I catch myself thinking about Who holds the devil when my mental stability is falling apart. Your story helps me to stay afloat.
Thank you
I'm so sorry to hear that you're struggling and, if I could, I would definitely give you a big hug. But, since that's not possible, I'm glad that I can still offer some comfort through my fic.
I've said it before, but knowing that my writing can give people hope, stability, or even just a distraction is the reason why I post. I will always write, but I choose to post it online because, just maybe, it can brighten someone's day.
And so please remember that. Even if I might not be able to update as often as I used to (due to my own health problems) I will always keep posting as long as there are people like you. As long as people enjoy what I do, I'll continue to share it.
I do it for you 💜
And while I don't have any snippets and such that I can share to maybe help you along, here's a simple sketch I just finished of Yo Han, on the subject of "You want to fuck that old man so bad it makes you look stupid."
As I said to my friends:
Benefits of drawing: If I want to know what Yo Han looks like in the black Henley outfit I gave him in Who Holds the Devil, I can draw it
Downsides of drawing: I now know what Yo Han looks like in that black Henley outfit
... and now you all do too. You're welcome.
So yeah. Hang in there, darling, and do whatever you have to do to get through the day. I'm so glad that my writing helps. And even if I don't know you — and even if it may sound cheesy — please remember that I care about you. And, if I could, I would take all the pain away.
Take care 💜
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I. already kind of regret choosing to write a huge paper about play therapy as an alternative to ABA. almost all of the research I have found into play therapy treatment has presented it as something that should be provided in addition to ABA for supposed behavioral benefits, which is fucking asinine. the number one goal of child-centered play therapy is to cultivate an environment of self acceptance, and ABA is completely antithetical to that. if I have to read one more fucking article that talks about how play therapy did or didn't have an impact on the amount of eye-contact a child made at home as if anyone should give a shit about that I'm going to kill us all with hammers
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Re: the beginning / prologue bit of Banishers, I was thinking about it this morning, but the Nightmare shapeshifting to impersonate Antea and singing "three blind mice" to taunt Charles, Antea, and especially Red-- the three Banishers who are trying (and failing) to figure out what her deal is-- is Very Good.
Also I've watched a few playthroughs now and I feel like so many people don't hesitate outside the meeting house like I did, so they miss the Nightmare outright singing "Run, Red, run... Run, Red, run..."
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y'know there are some things i think i've gotten over, but in (rather frequent) moments of insecurity, i realize i'm so not over them. the bite of their memory still frustrates me and makes me bitter and somehow, despite me having had *no control* over the outcome, makes me feel guilty and inadequate.
it's really stupid.
i'm hoping that writing this down will help me realize how ridiculous this is and that the fact that i did not get what i want and felt i deserved does not mean that i need to break myself even further to prove my worth.
guilt and feelings of inadequacy (and loneliness and dread and uncertainty/anxiety and anger and any other feeling that leaves me bitter) or a desire to prove myself worthy to others (which is smth i can't control) should not be my main motivator for getting ahead. my motivation should come from a place of gratitude for having the opportunity to do so. do it for the joy of expanding my brain, for the joy of a job well done, for the hope that doing something in line with my goals rather than nothing (since i clearly can't do everything) will change how i think and feel about myself for the better (no more depressive episodes! state changes!!!)
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thinking today about how i initially wanted to title this blog "sin-eater" instead of "sinnerman" because that is, fundamentally, what constantine is: a consumer of other people's sins, absorber of blame, voyeur of the lowest moments in peoples' lives. except his goal isn't the bestowal of absolution or redemption, it's exposure.
those who see him approach the feast know he's there for a reason — they know what he eats, and why, and he wants them to know what you've done. moreso, he wants everyone to know that you owe him. he'll take up your consequences, he'll eat your just desserts and swallow, but you and everyone else will always see them in his eyes when you look on him. he is not your redeemer, he is consequential. he's a fucking testimony. you might forget when you're dead, your family's eulogy might come out squeaky clean, but it doesn't matter. the sin-eater keeps the score.
most recorded tales of sin-eaters describe that they're paid for their services; the act is his payment. to taste of sin freely and without shame, and be judged not for the dishes at his own table but for his apathy towards the size of the platters he's offered. the chance to establish himself as perennial guest at the banquet rather than host. who knows — maybe if he borrows enough from those worse than he is, when the time comes to partake of his soul, the sins of his own may disappear amidst the heap; unwitnessed, forgotten, and inconsequential. after all, who in their right mind would take up the burden from the most prolific of sin-eaters?
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