, And bathed his count'nance fair. Loki, wolf-father, | the trickster, the liar, I found on the cold pavement While returning in glory | from a grand hunt For a 3 AM quesadilla.

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I need this framed on my wall it’s so beautiful. 

My husband complained that this was more Shakespeare than Eddas, and I challenged him to do better.

Solen sken, skönt gyllene

Dagen Tor föddes

På trottoaren, vid Taco Bell

Där låg Loke

—KJN

My translation:

The sun shone, sweet golden

The day of Tor’s birth

On the tarmac, by Taco Bell

There lay Loki

(For poetry reasons, Thor needs the Swedish spelling.)

@bold-sartorial-statement no but hang on this should be in runes: 

(oops spot the typos)

i wanna translate this into icelandic so imma do it 

Sólin skein, björt og gullin við fæðingu Þórs á stígnum við Taco Bell Þar lá Loki

The amount of quality going into these shitposts is amazing

This is not shitposting, this is transformative work!

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And in Danish because why not:

Solen skinnede, skøn og gylden

På dagen for Tors fødsel

På asfalten ved Taco Bell

Dér lå Loke

“LEV MERE (LIVE MAS)”

*Snorts*

When Thor born

He hair shine brite

A very very

Magical site

But then I see

A bab from hell

I pik up loki

From taco bell

logging on to tumblr after half a year or smth and seeing this is very rewarding

live signs

I’m not dead yet.

2018 is 3/4 over.It’s a better year than 2017, by a long shot, but things are going so fast it’s a blur and I also feel I have no life but I think I actually experienced the most life per year ratio in the past 10 years. Sorry if it doesn’t make sense to the outside world.  It does make sense in my head.

What’s good about this year?

I freed myself from the crap I lived in during 2016 and 2017. I wish I would have done so earlier but apparently I wasn’t ready before. Maybe I needed to go through that crap to appreciate the good things.

I went out and got a job all on my own. (Nevermind I quit that job two weeks ago, I’m in the process of getting a new one. On my own.)

I met the most wonderful person I ever knew, and I love him to bits, and sometimes it’s difficult to figure things out but I know I want to live life on his side as long as there is life to live. I do not say these things lightly. Every day I am grateful to know him and have him in my life and have the honour of being loved by him. I am sorry I am such a mess sometimes, but I would go to hell and back for you.

I have become very self-confident in my job. I know I can drive truck, I know I am a better driver than a lot of men I encounter every day, I know what I can do and what I cannot do and what I didn’t do yet but definitely can learn to do. Most men are intimidated by my confidence.

I have re-discovered my passion for beadwork and I have business plans for next year - actually wanted to do things this year but I can’t handle so many things at once.

I started to write stuff again. It’s mostly just Sims Fanfic but I don’t care, it’s got words and I’m writing it. 

I have plans for next year and I have dreams that I feel might come true at some point. I am dealing with my fears and with my mental health issues as good as I can.

What’s not so good about this year?

I don’t have time for anything. While I understand this comes with being a long distance truck driver, some things could be better with a better organization on my side. I’m still not very efficient in time management. 

I still struggle with depression and autistic tendencies and other weird things going on with my brain. I get panic attacks and depression hits me hard now and then and I am dealing with high anxiety levels all the time. I’m not an easy person to deal with in the best of times, and when my brain is going haywire I’m unloading piles of crap on my partner and I’m sorry he has to deal with it. Sometimes I don’t understand how he is still here.

I still don’t have a place of my own. This is particularly crippling because, basically, I don’t have a home to come back to. My beloved has a rather difficult living situation and there’s no room for me to be at home. I need to have certain things around and it’s not possible at his place. We’re in the process of finding our own place but we’re both truck drivers and we’re both in long distance and we both have the problem of not having time or physically not being able to do things on account of sitting in the truck in the middle of nowhere.

But all in all? Things are getting better. Life goes on. I’m hanging in there.

Female figurine from the Hohle Fels cave near Stuttgart, about 35,000 years old. Interpreted as a pornographic pin-up.

“The Earliest Pornography” says Science Now, describing the 35,000 year old ivory figurine that’s been dug up in a cave near Stuttgart. The tiny statuette is of a female with exaggerated breasts and vulva. According to Paul Mellars, one of the archaeologist twits who commented on the find for Nature, this makes the figurine “pornographic.” Nature is even titling its article, “Prehistoric Pin Up.” It’s the Venus of Willendorf double standard all over again. Ancient figures of naked pregnant women are interpreted by smirking male archaeologists as pornography, while equally sexualized images of men are assumed to depict gods or shamans. Or even hunters or warriors. Funny, huh?

Consider: phallic images from the Paleolithic are at least 28,000 years old. Neolithic cultures all over the world seemed to have a thing for sculptures with enormous erect phalluses. Ancient civilizations were awash in images of male genitalia, from the Indian lingam to the Egyptian benben to the Greek herm. The Romans even painted phalluses on their doors and wore phallic charms around their necks.

Ithyphallic figure from Lascaux, about 17,000 years old. Interpreted as a shaman.

But nobody ever interprets this ancient phallic imagery as pornography. Instead, it’s understood to indicate reverence for male sexual potency. No one, for example, has ever suggested that the Lascaux cave dude was a pin-up; he’s assumed to be a shaman. The ithyphallic figurines from the Neolithic — and there are many — are interpreted as gods. And everyone knows that the phalluses of ancient India and Egypt and Greece and Rome represented awesome divine powers of fertility and protection. Yet an ancient figurine of a nude woman — a life-giving woman, with her vulva ready to bring forth a new human being, and her milk-filled breasts ready to nourish that being — is interpreted as pornography. Just something for a man to whack off to. It’s not as if there’s no other context in which to interpret the figure. After all, the European Paleolithic is chock full of pregnant-looking female statuettes that are quite similar to this one. By the time we get to the Neolithic, the naked pregnant female is enthroned with lions at her feet, and it’s clear that people are worshipping some kind of female god.

Yet in the Science Now article, the archaeologist who found the figurine is talking about pornographic pin-ups: “I showed it to a male colleague, and his response was, ‘Nothing’s changed in 40,000 years.’” That sentence needs to be bronzed and hung up on a plaque somewhere, because you couldn’t ask for a better demonstration of the classic fallacy of reading the present into the past. The archaeologist assumes the artist who created the figurine was male; why? He assumes the motive was lust; why? Because that’s all he knows. To his mind, the image of a naked woman with big breasts and exposed vulva can only mean one thing: porn! Porn made by men, for men! And so he assumes, without questioning his assumptions, that the image must have meant the same thing 35,000 years ago. No other mental categories for “naked woman” are available to him. His mind is a closed box. This has been the central flaw of anthropology for as long there’s been anthropology. And even before: the English invaders of North America thought the Iroquois chiefs had concubines who accompanied them everywhere, because they had no other mental categories to account for well-dressed, important-looking women sitting in a council house. It’s the same fallacy that bedevils archaeologists who dig up male skeletons with fancy beads and conclude that the society was male dominant (because powerful people wear jewelry!), and at another site dig up female skeletons with fancy beads and conclude that this society, too, was male dominant (because women have to dress up as sex objects and trophy wives!). Male dominance is all they can imagine. And so no matter what they dig up, they interpret it to fit their mental model. It’s the fallacy that also drives evolutionary psychology, the central premise of which is that human beings in the African Pleistocene had exactly the same values, beliefs, prejudices, power struggles, goals, and needs as the middle-class white professors and students in a graduate psychology lab in modern-day Santa Barbara, California. And that these same factors are universal and unchanged and true for all time.

Hohle Fels phallus, about 28,000 years old. Interpreted as a symbolic object and …flint knapper. Yes.

That’s not science; it’s circular, self-serving propaganda. This little figurine from Hohle Fels, for example, is going to be used as “proof” that pornography is ancient and natural. I guarantee it. Having been interpreted by pornsick male archaeologists as pornography because that’s all they know, the statuette will now be trotted out by every every psycho and male supremacist on the planet as “proof” that pornography is eternal, that male dominance is how it’s supposed to be, and that feminists are crazy so shut the fuck up. Look for it in Steven Pinker’s next book. ***

P.S. My own completely speculative guess on the figurine is that it might be connected to childbirth rituals. Notice the engraved marks and slashes; that’s a motif that continues for thousands of years on these little female figurines. No one knows what they mean, but they meant something. They’re not just random cut marks. Someone put a great deal of work into this sculpture. Given that childbirth was incredibly risky for Paleolithic women, they must have prayed their hearts out for help and protection in that time. I can imagine an elder female shaman or artist carving this potent little figure, and propping it up somewhere as a focus for those prayers.

On the other hand, it is possible that it has nothing to do with childbearing or sexual behavior at all. The breasts and vulva may simply indicate who the figure is: the female god. Think of how Christ is always depicted with a beard, which is a male sexual characteristic, even though Christ isn’t about male sexuality. The beard is just a marker. Or, given the figurine’s exaggerated breasts, it may have something to do with sustenance: milk, food, nourishment.

The notion that some dude carved this thing to whack off to — when he was surrounded by women who probably weren’t wearing much in the way of clothes anyway — is laughable.

#reclusiveleftist #women’s history #porn #white men are stupid

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There was a post doing the rounds on tumblr a while back that I wish I could find, but most of it seemed to be taken from this study by LeRoy McDermott, Comparing Modern Bodies with Prehistoric Artifacts.

When looked at from above, as a woman observes herself, the breasts of PKG-style figurines assume the natural proportions of the average modern woman of childbearing age. For example, the dimensions of the breasts of the off-illustrated Venus of Willendorf are comparable to those of a 26-year-old mother-to-be with a 34C bust (see fig. 5). When foreshortened from above, even the apparent hypertrophic dimensions of the Venus of Lespugue and the best-preserved figurine from Dolní Vestonice enter into a reasonably normal, albeit buxom, range.
McDermott goes on to theorise that the reason most of these hyper-female statues are missing a head and hands is that the head, obviously, can’t be viewed by the sculptor without access to a reflection of some kind. As the hands are in a constant state of motion making the figurine, it would also be difficult to have a fixed reference to work from.

The whole thing reminds me of that oft-quoted Sandi Toksvig article:

When I was a student at Cambridge I remember an anthropology professor holding up a picture of a bone with 28 incisions carved in it. “This is often considered to be man’s first attempt at a calendar” she explained. She paused as we dutifully wrote this down. “My question to you is this – what man needs to mark 28 days? I would suggest to you that this is woman’s first attempt at a calendar.”
It was a moment that changed my life. In that second I stopped to question almost everything I had been taught about the past. How often had I overlooked women’s contributions? How often had I sped past them as I learned of male achievement and men’s place in the history books?

Working (loosely) in an archeological field for this past year has made me realise how much is taken for granted about ancient culture and to what degree we patch up the remnants of the past with modern values and notions of gender and sexuality. On a daily basis I’m asked - when in character - who my husband is, whether I’m a cook, why I’m holding a spear and carry a dagger and slingshot as part of my kit. These notions of a woman’s place are so ingrained that the children on school trips to the hill fort frequently can’t believe it when I tell them our Chieftain is a woman. Even if the only Iron Age Briton they can name is Boudica, they have a hard time getting their head around it.

I know I’ve reblogged this before, but I just can’t help myself. It’s way too cool.

things men dont seem to understand: women have always existed and contributed to society as more than just sex objects

Women have always existed.