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Hina's Simp

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Posts posted by Hina's Simp

  1. Posted

    I took out Kalitas to play Questing Beast. My Arthurian heart quaked at the idea. I couldn't resist such a powerful card. I also added Vraska. Originally a two-of, but I went down to one to increase the land count. Scavenging Ooze is a two drop, since my curve into three was getting pretty high up there.

  6. Posted

    On 1/13/2020 at 4:14 PM, radio414 said:

     

    This is beautiful; it might be my speakers or the acoustics, there could be a lot of problems, but I am not getting the full experience of this and the audio track does not do the song as much justice as hearing it as it should be played. 7/10.

    On 1/13/2020 at 5:21 PM, Yui said:

     

    throwback bonus 6/10

     

    On 1/14/2020 at 12:30 AM, LordCowCow said:

     

    I always hate System's vocalist. 4/10

    On 1/14/2020 at 1:50 PM, ShootUpButtercup said:

    not having terrible taste is lame

    terrible 5/10 doesn't even deserve proper comments. i'd rather listen to the frontbottoms

  9. Posted

    On 1/11/2020 at 12:40 AM, Flame Dragon said:

    I know nothing about Pioneer, but if Rhino just not good enough for this type of deck? I know I really liked the look of Abzan Megamorph when that was thing so 

    Clunky? Space? The card hasn't performed all that well, easily outclassed by Questing Beast for the cost and value it provides. It is a nice idea, being a Helix on a solid body, but the card doesn't hold up against Dredge/and other cards. It is really just a card on its own, not really worth playing. I could add more on it; I just don't consider playing it.

  11. Posted · Edited by Daemon the True Admin

     

    2 Assassin's Trophy
    4 Deathmist Raptor
    4 Den Protector
    4 Fabled Passage
    4 Fatal Push
    3 Forest
    2 Godless Shrine
    2 Hissing Quagmire
    1 Murderous Rider
    4 Overgrown Tomb
    1 Plains
    2 Questing Beast
    2 Scavenging Ooze
    4 Shambling Vent
    2 Swamp
    4 Sylvan Advocate
    2 Temple Garden
    4 Thoughtseize
    1 Tireless Tracker
    4 Voice of Resurgence
    2 Vraska, Golgari Queen
    2 Woodland Cemetery

    1 Ashiok, Dream Render
    2 Damping Sphere
    2 Duress
    2 Elspeth, Sun's Nemesis
    2 Knight of Autumn
    2 Mastery of the Unseen
    2 Remorseful Cleric
    2 Whisperwood Elemental

     

  14. Posted

    Not to instill; Usually when new style of cards come out, the quality of the renders are low. It is the same in this case, though should not stop people from enjoying themselves. I am thankful for you doing this, just want to mention that the template quality is quite low.

  15. Posted

    5 hours ago, Sophia said:

    So sweet, but I check daily, and I always have. No need to miss me when I'm as present as ever. Unfortunately, despite my presence I don't feel qualified to seriously contribute to any survey of the community, so I'm just watching vs voting.

    Okay. I don't miss you. 

  16. Posted

    6 hours ago, Darj said:

    If only Hina was around here as much as I wish she was ?

    Man, I miss the girl. Ya'll are cool; that's about it. I vote for Tormey for everything here.

  18. Posted

    Holiday themes are a good one. One of my favorites during my time on YCM was the creative secret santa, where someone who try something they haven't done before in a sort of gift homage to someone else in the pot. It was a nice gesture and didn't put too much weight on the more established "creatives" in certain mediums. Say NightWalker, famous YCM GFX Daddy, made a dedicated OC of a character from an anime even thought he wasn't a weeb. Things like that were fun.

    Community activities are ones that help to bring people together. Tournaments do not have any lasting effect on this site, except for CardMaking, and those were structured well but had a sense of elitism rather than a community following. That was more in how they were promoted instead of trying to increase the creative outflow or the proper design philosophy of cards.

    GFX is dead. Don't even bother. If someone opens up photoshop, send in the FBI. Stick to instagram editing, that's where the real money is.

  19. Posted

    Maybe? I want to liven up not only the Creative Writing section, since Dad has been some inspiration there. I also want to liven up the Literature/Book section through a reading group like Hina attempted, though have more structure to it. I think one way to do that would be a blog style, yet that wouldn't prioritize the section. I wouldn't know where to go, since the sections that could use a "blog" are the ones that would probably die off if a blog is more incorporated, since they are subjected to focused topics and themes that the forums and subforums take place in.

  21. Posted

    It was a light, October morning where the leaves, wearing tints of orange and brown, still fell from oak-bordered trees, layering upon white, tip-frosted strands of grass. Cold wind whisped, bending the trees, and shaking them down to wear they bore nothing but their naked branches, ruffling against each other. The sky was filled with streak-scattered, silvery-white clouds, hiding lilac covered light that started to change to a periwinkle, cerulean tone. Grey stones perched against each other, side by side, standing just ten feet above the ground, on top of a red-bricked wall. Gray tracks strayed perpendicular from the brick landing, over a gravel surface, receding toward where the sun was rising and proceeding to where the sky never seemed to end. The air breathed a cold sensation, halting people atop the platform in their place, trying to grab the clothing that they could extend and stretch over their skin that remained naked, uncovered.

    Sparks started to fly around the area, lighting up the ground that filled with charcoal smoke, with a piercing shriek hurdling away from the tracks, toward the air above it. People stood atop the platform; Their ears overwhelmed, by the sound and the cold air, that they pressed against their naked skin again, trying to retain warmth and keep out sound. Finally, the painful sound dismissed itself from the presence of all who stood around, waiting for it to be gone, and there was a ten-cart train that mounted on the tracks. Sparks bestowed the air, fading before meeting from their crimson skin, falling into the gravel below, and losing their light. The train came to a stop, fully, docking into the station. People released their grasp upon themselves, where there was no sound, from the friction of the train’s wheels and the tracks, to harm their ears, but still having the brisk air to tense them up again.

    Men went to grab their brown, tan, and black leather briefcases, lifting them up into the air. The trailer doors of the train sped to either side, opening up for passengers to cross over the medium. Feet shuffled, marking up the ground and stepping over the empty pit between the platform and the train. The platform suddenly became empty, while the train filled up, except for one man who was hunched over on a bench, alone, with an empty book in his hand. He slapped the book closed, snapping his fingers over his palm, putting his arm to his side. Ee arose from the bench, layered in a green shirt that was under a white sweater under a gray peacoat, with blue jeans that straightened up. With only a book in his hand and an eagerness to jump aboard for a journey all his own, by himself, he prepared himself. He got up from the tanish, undried bench, and steadied toward the train, while everyone else had already found their seat and took it. The man got on to the train at the last possible second. The doors alarming their ordinance to shut, close.

    He stood in the entry way, with aisles on either side to him. The walls were brimmed with mis-colored posters, parallel with each other, of advertisements that seemed well passed their longevity. Windows balanced the walls, being placed between posters, so the natural scenery wasn’t taken over by daunting images that passengers made effort to ignore. The cart was split into two sides, having sets stacked across the whole of the cart, only one walk way meeting in between the sections. Most seats were taken by people who had their heads glued to newspapers, dated to the most recent date, with events that took place not too long ago. Each passenger present, but the atmosphere hallowed. The train felt lonely, plain, empty, even with all of these people around. The man looked over faces, while he made his way down the aisle, with no recognition to anyone that bent their head down toward the stories that laid in their hand. He peered his head. He wasn’t just looking for a seat, instead looked over all who already accompanied one. His face grinned when he came to a familiar face that stood out amassed the unrecognized. Sat down was a old man, who seemed to be someone from long ago. The man looked to his book and walked himself through the aisle. To find himself welcomed, he only had to understand the world that he was in and recognize the beauty. For that endeavor, it brought him peace. A lesson he learned a long time ago, from someone who came off as a complete stranger, but changed a perspective on the world around this man.

    The man was alone on his way to a seat, but wasn’t worried about being alone. In fact, it was his way to enjoy the company of others, he didn’t have to worry them or trouble them for anything. He only had to focus on himself and enjoy the ability to be alone. He had moved on from all who came into his life, as they would all leave and never came back. Though, there is one time where this man only seemed to be accepting of someone taking place in his occupied space, a man who let him learn about the calmness of being by one’s self. All that that person had left behind was the simple book that this man hadn’t ever let go of.

    He finished his stride to the seat, his book still resting in his palm, gripped tightly, coming to the untaken seat. He sat down and claimed it as his own, his own little world amongst the collective of all the ones surrounding him. He opened the book in front of him, to the page behind the cover, but he couldn’t even read the first line until he was interrupted by the sound of the conductor reciting the next stop, “Road to Nowhere, we’re going to be here for a while”. That wasn’t exactly what the conductor said, it is just what this man had heard, to comfort him, readying to dive into his own world, like everyone around had already done. He was ready for the train ride itself, yet he couldn’t seem to start the story that laid in his hand.

    As he laid the book in his hand, handled just the spine, but couldn’t seem to find a hold on reality, while among people that he could consider peers, they were already worlds apart, riding along on their own trip with their own destination, and all this man has is a book in his stead and nothing but eyes gazed to the one who he might have known. Could it have been that guy?

    He shook off those ideas and went back to reading, turning to the first page and starting upon a journey that would take him somewhere, where he didn’t worry about the place he was going or those would come interrupt his journey. The book only meant that he would enter a different place, where only the words on the page made sense and could be rationalized into a dreamscape that was defined by already predetermined thoughts, understandings, yet he only understood the timing for his trip, not the reason for going on it.

    A stranger had given him this book, sending letters throughout the years, finding a collection with them, together. While the trip was to finally move on from a part of him that had already moved on. It was a testament to moving forward, unknowingly into a blank void, with no goal in mind and no one to help him find that goal, except what he had already known and had with him. He only had that book and himself at this point, with a place that, while comfortable in physicality, was the most painful experience that had happened thus far. He was here, by himself, amongst a crowd of people that had secluded himself, while being able to adjust to their own sphere of relevance. Until the train stopped again, and someone moved up from the seat, a man with a gray, shimmering sight, wearing clothes that seemed to fold to their own creases. This balded-scalp gentleman pointed to the book, rested against the walls that confined the one who sat, and said, “That is a book that I haven’t read in a long time, it is a good read. I hope you can enjoy yourself with it.”

    The man looked up, looked at the one in front of him, and recognized the face. “The world isn’t so lonely as it may be, ‘Love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…’” Spoke the gentleman, beholding a smile that seemed to calm and lighten up a space that was filled with nothing the man.

    All he could think was, so it was him. The gentleman spoke, “Why don’t we discuss it after the ride? I have no destination in mind, but would gladly accept your company.” and he smiled, for the company of someone else. The world blurred, and he wasn’t worried about the places he would be, but finally the person who helped him grow to become the man he is.

  22. Posted

    I assigned a creative piece; The assignment was that I needed to write 3 different chapters that took inspiration from The Beetle by Richard Marsh, from the Beetle’s perspective. Here are the three chapters I wrote for the assignment:

    Beauty in Bareness

    I pierce the lips of the world, recognizing the naked beauty that it holds. How natural it must to be, yet the natives restrict it through the garments they wear. I desire to bring out their beauty, not of the individuals. No, not them. Those monsters, how indecent. I must teach them the beauty that they hold naturally, by getting rid of what keeps them out of reach. What restricts them, confines them to their most horrible nature. These creatures, whatever they are, are monsters nonetheless. Though, it is their bareness and most natural way of life that is truly beautiful. These creatures stray from their beauty. Has a whole, their beauty is what brings out their life.

    Though they hide behind, under, and within, such disgusting fibers upon fibers…as it is them. It cannot be, nor will I let it become. I will help them to grasp their nudeness, the most refined form of who they are and what they can be. I will free them from their bondage, and I must start with those who enter my sanctum. I must show them the beauty that these creatures have deterred away from, by breaking them from their chains and show what is truly beautiful. Reflect their beauty through me and use that to teach them that they restrict themselves from what would make these creatures…just so beautiful.

    The Tongue

    The GREAT Paul Lessingham becomes distant, not accepting what I have tried to show him and even go so far to reject my display. It is not good enough and I must advance more, that I can help Paul Lessingham…and maybe he could help me. His piercing eyes grasp me, hold me still and restrain me that I do the same to him, only to have him know how he makes me feel. The Great Paul Lessingham is greater than just by his bareness, for he takes himself in and presents it to the world, yet he still hides behind his garments. He holds himself back from being more than him. His body, most pure, is the most beautiful object in the world, that I must explore it and learn what makes it so beautiful.

    It is more than himself, he has caught me and entrapped me that I do not fight back. I want him to know of me as I have learned of him. He forces his glares while not recognizing me. Instead, he rejects me while only pushing for himself more. His words, how he talks to and about himself, make him be something above his bareness. And it restrains me, that I do not know of why or what I must partake in to free him from what holds him away from who he is. I am trapped by the desire to have the Great Paul Lessingham take me in, to communicate with me and have him feel as he makes me feel. There lacks his desire to learn of me, while he rejects what he thinks I am. To hear his words, to hear his tongue, while not being able to have him hear mine. Beyond our voice, his body strikes me. I know his tongue…I must make him know mine.

    The Dance

    I can change to meet their needs and they still only push me away. Their world is filled with people who hide within their presence, the disaster of what they wear. Only do they see the beauty when they see me, but that beauty is beyond what is understood. So, they reject me, call me a monster. Call me something that I dare do not believe. But if they call me a monster and reject my ways; the ways which bring out the most refined sense of beauty, the most natural form of life. It is only now that I am left to travel, forced out of the world that I tried to make better. Away from the world which I have learned to love, tried to make better, to make perfect. The “Beetle” has become my name, a name of the beasts that are so insignificant that they do not care for or recognize. Fitting, for the monster they see me as, even though it is their beauty that they hide from.

    Their skin, the lovely bareness that is hidden behind clothes. It was mine to touch, hold, observe, and come to love. But it was also those creatures, the voice within the skin that kept me away from what I saw to be perfect. Their perfect nakedness on display for me, in front of me, while I reflect the beauty back to them. Yet, it is not what they desire, and they do not desire me either. I may be a bug, a monster, to them, but they were the most beautiful to me. And it wasn’t meant to be when they cast me out. They cast me away, so away I must go. I learned to love what they hide. And they did not desire to do the same.

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