Once Again Our Paths Converge. Welcome To This Humble Emporium Of Wares, Named After One Such Commander

Have you ever played a video game that just made you so fucking angry?

Yeah all of them, every single one, even minecraft. Fuck minecraft.

one of my favorite parts of moby dick is when ishmael wants/needs to tell us something but he desperately doesn't want to have to talk about it, he just buries it in a bunch of irrelevant information.

at the very beginning, he goes to church. a place filled with "silent grief... insular and incommunicable." and he sees these marble tablets on either side of the pulpit and says 'I don't really remember them all that well' (which is likely a lie. at the least it's extremely out of character for a man who directly quotes the internal monologues of other men) and proceeds to give three paraphrased examples. the first tablet is for a teenager, lost overboard off patagonia. the tablet was paid for by his sister. the second is for 6 men, taken by a whale they were hunting in the pacific. the tablet was paid for "by their surviving shipmates." the third is for a captain, killed on his own boat by a sperm whale off japan. the tablet was paid for by his widow. all seemingly normal.

except they're not. the first one is a red herring, seemingly irrelevant to our story. but the second? a memorial for a crew lost to a whale, left by their surviving shipmates? that's exactly what we're reading. the surviving shipmate is ishmael. he's all that remains. and then he pivots, drawing our attention to the much clearer parallel- the captain who loses his life on his own boat to a sperm whale. and we all immediately go "oh I know who that is! ahab!!" and ishmael succeeds. he needs us to see the sailors remembered by their surviving crew, but even more he needs to not address it. he needs us to not ask him about it. he wants this story to be told but he doesn't want to be the one telling it. he wants to pretend to be someone else, to be someone other than the one who survived. and for 135 chapters, he gets to be.

I LOVE HER SO MUCH

Hi my name is Stigmata Divine Suffering Crucifixion Christ and I have bloody stigmata wounds (that’s how I got my name) with fresh blood and a deep gash on my side that reaches my mid-back and pain-filled blue eyes like Our Lady of Sorrows’ tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Mary Magdalene (AN: if you don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Jesus Christ but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a saint but I haven’t been canonized. I have scabbed up skin. I’m also a priest, and I go to an abbey called Montecassino in Italy where I’m a newly ordained priest (I’m seventeen). I’m a catholic (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly vestments. I love the Vatican and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black alb with a matching black cassock, and a black linen surplice, a red stole, and episcopal sandals. I had crimson blood dripping from the crown of thorns wounds in my head, the four nail wounds in both my hands and feet, and the spear wound in my side. I was walking outside Montecassino Abbey. It was storming and raining which made me think about Isaiah 4:6, which I was very happy about. A lot of protestants stared at me. I put up my crucifix at them.

“Hey Stigmata!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was... Pope Francis!

“What’s up Pope?” I asked.

“Nothing.” he said shyly.

But then, I heard the archbishops call me and I had to go away.

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AN: IS it good? PLZ tell me thanks be 2 god! amen

I found this old script from a while ago and i might adapt it into a comic after i finish a project im currently on, MY HEART ACHESSS 

gotta admit, I'm impressed with their dedication to the bit

Congratulations to Elden Ring for winning the Game of the Year 2022 award in The Game Awards! Elden Ring was a turning-point experience in my life, and I couldn't be more grateful for being able to play this masterpiece! Here's a small fanart of Radagon to celebrate!

the most insane thing about moby dick is that i have never, ever felt more of a personal connection with a narrator - in the way that i feel like ishmael really is telling me the story. that i'm some stranger that happened to sit beside him, maybe ask his name, and suddenly he's taken my hand and telling me his story. except he suddenly disappears from his story, and it barely seems about him anymore. it's about the crew, it's about queequeg, it's about the young boy pip, it's about starbuck and the family he'll never see again, it's about ahab, it's about the ship, it's about the brutality of the whaling industry, it's about the beauty of these men who take it on, and the beauty of the creatures they hunt, and it's about god and how small and insignificant we are. and suddenly ishmael allows himself back into the story but it doesn't change anything. everything and everyone is dead and gone. 'and i only am escaped alone to tell thee.' the drama's done and the sea rolls on just as it did 5,000 years ago. the story is all ishmael has left of them. it's all he can give you. 'do you understand?' ishmael is asking you. 'can you bear the weight of their story? when remembering is all we can do to give any of this meaning? can you give any of this meaning?' and it's too late for you. you carry the story now, too. now you have to remember. grieve and remember and give it meaning.