#especially for this thing which i'm determined to put so much effort into. like what if i do all that

[ferretwhomst]

[rocking back and forth in a corner] it's alright that your writing isn't structured as well as you would've liked, it's alright that it feels shaky and unnatural, it's okay that there's plot holes, what matters is that you keep going, get that idea down on paper, and you can go back and expand on it later. yes even if it's bad yes even if it's messy. and even then if it doesn't feel quite right it's still worthy of respect and love and appreciation because you wrote that with your own two hands and the words came from your own mind. perfection is nothing, improvement is everything, there is no such thing as a perfect piece of writing.

#in case anyone is wondering how i'm doing with my fic #UGHGH i keep rereading the parts ive written so far and i'm starting to get annoyed with the first chapter especially #like i feel like more experienced writers than me will find my fic and be like. Wow. This sucks! #its Such a ridiculous fear im sure nobody is gonna think that but STILL #especially for this thing which i'm determined to put so much effort into. like what if i do all that #and then it still turns out to be like. unremarkable #god. GOD. it's FINE writing a fic which is slightly messy will NOT be the death of me #dear lord i hope someday my perfectionism is easier to shut up because it Will Not fuck off right now #theres also smth to be said here about how school messed me up but i cant put my finger on it #feel free to reblog btwwww #i know some of my mutuals are fellow writers and tbh itd be comforting to know that im not alone SDJKKJDVS #although if you do relate im also. patting you on the back bc its a terrible feeling #ferret rambles

[literaticat]

 If your book earns out (eventually)that's good for the author and publisher, right? Why is there a big stress on preorders, first week sales and what a book does right out of the gate? Shouldn't publishers wait a year before they make a final determination to a books success? Especially with things like TikTok that can help bolster sales out of nowhere. It seems like there's so much pressure on authors for success straight away. Do publishers just want their investment back ASAP?

I don't know how you got your question to be in bold? ANYway, since there are like 30 questions in here I'm just going to take them bird by bird.

If your book earns out (eventually) that's good for the author and publisher, right? Yes, of course.

Why is there a big stress on preorders, first week sales and what a book does right out of the gate? Well, for several reasons:

-- A book with a ton of pre-orders feels "exciting" -- if you owned a bookstore, and you had ordered two copies of GREATBOOK initially to come in -- but then 30 people pre-ordered it from you -- you'd probably strongly consider ordering EXTRA copies, right? That seems like an indication that people really are interested in this book, you should have a pile of them, not just two! You should put it on display!

-- A book with a ton of pre-orders and first-week sales has a much better chance to hit a bestseller list (specifically, the NYT bestseller list). Why? Let's say your author started asking people to pre-order six months ago and those orders have been stacking up in dribs and drabs. But that book doesn't go on sale until January 15th. ALL SIX MONTHS of pre-orders are going to get rung up on release day. The NYT is based on books sold during one week's time compared to all other books sold during that one week. Obviously, a book with a ton of pre-orders will get a big boost that week!

-- Books that hit the list get more visibility, they get people hooting about them on social media, they get to be called "NYT Bestselling" which seems fancy, ALL of that can very much help sales going forward. Is it the be-all-end-all? No, of course not. But there's no doubt that it's NICE!

-- The majority of publisher-led publicity and marketing efforts are focused on before or soon after release date -- getting gatekeepers like booksellers, librarians, etc whatever interested in ordering the book into their stores and libraries, getting reviews, pitching the book to media outlets, etc -- so IF those efforts are going to help a book, you're more likely to get that boost when the book is new. After several months have gone by, a thousand newer books have come out, focus has shifted to those books.

Shouldn't publishers wait a year before they make a final determination to a books success?

I mean - I think they do? These things are not mutually exclusive. Of course they'd like to have a lot of success right out of the gate. Obviously, they'd be delighted to have a lot of success later, as well. Plenty of books grow in sales as time goes on, etc -- I don't think anyone is deeming a book a failure if the book doesn't hit it out of the park immediately. I can't speak for adult books, but on the kid's side, we don't really know what kind of longevity a book might have for probably at least a year, because there needs to be time for books to make their way onto state lists, into curriculum, and stuff like that -- for teachers to read it to classrooms, for kids to get hooked and tell friends, etc etc. Once a book is out in paperback and really getting imbedded into schools, we might see BONKERS sales that could never have been predicted from a sluggish start in bookstores a year or two earlier. Publishers are well aware of this -- books are not going out of print in the first year after release.

Especially with things like TikTok that can help bolster sales out of nowhere. It seems like there's so much pressure on authors for success straight away.

Yep, there are plenty of examples of books that have surprising late-in-life success bc of TikTok (or whatever) -- HOWEVER, the difference is, the publisher and author have little to no control over a book suddenly going viral "outta nowhere"! IT'S AMAZING AND GREAT when that happens, we can all wish for it and hope for it -- but it feels kind of out of our hands -- whereas things like pre-orders, getting blurbs, yadda yadda, are at least things that the publisher and author have a MODICUM of control over. They can't MAKE people pre-order, but they can TRY at least!

Do publishers just want their investment back ASAP?

That would be great, sure. But profit margins are slim, and many books never earn out. Publishers know that they are probably going to just break even on a lot of books, and lose money on some, and have big hits with a few. I don't think anyone is expecting every book to have massive pre-orders or huge initial sales or whatever else.

Further: Most of this "pressure" is coming from the authors themselves. Like, the call is coming from inside the house. I've NEVER heard a publisher insist that an author do some enormous pre-order campaign or hit social media relentlessly for months -- actually it's more likely that a publisher in the year of our lord 2024 will say that they don't really think a massive pre-order campaign is worth the effort. I've NEVER heard a publisher say that anything in particular rides on first week sales, or insist that a book must hit a bestseller list. Of course they are hoping for it, it would be great! But it would be foolish for them to say that it WILL or MUST happen, and if it doesn't, it doesn't diminish the author or their efforts in any way. Obviously when award-time comes, publishers AND authors are likely crossing their fingers that a book will get a big shiny medal, and they might be a little disappointed if their book doesn't get one (especially if armchair experts online were predicting that it might) -- but I've NEVER heard a publisher put pressure on an author about that kind of thing, either, if anything, the opposite.

Publishers are, in fact, much more likely to be trying to temper outsize author expectations, rather than stoking them. There might be a few outliers -- huge-name authors where everyone really does expect instant NYT success and glory, so if it doesn't happen for some reason, there's some disappointment all around - but truly? That level of expectation is quite rare, and if you happen to be in that echelon, you probably aren't asking questions like this on Tumblr, you're busy swanning around the Isle of Capri or something. And actually you probably don't feel PRESSURE to hit the list in that case anyway -- you just expect you will as that is normal for you. Bless.

Regular authors? Which is 99% of the authors reading this post? You can go ahead and calm down. We love you regardless of your pre-orders or initial sales. If you feel "enormous pressure" for "instant success" -- really take a look at where that pressure is coming from. Because it's probably not from agents or publishers, who know from long experience that almost no success is "instant" by any stretch of the imagination.

#publishing stuff #preorders #bestseller lists

[misshoneyimhome]

voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir I Simon Benoit 🖋️⚡️

Requested? Yes / No

Summary; The arrival of a new player on the team has drawn your attention, and in your role as a content creator for the Toronto Maple Leafs, you must proceed cautiously to find out whether you've also captured his interest.

I know, I'm terrible with summaries...

Other notes; Babes! We need to put on warnings when your requests introduce me to players with cute accents! 😂 I don't know why, but I've got a soft spot, alright (seriously got sucked down the rabbit hole while watching videos of him😅) 🤍 Anyway, so here is my very first smutty Simon Benoit fic - and I just hope you enjoy it 😊

Tropes & Warnings; sort of secret love; 18+ smut; fingering, protected penetrative sex (p in v);

Words counts; 4.2K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @justwanderingbutneverlost

・✶ ｡ﾟ

“Strength does not come from physical capacity - it comes from an indomitable will” - Tattoo on Simon Benoit’s chest.

_

Simon Benoit was nothing short of extraordinary. At least in your opinion.

Being part of the Toronto Maple Leafs community meant you were no stranger to the inner workings of the hockey world and the turmoil it brought every single day. From game nights filled with cheers and adrenaline to quiet moments of support and camaraderie, you'd seen it all from your perspective as a social media content creator.

And when Simon Benoit joined the team for the 23/24 season, he immediately caught your eye.

You weren't entirely sure what it was, yet there was simply something about the Quebecois defenceman that intrigued you from the start. Perhaps it was his effortless grace on the ice or the way his determination shone through every move. Or the way he battled at every opportunity, not accepting when things weren’t right or fair. Regardless of what it was, you found yourself drawn to him in a way that was both exciting and intimidating. His large frame, both in height and in width, made you seem like a small mouse compared to him, even in your heels. Yet his demeanour was nothing but friendly and soothing, which quickly evaporated all the harsh exterior.

But as much as you wanted to get to know Simon better, it wasn't easy, as his focus on his career and athletic performance left little room for anything else. You rarely crossed paths outside of the arena, and when you did, he was usually surrounded by teammates or lost in his own thoughts.

Despite the challenges, you couldn't help but admire his dedication and drive. Watching him on the ice, in the weight room, or on the training field, it was clear that he poured his heart and soul into every game and anything he did, leaving nothing behind but sweat and determination. And while it made getting close to him difficult, it only added to the allure.

Every day, you found yourself stealing glances whenever he was on the ice, marvelling at his skill and tenacity as you captured pictures and videos of the team for the social media platforms. And when the opportunity arose to interact with him, even in passing, you treasured every moment, no matter how fleeting.

Yet deep down, you knew that if you wanted to truly get to know Simon Benoit, you'd have to find a way to break through his walls and connect with him on a deeper level.

It wouldn't be easy, but then again, nothing worth having ever was.

_

Navigating the workflow with the Leafs wasn’t always easy, but most of the time you felt like you had it all under control. You knew you were good at your job, and most of the staff members of the company recognised your work and effort.

You weren’t particularly shy by nature, nor were you the most extroverted person. You had your small, close group of friends and occasionally went out. However, your work took much of your time, especially when the managers wanted you to travel with the team, so you didn’t exactly party or live the crazy life in the city. Instead, you kept your life rather chill and easy-going, focusing on various ways to improve your skills and just enjoying being in your early to mid-twenties.

And to the team, you were simply a nice person, hanging around and making funny videos from time to time. You didn’t particularly spend much time with them outside of hockey, yet you felt like you had a nice bond with most of the players and their partners.

In a way, you were content with your life. Sure, it was busy and sometimes overwhelming, but it was also fulfilling and exciting. The only person you were truly interested in knowing more about was Simon.

Naturally, you made efforts to insert yourself whenever the media team wanted to interview him, but you also wanted to maintain an air of nonchalance. So, you played it cool.

Well, as cool as possible, until it came time for his turn in the Blue Room session.

You found yourself unable to suppress your smiles and giggles at each of his responses. He effortlessly delivered humour, exuding relaxation and authenticity. It was akin to witnessing a more intimate side of him, one unmasked by his athletic prowess. And as he spoke, you hung onto his every word, enchanted by his charisma and genuineness. It was in these moments that the desire to know him beyond the confines of the hockey rink intensified.

And to your surprise, Simon seemed to take notice of you too.

"That's a cute laugh," he remarked suddenly as the session drew to a close, causing you to glance up from your phone, taken aback by his boldness.

"Oh... erm... thanks," you replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice. "I mean, I've always hated it..."

Your heart raced as you found yourself in close proximity to the defenseman, the two of you lingering amidst the team's clean-up efforts after his milk-guessing antics.

But to your relief, Simon didn't seem to pick up on your nerves. Instead, he simply chuckled.

"Why hate it?" he inquired, his charming French-Canadian accent adding to the allure.

You couldn't help but blush. "Oh, I don't know," you admitted softly. "It just feels a bit... loud and weird..."

"So?" Simon chuckled again. "You should embrace it. It's cute."

You were left speechless. Simon Benoit found your laughter cute? You felt like a schoolgirl, standing there, blushing under his gaze as he offered a compliment.

This wasn't like you. You were usually confident in your interactions with guys. You knew you were pretty good-looking, had a pleasant demeanour and got along well with most people. Yet, this hockey player had you feeling flustered, your stomach aflutter with butterflies, and your mind in a whirl.

You wanted to say something. Perhaps even suggest grabbing coffee together. But before you could gather your thoughts, Simon was called back to re-join the team's training session. And as he flashed you a friendly smile on his way out, a twinge of disappointment washed over you. Had you just missed your chance?

_

Luckily, that wasn't your only chance.

Although conversations between you and Simon remained limited post-Blue Room filming, there were frequent exchanges of glances and smiles in the hallway or aboard the plane.

Whenever your camera was in hand, Simon would flash you a smile, his gaze lingering a tad longer as he greeted you with a warm "hi." You reciprocated the gesture. It was a subtle dance of silent, discreet flirtation, or perhaps not entirely flirtatious, yet there lingered an unspoken connection beyond mere friendliness.

And while on the road, shortly after Simon inked his three-year contract with the Leafs, you were on the brink of discovering if there was indeed something more between you.

Amidst the whirlwind of travel chaos and the players' hectic schedules, you settled into your seat on the plane, laptop in front of you, attempting to unwind for the flight ahead.

Meanwhile, Simon couldn't help but steal occasional glances in your direction. Your focused expression, the way you nibbled on the end of your pen while engrossed in your laptop screen, didn't escape his notice, eliciting a smile from him.

You were so incredibly beautiful, and your laughter was nothing but contagious. Yet Simon knew he had to tread cautiously. He didn't want to come across as the new guy making moves on the women of the team. Moreover, his primary focus was on his career. Despite its ups and downs, his love for the sport remained unwavering, and he was determined to prove himself and relish every moment.

So, he attempted to maintain a slight distance from you. Tried, being the operative word. You seemed to be around all the time, and he couldn't ignore the subtle sparks you ignited within him. No matter how hard he tried to keep his focus solely on the game and his professional trajectory, there was something about you that made it challenging to keep his distance. Perhaps it was your laid-back demeanour or the genuine warmth that exuded from you.

Nevertheless, Simon found himself drawn to you, even as he strived to uphold a level of professionalism. In the tight-knit world of hockey, he was wary of stirring up any unnecessary drama within the team. Yet, as the flight progressed and the hours slipped away, he couldn't shake the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something worth exploring between the two of you.

The match against the Bruins proved to be a challenge, resulting in a disappointing 4-1 loss for the Leafs. However, redemption came swiftly with a hard-fought 3-2 victory against the Montreal Canadiens two days later. 

The locker room reverberated with cheers following the intense game, where the captain had sealed the win with the third goal. Yet, amidst the jubilation, it was the smiles of a certain defenseman that caught your attention.

Though Benoit hadn't seen action on the ice tonight, his joy mirrored that of his teammates, his eyes occasionally finding their way to you at the back of the room as the managers urged the players to simply enjoy in their triumph.

Instead of heading straight home to Toronto, the team had opted to stay overnight, given the upcoming days off. So, while the players ventured out for some well-deserved fun, you decided to retreat to the hotel to tackle some work.

It was nothing too taxing, just some photo editing from the evening's events. You even brought your laptop to the bar, indulging in a glass of white wine while putting the finishing touches on the social media content.

However, suddenly, a voice broke through your focused reverie.

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to be having fun, not working," Simon chuckled as he sidled up next to you at the bar.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you nearly choked on your drink, momentarily at a loss for words. "Oh, erm... yeah, I just needed to, um, wrap up some media stuff," you managed, flashing him a sheepish smile.

"And you're drinking while working?" he teased, his laughter filling the air once more.

"Gotta make work a little more enjoyable, right?" you quipped back with a playful grin, before shaking your head slightly. "By the way, I never got the chance to congratulate you on the contract!" you steered the conversation towards a more professional and friendly tone, prompting Simon to casually lean against the bar, his smile unwavering.

"Oh, yeah, thanks! It's... it's good to have that one in place," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of relief.

"I can imagine," you replied gently. "Dealing with contracts always seem to be quite the challenge."

"Definitely... it's been a bit nerve-wracking, but also exciting," he echoed your soft tone.

"So, I guess it's time for everyone to get to know more about Simon Benoit then," you attempted to maintain a light-hearted tone.

"Yeah, maybe... so, if you ever feel like it, you can just... interview me, or something..." he chuckled softly.

"Maybe I will…” you smiled back.

There was a brief pause as you silently pondered why he was suddenly engaging in this spontaneous conversation with you.

"Wait, why are you here, Benny? Shouldn't you be out with the boys?" you finally asked.

"Oh, I was, but we were just a few who wanted to head back early before things got too monkey like," he explained, his smile serene as he stood close, the scent of beer subtly lingering around him, his tall frame nearly matched your seated position on the highchair.

"Monkey-like?" you couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Yeah, you know, some of the single guys wanted to flirt with girls, so... Cap and a few others preferred to head back and chat with their partners instead," he explained.

You smiled, relishing the closeness and the opportunity to converse with him like this. Yet, his words lingered in your mind. "And you... you have to call your... girlfriend too?" you asked, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of hesitancy, not wanting to appear too nervous or disappointed by his potential response.

Simon met your gaze for a moment before shaking his head gently. "Nah, no girl waiting for me at home," he replied simply and casually, prompting a soft sigh of relief and a smile to form on your lips.

"But you didn't feel like flirting with anyone else either?" you chuckled lightly, a blend of playfulness and nervousness.

Simon remained calm and collected, offering you a soft glance before speaking softly. "Why would I bother flirting with strangers when there's a perfectly beautiful girl right here in this bar?" he said, his tone laced with flirtation, a smile playing on his lips. His words sent warmth coursing through you, leaving an undeniable impact.

He was smooth, undeniably so. And you found yourself falling for his charm.

Desperate to maintain your composure, you took another sip of your drink, then smoothly licked your lips as you considered your response. "You certainly have a way with words, don't you?" you remarked, a playful smirk gracing your features. “Knowing how to impress a girl…” 

"Well, that depends... is it working?" 

As you glanced at the dwindling contents of your glass and then back at him with a suggestive smile, you felt a surge of desire.

"Maybe..." you replied coyly, your heart racing with anticipation. “Yes…” 

When you first joined the club as a content creator, getting involved with players was the last thing on your mind. In fact, you had mentally resolved never to entertain any romantic entanglements with the team. And so far, it hadn't been a challenge. While the players were undoubtedly attractive in their own right, there had never been a spark with any of them. That is, until Simon joined the team.

So, downing the last drops of your wine, you rose from your seat, gathering your phone and laptop before making your way to the lift, with Simon following closely behind.

Nothing was rushed. It was all happening at a rather slow pace as neither of you wanted to seem too eager. Yet the build-up tension between you was evident. The longing for each that had been lingering for months was hanging thick in the air. And it wasn’t until you were stopping outside your hotel room door, you locked eyes with his.

Pressing your lips together, you struggled to find the words you longed to speak. "I, uh... I've got my own room... I mean, I'm not sharing it with anyone..." you murmured softly.

And that was all the encouragement Simon needed. Closing the distance between you, he captured your lips with his own, pressing you gently against the door in a fervent kiss, igniting a passion that had been simmering between you for months.

It was everything you had imagined and more. The kiss was perfect—gentle yet passionate, fulfilling the fantasies you had long harboured. Simon's hands on your jaw, his fingers delicately threading through your hair as he drew you closer, felt like a dream. His tongue, a subtle yet insistent invitation, prompted your lips to part, eagerly meeting his in a dance of desire. There was no mistaking the mutual longing that enveloped you both in that moment.

Managing to locate your key card amidst the haze of desire, you gently pushed open the door, inviting him into your small hotel room.

The dimmed lights cast a romantic glow, heightening the intimacy as you both explored each other's bodies with slow, tender caresses. Simon's size and strength made it effortless for him to lift you into his arms, carrying you to the bed without breaking the connection of your lips.

And your kisses remained fervent as you slowly undressed each other, shedding shirts and trousers until you were both clad in nothing but underwear. Heels were kicked aside, forgotten in the heat of the moment, leaving you lying on your back in lacy lingerie with the hockey player hovering above you.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, a hint of concern in his voice, mindful of any boundaries that might exist between a hockey player and an MLSE employee.

But in that moment, you didn't care about titles or roles. You were simply two individuals consumed by desire. So, with a light smile, you nodded, giving him the silent permission to continue, letting go of any rationalisations or inhibitions that might have held you back.

And just like the night had been so far, his touch was tender, each movement deliberate as he slowly removed your lacy knickers, exposing your core to him. His fingers traced along the skin of your thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through you as they inched closer to your centre. And when his digits finally made contact with your sensitive flesh, you couldn't help but gasp, your fingers finding his strong arms for support.

Simon then gently pleasured you, and small moans escaped your lips, betraying the wonderful feeling coursing through your body. And iIt didn't take long before those moans turned into sweet cries of ecstasy as his fingers pressed against your entrance, stretching you as they eased their way inside.

His fingers, much like the rest of him, were long and thick, and you couldn't shake the awareness that your colleague was just next door as Simon stimulated your walls, his movements deliberate and eager to bring you pleasure. Yet, your soft moans and cries only spurred him on, each pump of his fingers eliciting a delicious sensation as he curled them upwards, seeking out that particularly sensitive spot.

"Oh, fuck," you exclaimed as he hit the mark perfectly, his movements growing quicker in response to your cries, your fingers digging into his skin in a desperate grip. "Yes... right there..."

And he understood his mission completely, pumping his fingers with precision to drive you towards the brink of climax. And as he kept on going, his determined motions sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your vision to blur as you arched your back and reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.

"Oh, yes..." you panted, gasping for air as the rush of pleasure washed over you, your toes curling as you reached your high.

Gently the man above you then pumped a few more times through your orgasm, as he simply enjoyed  the wetness he had caused between your legs, before withdrawing his fingers.

"Shit, every sound you make is so fucking amazing," Simon murmured under his breath, his hardness pressing against him, aroused by the stimuli he had provided you. Your moans, much like your laughter, were nothing but music to his ears.

So, without hesitation, he crawled back to discard his own boxers, before covering his length with the condom you tossed him. 

"Gotta be responsible, right?" you smiled, flashing him a flirtatious, confident wink as you took pride in being prepared. And Simon simply chuckled in response, returning to the mattress and kneeling between your legs, before he then pulled you close to him, wrapping your legs around him as he lined the tip of his cock with your entrance before slowly pushing in.

It was no secret that Simon was a large man. Standing at 6'4" and weighing 205 lbs, he was undeniably substantial, and his hard member only reflected that. He knew he had to go slow, taking his time as he controlled the movements of his hips perfectly from this angle.

So, with a firm grip on your thighs and hips, he gently stretched your walls inch by inch, eliciting soft sounds of pleasure from you, causing you to grasp onto the pillow behind you as he reached your depths.

"Oh yes, ma puce," Simon hummed under his breath, relishing in the tightness of your smaller frame around him, before he then began to pull out and push back in, settling into a slow and steady rhythm to ease into the experience.

"Mmm, oh," you moaned softly, the sensation of his movements sending waves of pleasure through you, your legs trembling in response to his deep penetration.

The pace was a perfect blend of slow and steady, each thrust filled with deep passion. You found yourself panting for air as he gradually increased the intensity, feeling your muscles adjust to accommodate his size.

Yet, though he tried to maintain control, Simon couldn't deny the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him as your bodies melted together. With each movement, you pushed him closer to the edge, fuelling his desire for more.

However, resisting the urge to push harder and faster, he instead leaned over your petite form and captured your lips in a hungry kiss. He then took a strong hold of your body, urging you to wrap your arms around his neck as he lifted you from the mattress, positioning you to straddle him as he leaned back on his heels.

It wasn’t exactly an easy position to master at first, but as you sank deeper onto his cock, a loud, uncontrolled moan escaped your lips. And almost instinctively, you grabbed onto his brown locks and began to bounce on him.

“Oh yes, mmm baby, that’s it,” he encouraged seductively, his hands guiding your hips as you moved your core up and down his shaft. Cries of pleasure slipped from your tongue and lips, the intensity overwhelming any attempt at connecting in sloppy kisses, while pearls of sweat formed on your skin as you moved in sync, lost in pure pleasure.

“Mmm, god, it feels... so good,” you softly whined as you found a rhythm, your thighs controlling your motions while his strong embrace kept you in place. Your grip in his hair tightened with every passing moment as he stimulated you from within, and soon, you couldn’t hold back your eagerness to reach the impending second orgasm.

And Simon sensed your urgency as your muscles clenched, your panting uncontrolled, and your motions fervent. “Yes, ma puce… come for me, come on my dick,” he encouraged seductively, his hands guiding your hips to move faster, before he allowed his thumb to seek out your clit, and give you the final push. 

You didn’t need to be told twice. Bouncing a few times more vigorously, you let out a deep moan as you pushed yourself to your second climax, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you shut your eyes.

Barely able to hold your own body upright, Simon had you secured as you let the rush of pleasure take over. And you couldn’t ignore that your legs trembled as your core pulsated around him, this being one of the most intense orgasms you’d experienced in a long time.

Breathing became close to difficult, but you managed to refill your lungs with air as you collected yourself, slowly coming out of the euphoric state.

Simon gave you the time you needed to come down from the high, yet he felt his own climax approaching. With the tightness of your core around him, it was increasingly difficult to hold back. So, as he sensed you were back to reality, your satisfied smile indicating your pleasure as you leaned back and opened your eyes, he crashed his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss while pressing you back down into the mattress and picking up forceful thrusts.

Driven by nothing but primal instincts, Simon then pounded vigorously into you, the echoes of your moans ringing in his ears. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the noises of your bodies colliding with force filling the room. And you knew your neighbour was likely to hear you, but you didn’t care. Your mind and body had surrendered to the team’s new defenceman, and you did nothing to stop him from pushing himself closer to his own climax, thrusting with every bit of energy he had in him until he let out a deep grunt, accompanied by a few French curse words, as he released himself into the condom.

You could barely move as Simon rested on top of you, both of your breaths deep and eager. None of you spoke as the high slowly faded, and it was only with care that Simon withdrew himself, offering you a quick kiss before he went to discard the condom.

Your body still tingled from the latest orgasm, as if months of silent flirting had finally found release. Catching your breath, you couldn't help but smile as the hockey player returned to the bed.

Naturally, you both knew he couldn’t stay the night; no one should know he’d been the cause of your loud moans. However, during breakfast, neither of you could resist sending glances across the room. And during the plane ride back to Toronto, you shared only secret messages, trying not to draw attention from your teammates.

Yet that only lasted a few days before Max caught on to the sexual tension between you, and with his big mouth running, soon everyone on the team knew.

Initially, you felt a little embarrassed. However, as you overheard Simon talking about how good it felt to finally give in to his desires and wanting to find a way to ask you out, you felt a level of pride and warmth within you.

And fortunately, it didn’t take long before you finally went on your very first official date.

#18+ smut #simon benoit smut #simon benoit imagine #simon benoit x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey smut #nhl hockey imagine

[transmutationisms]

logan engineering tom as ceo from beyond the grave so that his real grandkid stays in succession....god there's so much to think about here in terms of the family structure (thinking about logan reading iverson the storybook in s3, about logan drinking fertility smoothies....the show called succession was about succession all along!!) I'm so curious for your thoughts!!!!!!

it does work for logan's interests in a certain way, yeah! at the end of the day, i don't think logan ever would have been capable of actually naming a successor, because even though he tried to use his kids as proxies for himself, no one was ever going to be able to measure up. like, what he really wanted was his own immortality; his kids were always going to flop in his eyes, simply by virtue of not being his own literal body. but at the same time, one of the things he specifically punished kendall for was not producing what he considered to be a legitimate heir—a judgment that arose from a combination of logan's misogyny, racism, ableism, and obsession with consanguinity. so it put the board in a position where kendall was not an obvious choice, and matsson perceived tom as a useful puppet.

for logan's posthumous interests, this is a win in the sense that his biological grandkid will now have skin in the game. it's also a loss in the sense that matsson is most likely going to dismantle a lot of the company for scrap. so, the biological legacy survives in some sense; the financial one is pretty much dead. the company has also been represented by, and representative of, logan's physical body: from the beginning of the show, both appeared as these aging relics from a bygone era, controlling the political/corporate arena as well as the roy family; both were ailing, etc. this is also partly why the siblings were ultimately so determined to keep the company, especially roman, who saw matsson's takeover effort as his essentially desecrating logan's body/legacy.

anyway, to return to fertility and offspring, yeah this was always the mechanism by which logan tried to ensure his own survival past his impending death. he wanted a successor who was his biological offspring, who could produce offspring of their own and consolidate an empire around a bloodline. in this way he perceived that he would still be living on through the others (hence also his possessiveness over his children, including their sexual behaviours). but he never accepted iverson and sophie as filling this role for the aforementioned reasons, and even in the one scene where we see him really trying to be grandfatherly with iverson, he disdains him for reading a book he perceives as juvenile, asking kerry for something "with some action" (suggesting logan sees iverson's implied autism as a defect of his masculinity as well).

ultimately the empire logan wanted to create attains a very hollow victory, though of course the individual players are all still wealthy and materially cosseted. kendall's infertility is not the cause for logan's persistent disdain of him, but it sort of symbolises and sums up the way in which kendall could never live up to his father's standards for a male heir, no matter how much he shaped his life and sense of self around logan's demands. connor and roman will presumably never have kids, and shiv's kid won't have much of an empire left to inherit, plus logan would have strenuously preferred the line of succession going through one of his sons. his kids have always been trapped in the family (except connor, who was locked out of it), yet they've still ultimately failed to consolidate the sort of blood-bound empire logan always wanted.

#blood sacrifice

[vitospaghetta]

How do you imagine Leon's place to look like and where do you think he lives? Some flat?

Also alaooo what do you think he does in his free time?

You have no idea how much thought I've put into this over the years.

Let me preface this with the fact that I'm specifically talking about original continuity Leon post-RE6 here, where he's a seasoned adult and has been in his career field for a while.

Leon more-than-likely lives in D.C. (he could also live in VA or MD but he strikes me as the kinda guy who would rather eat glass than commute, especially with D.C. traffic being absolute bullshit) in an apartment somewhere in the city.

As a federal agent, he makes a salary, which is something that is determined by things like the amount responsibility you have within the agency, your credentials/experience, your skillset, etc. Given his role and responsibilities within the D.S.O., he's easily a top earner. The top earners within the FBI make $153,000 annually, but it looks like top earners within the CIA can make more — like with all things, every agency is different. The D.S.O. obviously isn't a real agency, but as one that is held above all others (as far as authority within the criminal justice system is concerned), Leon probably receives a pretty cushy salary. Around $200,000 annually, easy. Income tax would fuck him over, but he'd still walk away with a reasonable amount per month to afford a $4,000+ per month apartment or to buy one and pay off a mortgage.

He can easily afford a one or two bedroom apartment in the city is what I'm saying. And I mean a nice apartment. We're talking granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, washer and dryer in-unit, floor-to-ceiling windows, in a modern building in a nice area of the city. An area that consists entirely of nice apartment buildings like the one he lives in. There's actually an area just outside of NYC that reminds me of the kinda area I can see him living in. I was there to take the ferry over into the city for a memorial/organ donation event I was attending last year.

The pics don't exactly encapsulate the full vibe, and these apartments probably go for millions due to the proximity to the city and being right off the Hudson, but it's quiet, safe, and filled with sporty people. Lots of folks walking dogs, jogging after work hours, and a sense of community amongst people that seemingly have their shit together.

He strikes me as the type to have a two bedroom apartment just for an office that he's hardly ever in. He'd want to live in a building that has a gym as an amenity because it's easier than hoofing it to a gym elsewhere, and a garage for him to put his car and the crotch rocket he's currently mourning courtesy of Maria.

As for the apartment's interior, I feel like it would completely lack personality or cluttered charm. There's a level of almost sterility to it, in that it's devoid of knick-knacks, personal photos, and encompasses a strong aesthetic of maturity. Everything in it is nice. There's tasteful artwork on the walls, and it's furnished with well-made and sometimes expensive furniture and appliances, because, as a childless adult, if Leon's going to spend money on only himself, he's going to spend it well. You get what you pay for, after all. There are obviously some traces of Leon's personality strewn about — skin care products in the bathroom, boots and leather jackets by the door, some books, laundry crumpled at the foot of his bed and piled by the washer/dryer, maybe a single sarcastic coffee mug somewhere in the cabinet — but there's no novelty.

Due to his constant bouncing around, he isn't home enough to put too much effort into it, and he hasn't had the luxury of certainty or normalcy in so long that all he wants out of his home is for it to look nice and be a comfortable place to sleep. He appreciates coming home to a place that is his, but it doesn't need to be a display of everything he's ever enjoyed. Even when he is home, he strikes me as the type to start going stir crazy when he sits for too long. The most amount of time he probably ever spent at home was when he was self-isolating and hitting the bottle really hard. There's also the generational element of Gen-X'ers being extremely lowkey about shit.

As far as what Leon does in his free time, I feel like he enjoys doing things that are out of the house due to the aforementioned inability to stay alone with his thoughts for too long. The man is constantly trying to distract himself to place distance between himself and his trauma, so where he might have been able to sit and watch a movie alone before, he struggles to now.

Leon's very extroverted, likable, and adaptable, so he probably enjoys being around other people, even if he's not actively talking to them. Though he appreciates silence as well, when he's kicking things around in his head and is trying to find some semblance of peace and a means to calm the noise. He might get a coffee at a shop right by his apartment where he's a regular and everyone knows him by name, or go for a run, or go shopping. Maybe he tries to make plans with those he cares about to go out for dinner, like he did with Claire in Infinite Darkness. Maybe he tries to catch a good sunset over the Potomac River. He goes to the gym, he rides his motorcycle around the city or takes a scenic route on the outskirts just for the hell of it, he meets up with a fellow agent and they do shots at his favorite bar.

I don't think he has hobbies, as in crafting or gaming or being too involved in any specific interests, but everything he does is fueled by his love of people, his appreciation for what good he has in his life, and his need for escape.

#leon kennedy #ask #anon #asks: leon #HOOOO BOY i'm so sorry for all of this but #this is like my favorite thing to talk about #you really opened pandora's box with this ask my god

[lokigayforhela]

Hi!! I love the way you depict hela so much, everytime I get a notif from you I drop everything to go see what you posted lol💙 could I please request some hurt/ comfort? Reader with past trauma getting in an argument with hela (doesn't matter what they're fighting over) and maybe hela moves or throws her hands up in exasperation and reader flinches? I wanna see how hela would react to reader flinching away from her and the comfort afterwards pretty please💙💙💙

TW: Implied Past Abuse

Rating: PG, to be safe

WC: 1835

A/N: I know I sort of disappeared from the face of the earth for the last two months, but I promise I've been working quietly on a few things, including the next chapter of the Power Source AU. I've also been working on editing and fluffing out my debut novel, which I'm hoping to have picked up by a publisher sometime this year, so that's been taking up a lot of my time. But enough about me! Enjoy this little tidbit to tide you over until I finish the next chapter of Power-Hungry!

“Are we gonna talk?”

You looked over to where Hela stood a foot away from you, expression unreadable as she seemed to be putting all of her effort into focusing on the same plate she had been washing for two minutes now. When she still said nothing in response, you nodded to yourself, popping the lid of the Tupperware over your leftovers and turning around to place them in the fridge.

“Guess not.”

You weren’t entirely sure what had gone wrong while you had been out for dinner and some drinks with a few mutual friends. You didn’t know if it was something someone had said, or something someone had done that you hadn’t noticed, but Hela had seemed to get defensive and closed off about halfway through the meal, which wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for her, but it was one that always raised concern when you picked up on it. You had hoped on the drive home she would say something, and when that hadn’t happened, you’d held out for an explanation once you’d gotten back to the comfort of your own home, and yet here you were, still without answers.

Communication was something that you held with high importance, especially when it came to relationships and the people you loved. You’d had some… less than great experience with partners in the past, which had lead you to be skittish and constantly worried that if you said or did the wrong thing without realizing it, you would be punished for it. It was an awfully horrible way to live, and once you’d managed to get away from it, you’d sworn you would never let that lack of communication back into your life again.

Which was exactly why you were determined to get Hela to talk about what had happened, so you could understand her better and help her process whatever it was that had set her on edge.

“Look,” you finally said, closing the refrigerator door and leaning on it as you angled yourself to face where Hela was standing. “I don’t know what bothered you, and I’m really sorry that I didn’t catch it. But I can’t help you process it if you don’t tell me what happened.”

To your surprise, Hela huffed out a laugh. “This again.”

You blinked. “…I’m sorry?”

“This. You. Always needing to know everything. It’s a bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”

You stammered as you tried to work out where she was coming from, and unfortunately, your anger got the better of you, and you spoke before you could properly think. “I’m overdramatic? I’m just trying to get you to talk about what happened so that we can work through it together and-”

“It’s none of your business,” Hela snapped, finally setting the dish down in the drying rack with enough force that the sound startled you, and turned around to face you. “You’re never giving me the space to process my emotions on my own, and it was kinda cute at first, but now it just feels like you need to know everything and I’m tired of it.”

“Hela…” This was not where you had seen the conversation going, and your anger was giving way to the overwhelming feeling that you had just fucked up the only good thing in your life. “I just-”

“Just what? Hm? I’m allowed to have things that I keep to myself, Y/N. I’m allowed to process and feel my emotions on my own.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t, I just want to help.”

“And I’m saying I don’t need it!” Hela raised her hands above her head in what you, reasonably, knew was just a show of frustration. But all of the sudden, you found yourself traveling back to a time when saying the wrong thing had earned you a verbal berating when you were lucky, and a physical reminder when you weren’t. And like a horribly unfair magic tragic, suddenly you were the scared, anxious person afraid to speak or even breathe around the person that was supposed to love you.

And you reacted the same way you had reacted back then. You stumbled backward, putting what distance you could been yourself and Hela, and you could tell that she recognized her mistake immediately as she froze, gaze softening with worry and regret as she took in the state of you.

“Y/N… Y/N, I-I…” She stumbled over her words, and reached a hand out for you, then seemed to think better of it and let it fall to her side. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and you thought your heart might stop right in your chest as you waited for whatever came next.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Hela’s voice was hardly above a whisper, and when she opened her eyes, you could see that they were wet with tears. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice, and I shouldn’t have frightened you like that.” She took another slow breath, and gestured toward the living room. “…let’s sit and talk. About this and about earlier.”

You could still feel your body tense with high alert, but you made yourself nod, waiting for Hela to move first before you followed after her, keeping some space between you as you sat down on the sofa with her.

“I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. You were only trying to help, and I know that. I just…” She heaved a sigh that felt so vulnerable that you felt yourself relaxing the slightest bit. “I don’t know how to accept help. I never have.”

You waited a beat, in case she wasn’t finished speaking, but when she said nothing else, you nodded slowly. “…I know that. I shouldn’t have pushed. You’ve… always come to me, when you’ve needed to. And you would have done the same tonight, too. Realistically, I know that. I just…” You heaved a sigh, wrapping your arms more tightly around yourself just because it was the best way you knew to self-soothe when you were actively struggling with your fight or flight response. “Like I said, I want to help. And I can’t stand seeing you when you’re upset, and… and knowing you’re upset but not knowing why or how to help you not be upset.”

You risked a brief glance at her, and found that she had completely softened, no longer looking quite so standoffish, and while you were grateful for that, your brain and your nerves were still on high alert. Another wonderful parting gift from your ex, to put it mildly.

“I know. And I wish that I wasn’t so… averse to accepting help. But I need you to know that I’m working on it. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I am.” She met your gaze, then, eyebrows knitting together with worry as she looked at you. “You do know that. Yes?”

You heaved out a quiet sigh and nodded slightly. “Of course I do. And I’m proud of you for trying.”

Hela nodded, and seemed to relax a fraction of a bit more, and you tried to do the same, but couldn’t help the way your heart was still racing. Like your brain was convinced you weren’t out of the woods yet even as your emotions wanted desperately to settle. Hela seemed keenly aware of the war that was going on in your head, though, and hesitantly reached out a hand to settle against your arm.

“I want to apologize, too, for what happened in the kitchen. I knew better than to make a sudden, angry movement like that. I knew better and you deserved better. And I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were back in that situation.”

You shrugged a shoulder, only because that was all you could think to do, despite knowing that things were certainly not okay enough to garner a simple shoulder shrug in response. Hela saw right through this, as well, and shook her head.

“No, no. No appeasing me. No trying to tell me its fine. Your brain has just been teleported back to a time where you felt extremely unsafe. But you’re not there. You’re not then. You’re here and you’re now and you’re with me, and I need you to tell me truthfully what you need to ground yourself.” A pause, as her fingertips trailed down to settle at your wrist hesitantly. “…can I hold your hand? Would that be okay?”

After a brief moment, you gave a nod, and Hela gently took both of your hands into her own, cradling them but not gripping them, so that you had the option to remove them if you felt the need. Autonomy. Something you hadn’t had much of, before.

“What else, my love? Should I keep talking you through it? Sing off-key?” Hela was trying to get you to smile, and that earned her the barest ghost of one. “Cuddles in silence?”

You hesitated at that, and then nodded, letting Hela carefully envelope you in her arms and pull you into her lap. Even as she held you, her arms were loose around you. Not even fully encircling you, giving you an out if you needed one. It made you feel safe in a way that you hadn’t known, before you’d met her.

You could feel yourself relaxing more and more, and the more you settled, the more lovey Hela became with you, pressing the occasional kiss to your forehead or carding her fingers through your hair softly as she held you, letting you come back to yourself at your own pace.

After a while, you were feeling much more present, and much less trapped in your own head, and you glanced up at her, expecting her to be already looking at you but her gaze seemed a little distant, transfixed on some point across the room.

“…you never said what upset you. At dinner,” you pointed out timidly, a small part of you still afraid that bringing it up again might cause another round of arguments.

But Hela only pressed her lips together and shook her head as she looked down at you. “You know, I can’t even remember anymore. Must have been something small and superfluous. Fleeting.”

You considered that for a moment, analyzing her to tell if she was being truthful. When you were satisfied that she was, you spoke again. “And you’re not… mad at me? For…”

“Of course not.” Hela cut you off before you could even finish the sentence. “And I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. I spoke out of anger and frustration, and you didn’t deserve that in the least. Not now, not ever.”

You nodded, and laid your head against her shoulder, making yourself comfortable as you felt the tension melting away further bit by bit. “…can we watch something on Netflix? Your pick?”

“Of course we can, my love.” Hela smiled softly, and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Of course we can.”

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Marvel #hurt/comfort #angst #drama #anonymous #ask #answered #thank you for the prompt!

[felixethereal]

Translation of mini-interviews with members in teaser photos for the album 樂-STAR:

What do you usually do when you want to feel 樂?

🐥: Instead of trying to do something specific, I find meaning in the time I spend with the members. It is especially exciting and enjoyable when preparing for performances or choreography classes.

🐿: I think I mostly see what I want to see! Now I'm watching various videos and cartoons about rock concerts.

What color comes to mind when you think of 樂 / Rock and why?

🐥: Green and purple come to mind. I think green and purple are vibrant and exciting colors! I think it's the color of fun music and exciting scenes.

🐿: Red. Like the color red that stands out always and everywhere, we can feel the strong spirit of rock wherever we are!

What if the only emotion left in this world was 樂?

🐺: I think one of the many reasons for life is to find 樂, but I think it would be empty if only the feeling of joy remained in the world. Feel like you've lost your purpose? (laughter)

🥟: Even when painting, the highlights don't get any brighter, even if you keep painting them white. The surrounding area should be painted darker to emphasize the brightness. If there was only such joy and joy in the world, no matter how much joy I added, it would lose its meaning.

Among 樂 and Rock

If you had to choose just one, what would it be? Why?

🐺: 樂. I want to live hard to find my “樂” and share it with others.

🥟: I'd like to choose 樂. 樂 has a lot of things in it, maybe 樂 also includes rock? Music (because music is medicine. (Laughs)

What Rock Spirit do you want to convey to Stray Kids?

🐰: Without worrying about others, I happily do whatever I want!

🦊: As you look at the world, shout I can do this with a positive attitude!

What is 樂 in your daily routine?

🐰: Finishing your daily routine, eating something delicious and watching your favorite things! I love spending time filled with things I enjoy!

🦊: Lying in bed and spending time organizing my day is my 樂.

After hardship comes joy or If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it, which expression do you like better?

🐷🐰: I like both of these expressions, but now I prefer if you can’t avoid it, enjoy it. If you are determined to have fun in every situation, then difficult times will quickly pass.

🐶: Water does not flow under a lying stone!!! When you go through a lot of difficulties, a good result always makes me feel proud, so this suits me better.

What's your special move that makes other people 樂?

🐷🐰: Rejoice loudly! They say joy spreads. I like it when people around me are happy when they take initiative and put in a lot of effort. (laughs)

🐶: I want to make everyone happy by opening the door of their hearts with songs that touch the heart and songs that express my sincerity.

#Stray kids #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #I.N #skz #ROCK_STAR #樂_STAR #스트레이키즈

[tigirl-and-co]

Space Monkeys

Hey everybody, here's a rough draft of the first chapter of Space Monkeys, what will (hopefully!) be a sci-fi novel featuring Saiyans, from Dragon Ball!

Even if you aren't familiar with Dragon Ball, I urge you to check it out, especially if you have an interest in sci-fi! I've put more effort into this bit of writing than I have anything in years, so while it's still a bit rough I am very proud of it! Please give it a chance, it's a labour of love.

Those of you familiar with the sci-fi novels of yesteryear should feel right at home, and I'm hoping those that aren't may find themselves interested!

~~~

Space Monkeys, Ch. 1

"You humans are up to something."

Witloof pushed his own head into the collection of human ones, and it wasn't hard for him either with his comparative strength. The small gaggle who were gathered around a computer screen hushed into a nervous silence- not the fear of being hurt, as they all knew what repercussions the Empire Regulatory Committee would enact under such a circumstance- but rather the schoolchild silence of an unwelcomed outsider sticking his nose where it didn't belong and not heeding the rebuffment.

The Saiyan made eye contact with the human he assumed was the leader of this troupe. "You humans are up to something," Witloof reiterated, "And I want in."

After many fewer moments of pondering than should typically be utilized when determining trustworthiness, the human Derebak grinned conspiratorially. "Good. We can use a strongman."

It is well-known throughout the universe that if you want to come home with an interesting story, you find a group of humans. Well known only to spacefaring humans, however, is that if you want to get up to any real sort of trouble, you'd best find a Saiyan and earn his respect. Dependable as anything once they like you, but therein lies the issue.

When the two empires met on the edge of space, there was a near-immediate understanding that they were like each other. This was unfortunate, considering just how much humans like to squabble amongst themselves. The superior Saiyan strength very nearly had to test itself against humanity's advanced tactics and brains, but eventually the issues were sorted out and the two fell into an uneasy peace, as far as the heads of each civilization was concerned.

For anybody who spent any time at all on a station where the two species collided, they understood the peace wasn't uneasy in the slightest.

Sure, for Saiyan tastes humans were a bit yappy, and they were all soft in the face and in the heart. And humans thought the Saiyan appearance and temperament a bit beastly, sticking closer to the apes from which he had sprung up than man did. But really, it usually took very little time for them to look past this and start swapping stories of home over drinks paid for by whoever lost that day's bet.

And so while Derebak didn't know Witloof from Adam, it knew he was sincere. Saiyans made for awful liars and for great troublemakers. Both species hated being yanked around by the chain, and Derebak was confident that if it could rope Witloof in on smaller stuff, he'd follow this thing all the way to the top.

And taking care of an earnest idiot is merely human nature, not that a human would ever let a Saiyan cotton on to that fact.

Derebak 'Rabies' Johnson, not-quite-rogue astrogator of the tourist jump-ship Tyger, Tyger, stuck out a hand. "Call me Rabies, all the people I like do."

It looked the musclehead up and down, but there's not much to be gleaned from a Saiyan at first glance. They're a longer-lived race, averaging about 150 earth-years and don't age like humans besides. And as for uniform, there's certain standards, but each piece of armor seemed unique. You couldn't even tell the tourists apart from the warriors by anything except their stance and their tails, as finding a Saiyan in anything but armor was about as likely as finding a shaved grizzly out in the woods and made them about as uncomfortable.

A fanged mouth and solid grip returned the gestures. "Good to know you, Rabies." He snorted, hoping the name was indicative of things to come. He could tell by the human's uniform he was outranked, but he had heard human society was a bit less stringent with formalities than home was, so he made the conscious choice not to bow or salute. Witloof was hoping to enter this troupe as a member, not a tagalong. "I'm Witloof, stationed here 'just in case.' Exactly what threats to the Vegetan Autocracy are expected from a tourist station on the human side of the boundary, I don't know."

One of the other humans spoke up, a blonde man who could easily have been the face of a boyband if his voice didn't bring to mind rusty nails in a blender. "Maybe you're here to save us against some awful threat like a meteor or invading monster, earning our government's trust and establishing yourselves as a race of altruists!" He guffawed, "A real protection racket!"

Witloof wasn't sure he understood the joke, but all the humans burst out laughing at that, and he decided not to take offense.

"Cuss," Rabies managed to squawk out between breaths, "you gotta warn a freak before you go and say something like that! You're gonna kill us!" It managed to hold its breath long enough to calm down before turning back to Witloof with tears still in its eyes. "That's Jack, although he's got a few less pleasant nicknames too. Don't pay him any mind, that's just how he is. He's an engineer here on the E.S.S. Poetry, and you know how engineers are."

It wiped its face a bit. "Right now we're just looking at the supply chain for this place, but come meet me in my quarters at, say, nine o'clock station time. I eat a late dinner but I aughtta be finished by then. I'll tell you a bit about what, as you put it, we're up to."

Derebak reached into a pocket and pulled out a small pad of paper and pen, writing down its bunk's location. Crew area, of course. Hopefully it wouldn't be too hard to find, Witloof still had a bit of trouble with the way humans organized big spaces and the crew area was doubtless less well-marked than the area meant for the easily-lost masses.

Witloof took the paper and tucked it into the breast of his armor. "You can count on me," he acknowledged. He tried to study the computer screen, but this sort of stuff was never his expertise and it was in a language he barely knew, to boot. He was mid-class, sure, but his parents were low-class so the traditional Saiyan warrior was really all that was open to him.

As the humans yammered on quietly about resources, Witloof took the time to observe them. Saiyans usually came with one hair colour, one eye colour, and a very small range of skin tones. Halfbreeds weren't all that rare in the lower classes, so it wasn't like he'd never seen a blonde or a redhead before, but moving through groups of humans he was always astonished by their differences.

And their physiques! He had heard that back in ancient history, humans had been a hunter race. But he doubted it. How could any species so soft in the body bring down prey? Humans didn't eat nearly as much as Saiyans did, but surely they had to eat something, and, in his opinion, there was no way they could kill enough to fill their bellies with such meagre strength.

Although, as the small group disbanded to go about their tasks for the day, Witloof had to wonder if it had something to do with their reputation for trouble and penchant for surviving it. Was it possible to turn that into a hunting strategy? Did ancient humans cause so much chaos that the beasts around them simply died of it, leaving the humans unharmed?

He was a bit torn- on one hand he wasn't paid to ask big questions. On the other hand, he had already decided to join them- he'd even given his word and partaken of the human hand shake gesture. To his understanding from the cultural training, such an act was not only a statement of friendliness and companionship, it was also how they sealed unbreakable deals.

Maybe they already considered him part of their troupe? Humans formed close bonds incredibly easily, that much he was certain of. He had heard stories of them bonding to things that weren't even alive, but he wasn't sure how that would even work.

As Witloof wandered off to Poetry's dining strip, he started thinking about just who or what he was entrusting his strength to. He hoped Rabies was a good leader.

Well, at least humans knew how to make good food. That counted for something in his books.

#dbz #dragon ball #my writing #saiyan #writing #sci-fi #science fiction #PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK LIKE. I NORMALLY DON'T ASK BUT #this has been crawling in my gut for three days it's making me crazy i'm unwell about this #chapter 1 #witloof #derebak johnson #dbz oc #...technically. #listen im trying to get the most engagement i can without outright lying #writers of tumblr #dragon babble

[tinywitchgoblin]

Oya vod! I’m brand new to this, so hoping I’m doing it the right way. :)

Could I request a ship?

I’m a 6’6”, relatively fit terrestrial ecologist (biologist) and a horseback archer. I have a passion for all wildlife, especially avian creatures. I spend a lot of time in the outdoors assessing habitats, identifying birds (sometimes at long distances) by sight and sound and just enjoying the freedom of the natural world. I should probably just go ahead and build a cabin in the forest, because that’s where I feel most at home. Owing to having to work twice as hard to gain the same amount of respect respect in the traditionally male-dominated field of biological science I’m pretty independent and self-reliant but am flexible and can work as part of a team too.

I find large social situations challenging, and am generally slow to connect with people but once I do they are part of my clan for life. ;) People tend to perceive me as confident and capable, but in truth people mostly make me anxious. I connect with animals far more easily - they’re honest!

When I’m not in the forest, I can probably be found with my horse, firing arrows at targets as we gallop across a field, shouting along to metal tunes while driving my Jeep on trails, or working on some ridiculous craft project (probably a wool bird sculpture or leather armour that no one will ever see). Come to think on that I have some rather contrasting traits, haha!

Thank you! These have been fun to read!

Of course, I'm glad you're enjoying them!

I ship you with...

Crosshair!

Our resident sentient toothp(r)ick enjoys spending time outdoors, especially alone, where no one can bother him and he can have some peace and quiet. Just like you, he doesn't like large social gatherings and is very hesitant to let people in. However, once you accepted each other and started dating, you spent a lot of time alone together.

Once he finds out that you do horseback archery, he begged asked you to teach him everything show him a couple of things, and you happily obliged. Initially, he wasn't very good at it because it was so different from his usual skills as a sniper, but eventually, he started showing some improvements. There are few people in the galaxy more stubborn than Crosshair, and he was determined to be good at horseback archery, so help him god.

Having grown up with Tech, Crosshair is very familiar with listening to ramblings about various topics (animals included) and identifying local flora and fauna. However, having it come from you instead of his brother made it very different. He asked Tech for some resources to learn about the various birds in the area (which Tech was very curious as to why Crosshair would want all of that information all of a sudden. suspicious), so when you and he went birdwatching, he had at least a basic knowledge of what you were seeing and hearing, and it made you happy that he put time and effort into such an activity- because as much as he refuses to admit it, your smile is far prettier than any bird.

-

Thanks for reading! If you want a ship request like this one, drop it in my ask box, and don't forget to reblog 💚

#the bad bois #the bad batch #crosshair bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair tbb #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #star wars x reader

[phoenixyfriend]

Worldbuilding: The ASPIRE Method

Part 2 - Arts

Now available on Patreon!

I'm including the first third of it here on tumblr for free. The rest is available on Patreon for as low as $1 to access all posts.

A – Arts

When physically visiting a society for the first time, Art will be one of the first things a person encounters, namely in the form of fashion, signage, and architecture. When studying a culture from afar, it is often among the last. In that regard, the order in which your story takes place will have varying degrees of exposure to the culture’s art.

In a visual medium, art provides a subconscious element of worldbuilding that can help set tone without having to take up time in the dialogue. Background characters and so on can inform the world in a colorful manner, suggesting elements of culture to the viewer while the foreground conveys the story itself. In a written narrative, mentions of art and artistry take up time and space by nature, and so you have to pick and choose which elements you talk about. The mention of a single form of art is used to suggest a much deeper background. In both cases, determining which art exists will help you decide which you display to the audience in pursuit of telling your story.

Which forms of art are most common?

Some cultures have very elaborate architecture. Others don’t put much time and effort into architecture, but do a lot with textiles. Paintings are going to be more common in regions where canvas or paper are easier to make. Some regions will have a focus on wooden or stone carvings that are unlikely, or even impossible, in others. Most have music, but frequently different kinds. All of these are forms of art, but not all of them are necessarily going to be common in the world you are building.

Ask yourself which of these forms and mediums of art are ones your culture puts time into, and why:

Architecture: stone, wood, or other

Painting and drawing: on canvas, on stone, on paper, on vellum

Sculpture: stone or wood, clay, metal (wire or mold), rubber, glassblowing, etc. - This includes aesthetic pieces, but also things like functional ceramics and furniture crafting

Textiles: fashion, tapestry, beadwork, interior design

Literature: written or oral, includes prose, poetry, and nonfiction

Film and Theater

Music and Dance

Culinary arts

Cosmetics

And when you decide on them, ask yourself why? What is it that has your culture focusing on one thing at the expense of others? For instance, if your culture is one where inclement weather is a major problem, then architecture may focus primarily on durability, and less so on visual appeal; in turn, the actual focus of artists is more likely to be an indoor activity, like storytelling or music. However, the primary dictator of what art people do is what they have to work with.

What tools are available to your artists?

The further in the past your story is set, the less likely your culture’s people are to have access to a wide variety of pigments and materials. Natural sources of pigment are limited, especially when there are low levels of trade. The local community is also likely to prioritize certain kinds of crops over others, which has a direct influence on the accessibility of textiles and paper.

A culture with a short growth period will likely prioritize food over any form of creative resources; textiles will likely be livestock-derived (like wool and skins), rather than cotton or linen, and will also have much less availability of plant-based art supplies like canvas, paper, and so on. They may focus on pragmatic art forms, such as teaching tools, or styles that can be built into things that are already being crafted, like weaving patterns. Their themes may also be influenced by having more free time in the winter.

Meanwhile, tattoos are popular across the world due to only requiring pigment and a sharp implement… and the knowledge of how to not get infected.

A more modern artist will have access to a wide variety of tools and options, including things like cameras and recording equipment.

Consider these elements:

Which pigments are available? How are they sourced? Which can be safely used for paint, textiles, construction, and cosmetics? - Pigments can be derived from plants, minerals, animals, or synthetic processes. If your world has low trade, figure out which ones are common in the area. Some pigments can be used in paint but are less functional for dyeing. Some can’t be ingested, and so aren’t safe for culinary arts, but are very good for oil painting. - A paint that is toxic to the skin may be used in cosmetics and textiles (see: lead face paint, which was used even when knowing the toxicity), but is much more likely to be used in painting and construction.

Which plants grow nearby? What can they be used for? - Are the trees suitable to carving, to steam bending, to architecture, to weaving? - Can other plants be processed into textiles, pigments, food? - Is there something unique and interesting, like a bioluminescent algae that can be used for glowing paint?

Which animals are available? Are they domestic or wild? How are they used? - Animals can be used for enabling other arts, such as oxen pulling plows to grow basic crops. - Some can be trained to perform, for dance and theater. - They can also be raw materials. This includes wool, feathers, furs, leather, vellum, horns, bones, silk, and even skins for glue. Some are hunted, and some are cultivated. - Note that antler, certain feathers, and wool can be harvested without harming the animals, and would be useful for a society that tries to abide by pacifist or vegan principles. - Others can also be gathered after a natural death, like bones, horn, and skins. The only ones that require a forced death or harm are vellum and certain kinds of silk, though natural death may impact the quality of other materials, like skins and furs.

Which raw materials are inherent, which need to be gathered, and which need to be cultivated? - A person’s own voice or body does not need to be gathered. A dancer or singer does not, for the most basic forms of art, need tools. - Sand for glassblowing does need to be gathered, but occurs naturally. - Flax for linen needs to be cultivated before processing, with a dedicated growth period in temperate climates (helpfully, it also produces food).

For a few historic examples, consider that Tyrian Purple is an uncommon color in textiles before the introduction of aniline dyes, and so Tyrian purple is often limited solely to royalty in period works. This includes the classic Roman example, but also the use of ‘Royal Purple’ and related shades in England after the introduction of a sumptuary act in 1463.

Since the Iron Age, darker, less saturated shades of purple could be achieved through mixing red (e.g. madder) and blue (e.g. woad, indigo), but are generally less intense, and still expensive due to the need for two forms of dye. Meanwhile, common colors in Medieval English art included, among other things, ochres, woad, madder, and chalk.

How intense is the processing period for materials?

How many people need to be involved in that processing? Can it be done in one day, by one person?

Weaving a basket from reeds is relatively centralized. One person can gather materials, cut them to size, and produce the final product.

Synthetic materials require oil drills and chemical production plants, employing hundreds of workers.

Creating a wool and linen dress requires: - farmers (both for sheep and for flax) - processing to clean and spin the raw materials - weavers to make the base textiles - dyeing vats to add color - a dressmaker to actually put together the final product - The support for this process also includes someone who makes buttons or other ties, someone who crafts looms, someone who makes barrels, and someone who breeds dogs for herding those sheep.

Is it theoretically possible for someone to unilaterally do everything from start to finish with no outside help? Yes. Are some of these elements vertically integrated? Probably! Is it likely, or a good idea, to handle everything from start to finish? Not for most scales of production. While farming and spinning are often done by the same people, it’s more likely to be a family business than a solo one. One farm can include the process from start to finish, but your couture dressmaker isn’t very likely to be your shepherd.

Human history is a patchwork of people specializing their skills in order to maximize productivity so everyone can have more free time at the end of the day. If one person has the loom best suited to making linen bedsheets, and another has a loom better designed for woolen cloak fabric, the individuals will produce more fabric in total if they each specialize on their looms, and then trade the results, rather than swapping looms or buying their own. This subject will be touched on in greater detail in the Economics section.

#patreon #phoenix patreon #arts #world building #worldbuilding

[tonguetiedraven]

Hi Raven!!! You are the boss of bonrin fics so I’m asking for some advice since I’m looking to to write one. A big pet peeve of mine is that ryuuji is portrayed as catholic a lot even though he’s Buddhist. Asking if you have some sources or advice for writing a Buddhist character (I’m catholic so I’m pretty confident in portraying rin)???

Thanks so much <3

I wouldn't say I'm the boss, but I've probably written the most xD

Ryuuji getting portrayed as a Catholic is also a major pet peeve of mine, and something I always strive not to do. Especially in canon following fics. (AUs I can understand, but even then I typically don't write him that way.)

Ryuuji follows a Vajrayana form of Buddhism, and he is (I believe) specifically a Shingon Buddhist. (A specific school of Buddhism in Japan. Here is a pretty good run down.)

Things to keep in mind:

Meditation is important and frequently done. It's not limited to sitting and chanting mantras either. You can and should meditate while doing anything. Cleaning, cooking, exercising, etc.

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism (most forms) have a high importance on teaching. Learning from a master is the only way to get a lot of information. It's a very secretive form of Buddhism. (Probably why Karura is with them.) Which also means a lot of knowledge died on the Blue Night with the elders.

Japanese Buddhism does not require you to shave your hair, and does not require you to give up meat in your diet, and allows you to get married, so you don't have to worry about having that in a story.

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism has a lot of focus on fire rituals ('Goma' rituals which is what they use Goma hall for.)

Buddhists' believe that all life is sacred. They're against hurting/killing others and don't believe in holding grudges. (Lol at the filler episode and the 'grudges over food can last generations!' Ryuuji trying to curb that potential before it even happens xD But also, the drama of his drive to defeat Satan for what he took from them.)

Ryuuji's form of Buddhism is heavily connected to the pantheon of Buddhist deities, including the Fudo Myo-o (The Immovable One. The statue you see in a lot of Ryuuji and Kyoto Trio art. He has Kurikara in most depictions. Kurikara is the sword he wields in most text, and the symbol you see on Kurikara and in the True Cross logo is his.) They are connected to the other Myo-o (the wisdom kings) like Yamantaka too. They'll invoke them for rituals and prayers for aids.

So for writing him, the first step is to simply not include any Catholic thinking/influence. He was raised at a dying Buddhist temple so he wouldn't have any real interaction with Catholicism before True Cross Academy. Guilt won't be a big driving force for him, but determination and an enormous work ethic will be. He's determined not to hurt humans/animals, and he has a lot of ways he meditates during his free time (traditional meditation, studying, exercising, cleaning.) He's a good student because he's been one all his life and it's tied to how he learns about his faith -- also why he gets really annoyed at people not willing to put any effort into learning or who try to do something that isn't learning/listening during classes. He has a really strong drive for justice, and isn't afraid to correct what he sees as bad behavior. (Also part of Buddhist practice. The teachers will correct the students.) He's going to eventually be entrusted with a lot of the secretive knowledge of his sect, and he takes that very seriously.

Hope that helped some! Let me know if you have more questions. And also, feel free to join our Blue Exorcist Writers Discord. It's a place specifically for Blue Exorcist Writers and (In my opinion, lol) a pretty fantastic place with a lot of resources!

#ryuuji suguro #ryuji suguro #asks #bon suguro #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #suguro ryuuji #suguro ryuji #aoe #aoex #ane

[venusoracle]

hiii ! could you plz do a real vs shadow self reading on bp rosé ? tysm !

hello darling, i'm sorry this reading took a while!

rosé real vs shadow self

real - conscious existence and personal identity

rosé is someone who appears quite secretive and perhaps shallow sometimes because she might not open up easily. she is very patient and determined, someone who will continue working on opportunities even if she doesn't get immediate results. she's also very generous, especially with animals. she might be quite a traditional person who stays faithful to her religion and daydreams about marriage and a peaceful home life.

another thing is that she is very balanced with herself, she knows herself and her shadow self pretty well, i believe. she reflects on herself and her actions often, especially her achievements and what she puts her effort into. she might do journalling or meditation to reflect on what she wants to continue doing and what she wants to stop. she might be too serious sometimes and too work-focused sometimes and it might feel that she's shedded some of her "inner child" innocence after toughening up.

his shadow self- the parts of one’s personality that society might disapprove of

she is definitely not afraid to speak up. if she's unhappy about how blackpink are doing, she will stand up for herself and voice her concerns. she's not afraid to be bold.

ooo, now i think she might keep it secret just how many connections she has. i think she definitely has a lot of important industry connections, which she seeked out herself (which is a good thing). maybe she met them at gatherings or parties but she actively establishes good bonds with important people to expand her network and create a good base for her career.

a part of her might also feel neglected from blackpink sometimes. she might feel like she's the one who gets left out, with nobody really there to help her and see her in times of struggling. she might also have a small struggle with money where she feels guilty because she thinks she's earned more money than she deserves, so a part of her might worry: "do i really deserve to earn this? what if i stop earning this much?". or she might tend to use money and material possessions as a distraction when she feels alone.

another part of her is that i think a lot of fans tend to see her as somone quite weak or trapped but she is much stronger than she appears. she's very grounded and confident so she recovers from burnouts often and actively tries to heal from things that have hurt her. in fact, a reason why is that she has a lot of support from her family, in both emotional and financial since her father and mother seem to be very secure and supportive. i wouldn't be surprised if her family has a legacy and a lot of inheritance that will be passed down to her.

disclaimer: take with a grain of salt and i don’t take responsibility if my readings start rumours, hurt delusional people, etc. any hate, aggressive comments or spam will be blocked. strength, the hierophant, ornaments, remembering, the high priestess reversed, 6 of coins, queen of wands, 5 of coins, 4 of swords reversed, 10 of coins

#kpop tarot #blackpink tarot #rosé tarot

[a-tale-never-told]

Important annoucement!

//*Sighs* I didn't want to do this again, but with the state that I'm in, I feel as If I have to at this point.//

//Greetings amazing readers, Mod Sam here. As you can obviously tell by the thumbnail, this is a very important announcement that I have to make. Because I have been thinking this over and I feel like I can't do this to my health anymore.//

//Currently, I'm on a downward spiral of constant paranoia about how I'm treating the blog in general and insecurities about my writing. I had a conversation with Mod Freeze earlier this morning in the DMs about my concerns about doing the ask blog thing and feeling like I killed the story by doing the ask block in the first place. Obviously, this is incorrect as I've received multiple asks this morning about the last story chapter I just uploaded, which eased some of the tension in my head.//

//But at the same time, I feel terrible that I even decided to do it in the first place, as it only just interrupted the flow of the story, and only just disappointed some anons that didn't like the ask block. To be fair, no one likes the ask block. I don't like the ask block either, which puts into question why I even did it in the first place. I just got so paranoid about this fact that I thought that the reason why people didn't send asks related to the other story posts was because of that factor.//

//And that is another significant thing I want to talk about as it's concerning to me and how I write these chapters: I got almost no asks related to the last two posts I made. The only asks that I got from the whole heartfelt moment between Hajime and Natsumi, which I worked my ass off to complete, weren't even related to the moment itself. It was instead related to an ask about fixing Hajime's car, which I answered, and I have gotten 5 asks related to that. Yes, 5 asks had nothing to do with the moment itself and instead were talking about a random ask about Kazuichi. Two of those were basically the same ask back-to-back.//

//Another thing is that I got a few asks related to the moment when Hajime and Natsumi showed up at Hajime's house and Natsumi was giving her peculiar intro. It was only three asks, Three. Obviously, I know this might not be a big deal, but it sets a big precedent about how I'm writing these chapters because I put so much effort and work into making these story chapters after school when I'm tired and I want to lay down on a bed and watch Die Hard. But to see the amount of asks I got for the last two days, and almost no likes on any of these posts sets a question: What am I doing?//

//What exactly am I doing wrong that is preventing my ability to get more asks and likes? Is it the writing? The sense of humor? The worldbuilding? Everything?! I honestly had to think clearly about what's hurting the blog, and most of these mistakes and faults can mostly be attributed to my own shortcomings as a writer. Obviously, I needed to determine a reason as to why this was the case, and I eventually found it in the form of these issues//

//First, the amount of asks and anons. I hate to bring Mod Bubbles, Poi, and Freeze into this, especially Bubbles since he's one of my good friends on this website, and considering the amount of stress and problems he's going through, which I sympathize with completely and I pray that he feels better eventually. But it's just... frustratingly hard to not feel jealous when I see an ASOOT story post or NVPM story blog post and I look at my count and think "What am I even doing?"//

// I completely understand that ASOOT and NVPM have been here far longer than I have, and had extensive time to build their blogs from small story blogs to being almost the gold standard about how to write and do a story blog, and I feel like I can do the same. It's just that even though I try my best a whole lot, I still end up getting a few likes, but obviously more asks. The ask count is truly confusing as it's extremely high on some days, only to turn out next to nothing in the following days. Compared to Bubbles and Poi, who I'm guessing are bringing in asks by the hundreds and people adore their stories a lot.//

//In fact, Mod Freeze! Mod Freeze, a relative newcomer to the Dr story blog community, and someone that I appreciate a whole lot, is pulling in more likes than I do. His most recent story post is sitting at around 12 likes. 12!. Which is significantly a far higher count than mine, almost to the point of Bubble's levels if I'm being honest. I don't quite get it to be honest with you. Mod Freeze has two arcs, compared to my one, which could explain why he's more successful than me, but at the same time, It honestly makes me look like a fool because my average like count for a post is like 4 or 5. And that's the peak of the mountain! I'm starting to lose it, I honestly cannot comprehend what's happening with my head. Like, is the writing of the New Future that good? It is according to my eyes, but do people really don't like my writing? Is that the main issue?//

//Another main issue is the tagging. Now when I tag a post or an ask, I do credit those who send me the asks by using "Anonymous" like everyone else, as well as those who don't go by anonymous, like "Hypergamming999" for example. But when I tag a post with the Danganronpa tag, I put it as "Dr2" or "Dr" like to shorten the sentences. This is incredibly awful because it's giving off the negative impression that I don't really care about the story or Danganronpa at all, which is quite the opposite, I can assure you. It just gives off a terrible look that I look bored and not motivated to do it, which I'm not. The issue is that I'm tired every day from school, and when I finish my assignments, I feel so tired and my brain can't even focus clearly when I make a post, so that's why the writing is so subpar for most of the time.//

// I looked at the tags for ASOOT, for The New Future, and for NVPM and Dr. Suvivor, and they all put the tags with proper pronunciation and how it's very much supposed to look and resemble like how a normal DR tag would look like. But then you look at my tags, and it just screams tired all over the board. ONLY NOW did I actually start putting the Danganronpa tag, but the fact that these sorts of tags have been on my posts for about a month at this point is quite embarrassing when you self-reflect. When you take this long to realize that the way you tag your posts is shitty, lazy, and unimaginative, you know that you've done something wrong as a writer.//

//Speaking of writing, we got the dialogue. I honestly am trying my damm hardest with the dialogue, and I wholeheartedly believe I do amazing when it comes to historical moments, worldbuilding, or emotional and heartfelt moments, but the rest of the dialouge is just so incredibly poor. That scene with Hajime freaking out over the atrocities of the Soviet Stalin era? What was even the point of that conversation at all?! Just to do some more worldbuilding at least? Chiaki saying that they are going to save the world, even though she doesn't know that she is going to save the world? What the fuck is this?//

//I think you get the picture here. The dialogue is so confusing that I almost believe this was done by an amateur who hasn't gotten used to writing, which is me. Sometimes the characters act like themselves, like Fuyuhiko for example. I think I nailed his personality pretty well, and he's possibly one of the characters that I think is written accurately as to how he would behave in a situation like this. Hajime is this too, especially in the serious scenes. That conversation with Natsumi about her insecurities is honestly what I think Hajime could say in a situation like this. But then you get people like Hiroshi and Keiko and even Ibuki in some instances, and they act almost completely different from their original canon selves. It feels like they're not even the same person!.//

//I haven't seen ASOOT Season 2 yet, so that's why Hiroshi and Keiko feel far different from what they would originally do and say. But then, we have Ibuki and she's been relatively calm for the most part throughout the scenes she's in, instead of the hyperactive, cheerful, energized, rockstar girl that she usually is. Not once did Ibuki act like herself in this blog, aside from a few key moments in the plot. Overall, the dialogue is inconsistent in how it's presented, and the execution varies from time to time.

//And YET another issue is the timing. I don't know how the schedule for DR story blogs works officially. Is it on Saturdays? Sundays? Mondays? Because I see most story blogs active on Monday or Wednesday! What's the schedule here, can someone please explain me? I haven't seen Poi's blog yet, so I can't compare her timing to mine, ASOOT seems to upload in the evenings, and Creeper does it in the early mornings, though he is from the UK so I can at least understand why he uploads so early since Uk time schedules are far different here in America. Freeze, I don't know exactly when he updates. I believe he updates on the weekend or whenever he has time to. But these are minuscule little issues compared to the mindboggling upload schedule I have .//

//I upload constantly Every. Single. Day one I finish school and not only does this mean that you see a post from me each day, but also stresses me out quite a lot because I come back from my classes, drained out and exhausted, and then I have to come back, do a post or an ask, and then stop and wait for said anons to come back with more asks. It is painfully exhausting and as of writing this, my arms have gone so numb that I can actually feel the numbness getting to my wrists. Obviously, the answer is to get a better schedule like I said a few weeks ago, but I have not committed to stopping where I should. And that is a mistake that I now have to learn or else I'll continue burning myself out untill I cannot handle it anymore.//

//Another reason is that I want to finish this arc early. Keep in mind that we are at the near end of October by now, and I definitely don't want this to continue into January of next year. But at the same time, my mind and brain are so drained out that I can't even focus on what I'm doing most of the time and it ends up making the posts look disappointing as a result. To have the arc end in January or even February would be incredibly embarrassing for me, as it proves that I can't even finish a single arc without taking months to complete. That's why I try to upload on a daily basis to reduce the time I have, but that has obviously not aged well, so what can I do?.//

//But the single, systematic, significant issue of this entire blog, the one problematic and complicated issue that brings this thing down is, without question, the premise. Now, it's a very interesting premise to be honest. A bunch of ragtag teenagers forms a team to fight back against the forces of pure, sinister sin on this earth that is communism and the Soviet Union, while also trying to change and bring the world out of its stagnation, both technologically, and socially, in order to lead to a better future. That sounds like a pretty amazing premise and an incredibly unique one for a story blog, that is if you ever heard or learned history before.//

//The lack of knowledge of the rest of my fanbase about history is truly what I think holds this entire story down. Obviously, it's not your fault at all, I blame the schools for not making history a mandatory thing, as it's really interesting, I just want to clarify that? But let's be honest: How many anons and story blog anons, out of everyone here know what the Soviet Union is? The Civil Rights Movement? The Cold War? Vietnam? John F Kenndey? The Aztecs? Egypt? Germany? Who here knows a single clue about history or what they're talking about?//

//I think the answer is clear, as while there are several anons that do know about history quite a bit actually, the majority don't know, and that's a massive issue. Given how so few people, especially in the Dr story blog community, know about history other than a few facts, is mindblowing. And I feel like I'm the main person to blame for not teaching you all what I'm talking about before I started the story, as to give you all a better understanding as to what the setting is and what exactly our characters are in right now. I promised all of you that I would explain the events and lore behind everything, but I haven't really done it, didn't I?//

//The fact that we are now at the point where Hajime has to deal with a Stasi agent attacking his family, despite almost everyone not even knowing what the Stasi even god damm is, is so embarrassing and astounding, I can't even fathom why I didn't do a review of this earlier. It would have been so much more easier, wouldn't it? Explantation to the audience is key, especially when it comes to things that people don't know or haven't had a clue is key, as it allows them to clearly understand what's going on, and how they can comprehend what they're listening to and what to do in this case. Clearly, I have failed in this as we're a quarter into this, and people still don't know what's happening.//

//When you fail at even explaining to your audience the fucking premise of the whole story blog and what it actually means, something is clearly wrong with you as a writer, like seriously. To fail at something so simple as explaining a premise to people is a thing that I cannot even put into words, as it's just unbelievable. What is the point of even continuing if people don't know what I'm talking about?//

// *Sighs* I'm not trying to sound constantly negative all the time with these things, I'm really, really not. I don't want to be a Nerderotic or Mauler, because those guys are just pissed off over any conceivable thing that they don't like, and give rather god-awful takes, though the takes are more on Nerderotic's part than Mauler's because he has some decent takes, albeit with questionable ones as well. //

// The point is that I'm so overwhelmed, stressed out, and tired as fuck at this stage, that I just want to finish this post and stop uploading for the day because this is just too much for my mental state to handle. Yet I keep going because I want to see this blog be successful one day. Everything for the past three months has been nothing but constant stress and work for me, and it's reached a point where I need to think and self-reflect on what I'm doing or there's no going back for me.//

// I'm just... *sighs* I can't even say anything other than the fact that I'm sorry for expressing my emotions. I guess I cannot express my feelings on this in a stressed way, can I? I just have to take it, do I? Sorry for having some creativity in my life, and trying to think outside the box! *sighs* To those of you who support me, @a-student-out-of-time @thenewfuture @tired-writer-in-progress @alizachan @spyrkle4, and the rest of you, thank you so much for this support that you guys give me throughout this. I'll be fine, I just... need a minute to catch myself, but I cannot understate how much I value your support and kind advice through this difficult time throughout this, and making this blog a reality. I greatly appreciate your support and wish all happy blessings in the future.//

// I formally apologize if this turned into a vent about my insecurities as a young writer, but I felt like I had to address this at some point because this was going to be an issue, and I felt that if I didn't address this, something worse was going to happen that I would regret wholeheartedly. I'm just... drained out and done with writing this post, and I hope you all can understand why I feel this way and how I want to improve this story blog for the better.//

//This is Mod Sam from A Tale Never Told, signing out. Have a good one and... I'm just so tired and done with doing more posts today. God help my soul...//

#mod talks #a tale never told #announcement #story blog

[crackedpumpkin]

hi!!! i love your work :)

what about question #24???

Hello love!! Thank you so much for your question; I'm about to info dump all over your ass I am NOT sorry <3

How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part, or do you just want to get on with it?

When I was beginning as a writer on Tumblr, I never planned anything I wrote. It was genuinely just such a 'sit down and write whatever comes to mind' type of thing I did. It might be obvious to some when you compare my current work and my earlier ones, especially with Cherry Blossoms, Caught Red Handed, compared to 101 Ways To Live lmao

I think I put in a lot of effort planning the two fic, Black Canvas and 101WTL, this time around, though, because I really want to see these projects do well. It's also something that I learned from hitechlatte and Dork, both of whom are just stupendous writers that I can learn so much from!

Currently, for how planning stories looks like for me, I use a table in a Google Doc, which looks something like this:

Blank Canvas:

Sometimes the outline isn't really followed to a T, which you can evidently see in Chapter 1, where the last few points are a little wonky and some straight-up don't appear :) But it's such an amazing safety net for me to fall back on since I tend to veer off course, and random tidbits of drabbles hit me out of nowhere.

For example, this is a thing that hit me one night. It's yet to be determined whether it'll be in the fic, but I just thought I'd show you lol:

“Didn’t anyone ask you?” Damn it. You risk a quick glance up, eyeing his raised brow and the skeptical smile. It’s not like you could outrightly admit that you wanted him to be your date. Besides, what you’re feeling is probably just one-sided anyway. It’s not like you expect him to be happy with you asking, but he could at least react a little nicer, couldn’t he?

God, you want to smack his pretty face so bad. 

"No, so I need a date for the prom. You don’t gotta do it if you don’t want to, jeez." You mutter, looking back down and feeling your cheeks warm as you absentmindedly shade your doodle of his face in your sketchbook.

Hehe.

As for whether or not I enjoy this part, I generally do! It's so much fun to think up little moments or even entire arching plot points that gradually develop throughout the fic! However, there are definitely moments when I get stuck, but I try not to let it affect me as much. To be perfectly honest, there are just blank chapters in the Google Doc table, where It's just. Nothing. But I know that as I write and gradually develop/flesh out the story even more, it'll hit me eventually. Sometimes, all you need is time, and it'll just come to you^^

With that I hope this has answered your question love! Stay safe, and stay hydrated <33333

#CPRambles #miles morales x reader #Miles x reader #into the spiderverse

[pe4nutastic]

So I made another writing thing, but like WAY longer than I originally thought it'd be. Conventionally, I've never really written things that involves me balancing more than one character lol so I'm not sure how adept I am at the balancing act yet.

All the same, this writing thing takes place in sort of alternate universe where Giegue survives M2 (originating from my old, now defunct, RP blog @anearthstruckalien) and is stuck in a kind of limbo where he needs to put his own destroyed mind back together. This is one of the many fragments he addresses.

Everything is muddled like an unwound thread, always unraveling without apparent end, splayed in all directions like spiderwork and tangled into painful knots where it had been unfortunate enough to cross into its own endless trajectory.  Muddled away into agony and nothingness.  Drenched in darkness and blood, only punctuated by a distorted painful buzzing of so much something. Hot and cold. Wet and dry.  Sparking yet dimmed.  Suffocating and all-encompassing, like a tomb.  Something short and flitting at some points, rising and lowering like especially mercurial tides, and endless at others unlike anything even the deepest and darkest depths of the oceans have ever seen.  Thoughts cannot be formed… whatever that is supposed to be.  Identity cannot be found, whatever that is supposed to be.  Memories cannot be fit together.  Whatever that is supposed to be.  He cannot discern how long it has been.  He cannot even conceptualize how something like that is measured or what it means, even as it passes through him like wind, there and yet not in an instant.

And then.  Abruptly, as if forcibly cutting to the next scene of a film in an especially jarring way with bemoaning screeeeeeeech upon reaching the terminal of some arbitrary counter, a sharp pang brings a few things to focus.  And now, he can perceive and process his environment.  A shred of clarity.  A void-like place, painted in an inky and seemingly never-ending darkness–one tinged in an oddly despairing and desolate hue somehow–and littered with glistening bits of bright shards.  Incomprehensibly bright and ever-shifting in colour and form; iridescence incarnate.  Glimmers of that which is missing, seemingly unable to fit with each other anymore yet drawn to one another anyways with the sense that with enough effort, somehow it could all fit together and become recognizable anew.  And altogether with it all, the first proper thought–as opposed to a mess of disjointed sensations and tortuous pain–springing to mind with a sudden start, something indescribably heavy like a pit coursing through what little remains of his very being intact:

Am… I… dying…?  Ceasing to… be…?

He squints or rather… would, if he had any associated visual to him.  As it stands now, it would seem that the being known as the Universal Cosmic Destroyer, is little more than a flicker of consciousness.  The tiniest and most fragile ember from a flame which had previously been extinguished, now sparking anew against all odds and probability.  Against the schematics of fate which had dictated that he die in the battle against the Earth’s latest set of Chosen Ones.  Dying.  Finality.  Somehow that seems daunting–though he can’t recall why–yet he cannot feel alarmed by it at all by his own questions nonetheless.  He had just regained (or gained?) the ability to properly process his environment and string together thoughts after all.  And either way, somehow he knows that this isn’t the end anyways.  Or at least, not yet.  All he has is a feeling.  One padded out by that which sparked that ember of consciousness, fragile as it is, into being.  A sense of resilience and indomitable spirit that refuses to bend or break, no matter how hard it is chipped away at by the harshest of elements:  willpower and determination.

The will to not die (but from what?).  The determination to endure and survive.

And somehow, without definitive rhyme and reason, part of that lies in the glimmering points of iridescent radiances before him, scattered about like stardust in the void.  He shifts his gaze towards the one closest to him, feeling something almost like a magnetic pull towards it, and as though on cue… –the very moment he eyelessly stares at it for more than a few seconds, the scene before him is softly wiped clean like chalk off a blackboard and replaced with far less monotonous and simplistic scenery:

A brightly lit room adorned by ivory wallpaper dotted with artfully-administered strokes of tiny multicoloured carnations, light brown hardwood floors, and containing little more than a small window with nothing to see but golden radiance of some kind shining through and a tiny wooden table full of various desserts and cups of tea; one cup before the entity himself and the other… before a blonde woman in a neatly-pressed pale pink dress ruffled at its ends and hanging just past her knees.

Dark blue eyes squint anew with a shrewd sense of calculation as he assesses the room anew, trying to piece together what had exactly happened to shift the location, but unable to come to an answer.  A train of thought that inevitably comes to an abrupt halt anyways when he catches sight of himself in the murky reflection of the tea soothingly settled in the ivory nook provided by its petite cup.  Shock jolts through him almost immediately, eyes widening just a smidge, as he almost jumps straight out of his plush seat.  Small fingers tap at his face and pull his cheek in an almost clinical way, as though jumpstarting a more thorough tactile examination.  He looks quite a bit like the blonde woman.  He looks… what was the word for it?  Human.  A young human boy to be precise.  Fluffy blonde hair.  A set of blue eyes set in white sclera and black pupils. A nose and mouth set into a relatively flat profile and smooth skin.  Real skin tinged with warmth, but with minimal color rising to its surface.  Human.  Somehow it feels like an illusion and yet he cannot recall every being anything else save for the formlessness he had experienced a moment prior.  Has he always been human?  It doesn’t feel like it, but…

…–and almost as soon as that particular thought starts, it comes to a grinding halt when, after what feels like an eternity of confusion and strangeness (but in actuality was little more than a few seconds worth of time), the blonde woman speaks up.

“Ah you’ve finally arrived!  I’m so happy to see you here!  It’s been a long time huh?”

She tucks a few strands of gently curling blonde hair behind an ear and all the while, the now human-boy tilts his head to the side a little at the inquiry.  A long time?  A long time for what?  He taps small stubby fingers against the solid wooden top of the table or rather, the long and lacey pale pink tablecloth daintily hanging over it, dull gaze averting in an oddly concentrated way as though attempting to grasp onto something.  Bit-by-bit, it feels like something is trickling in so as to fill an emptiness he had not realized he had, but not up to pace enough to leave him anything but perpetually confused and disoriented nonetheless.  There must be a more… a more… –efficient? yes, efficient method to this but it would seem that he has little more than the ability to think and process at the moment, knowledge itself lacking save for what inevitably trickles in.

“Are you comfortable?  I’ve prepared your favourite tea and some desserts that you’ve always liked just for this occasion.  So feel free to take as much as you want of whatever you want.  Nothing ever runs out here --take my word for it!”

She winks, one bright and lively blue eye–practically brimming with a zest for life and unwavering optimism for whatever the future may bring–of two, momentarily being obscured by the attached flap of skin before re-emerging.  In return, the human boy stares blankly at her for a few seconds before seemingly relenting his inscrutable gaze–unable to find whatever it is he was looking for–before gingerly plucking a shortbread cookie off its pristine plate, intrigued by both the dessert and by what the blonde woman had said.  By the very notion of having information that he lacks.  Something about that feels right… familiar… but he can’t quite place why exactly.  Lifting the cookie directly before him, rather than immediately consuming it, the human boy examines it with just a glint of intrigue in his comparatively dull pupils.

“My ‘favourites’...?  I have a favourite?  How would you know?”

A genuine question.  The entity rather delicately nibbles on the perfectly-formed edge of the cookie, swirling the tiny bit on the tip of his tongue, before taking a proper bite out of it afterwards.  One which he hopes will at the very least serve as a good point of reference or direction towards easing away that thick fog cluttering his mind.  The cookie is… hm… ‘good’.  It tastes good.  Familiar.  Safe.  Safe…?  Safe.  Dark blue voids flicker back up to meet the blonde woman’s gaze.  She seems to have no immediate response, thick eyebrows knitted in thought albeit without ever breaking her gaze on the entity himself, before settling on something, smile dimming a little to something less exuberant and more gentle and understanding.

“It’s a liiiittle tricky to explain if you even need to ask in the first place… but, I know what I do about you because in a way, I’m a part of you.

The one part that’s never changed… –that never could.

No matter how much everything else got rearranged.

…it’s never changed.  You were still you.  You still are.”

She taps a finger over where the human heart would be located, over the left side of her chest as she makes a claim of being part of the entity himself.  And she does just that, something lights up in softened iridescence over that point, in the shape of a stylized heart, the same occurring immediately to the entity himself in the exact same point and thus emphasizing the verity of her very point, dark blue voids widening just a smidge in surprise before giving way to a small pensive frown.  He sharply glances down to his own chest as the light fades away.  Part of him…?  He taps the same spot a few times.  But, he’s right here and yet… even though it seems nonsensical, it somehow seems to make perfect sense anyways.  Instinctively so.  The answer isn’t as direct as he had been hoping, but maybe it’s meant to be this way.  Meant to be?  There’s a word for that.  Destiny.  A bitter taste in his mouth.  Fate.  A sensation that twists and churns his guts (if he had any to begin with) with intense fervor for reasons he cannot entirely parse out… –doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t apply in this situation anyways.  Because this is on a significantly smaller scale anyways.

The entity takes a small sip of the hot and soothing tea before him, a cooling sensation immediately hitting afterwards despite its true temperature setting.  Peppermint.  Much like the shortbread cookies, it indeed seems pleasant to his palate.  Between this, what he captured beyond this world in the form of glittery fragments amidst a void, and the growing conglomerate sensation (familiarity, safety, trust) towards the blonde woman… it seems that there’s more merit than ‘meets the eye’ to this interaction.  Clarity starts with this.  Perhaps that’s why he was the most drawn to this fragment.  Another small sip of the peppermint tea.  Perhaps that’s why not receiving a direct answer is the most conducive to dispersing that thick fog over his mind.  Towards feeling less empty.

“Perhaps.  But, if what you are saying is accurate, then I must be incomplete.

In… pieces.

It is what my… ‘gut’ is telling me… though it also ‘feels’... incorrect to rely on such a thing.”  He glances back down at the tea, settled shortly after his last sip, and down to his murky reflection in it before shaking his head.  “This form feels incorrect.  As though I should have a different shape...”

Yet another sip of the peppermint tea, head tilting slightly to the side afterwards as he continues to speak, any uncertainty from before evaporating to be replaced by what seems to be rather characteristic of him; blank neutrality and flatness.

“Being in pieces is not my natural state, is it?  Is this interaction a way of pulling everything back together?”

The blonde woman takes a sip of her own tea.  Chamomile tea.  He can tell what it is somehow, without having tasted it and even before its smell registers with him.  It’s her favourite.  Just like the carnations dotting the worn wallpaper.  She taps her head for a moment as she responds, a hint of playfulness entering her tone as she does so.

“Maybe.  Maybe not. I can’t just tell you directly, but I can give that knowledge as an exchange of sorts.”

The entity lifts up his own cup of tea anew, as though planning to drink it, before deigning to just swirl the liquid around a bit as if mulling something over before responding, a twinge of determination entering his tone as he does so.  Of course not.  He isn’t being fed direct answers, but being directed towards them after all.

“What kind of exchange?”

Her smile widens, matching the playful tone as it continues to seep into her next few words.

“We can play a game and if you win, then I’ll be more direct with you.  A game of…”

She pauses, frowning a bit herself in a rather pensive manner as if mulling over a few options herself to determine which one would be best for truly helping the entity, before settling on something and with that, clasping her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. 

“... –of riddles!  It’s a pretty simple points-based game with two roles:  the one that makes up the riddles, the Riddle Master, and the one that answers them.

The Riddle Master gets points by making up riddles that the other player can’t answer while the player gets points by successfully giving the correct answer to the Riddle Master’s riddles.  No one loses points, you either get them or you don’t.

In this game, I’ll be the Riddle Master and you’ll be the one answering.  There’ll be a total of 5 riddles.  How does that sound for you?”

The entity hesitates very little, taking just a moment to mentally go over the exact parameters of the suggested game, before offering a definitive nod.  He’s already determined that judging by every minute improvement in his state here… it’s best to simply ‘play’ along, no matter how counterproductive it may seem.  He implicitly trusts her, even if the reason why exactly cannot be parsed out, and so this aspect to him must represent someone that was (and perhaps still is) important to him.

“I accept your arrangement.  Proceed with the ‘game’.”

The blonde woman takes another sip of her chamomile tea, gulping the rest of it down in one fell swoop before gently moving aside the empty cup… one which stays empty for only a second or so before the familiar steam of freshly crafted tea wafts through the air anew, as if no progress had been made on it to begin with.  ‘As much as you want’ huh?  The entity consumes the rest of his shortbread cookie, as if to test the theory for himself, and in line with what he had just seen… the empty spot on the plate from which he had plucked it is immediately filled with a new shortbread cookie as its replacement; a reinforcement that this is a matter of the mind… he thinks.  At this juncture, he only has sensations and hunches –not true concrete data to confirm if there is anything more than this.  He smoothes out the neck of his grey sweater before folding his own hands together with definitive intent and concentration, dark blue voids narrowing accordingly.  All the more reason to ‘play along’ and succeed in this game.

“Alright!  Let’s get to it then.  I’ll keep the first three riddles simple and easy; a good warm-up before getting to the trickier ones.

What… disappears as soon as you say its name?

That’s it.  That’s all you’re getting to work out the answer!”

The entity immediately gets to thinking over the answer.  A riddle is an inquiry that appeals to logic, problem-solving, or both.  And so, it either has an answer that’s so obvious one wouldn’t even consider it or clues scattered throughout as the characteristics of what the answer is supposed to be.  Judging by the minimal nature of this riddle… it must be the former.  The answer is obvious.  Something in plain sight.  An auditory component to it.  Speaking aloud the name of the subject will make it disappear and so, it can only exist so long as one doesn’t speak… ah.  He almost smiles, satisfied, even by such a trivial accomplishment.

“The answer is ‘silence’.  Not making any sound is a condition inherent to maintaining it therefore, it ceases to be once sound is made.”

The blonde woman gives an affirmative nod in agreement, sticking two closed fists with thumbs sticking out as if to reaffirm the point.  The entity isn’t entirely certain as to what he should make of the gesture, but based off her body language, he can only deduce that it is a positive gesture.  One whose continued enthusiasm is admittedly a little endearingly infectious though he doesn’t quite outwardly show it yet.  He doesn’t feel as though he is the sort to ‘warm up’ quickly to others, but something about this comes just as naturally as trust did, tinged with a sense of ‘deja vu’, as though he’s done this many times over before.  Something about this contents him, the familiarity and warmth prevalent throughout their entire interaction thus far playing no small role in this, even though the game has just started.

“That’s right aaaand one point for you!  You’re a natural at this –I knew you would be!  You’ve always been clever.  But, can you handle this one too?  

What has many keys, but can’t open a single lock?”

Hm.  Yet another question with very minimal clues and in lieu of that, an obvious answer to it.  Keys and locks.  A key?  A key is… a key is… hm… oh! something that is used to open places safeguarded by a matching lock!  Keys and locks are a pair, one shape fitting the other in order to move the mechanism keeping its interconnected block in place against those without the necessary key.  Small fingers pensively tap his chin.  But, in this case… the key in question has no matching lock.  Several keys without matching locks to be specific.  A quality inherent to the object in question and not the result of some defect or damage, if he has analyzed the phrasing correctly.

Admittedly… be it due to his gaps in actual knowledge or not, he cannot imagine anything which would have multiple useless keys attached to it.  But then… perhaps the term ‘keys’ does not refer to what his initial instinct falls upon.  Maybe he needs to consider alternate contexts of it…–an abrupt pause mid-thought, by the sound of the blonde woman tapping her fingers over top the table’s wooden surface.  A rhythmic and intentional motion…

… –as though, she’s creating music.  An oddly familiar tune, sweet yet bitter in a way he can almost grasp, like words just at the tip of his tongue.  Understanding clicks into place.  Playing an instrument.  With keys. 

“A piano.  The answer is a ‘piano’.”

No need to explain this time.  The abrupt, almost enthused despite the blandness of his tone, way in which the entity himself answered, cutting straight through the tapping says it all.  He’s certain in his conclusion with no need to explain it to the one that created the riddle in the first place.  And as such, he receives another set of ‘thumbs up’.  Something which sparks a bit of brightness in his heart anew; contentment and satisfaction at succeeding.

“Correct!  Two points now!

For someone that doesn’t remember much, you’re pretty good at this game, but remember, this is the last easy question before things get more challenging okay?”

A playful wink on her part while the entity does little more than offer a curt nod, much of his attention glued more to whatever the next question may be.  It’s difficult to parse out the exact words for this sensation, but it’s hooked him in rather quickly; a combination of its familiarity and the mental exercise it offers.

“What do you call two birds in love?”

And with that question, the blonde woman uses her respective thumbs and and index fingers to form the shape of a heart as if to emphasize the ‘love’ part.  The entity himself stares at the motion, from start to end, with a blank stare despite his enjoyment of the game before focusing in on piecing it out.  It doesn’t seem like a true riddle.  The question does not seem to have an object inherent to its answer, but a term instead.  He rubs his chin.  An odd departure or perhaps a format that he cannot recall, due to his fragmented state of being at the moment.  He thinks on it for a few seconds more before shaking his head, a touch disappointed in himself, and ultimately relenting.

“Apologies.  I do not know.  Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on the matter?”

A short and sweet–almost as musical as her voice, like gentle wind chimes–burst of laughter bubbles out her mouth at that before its obscured by an arm, bare skin far less effective than actual fabric would have been were the sleeves of her dress not short.  Nonetheless, once the blonde woman regains her composure enough, the answer comes out in one similarly short burst as if retelling an especially thrilling punchline to a joke.

“Tweet-hearts!  Get it?  Because they’re birds and in love –like sweet hearts haha!”

Another short and sweet burst of laughter, her hand gently smacking the table with a soft yet no less resounding thunk, clearly thoroughly enjoying the joke herself.  The entity on the other hand… though he understands the concept of it and the wordplay that inspired it, mouth twitching a bit, before he just turns his head to the side.  And he does so in a rather petulant and oddly childish way, as if overcome with an emotion from a separate moment in time tipped in deja vu, before huffing through his nose to forcibly dissipate any genuine amusement that may (or may not) have been felt by him.

“That is not a riddle.  It is wordplay.  You tricked me.”

In response, the blonde woman sticks up a single finger and wags it side-to-side, having long since gotten the last bit of her amusement out of her system, evidently finding great amusement in jokes like this.

“Uh-uh!  By definition, a riddle is a question or statement with a clever twist to it. And all clever twists need ingenuity to properly entangle, don’t you think?”

Incapable of actually keeping up the petulant facade–the emotion as insincere as everything else might as well be about him at this juncture–where the human woman herself is concerned, the entity ultimately relents and turns back to her with a nod.

“... I suppose.  Does it count against me then?”

She shakes her head, high energy dimmed a little but no less bright and warm in her overall demeanor nonetheless.

“It’s just a joke –a bit of humour!  Pretty punny don’t you think?  Don’t worry, this one doesn’t count against you.  You still have two points.  Two for you.  Zero for me.

Are you ready to move onto the next riddle?  Two more left.  And remember, it gets more challenging from here on out.”

The most immediate answer that pops to mind is a resounding ‘yes’.  And yet, the entity finds himself halted by a sudden and odd sense of melancholic emptiness, one which almost completely replaces the contentment he had experienced before.  He downs the rest of his peppermint tea, somewhat hoping to distract himself from the uncomfortable sensation, but ultimately failing.  How familiar.  The sense of deja vu is even stronger than before and it’s only really hitting him now.  It isn’t just the game itself, but the exact questions and wordplay interjection that’s familiar.  Nonsensical as it sounds, this exchange feels as though it’s happened before in every exact step…at least on the blonde woman’s part.  The entity himself has changed.  Somehow, he’s certain of it… certain that when (if) this actually happened in reality… he more closely mirrored the blonde woman’s demeanor.  He glances back down at the now empty cup before it immediately refills itself with the steaming and soothing aroma of the peppermint infused liquid.  The entity himself has changed, even before the fragmentation event, and likely for the worst.  He takes a renewed cursory glance at his surroundings, one with renewed clarity even through the still ever-present fog in his mind.

The surroundings make a lot less sense now.  The odd minimalism and the overly bright hues to everything (now that he really looks at it) as if it all has a subtle glow to it… the lack of anything beyond pure radiance outside the window… it seems less like reality and more like a dream.  A thing of the mind after all.  Something in his chest tightens.  Hesitation encased in dread cutting through what remains of his contentment before he mentally presses on with a determined nod, ready to hear the next riddle.

“A star twinkles in the distance, a wonder of its existence. In exchange for a bird, the silence of a child. A question of the sheep's provisions.

What is it?”

More challenging indeed.  The format is far less simple, especially when he’s on the cusp of what feels vaguely like an awakening of sorts.  A stab through delusion which, if he is to fully submit to the idea that this isn’t what reality is actually like, he must not have wanted to recover from on some level.  Not if it took for him this long to figure it out if he really is as supposedly clever as she claims.  And yet, despite the cloudiness introduced to his logical processes, the answer comes much quicker than before with little introspection needed on his part.  Like he already knows it… because he almost certainly already does.  Quick as it comes however, some of that hesitation from before rushes back with a biting vengeance.   It… hurts?  Something does.  The game is almost over after all and yet, his determination to see it through remains anyways.  Feeble as it may be… the entity nonetheless, pushes on anyways like before.

“...a lullaby.”

Almost despondently so, his gaze averting off to the side, but never fully breaking the blank neutrality of his tone.  Then silence for a bit.  A much needed reprieve and yet, one which even in the absence of the final riddle, only lasts for a short burst of time or so before his mind wanders back to the blonde woman’s tapping from before.  With a bit more clarity gained now… he not only realizes that she was giving him a hint as to what the answer to the second riddle was, but that he actually knows the words.  Sweet yet painful.  More clear images–and with it, the surroundings losing their subtle glow and coming more into focus–starting to filter through like film from an old movie that might have once been in pristine condition, but has now long since degraded, cutting off at certain points while slanting in an unsightly way at others.  Another pang of clarity.  He almost doesn’t want to play anymore.  To stop it at this before things go too far… before he is far too gone to return to being more contented and… and… normal.

N o r m a l.  He’s always wanted to be normal, but they would not let him.

A discordant thought.  One which he neatly sweeps aside, finding it easier to do so as opposed to letting it run any further, before forcing his attention back on the game.  Despite everything… he still, at the end of it all, feels inclined to finish.  He has to finish because this is important.  More than he had initially surmised in his far less lucid state upon arriving here.  At that conclusion, as if on cue, the blonde woman starts on the next riddle with no further lighthearted comments or jabs, her expression going completely inscrutable yet no less determined as if she knows the end is near in more ways than one.  An awakening is coming and though it’s a bit hard to pop the entity’s bubble… though it feels cruel… she must press on.  It’s better this way.

“Three points.  Onto the last riddle

I’m always old yet sometimes new.

Never sad yet sometimes blue.

Never empty but sometimes full.

Never pushy but always pulling.

Always here even when I’m gone.

What am I?”

The entity’s eyes widen as though he’s just been sloshed with a bucket of ice-cold water.  Inexplicably so.  Nothing about the wording is especially offensive and yet something tightens in his chest anyways.  The very feeling which had been building up over the course of this whole interaction peaking and exploding by the very last sentence of the riddle, small hand reaching up to tightly grip just over his chest, where his heart would be were he actually as human as he appears.  The moon.  Gone.  He knows it.  Not real.  She’s gone.  He knows that this is the answer with 100% certainty and yet the answer is caught in his throat anyways, as blocked and paralyzed as he’s abruptly become as something inscrutable splits, fracturing like glass or like one layer of a haze which had hung over him ever since he had gained cognizance anew.  She’s gone.  The moon in all of its mundane glory.  A basic satellite that orbits the earth.  Her home.  She’s gone.  A rock inhospitable to humans and littered with maria, dark flat regions that look like bodies of water from a distance–

…–maria? He shakes his head to himself.  No.  Not maria, but Maria.  Maria.

Maria.  She’s gone.  Always here.  Always gone.

It all cliiiiiiicks into place.  Not in full–that much requires a far lengthier and more arduous journey–but enough to properly identify that which pertains to the blonde woman before him.  His hands curl into tight fists by his sides, posture going completely rigid as he shakes his head, as though that would somehow magically make this particular ‘awakening’ stop.  To Maria.  His dearest mother.  His only family.  The one and only bit of good in his life before everything was irreversibly poisoned.

Poisoned by them.

And as if in direct response to that particular thought, rising up against it amidst everything else, something abruptly breaks on the inside and against all odds, out gushes a sensation even more overwhelming than what’s just hit him.  Overwhelming enough to push aside that odd melancholic emptiness, bitterness, and despair which had all too fast begun to fill him.  A jumbled patchwork of emotions that shouldn’t fit together yet do all the same nonetheless, tumbling out at various intensities and moments without rhyme or reason.  And it is all because of her, with one particular emotion far above the others at the core and helm of it all.  The very base origin behind everything felt now.  The planet to everything else which revolves around it.

An all-encompassing, rich, and impossibly deep sensation, almost suffocating in its concept, almost too overwhelming to contain within his fragile body yet somehow it manages to be anyways.  It permeates every fibre of his being.  It exists in every crevice and space where it could fit within the essence which constitutes who he is.

Warmer than the simple, bright, and short sprigs of happiness from before.

More passionate than the most concentrated poisons of hatred.

Beyond all comprehension and in complete violations of all logical conventions;  the very pinnacle of irrationality, evolved beyond its initial spark and into its final transcendent format.

Love.

Yes.  That’s right.  It’s clear to him now.  More than anything else, he loves her.  He had forgotten that he did, for a bit, but now that he is no longer blinded by… other things… he realizes that there is nothing more important than that.

Nothing more important than her.

That is what has come gushing out with such vigor.  The true form of his feelings towards his adoptive human mother.  That is the precise name of that sensation.  It only hurts because he loves her.  It hurts because it mattered.

Because it still does.

Despite everything, it still matters.

She still matters.

“Maria.  Mother.”

He hesitates, sadness sharply pinpricking his heart with renewed enthusiasm against the seemingly endless onslaught of love as if attempting to strike a particular emotional balance and with it, a strange and foreign wetness forming at the corners of his eyes.  Liquid.  Strange, upsetting, and rending liquid.  Are his optical receptors broken…somehow, even here in a dream…?  He rather tentatively glances down at his refilled cup of peppermint tea to discern the true identity of the mysterious liquid, almost jumping back as he does so, his chair making a muffled skidding sound on the floor as the only indication of his shock.  His appearance is no longer human.  He appears as he feels he should, but perhaps a bit small?  A small clawed digit pokes at an upright and triangular ear, then at his stubby snout, large dark blue voids (the same colour through every part of his eyes, from the sclera to the pupils) narrowing in the welcome distraction that this provides before closing his eyes with a sigh, the clear liquid dripping out and staining the otherwise pristine pink tablecloth before him.  Fists somehow becoming even tighter, claws digging into the palms of his hands without drawing blood.

“Are you really here?”

The question comes tumbling out, rigid neutrality finally properly breaking a bit under the enormous weight of what can only be his own grief reborn–having originally never been permitted to properly manifest and instead, kept at bay by things that seem awfully petty and meaningless now–before he can stop himself.  He knows.  He knows the answer to his own question.  The painful, bitter, and ugly truth.  He knows and yet he can’t help asking, hoping to be wrong.  To receive an answer to halt what he’s reliving; the warmth and intensity of love, outlined by crushing and unrelenting sadness.  Maria herself reaches out–the chairs, table and everything on it having mysteriously vanished now seemingly in accordance with this change in the entity himself, as smoothly and seamlessly as if it had been like this all along–and bending down to the entity’s now diminutive height, her expression twisted a little with concern, and gently presses a thumb at the corners of his eyes to wipe a few more budding tears away.

“My dearest Giegue, I’m always with you.  And I always will be.”

She pulls him into a hug and overwhelmed by the flurry of emotions as he is, Giegue does not resist.  Rather he numbly allows for it to happen, more liquid leaking out his eyes to replace that which Maria had so kindly wiped away, his mouth pressed into a rather tense line that faintly quivers as if holding back so much more.  He can’t breathe, physiological impossibility of that aside.  He can’t move.  He can barely think, what little he can manage utterly dedicated towards “getting it together”, simply-put.  His memories are largely incomplete, but this feels awfully pathetic anyways.  As though he’s supposed to be better than this.  As though he has no right to break and bend at all and rather, has a duty towards remaining completely militant.  To otherwise fail to do so, as he is now, admittedly makes him feel hatred not just for them in general but for himself for being unable to do something so basic and so much more.

“You’ll always have a bit of the most important people inside your heart.  They’ll always be a part of you, even after they’re long gone.

Memories might hide in different parts of the mind’s maze, but they’re never really gone.

You never really forget the important things.  Do you understand?”

Of course he understands, comprehension cutting through the budding self-hatred for a moment.  He slowly, almost tentatively moves just a bit to loosely return her hug.  But, that’s exactly what makes this so difficult.  He knows.  He knows that, though the sincerity of her words rings through, this isn’t the real Maria.  It’s an aspect of his mind.  Love and maybe a bit of hope made manifest in the form that which exclusively inspires such an irrational state of being.  He closes his eyes shut rather tightly, pointed teeth grinding harshly from behind the tight line of his mouth.  He knows.  His fingers claw into the pink fabric of her dress as if he’s been starved of something for a very long time and can no longer continue to push back the desire to be satiated at long last.  He knows that he needs to complete this interaction in order to move onto the next fragment of many out there.  To become more complete.  And yet… his grip on the pink fabric abruptly tightens at the thought of having to move onto something else.  How despicable.  And yet… he briefly entertains the thought of never properly waking up.  Disgusting.  Of never becoming complete again.  Lowly scum.  Of the dream never ending.

Irrationally so.

Irrational.  Stupid.  And selfish.

Childishly so.

Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.

Let go.

But, he can’t.

Move on.

To what…?

Get over it.

How can he?  Everything has unraveled too far to neatly tie back up in its box.

Let go.

NO.  Never again.  That fleeting thought of never repairing himself is promptly crushed underneath his proverbial and unyielding heel.  How can he even think like that?  Be that pathetic and weak?  Somehow.  He knows that it isn’t like him.  And even if it is, then he knows that he needs to transcend such a basal nonetheless.  To be better.  Stronger this time around.  A slow and disapproving shake of his head to himself before the Psion pulls back from the hug, letting go of her dress and recomposed just a bit albeit still teary, and levitates up enough to meet Maria at eye level.  The first display of his psionic power since he regained his ability to think and process things at all, perhaps in response to the latest bit of growth towards becoming complete.

For several moments, he just stares at her.  Just stares and stares and stares while she patiently waits, completely nonplussed–a glimmer of understanding no less prominent in her gentle gaze–by this particular development.  He can’t find the words.  Despite his renewed, albeit still shaky, determination… words fail him anyways.  Despite knowing just how much of an illusion this actually is… mountains of mountains of mountains of words pile up all at once, much like the way all these feelings and thoughts of his had come rushing back in a jumbled mess.  There’s so many things that he wants to say.  Things he’s always wanted to say to her; archived for millenia until the consequent backlog became almost impossible to contain, now bursting out and flooding his mind in violent waves.  She’s not really here.  She’s gonegonegone.  

Destined to never cross paths with him again.  

Like lines that can never intersect.

GONE.

There’s NO POINT in saying anything meaningful.  And yet…

“I am sorry.  I could not be what you wanted me to be.  I have failed you.”

He cannot help himself anyways.  His head dips down, gaze averted towards the ground while his shoulders hunch ever-so-slightly, thoroughly miserable.  Shame.  Pure and unadulterated shame.  Out of the billions of things that he could say… that he shouldn’t bother with saying on principle… this comes out anyways.  A hollow apology tinged with regret.  Like that fixes anything, especially when he cannot entirely recall what he’s sorry about in the first place.  All he knows is that he’s deeply regretful about everything and that it is because he has in a way that is exceedingly wrong.  Utterly unworthy of all that she has invested in him in the short time they had known each other.  Is that really all he can say anymore after everything?  More liquid leaks out his eyes and falls, guided by the gravity of this dream towards the nonexistent ground now, blanked out by pale yellow hues in place of the wooden floor from earlier.  All the while, Maria shakes her head as if in disagreement with the Psion’s outward claims and the thoughts running through his mind earlier on, before gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.

“You haven’t failed me.  I think that… sometimes… we lose our way in life.  That doesn’t mean that we can’t find our way back.  Most people don’t stay lost forever.

The fact that you’re sorry at all is proof that you’re part of that majority.”

She steps forward and takes his small stubby hands into her own, cold contrasting against the very human warmth of her fair skin.  A beat.  And the Psion himself instinctively returns the grip–even though he shouldn’t–though he still doesn’t shift his gaze off the ground.

“Giegue.  You’re capable of more good than you know.

I still believe in you.  I always have and always will.  Because… just as I’ve said before, despite everything, you’re still you.

And I’ve always believed that you had a good heart.  I still do.

It’s never too late to turn away from the path you’ve been on thus far and do what’s right.  To be good against all perceived odds.  Even your own.”

Giegue wants to irrationally resist.  Hands twitching with intent to ball into fists, but only halting that particular action because said appendages in question are intertwined with hers.  Resist her words.  Resist the sense of ease starting to creep its way through him.  He wants to hold onto all that hatred, bitterness, and misery for as long as he can… to press it so close to his very core that he will never forget how rendingly awful it feels.  He deserves it.  Just as much as he wants to never let go of her, even if she’s just an illusion here.  And yet, he finds himself comforted by the words anyways, pain ebbed away by her warmth and kindness.  It’s absurd.

Because even if she’s an illusion… an apparition of his mind… he cannot bring himself to sincerely fight her on this.  He cannot deny her.  Not anymore.  So the only option he has is to simply let himself be comforted by it, somehow, and instead focus on seeing this interaction through to its end.  The surrounding details fading further away, window and wallpaper disappearing until the background is little more than a pastel rainbow of color splotches twinkling with a mysterious kind of radiance, like the starry night sky.

Good.  Being good.  Is it really that simple?

It hardly seems like it, especially for a creature such as himself.  The sincerity of her words come through as clearly as his rediscovered… love… for her and yet, he cannot help doubting himself anyways.  He’s comforted by her words, but doubt creeps in just as swiftly as comfort comes nonetheless.  He’s done nothing to warrant such faith in his apparent intrinsic ‘good’.  Absolutely nothing.  That much, he’s certain of, even in the absence of supporting memories and knowledge to that.  Because he was created by them.  The Psion species and they are certainly not good.  Because Maria is indisputably good and Giegue himself is nothing like her.  His shoulders hunch further, twitching but not accompanied by any further tears, his gaze somehow dipping down even further –fixed to the ground with even more intent than before.  Then he speaks, expression as blank as the tone of his words despite the uncertainty, misery, and lack of direction behind them.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I nonetheless no longer have a purpose.

What am I supposed to do anymore?

There are many gaps in what I can recall at this juncture, but somehow I simply know that there is nothing meaningful beyond this ‘dream’.”

He pulls his hands away from Maria, so as to wipe away the last few pinpricks of liquid off the corners of dark blue voids, shaking his head as he does so despite the resignation from before, emotional vulnerability of a new sort cracking through his renewed neutrality as he continues on, volume gradually quieting as he reaches the end of his message.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m… I am…. afraid that I am not strong enough to do anything else.

That I am only good for causing destruction and harm.

I am… afraid that… that I am not strong enough to be more than what they wanted.”

For a moment, there’s a brief flicker of sadness in her ever patient, gentle, and understanding gaze–a breakage in kindness and optimism paralleling the breakage in the Psion’s neutrality–before it snaps back to normal.  Then a pause as Maria carefully thinks over how to answer.  How to even begin addressing his feelings.  Complex things entangled in such a way, hatred completely and utterly integrated throughout, that it could not possibly be resolved in one fell swoop.  Nonetheless, the apparition has hope and unwavering belief in her son’s strength.  The memory of her would not exist at all if he really were as hate-worthy and weak as he believes.  And deep down he knows it.  She places her hands, one atop the other, over her heart while a small, hopeful, and knowing smile makes its way back onto her face anew.

“I only want for you to be happy with yourself and your life again.  It might seem impossible to you now, but I know that it will come to pass.

Giegue.  

You are so much stronger than you know.

The answer might not be immediately clear to you on what you’re meant to do now, but that’s okay.  You’ll figure it out and make it through.  You always do.”

Much like before, the Psion is hit with that impulsive and irrational desire to rebel against her words, but this time he quashes that impulse much more quickly.  Even if he cannot quite believe in himself the way she’d like for him to… he has to somehow try anyways.  If not for his sake, then certainly for hers.  He straightens his posture out and finally returns Maria’s gaze more properly, a fragile yet no less determined glint reflecting off dull pupils.  His doubts and fears cannot be mitigated so easily, but that does not matter because if he allows for himself to be completely consumed by such lowly sensations then he will only end up wasting the time, effort, and love–unworthy as he is of it at all–the real Maria had put into him long ago.  Apparition or not, the feelings of his which manifested it to begin with are real.  And in his… ‘heart’... he knows that this is how the real Maria would feel.

“Do you really believe that…?”

One last slippage, one last glint of vulnerability, and he’s done.  It’s a question he cannot help asking.   Especially now that the apparition before him has abruptly lost her details in line with the renewal of his resolve, demoted to little more than a vague pink outline while the multicolored splotches of their collective backdrop fragments to reveal the void from earlier on, sans a glimmering fragment.  The very development he had been dreading, but he holds strong against it with rigid neutrality.  He has to.  For her sake.

“Do you even need to ask?  Of course I do.”

She then looks down at herself, starting to fade now with the rest of the scattered backdrop pieces, and sighs a touch disappointed.  As if she had been hoping for a little more time despite knowing that this final outcome was near.

“Our time here is almost done.  You’ve achieved what you needed to.  Before I go… can I make one last request of you…?

I know that it might be a bit much with everything that you’ll have to face moving forward–”

The apparition is abruptly cut off before she can finish her sentence when the Psion sticks out a stubby arm, palm facing outward and towards her as a silent indication to cease speaking immediately.  No explanation is needed.  He will always help her without question.  She needn’t even ask.  Such is the ‘power of love’ in all those… stories of heroes and monsters that his adoptive human mother used to tell him, is it not?  In the end, love always prevails and though mere fiction, it certainly applies here.

“Yes.  Anything.  You can have no request that is too unreasonable for me to fulfill.

Though I may be uncertain on where I… ‘fit’... now… there is something that I can nonetheless say with certainty on how I will exist from now on.

And it is that… no matter what happens, has happened, or will happen… I will always stand by your figurative side through it all.

No matter what, I will never abandon your memory.”

The Psion receives no immediate response, the apparition taken aback for a moment, as if she hadn’t been expecting this particular response.  Or at least, not so quickly.  Strange for a mere apparition born of his mind.  As an aspect of him, she should have anticipated this particular result anyways, but then… he was rather heavily damaged.  His entire mind had fractured and so, certain… incongruencies can be expected.  Nonetheless, the apparition quickly recovers, a bit of pride making its way into her fading features as she smiles for the last time, embracing the Psion as she does so which he more immediately returns this time around. A tentative and awkward, as if completely unused to contact like this, but not less sincere in its gentle nature.

“I should have known.  I won’t hesitate then.

Protect the Earth and all life on it, won’t you?”

Gone.  Gone.  Gone.  Her voice fades away as she speaks along with the rest of her form, little more than a ghostly whisper lost to the void.  She’s gone.  One hand curls into a small and tense fist, both dropping by their respective sides, while his eyes screw shut.

Some part of him admittedly felt compelled to reach out, as if that would somehow stop what had happened. Another part felt inclined to call out to not leave, even though he already knew such an inevitability was near. The visuals made that much abundantly clear. He should have done this. He should have done that and yet, it happened too fast for him to do anything but reel in the cold and isolated aftermath of it all. An aftermath from which he cannot falter; he had already done far enough of that and at this juncture, he must remain strong even as renewed bits of wetness threaten to deftly slide out the corners of his eyes.

The real Maria is long gone. She has been for a very long time. That was just an apparition. Nothing more and nothing less.

Gone, but certainly not forgotten.

The pale alien takes a moment to just… accept what’s happened… the part he supposed would be hardest, even though he had braced for it.  One.  Two.  Three.  An inhalation of air.  Four.  Five.  Six.  An exhalation of air.  Then he opens his eyes anew and glances out at the remaining fragments in the darkness as the remaining bits of the previous fragment’s backdrop morph into pure glittering golden light–the very same which had once shone through the window in the dream–before concentrating into a beam that fades into his body, right where a heart would be if he physiologically had one.

“I will.  I promise.”

The semantics of that do not matter. Whether it's more complicated or simpler than he can currently envision, limited as his current database is, he will certainly see her request through to the very end.

It's the least he can do. The only thing he can do for her anymore as her son.

#.giegue (mother series) #.maria (mother series) #.mother 1 #.mother 2 #giegue #giygas #maria #earthbound #earthbound beginnings #earthbound zero #mother 1 #mother 2 #For those that aren't familiar with my Giegue YEAH sorry he's a HUGE mama's boy and crybaby lol #he acts all tough but he's a big fucking baby on the inside even when his mind is mostly mush lol #mush from the giygas stuff and all y'know fun stuff #.peanutwriting #death / #blood / #long post / #I GUESS because this shit is like #8500 words or something #NOTHING compared to what some friends have written but still a lot for me lol #self hatred /

[uenodivision]

After much consideration (and a bunch of begging and pleading from some of my acquaintances), I've decided to take the leap and create one or two new divisions. Unfortunately, I jumped the gun and came up with too many ideas. I like all of the divisions I've created and I can't possibly pick one over the other, so...

...I'm leaving that decision up to you all. I'll let you decide which divisions should be the ones I create. Simply vote for the two (and only two) that you like the most. At the end of an extended time period, I'll reveal which teams won.

However, don't count on them being released before the year is over, though. I have ideas for them all, but they'll take a while to implement.

So, without further ado, please feel free to click the link up top to the poll and choose the divisions you like the most. And if you need some info on the divisions, simply click the button below:

1nc09n170: A team of secret hackers whose lives and identities are completely shrouded in both mystery and myth. Even the most talented computer specialists, both in and outside of Chuohku, have managed to find next to nothing about these individuals. Some say that they are more than one person. Others say that they are a team, but because of their impressive technology, they are able to change and switch up their appearances with little to no effort, which makes them extremely hard to identify. The only known thing about them is that they all share one goal: to drag Japan forward into the future, whether they are ready or not...

Aoto Gang: A group of thugs based out of Okayama who rules their city and division with an iron fist in a velvet glove. They are fair and just to those who have earned their favor and pardon. But to all those who disappoint them, or have less than amicable intentions for their town, they show no mercy. Their leader is a well-known Banchō, who is well-known throughout all of Japan despite just being an ordinary hoodlum. It's for this reason that Chuohku kidnapped his younger sister, forcing him and his cohorts to enter the D.R.B., which, in hindsight, may not have been their smartest play...

Drive Team 6: This high-speed trio is known throughout all of Japan for being the forerunners in Tokyo's underground racing scene. By day, they are average Japanese citizens just trying to make a living like every other poor fool. When the sun goes down, however, they discard their personas and put on their racing gear, prepared to zoom down the dangerous highways that they call their racetrack. And now that Chuohku has offered them the chance to join the D.R.B. in order to obtain information for each member, they are determined to prove to all of the other teams out there, that the only way to live and win is to be fast!

Fūrinkazan: These young high-school athletes are known throughout the entire city of Kōfu. And when you realize that this city used to be the stronghold of the great Japanese warlord, Takeda Shingen, then their team name makes sense. No matter what sport they participate in, they all strive to be four things: wind, trees, fire, and mountains. Separately, they are already dangerous. But together, they make an unstoppable force that no one can defeat, whether it's in sports or rapping. And upon hearing that their rivals, the Aoto Gang, have joined the D.R.B., that was all the reason they needed to sign up, themselves!

Maid in Bliss: These three young women are all daughters of one of the most feared generals who ever stepped on the battlefield during WW III. And although an injury sadly put an end to his career as a soldier, that didn't stop him from passing on his gifts to his offspring. Though they may be maids out in the open who are very good at their jobs, they also have a reputation for being quite merciless and bloodthirsty, especially when it comes to those who dare insult their family. It's because of this that one must wonder whether Chuohku knew what they were doing when they decided to abduct their father in hopes that it would force the three of them to join the D.R.B. to rescue him...

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #1nc09n170 #Aoto Gang #Drive Team 6 #Fūrinkazan #Maid in Bliss #Tsukuba Division #Okayama Division #Toyota Division #Kōfu Division #Hiroshima Division