#i might edit it more in the future but for the time being it's Done

[aestherians]

I'm Ben, But Call Me Poppy

Preface: I would like for this essay to not just be an exploration of my own fictionkinity (though that is its main purpose) but also an introduction to the fictionkind experience in general, and to the experience of parallel lives. Of course, I am just one person and none of my experiences can be universal, but I nonetheless hope they can shed some light on fictionkinity and lead to further understanding and tolerance of these identities. And I hope it will lead to parallel lives becoming a more widely known and understood phenomenon. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Word count: 4479

Estimated reading time: 20-25 minutes

On the 6th of December 2019 I had a weird dream. I was standing on the edge of a cliff. The wind played with my hair, long grass tickled my ankles, and high above, seabirds called out to each other. As I looked to the sky, a being made of blinding white light appeared before me. She was beautiful and graceful and older than time itself. She gently took my hand and pointed towards the horizon. My eyes followed her finger and the sky itself tore apart to reveal an inky black nothingness. But as I looked, little specks of something began to appear. Dots and lines, swirls and stars, and colors I'd never seen before. I understood then that this primordial being was showing me the beginning of this universe. And as I stared in awe, she turned to look down at me, and she told me... that I was Ben 1O fictionkind.

I don't think I've ever been as confused as I was that morning. It felt like I was still dreaming as I went through my routine, like at any moment I might wake up again. All the while, my reflection puzzled me. It was the same face I've seen every day for two decades, and yet today it just felt... wrong. I was supposed to have a human face. This wasn't the species dysphoria I'd gotten so used to. And I knew exactly which human face I was expecting to see in the mirror - it just seemed too ridiculous for me to accept.

My cameo shifts have rarely, if ever, lasted more than a few hours, and at this point they'd never been of specific characters. Sure, I had my weird relationship with Emily Jones from the now-forgotten Le//go Elv//es franchise, where I feel like I once was her but now aren't. But I never expected to see her face in the mirror. I never felt confused when I woke up in Copenhagen instead of Elven//dale. Feeling this way about Benjamin Kirby T//ennyson, of all characters, when I hadn't even watched the whole show, was weird and, for some reason, embarrassing. And it just refused to go away. In total the shift lasted around 5 days. I went to classes feeling like this guy. Grocery shopping. Hung out with my dorm buddies. I went to a Christmas market with my mom, all the while distracted because I couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, in some way, I was a fictional character from a 2005 Cartoon Network cash cow.

It didn't come completely out of the blue. Three things were happening here that probably led to this: 1) I was binging Ben 1O with my dormmate. We hadn't finished the show yet, but we'd worked our way through almost 200 episodes, so we were in deep. 2) I'd just broken it off with a girlfriend of one year. She was extremely supportive of my alterhumanity – even read a 100 page study by Devin Proctor to understand the community – so our break-up had nothing to do with that. We just realized we needed different things from a relationship. But still, it was a huge stress factor and, despite my friends' love and support, I was struggling to cope. And 3) it was finals season. The less said about that, the better. I guess what happened is that my brain latched onto one of the few simple joys I had in my life and somehow began creating an identity around that to... cope...? I guess...?

Listen, I don't know how it happened and I can only make guesses as to why. Regardless of what caused it, the effect was undeniable. After the 5 day long shift subsided, I still had a nugget of "Ben" somewhere within me that I couldn't (and, in hindsight, didn't want to) get rid of. I was ready to make a kinfirmation announcement right then and there. But, as is customary, I held off for a couple of weeks. I think my plan was to wait 3 months, but by the end of January, I made my announcement in the most gutless way possible: With a text post that read "It's okay to have 'cringy' kintypes," in the tags of which I explained that I'd kinfirmed my Ben 1O fictotype. I was still dealing with a lot of internalized shame about, not just being fictionkind, but having such a childish source material.

And yet... there was something exhilarating about it. Though my initial Ben-related feelings appeared on their own, and I felt annoyed and conflicted about them, I clearly remember reinforcing them. The socially aware side of my brain resisted – having an identity like this would be weird, it would be frowned upon, it would make it even more difficult for me to communicate who and what I am than it already is – while the self-aware side of my brain was very much in favor of forming the identity – for some reason it just felt good to experience all these fictionkin traits. More accurately, it felt right. For reasons I can't explain, I didn't want it to end. I wanted more.

------

The envisage shifts (where you appear a certain way in your mind/inner world, and where you perhaps expect to look that way in the mirror) weren't the only 'kin trait that was apparent from the start. They were just the most striking and the easiest to get others to understand. No, the most pervasive trait had to be the "parallel life flashes." I'm not sure what else to call them. They felt different from daydreams, somehow. More spontaneous and out of my control. And a lot more tangible. They've since become one of the hallmarks of my fictionkinity. They present themselves as flashbacks: For a less than a second, it'll feel like I'm "back" to living my life as Ben, then before I can fully grasp what happened it's over. Like an out-of-body experience (or, rather, an into-my-mindscape experience, since I believe all of this originates in my own psyche). I always get the sense that these flashes are somehow current, as opposed to being past or future. Perhaps because of their dream-like qualities, I often "just know" many details of what's going on in these flashes, just like I knew the alien in my awakening dream was older than time, despite her not telling me. Dreams (nightly or daily) are just like that. I just know that my life as Ben is happening parallel to my life as Poppy.

When talking to others (especially non-kin who can't be bothered to sit through 100 pages of Devin Proctor) I do tend to describe it as a daydream scenario, despite how different it feels from regular daydreams. The flashes tend to have dream-like qualities. And it's easier to say "in my go-to daydream scenario I'm a space traveler, which is a big part of my personality" than "I feel like I'm literally living a parallel life as Ben 1O and this affects my very sense of self." I suppose a big part of it is also the embarrassment I mentioned earlier - notice I vaguely called myself a space traveler instead of mentioning my fictotype by name. Ease of communication is part of it, but, undeniably, so is the masking of my true self to give a more appealing first impression. It's blatant self-suppression.

But – perhaps like Ben T//ennyson himself – wearing masks is what I do. It's what I've done since I was 1O. I craft identities for different scenarios and just flip the switch (or hit the watch) when necessary. I've learned how to contain the autism creature within, to appear normal when necessary, and I've learned how to to blend in with the background. Self-suppression has been vital to me, even if it's frustrating to have to do.

What I'm getting at is that, though this awakening was unexpected, it wasn't out of character for me. And in hindsight there really are a lot of things in my life that, combined, seem to have led to this.

Before I go into further detail, I feel like a disclaimer is in order: My upbringing wasn't abusive, but that doesn't mean it was perfect. I was raised by a single mother who gave most of her attention to my older brother due to various difficulties he had. I don't know if I blame her for the issues I have. It doesn't feel right to place blame on other struggling people, but I can't blame everything on circumstance either. I don't think anyone comes out of childhood unscathed. Generations of trauma have been built up and, even if our parents treat us better than they were treated, they're still marked by their own childhoods, which will reflect in their parenting. My upbringing was a million times better than my own mom's and she worked hard to accomplish that. That said... I can draw a very clear parallel between my childhood experiences and my current identity: I had to be the "good child" to make up for my brother's issues, I had to carry part of my mom's stress, and I couldn't let out my own frustrations, lest my mom become even more stressed. In my parallel life I'm dealing with the same problems, but magnified to a scale where they're actually taken seriously. Instead of carrying the weight of a parent, I carry the weight of the world. I become less of a person and more of a symbol for others to look towards, whether for support, reassurance, or something else. In that sense, it doesn't seem unlikely that my fictionkinity is some kind of subconscious coping mechanism. Though I have to add, I only became aware fully aware of how this passive emotional neglect had affected me – how this is the reason I can't ask for help and constantly take on bigger burdens than I should – several months after my awakening, and even then only after some really intense self-analysis.

I've been trying to come up with more reasons I happened to awaken as Ben 1O, of all characters, but it all feels so... fabricated. I was obsessed with ufology as a kid and this character is involved with aliens. But I was obsessed with ancient Egypt and with horses too, why didn't I awaken as Tutankhamun or Black Beauty? I religiously watched Ben 1O every time I visited my grandparents, who had cable tv, but I watched Da//nny Pha//ntom with the same intensity. I don't think there really is a perfect recipe for what causes a fictionkind identity. All these attempts at rationalizing it are probably a distraction – [which I've spoken about at length before]. But it's hard to really internalize the idea that 'kinity is about what you are, when you've been "gifted" with a human brain that relentlessly asks why, why, why. It's hard to look at the cold hard facts when your mind keeps wandering to theories and hypotheses.

And in all this, you forget to even examine what cold hard facts you know.

What are the cold hard facts?

Facts...

My name is [redacted]. I go by Poppy online. At this point it might as well be my name. And recently I've felt an urge to call myself Ben. When I close my eyes and try to picture myself, the image is ever changing. Sometimes I see a bipedal bison. Sometimes a gnoll. Often a mix of the two. And sometimes I see a young man with brown hair, green eyes, and a watch-like device stuck to his arm. Then I open my eyes, look in the mirror, and see something entirely different. Lighter hair, eyes more hazel than green, and something that decidedly doesn't look like a man. Or a bison or gnoll, for that matter.

I have daydream scenarios I keep returning to – stories I want to tell, the garden I wish I had, scientific advancements I dream of achieving, fanfics I'll never write. And then I have these scenarios that share many qualia with daydreams, but are altogether different. In these scenarios, I am a different person. I am living a different life, surrounded by different people, making different choices, subjected to different trials. I have two of these lives: One in which I'm a gnoll named Ɐwhrayɐ and one in which I'm a man named Ben. I did not set out to create these lives. I can't purposefully change what's happening in them – even with my belief that it all has a psychological cause, something is preventing me from changing anything. And yet, I almost always know what my alternate selves are doing, right in this moment. I can't affect their actions, I can just be aware of them. And despite this apparent wall, separating my present self from them, in some way I feel - or perhaps rather I know - that I am them. It's like... I can't affect what my past self did or said either, but I still am raer. I am still roughly the same person I was yesterday, even if today I might have made different choices. My parallel/alternate selves work in a similar way, but separated by physicality instead of time.

I'm not consciously aware of every waking moment of my parallel selves. When I say I "know" what they're doing, it's less that their thoughts and actions are beamed into my brain 24/7, and more that I can at any moment sit down, breathe, let my mind go blank, and view their world through their eyes. Like I'm possessing their bodies (though, again, my present self is not in control – my alternate selves are). Even if I don't intend to, I often end up "possessing" them during quiet moments – when I'm about to fall asleep, when I'm in transit, when I'm cleaning, and so on. What happens during quiet moments is rarely a "full body possession," though. More often, I'll just experience the thoughts or feelings of my parallel selves (alongside my present-self thoughts or feelings) and have to parse it out. I can be vacuuming the floor, having a normal one, and then suddenly I'll be intimately aware the Ben!Me is bored or that Ɐwhrayɐ!Me is in danger. I then have to extrapolate as much information as possible from this quick flash (like a flashback, but current, not past... a flashsideways? flashadjacent? flashalong? Let's go with that). If the "flashalong" was accompanied by an image, which they often are, it's not too difficult to figure out what my alternate self is doing. If it's just an emotion and nothing else, I can try to piece it together with the other flashalongs I've had recently - if yesterday my parallel self got lost and today I sense despair, it's not too difficult to put two and two together and know that they haven't found their way out yet.

But Ben is different from Ɐwhrayɐ in one major way: He has source material. Though I've been aware of my life as Ben – my Ben fictotype – for much shorter than my life as Ɐwhrayɐ, I know a lot more about my Ben life. I have more noemata, more frequent flashalongs, and my memories of Ben's childhood are much clearer than my memories of Ɐwhrayɐ's childhood. This is undoubtedly because I can just watch an episode of any Ben 1O series and immediately become aware of new things in that life. Whereas Ɐwhrayɐ is more like an original character – rair origins are in tabletop RPGs, but I can't just open up a book and know rair life history. Which is not to say I can know Ben's entire history from just watching the show either. For starters, the show is a mess of time travel and retcons and alternate universes. Secondly: I'm not the Ben depicted on the show.

The Ben 1O cartoons (with the exception of the 2016 reboot) all follow one character who has been dubbed Ben Prime by the fandom. If we view time as a tree with different timelines branching off, Prime is the tree's trunk. We're shown other branches of the tree – No Watch Ben, Bad Ben, Ben 23, Benzarro, and so on – who are all Ben, no matter how differently their lives turned out compared to Prime's. What happens when I watch the show is either nothing (most common; I simply get no indication whether the episode I'm watching is part of my canon), divergence (uncommon; I don't necessarily know how the events happened but I know for sure they didn't happen like they're depicted), or recognition (rare; realizing that things happened pretty much like they're depicted). The most apparent difference between my own timeline and the Prime timeline is that I found the Omnitrix when I was 13 and that I didn't get a break in-between the events of the original series and Alien F//orce. My first 1O aliens were also different from those of Prime and included at least one alien that hasn't appeared on the show (yet). There are many more differences, but most of them are subtle: I still have a relationship with Kai, but it's aromantic. I'm still friends with Rook, but we argue a lot. Azmuth is still the creator of the watch, but I have a sort of coworker relationship with him, more than a mentor/student relationship. And speaking of the watch, the Omnitrix is completely fused to me. My mind has affected its AI and its AI has affected my mind. We function more like a median system than two separate entities. We aren't ourselves without each other. I suppose my true fictotype is the fusion of Ben and the Omnitrix, rather than just Ben T//ennyson. [Here's something I wrote about it not too long ago.] As far as I'm aware, this also isn't a part of the Prime canon.

But this essay isn't supposed to just be about my canon. I'll have plenty of other opportunities to explore that. These pages are devoted to just exploring what it means to me to be fictionkind.

I've already mentioned envisage shifts and "possession" shifts (not a name I'm fond of, but there's so little terminology to describe parallel life experiences, let's just go with that for now). I also frequently experience phantom shifts, where it feels like I'm still wearing the Omnitrix. Those are easy to handle, though. I just put on a bracelet or cuff so there's a physical correspondence to the phantom sensation and go about my day. I also get the occasional chest/bottom phantom sensations, but I can't tell if those are Ben-related since I already experienced them prior to my awakening (and it's a very important part of my beliefs and worldview that all my Ben-feelings only began to appear after my awakening). I also get dream shifts, but since my dreams are pure nonsense, all they tend to involve is me being in Ben's body while going through wacky dream scenarios. If I'm making these shifts sound mundane, it's because they are. At least in comparison the envisage shifts and... by far the strangest and most disorienting shifts I've experienced: The mental shifts. In a mild mental shift I'll just take on a few mannerisms of the character, which can include anything from a chiller/more confident mood, to an inclination to play fighting games instead of my usual RPGs, to an urge to help others more than I'd usually do. Make the shift a bit stronger and I might want to go by Ben's name instead of my own or dress in clothes more similar to his. Turn it up even more, though, and we enter the weird territory. Something more akin to a berserker shift than a mental shift, using therian terminology. I've only experienced this once and it can't have lasted more than 5 seconds, but for those seconds I was fully convinced that I was Ben and I couldn't understand why I was in this foreign body and place. I've taken to calling it an "eclipse shift," since "berserker shift" implies a rabid or feral state of mind, which is not something you can really apply to a human(ish) fictotype, and the shift essentially involves my fictotype's state of mind eclipsing my regular state of mind. Here are some of the discussions we had in the community surrounding it: [link] [link] [link].

My fictionkinity is mainly marked by the aforementioned shifts and "flashalongs," but another trait (perhaps something that exists as a result of those two?) is dysphoria and euphoria. Typically when people think of dys-/euphoria, they think of it as something bodily. And I can't argue that that's not a thing for me too. I'm bigender and genderfluid, which in my case means that I have one static baseline gender identity (female hyena) and one fluid gender, which is most often bison bull, but can be anything – including Just Some Guy, which is basically Ben's gender identity. And when I feel like Just Some Guy, I, of course, experience dysphoria about my very feminine appearance. But that's a thankfully rare thing.

No, most of my Ben-related dysphoria is caused by the restrictions of my present body and mind. Did you know the nearly all versions of Ben T//ennyson have eidetic memory? Or that they have an inherent ability to understand astrophysics? Or that they're adept at half a dozen different fighting styles? I've got none of that. Sure, I could practice memory improvement techniques. I could learn the basics of astrophysics. I could take up martial arts. But every time I've tried, my own frustrations about being a beginner have prevented me from practicing. It's not that I'm a perfectionist and think I should be instantly good at every new skill. I've sucked (or still suck) at a lot of stuff that I do every day – singing, plant care, video games, you name it – but it's not an issue. As the saying goes, sucking at something is the first step to being sorta good at something. But with the talents Ben has... it feels less like learning a new skill and more like having to relearn something I used to be great at. With those subjects, it's like I loose my ability to understand or rationalize why I still suck, so instead of pushing on, I drop it all in frustration. I had just enough patience to understand the surface cause of gravitational time dilation, but once the lectures turned to the theory of relativity, I lost it. I've begrudgingly concluded that my present brain isn't built for that stuff. Until I develop a natural understanding of quantum mechanics, like I'm supposed to have, I'll just stick to my not-Ben-related studies in entomology.

Another thing I struggle with is the limitations of my present body. I feel like it's literally weighing me down. In my Ben life, my body is a construct of the Omnitrix that can be modified, dismantled, and recreated at any time. My consciousness isn't connected to my body; everything that's "me" is stored within the Omnitrix. My body is just a temporary vessel we – the watch and I – have created to interact with the world. It is possible to "upload" my consciousness to the body and for the Omnitrix to completely detach itself, but it's only been done a handful of times and only in life or death situations. And from what I can pericall it's deeply uncomfortably. Only with the Omnitrix gone do I notice how heavy the human body is. Without the watch I feel slow and sluggish and weak. And, in my present life, being able to pericall how I'm supposed to feel – lighter, quicker, stronger – and being unable to do anything about it because nothing can get rid of the heaviness of this body... it's exhausting. It's maddening. And it's not just the heaviness, its staticness is driving me crazy too. I'm meant to be a shapeshifter, and not just in my Ben life, but in my Ɐwhrayɐ life too. Whether due to the Omnitrix happening to attach itself to me, or because I was born with druid powers, I'm a shapeshifter in 2/3 of my lives. And to primarily exist in the life where I'm not a shapeshifter is torture.

But I have to live here. In the present world. I can't spend my life wishing I existed somewhere else. I have to be present; I have to make this life as good as it can be. Anything else would be wasteful. I can't fully get rid of the uncomfortableness of belonging to another world, but I can make this world more comfortable. Make it more like the world I belong in.

Part of me is grateful to have awakened as a character who is, in many ways, just incredibly mundane. The hero archetype is an exaggerated version of a trait I believe everyone is born with: A basic desire to help. Though his circumstances are extraordinary, Ben's motivations could not be more ordinary. So while there is some kind of disconnect between my present life and my Ben life, like our bodies and abilities and relationships, the melding of our minds has been quite harmonic. I feel like this awakening has helped me actualize some desires I already had by turning them into outright urges, and by dialing them up to 100. So, for example, instead of just giving money to the unhoused, I strike up a conversation with them now because it's what he/I/we're supposed to do. Helping my dormmate dry her dishes before she's even asked me to. Always asking others what I can do to help. And it doesn't just extend to people. I find myself, more often than I used to, helping a snail across the road or giving a neglected plant a second chance at life. Taking that extra step is slowly becoming second nature in a lot of my daily interactions. And I find that I do good more for goodness sake, where, in the past, I might've been prone to humble-bragging. (And it pains me to talk about my "good deeds" right now because it actually makes me really embarrassed to get attention for something I feel is the bare minimum of human decency). My awakening wasn't a total life changer. But it did reinforce my desire to be a helper and a caretaker.. a supporting character, I guess you could say. And it instilled in me an idealistic and unwavering belief that people are overall good, despite everything. That pain and suffering are accidents and that kindness is intentional.

I'm Ben. I carry that with me for the foreseeable future – possibly until I die. But I'm also Ɐwhrayɐ. And, most importantly, I'm Poppy. I'm multifaceted, like every other person on Earth. One of my facets just happens to be a fictional character.

#i have to get this essay out now or i'm gonna explode #i might edit it more in the future but for the time being it's Done #otherkin #otherkind #fictionkin #fictionkind #alterhuman #ben rambles

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5.2k

Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

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...need your reassurance...

...your only focus…

...for the foreseeable future...

He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.

For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.

You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.

Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.

“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.

Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.

“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.

“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.

“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.

Therapy was hard.

Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.

But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.

He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.

“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.

“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.

“And what were those?”

“She didn’t want to see me.”

“Did she say that?”

“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.

“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.

The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.

Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.

“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”

“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.

“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”

“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.

“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.

Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”

“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”

Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.

“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”

“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.

“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”

“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”

“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”

“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”

“And how did you respond to that?”

“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”

“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”

“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”

"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.

“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”

Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.

“Joel?”

“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.

He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.

“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.

You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.

“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”

“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.

“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.

“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”

Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.

But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.

No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.

No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.

No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.

When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?

A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?

Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.

People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.

No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.

The papers are not ready.

Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.

Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.

An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?

You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.

The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?

So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?

Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?

Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.

Can you turn back time?

Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.

?

You know I can’t..

Sign the papers. Please.

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”

“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.

“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.

“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”

His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.

“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”

The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.

“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.

“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”

“She asked me to leave the house.”

“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”

“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”

“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”

“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.

Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”

Fuck.

How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?

His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.

“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”

“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.

Touché.

“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.

“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.

Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.

“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.

“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.

“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.

Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”

“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.

“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”

“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.

“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.

“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”

“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.

“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”

“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.

“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”

The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”

“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”

“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”

“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.

“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”

Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.

“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.

Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”

“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.

“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.

“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.

“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.

Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.

“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.

“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.

“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.

Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.

But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.

Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”

“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.

“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.

Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?

“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.

“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”

You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?

But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.

You were right.

It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.

He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.

There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.

Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller angst #infidelity joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel smut #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel x oc #angst fic

[nihilistem]

adhd study affirmations + tips to stray from discouragement by a stem student with adhd.

you’re not always going to be consistent. you’re not always going to be motivated. you’re not always going to be efficient. and that is okay.

edit : thank you so much to whoever blazed this post. It means the world to me.

and the fact that you even got this far is an accomplishment in and of itself. In this line of work, people aren’t always the kindest to neurodivergent people especially since our symptoms can often hinder our performance academically.

if you’re good to go after reading the above, I’ve also made a post regarding adhd study tips that I haven’t seen anywhere else. (Part 2 is here!) But, if you’re burned out like me, feel free to keep reading.

honestly, these might serve a bit more as reminders because they’re kinda simple but even I needed this, so, here we go.

do not seek advice from anyone neurotypical unless it genuinely helps you. I cannot tell you the amount of time and tears I could have saved if I just considered the fact that just because popular self-improvement tips or study techniques didn’t work for me, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid or useless. It simply means our brains isn’t motivated by the same things neurotypical ones are, and therefore a lot of popular self-improvement videos or study tips aren’t going to work for you because 90% of the time, they’re not designed to work for neurodivergent people. So if you’d like to seek help in this area, look for tips and videos that ARE for neurodivergent people.

you might experience burnout a lot more than others. again, that is fine. if this doesn’t apply to you, great! Feel free to skip to the next tip/affirmation. If this does apply to you, read this carefully; if you’ve had any sort of streak in studying right now, chances are you know at least a portion of your studies were led purely on interest, curiosity or even novelty, as these are what keep us engaged in our studies. Knowing this, it is natural for you to experience burnout more frequently than others due to the possible hyperfixations that have been forming around your work. If you get burned out, please remember to take a break for a day and make sure it is efficient. Like your studies, your breaks are the key to having efficient study sessions in the future. So please treat yourself, especially if you’ve been working extra hard!

do not admire studious fictional characters unless it genuinely helps you or they too are neurodivergent. I know this technically could have been thrown in with tip number 1 but I felt like this tip alone is so important, because nowadays I see a lot of study tips with the title, ‘how to study like (insert studious fictional character here)’ and when I look at the post it kinda repeats the same few study tips I see all the time like ‘stay organized’ or ‘time block your day’ and I feel like admiring fictional characters who do things that don’t work for you can be damaging for your mental health, because we’re already told by neurotypical people all around us that we’re slow or lazy just because we don’t do things the way they do, and I think idolizing neurotypical people that make us feel bad at the end of the day just further promotes that kind of toxic thinking.

expect that a routine/schedule/technique that has been working for a while now may not continue to work in the future. things will always have to be new for us to be interested or engaged, that being said, if you expect this in the future you won’t be frustrated with yourself because you already had this in mind. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart. It doesn’t mean you’re lazy. It doesn’t mean you’re useless. It just means that you’ve done what you could, and now it’s time to move on to another routine/schedule/technique.

keep doing the things you love alongside work. I find that because our symptoms may cause us to fall behind on our studies, we tend to neglect our other needs as human beings just to make up for the fact that we simply do not learn or pick things up the same way neurotypical people do. Your hobbies and interests need to be part of your day, just as your studies do, even if you may take longer to learn things or remember important concepts in your studies. Neglecting your hobbies or interests can lead to even more frequent burn outs and even a relapse in depression and anxiety, so please take care of yourself and recognize that you need and deserve these things just as much as anyone else.

regularly discover what works for you on your own. here’s the thing; neurodivergent or not, no two brains work the same. Of course it is good to try out advice or tips you find online because they’re backed up by experience, but they’re backed up by that person’s experience with working with their own brain. So naturally, you need to find what works with your brain. Be open to trying everything, even the tips that are discouraged like listening to lyrical music while studying. That was the only way I learnt that this tip actually does help me at times, even when many people have said that it negatively affects your focus.

that’s all I have right now guys, I think I’m experiencing burn out or probably falling back into depression again so more than anything this also served as a reminder for me, but I really hope it also helped you guys nonetheless.

As always, tell me if you guys would like more posts like these and I’ll be happy to make more <33 please take care of yourself guys, and remember that your studies is just one aspect of your life. There are other aspects that need your care and attention too.

#science #stem #study #study hard #study motivation #studyblr #studygram #studystudystudy #biochemistry #chemistry #adult adhd #adhd stuff #adhd tips #adhd #adhd study tips #adhd brain #adhd studyblr #adhd struggles #adhd things #living with adhd #actually adhd #adhd problems

[byoldervine]

Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

#writing #writers #bookblr #writeblr #book #writing tips #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing advice #on writing #writersnetwork #write #writers of tumblr #how to write #writer #writers on tumblr #writers block #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writer things #writer problems #writersociety #writerblr #writerslife

[catt-nuevenor]

The Future

Time to establish what's going to happen from this point forwards.

The vast majority of you have been exceptionally patient this last year, and for that you have my deepest thanks. You've given me the time to not only write a book, but edit it, and send it off to literary agents, something I would have long given up on doing without the continued support of those who enjoy my writing.

Now that the book is off doing the rounds independently, it's time I got back to Myrk Mire.

Originally Myrk Mire was built in ChoiceScript, a scripting language created by the Choice of Games company. Choice of Games control what is done with their script, understandably, they own it. This does pose some restrictions. I can't, for example, release any paid material built using ChoiceScript unless it is directly through their publishing label. If I do publish under their label, I maintain IP or Intellectual Property Rights, however I also grant them the exclusive rights under perpetual license to publish the multiple choice game 'electronically'.

Source: Choice of Games.com

As you can see from the outline above, they do make exceptions for stories published in non-competing formats, and for sequels, prequels, and spin-offs. However, traditional publishing houses might require stricter control over IP, distribution, and exclusivity. It will only become more and more complicated as things progress, and being locked into a perpetual license agreement of any nature is not a decision to make lightly.

As some of you may be sensing from the tone of all this so far, I'm going to be moving Myrk Mire away from Choice of Games and ChoiceScript, and into a new medium/format.

After tinkering, and trialling with a few alternatives, I've decided to go with Renpy. Renpy, while largely used for visual novel style games and stories, provides a very workable framework for interactive fiction, and is an Open Source script, it isn't beholden to publishing contracts, licence cost, or exclusivity.

I'm not going to be diving into transferring Myrk Mire right away, it's a huge piece of writing, in an entirely different scripting language, and as previously stated, there are a lot of changes I want to implement with the cast. Instead, I'm creating a trial story: One Háḟest Day. My Patrons have been aware of all this for about a month or so, and have already seen some previews.

One Háḟest Day takes place in Aldmirham before the events of Myrk Mire, around the time the Main Character and the Wanderers first arrived in town. The reader will have the choice to follow one of the romanceable characters through a single day, with opportunities to explore their lives and relationships before the Main Character and Child come along. I hope it will provide a proving ground for the changes that previously caused debate, and an opportunity for people to try out the new format and interface.

My plan is to distribute One Háḟest Day through Itch.io, working with their early access framework and voluntary payments for such as soon as one of the character routes is ready to play from beginning to end, updating regularly with the other characters as they too are completed, and with additional features as required. Once the full game is complete, I will release a separate full build with a set minimum price that can be discussed with the community as we move forwards.

At the second, I'm aiming for a web hosted format and a desktop/laptop downloadable format, with phone compatibility to come later down the line once things are stable.

I will post production updates and info when I can to tumblr, though a lot of what I'm doing now is very python coding heavy, so perhaps not that interesting?

I've included some screenshots below of very early development, featuring a Character Log and Word Log that I hope will allow readers to more easily navigate the story. I'm toying with the idea of having a Mysteries Log as well that will keep track of snippets of information gleaned from each character's route, but that can be a tinkering feature for now.

Let me know your thoughts, concerns, or excitement, though do keep all messages objective and polite.

#MyrkMire #Myrk Mire #writing update #Moving forwards #Future Plans #The Future of the story

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!

#asks #behind the curtain #writing stuff

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hi! I wanted to say, I read that you are a professional editor, and think it's amazing! You also give very logical and well explained advice. I was wondering; would you say being an editor is a job you can support yourself with? I actually aspire to become one someday, but I'm not exactly sure if it's a good plan.

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a good day/night

Hey there. Great question. It's totally possible to support yourself as an editor. I've done it, and so have other editors I know. However there are a few important things to consider before choosing editing as a career path.

Your chances of being a self-employed freelancer are extremely high. The number of in-house editing jobs in publishing are low and getting lower. While being self employed can give you a certain amount of flexibility, it also comes along with a lot of hustle and hassle, namely fluctuating income, a stupid amount of confusing tax paperwork, and the need to constantly promote yourself to clients in order to maintain steady work.

You probably won't make as much money as you'd think. Editing is one of the many skilled jobs that suffers from market saturation, which has sadly driven down the price the average client is willing to pay for editing services. I can't tell you the number of overqualified editors I know charging barely more than minimum wage for their work. Personally I've stuck to my guns about charging what I'm worth, but I've sometimes suffered by not having as much work as my colleagues who charge less.

Robots have already chipped away at the future of editing as a human occupation, and will continue to do so at exponential speed in the years ahead. They will never obliterate the job completely, as there will always be humans who prefer to work with humans instead of machines. But the outlook will become ever bleaker as more humans compete for fewer gigs, which in turn will drive down prices even further.

If you are also a writer, editing may adversely affect your writing. I don't mean that you'll become a worse writer, quite the opposite. My editing work has brought new depths to my writing, and I'm grateful for all I've learned by working with my clients. However, editing takes time, uses creative energy, and requires staring at a screen (or paper), and personally the more I edit, the less time/creativity/screen-staring capabilities I have left for my own writing.

If you mention you're an editor, someone will troll your post for a typo, grammatical error, or misused word, and then triumphantly point it out to you in the comments. This is mostly a joke. But it does happen every single time.

I hope this hasn't been too discouraging. If you feel a true passion for editing and really enjoy the work, none of the above should dissuade you. However, if you think you might be happy in any number of occupations, I'd honestly advise you to explore other options. Choosing a career path at this point in history is a gamble no matter what, but the outlook for editors is especially grim.

If you'd like to work with writers and aren't attached to being an editor, there are a few jobs (still freelance) that I believe will survive the coming robot apocalypse. Do a little Google research about "book coaches," "writing coaches," or "book doulas." These are people who act primarily as emotional supporters and logistical helpers for writers who are trying to get their book published or self published. Some of them do actual editing, but many do not, and due to the therapeutic nature of their work I believe they will flourish longer than editors in the coming robot apocalypse.

If you do explore editing as a path, the further away you can lean from spelling and grammar (e.g. proofreader or copyeditor), the longer your skills will be useful when competing with robots. AI still struggles to offer the same kind of nuanced, story-level feedback that a human can give. (Speaking from experience here--I'm a developmental editor and have yet to see a dent in my workload because of robots.) They'll catch up eventually, but it could be a while, and as long as there are human readers, there will always be humans who are willing to pay for a human perspective on their writing. Human spell checkers maybe not so much.

Hope this helps!

#writeblr #asks #op #editing

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut. Cannibalism(?) (idk it’s Curses eating each other), violence of war. Toji being a lil spicy ;)

A/N - Apologies for the delays with this one! The edits for Chapter 6 and 7 really took it out of me (if you haven’t re-read them yet, then I highly recommend you do!) Anyways, enjoy this chapter! Ko-Fi.

-•-

Chapter 8

It was frightening how easily Y/N slipped back into the dance of war.

But then again, it was second nature to her; a tune to a song that had been sung for a thousand years. It was etched into her very being, she’d heard the words sung from inside her mother’s womb, felt its resonance the moment she was born, and sung it herself when she descended to Earth from Heaven. No Angel, from the dawn of time, had ever escaped the call of this haunting song.

However, the song had a far different tune in Hell than it did anywhere else.

Battles won on Earth had been marvelous victories, where just a bit more sin had been cleansed from the world. But here in Hell, sin multiplied tenfold, especially after a battle was won. Y/N didn’t know why every victory she won felt like a loss. Perhaps it was the sight of her own soldiers feasting on the corpses of the dead, both enemies and comrades, their greed knowing no bounds as black blood gushed forth to make the ground muddy. Perhaps it was the fact she took no prisoners of war, leaving none alive because the severity of torture they would face would be a waste of her soldiers time. Or perhaps it was the persistent feeling that, despite every victory, the end was nowhere near in sight.

Naoya and Jogo’s soldiers proved relentless, pounding against Geto’s borders without pause.

Again.

And again.

And again…

Y/N hadn’t slept in seven days, and how could she? There was no time, and it was far too dangerous to sleep. She hadn’t seen Geto for nearly a month; any and all correspondence was done via Suda, who never rested either as she relayed messages between all Geto’s different battalions throughout Hell. While her brother fought more offensively, assembling his most savage and strongest Curses to directly attack Jogo and Naoya within their own borders, Y/N was charged with defending their own lands. Their enemies could instantaneously appear in the hundreds – if not, tens of hundreds – across various locations.

For this reason, Sukuna’s ring of teleportation had been particularly invaluable for her defense.

It was eerie, almost as if the King of Hell had somehow predicted the war and their strategies. Y/N had been reluctant to even put the ring on, but as soon as she did, sliding it on the exact same finger as Toji wore his, it had shrunk and hugged to the exact size of her finger. She told herself it was a necessity, as there was no way she would have worn it otherwise. Y/N often wondered what Sukuna thought of all this, if he even cared that his Curses were busy slaughtering each other instead of the seraphim. But this wasn’t the first war of Hell, and she guessed that if he hadn’t intervened previously, then it was unlikely he would care now.

Despite when Geto had claimed, even challenged, that this would be the most bloody and violent war that Hell had ever seen.

Y/N often found herself lost in thoughts of what might have been. Amidst the seemingly endless time loop of a fight, her body moved with pure instinct in the dance of death. She didn’t need to use her mind to fight, and so it often wandered to a future that didn’t exist – one where she had become Gojo’s wife, fighting alongside him against the Curses she now fought beside. That would have been a holy and noble war, enacting God’s justice against those that turned against his light. Sometimes, Y/N glanced at her fellow soldiers, and wondered if she would have been forced to kill them in a world where she remained an Angel. A world where Satoru loved her, and she returned it equally. So strong was her daydream that her old soul almost took over, and time seemed to slow as her blade hovered dangerously close to her own soldier’s neck.

Until its maw opened unnaturally wide, and its razor-sharp teeth buried into an enemy Curse’s head. Y/N pulled back sharply, her mind and soul snapping back place as her body recoiled.

How had she not noticed her foe approach her? She would have been deep within its clutches if not for her fellow Curse, whom she had almost contemplated killing.

She cracked her neck with an audible pop and rotated her wrists, feeling the tension release with each twist, and nodded at the Curse who had saved her. It stared at her expectantly like a lost child, haunting vulnerability in its eyes, pink flesh dangling in shredded ribbons between its stained fangs. In one swift motion, Y/N swung her katanas in her hands, and her companion startled out of their momentary trance, returning to the savage dance of the battle around them.

There was something so beautiful about that moment, but Y/N couldn’t place her finger on it.

She wanted to chase that feeling.

If this war was to be so vicious, then Y/N embrace it all and return it tenfold. She readied her body to dance as her soldiers rallied around, completely surrounding her. The notion might have once frightened her, but not anymore. There was nothing to fear, only death and the beautiful song of war.

And then, hellfire started to rain from the sky.

Jogo…

Now this, is what the end is supposed to look like.

“Y/N!”

Miguel’s familiar voice shouted from a distance, causing Y/N to swiftly turn in its direction. In an instant, he was next to her. “Y/N! Suda has just informed me; Geto has begun the siege on the Zenins!”

Her eyes narrowed. “So Jogo sends his soldiers here. He thinks we cannot fend him off with only half an army.”

She surveyed her own force, rapidly formulating strategies in her mind. It was unclear how many Jogo had sent to the border, but one of the Curses was definitely one of his higher-ups, judging by the hellfire. Y/N doubted Jogo himself had come, not yet anyways. Suddenly, a blast of fire erupted outside her circle as a droplet landed beside them, and a Curse screeched in agony.

“Find Curses to form a barrier above us,” Y/N said urgently, shielding her head as another bout of fire erupted near her. “We cannot defend ourselves with this.”

Miguel nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. “And you? Do you need more soldiers?”

She looked at the Curses surrounding her, their gnashing teeth and pounding legs thumping the ground, as if they were her hellhounds eager to be off their leash. Y/N shook her head. “No, these are all I need. Send more to protect the supply outposts. We cannot afford to lose another.”

Miguel nodded and disappeared, leaving Y/N to take charge. She roughly dragged a Curse from the circle closer to her, then placed a hand gently on its head, as if seeking to make amends. She whispered softly, her voice like a soothing prayer that she found Curses responded well to. "Go and find me the one responsible for the hellfire.”

The Curse blabbered nonsense, its cloven feet stomping into the dirt, before speeding off into the fray, barreling into enemies and swinging them into the air with reckless abandon. Y/N raised her katanas over her head and launched herself against their foes. Her soldiers followed closely behind, swept up in the fervor of her charge. Y/N was the relentless tide crashing against the shoreline, the herald of a catastrophic tsunami that would engulf them all.

It was some time before her hoofed Curse returned, it’s battered and bloodied form charging towards her. With a powerful thrust, it impaled into an enemy Curse that Y/N had suspended high into the air with her katanas. The Curse snarled and spat, but she knew to follow its lead. And through the maze of death and corpses it led her, a twisted beacon amidst the darkness and chaos.

Straight towards Jogo’s second in command.

Hanami.

For a split second, Y/N was gripped by sadness. Why had fate forced them to cross paths? Yet, it seemed inevitable; the two generals of the Kings must be the destined to confront each other. Why did God make such things come to pass? Hanami was innocent, a Curse born from the fear of Gods own nature that he himself had created. What was there truly to fear? Hanami embodied nature’s beauty as much as much as its cruelty. Thorns and vines coiled around Y/N’s soldiers, ruthlessly tearing them apart, but she couldn’t shake the memory of her fever dream. The voice that had condemned her to be scratched into pieces. Was it actually a vision from this very moment? Was Hanami to be the orchestrator of her demise, strumming the strings of her death like a harp?

Y/N thought it was what she deserved, to be killed by God’s nature from which she had turned her back.

Hanami seemed to finally notice her, releasing the soldiers entangled within her thorns and spreading out her arms as if welcoming Y/N home. She wanted to cry; both with homesickness and with the sickly sin she was about to commit. For she had no intention of dying, even if it was what she deserved. Yet, tears slipped from her eyes regardless.

“Why do you cry?”

It was Hanami’s voice in Y/N’s head, and it startled her. All the Curses around them had turned to fight each other, paving a makeshift pathway directly between the two of them.

“Do you cry for yourself? For your mate who shall surely grieve you?”

“No, I cry for you.”

“For me? You don’t know me.”

“And I never will, but I would have liked to.”

“I have been charged with your death, and I will not fail as Mahito did. If you must know me, then know this. I do not hate you, I only seek a world where my nature can thrive. You and your brother stand in the way of that.”

How cruel, God why must you do this to me – to her? She would have been a wonderful Angel.

“We should have been on the same side then, because I don’t hate you either.”

With that, they launched themselves at each other through the garden of thorns and ruby roses. Each step brought forth a flurry of petals, swirling around them like a tempest. Y/N's blades sliced through the flowers and roots, yet Hanami countered her with a strength and speed that seemed to match the blooming growth around them.

They collided in a chaotic tangle of petals and gleaming metal, the air thick with the sickening scent of blood and blossoms. The behemoth Curse’s vines and thorns twisted and writhed, entangling Y/N in a deadly embrace, and the ground beneath them trembled with the force of her strikes against the roots. The air crackled with raw energy, as victory remained shrouded in a misty cloud. Through their bond, Y/N felt Toji’s essence urging her on desperately, and she clenched her jaw in determination.

This would end, one way or the other.

-•-

She trudged through from the portal with a slight limp, dragging the full weight of Hanami’s body behind her.

Y/N hated how this was so undignified for Hanami. She deserved a proper burial, or at least a smiting, but Y/N had no more divine energy to spare for that, and Curses would never bury their enemies. This was the way it had to be done, what was expected of her. The village she had teleported to was one of the largest at the border, serving as Y/N’s base to travel between. As the Curses around her stared, taking in the lifeless body of Jogo’s general, they erupted into frantic joy. Y/N was too tired for it, too saddened by what she had done, to find any enjoyment in hearing chants and cheers of her name in reverence.

Her bones ached, and her eyes felt as dry as sand. Y/N knew she needed to sleep, but she could hardly bring herself to do it. Every time she closed her eyes, she was haunted by that nightmarish red color, and a phantom pain bloomed over her face where Mahito had touched her. To sleep felt like a death sentence now, and it was beyond infuriating that their enemies had stolen her very basic right to rest and sleep.

On top of that, Y/N missed Toji fiercely.

The exhausted part of Y/N wished she had taken him up on his offer, because then she would have been at peace and safe. But the rational part of her would never allow it, standing firmly in her resolve not to run away from this war. But still, Y/N felt as if their bond had shifted to something more… intense. It was as crippling as it was exhilarating.

Suda and Miguel were waiting for her outside an old stone house that once belonged to a local villager, but now served as her own personal quarters. Miguel looked exhausted, but still kept up his cool demeanor in front of Suda, whose eyes widened into saucers as she took in Hanami’s body.

Y/N finally stopped dragging the body and let go, and it thumped loudly as it hit the ground. “Bring her head to my brother,” she instructed, making it clear that she would not be maiming any corpses herself.

Suda grimaced further, lip curling in disgust. “Anything else?”

“Tell him not to worry about us, and to focus on the siege. Just let us know when he needs supplies so we can send a group to transport it quickly.”

Suda nodded and looked at Miguel for support, who began to drag Hanami away from Y/N. With a sigh, Y/N pushed open the door, stumbling through and hoping nobody saw her. Hanami’s thorns had cut through parts of her armor, creating deep welts that throbbed and bled. One of the vines had gripped Y/N’s ankle so tightly that it was a struggle to walk straight. She knew she needed to sleep; it would help heal her wounds, and probably her ankle. But the sheer amount of obsidian blood covering her body, red rose petals clinging to it like feathers in tar, was a reminder that sleep was out of reach.

Y/N knelt at the edge of the bed, clasping her hands together as her knees scraped harshly against the floor. Prayer kept her from falling asleep, and from staying awake, fearing an assassin lurking in the night. And in some strange way, she felt as if God was still listening, even all the way down in the depths of Hell.

“Dear God in Heaven,

I ask that you deliver me from this darkness.

Help me cleanse this sin, and bring forth light an-”

“What are you doing?”

She’d never sprung into action so fast in her life. Her body acted on pure instinct, all speed and rage as she crashed directly into the bulky form of the stranger in her room. It was unnerving, frightening, that Y/N hadn’t heard anything approaching her, especially after swearing to herself that nothing was going to sneak up on her again. Her attacker grunted in surprise, and they wrestled for just a moment until Y/N registered Toji’s bright green eyes and familiar shaggy black locks. She had him pinned to the floor, her forearm pressing deep into his neck, and her dagger delicately close to his temple. He was breathing hard, nostrils flared in alarm, and tense.

“It’s me,” Toji whispered, with just a hint of panic in his eyes. “It’s just me.”

Y/N groaned, her head hanging low as her heart pounded, as if it took great effort for the muscle to pump anymore adrenaline through her veins. “I-uh, sorry.”

He tentatively rubbed her arm, the metal still pressing uncomfortably hard into his neck. “S’ok, you want to let go now?”

She awkwardly rushed to get off of him, and extended her hand for Toji to take. He accepted it and pulled himself up, his intense gaze weighing and sizing her up.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked gently, still hesitant, as if she was going to attack him for the slightest thing.

“Tch! It doesn’t matter,” Y/N muttered, moving over to the edge of the bed and sitting in a slump.

“It matters,” Toji started, and she could feel the beginning of a lecture coming on. “When you can’t even hear someone approach you. Why don’t you just sleep?”

“You know why. Just leave it.”

He moved over towards her, sitting beside her, his spread knees touching hers. “You still pray,” he stated, more of an observation than a question.

“Yes,” Y/N replied, the exhaustion creeping back into her voice as the adrenaline left her body. “It helps. It keeps me awake and stops me from thinking.”

“About?”

Flashes of pain.

Burning blood and bones.

Foggy visions of something seen long ago, but never to be remembered.

Y/N cracked her neck suddenly, feeling her bones crunching. “Mahito, I suppose. And Geto fighting so far away.” Toji hummed, and she suddenly felt quite nervous. “You’re not going to… judge me for this, are you?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “For praying?”

“Yes.”

“It’s something you do alone, and if it helps, then why stop? It has nothing to do with me, so I’m not going to judge.”

For some bizarre reason, the anxiety and tension she had been holding in her chest dissipated, and Y/N sniffed as she wiped her nose.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, voice cracking.

Toji looked at her strangely and said in a low rumble. “There’s no need for that. I told you before that I don’t care about Fallen or Angel customs.” He looked away shyly and added, “I just want you to be well.”

She blew out a deep breath and slumped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I will be when this war is over.”

He slowly joined her, their shoulders and knees touching. “And how’s it going? I heard Geto has started a siege on my old home.”

“Oh, yes he has. Mei-Mei?”

“Her crows are everywhere.”

“Even here?”

“Especially here.”

“If you want to see me, then you should just do that. No need to spy, Toji.”

“I’m not spying, just… keeping an eye on you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Toji looked over and gave her a pointed look. “Of course I do.” He looked back at the ceiling and huffed quietly. “Stupid thing to say.”

Y/N snorted, perhaps due to her exhaustion, but also partly due to a giddy nervous part of her soul that came out when Toji was around. She couldn’t help herself, and erupted into a fit of giggles. He looked over at her in amusement, and chuckled lowly along with her. They eventually settled into a comfortable silence, with her head slightly tilted towards Toji’s. Suddenly, he took her hand in his, observing her bloodstained nails and thorn cuts.

Displeasure…

“I killed Hanami,” Y/N confessed, as if bursting forth a deep secret she couldn’t withhold anymore.

Toji nodded, his fingers tracing the lines of her hands. “Good. It will take Jogo some time to re-organize his forces.”

She hummed, quiet tears spilling from her eyes onto her cheeks. “I suppose so, yes.”

He looked at her with concern deep in his emerald orbs, and gripped her hand tighter. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just… really didn’t want to kill her.”

“Why’s that?”

Y/N didn’t really know herself, and so it took her some time before she could finally come up with somewhat of an answer. “She was part of nature. It felt like killing an Angel.”

Toji was moving each of her fingers back and forth. “Hanami was no seraph. You should have heard the things she’s done to Angels.”

“I’m sure it’s not much different to what Angels have done to us.”

“Do you not think you could do it, then? If you ascended and came across a seraph.”

No.

Y/N didn’t need to say it aloud; Toji knew her answer from her soul speaking volumes through the bond. They lay together in hushed stillness, interrupted only by Toji curling her fingers into a closed fist. His hand covered hers, offering silent reassurance.

“You need to sleep,” he finally said gently.

“I know, but I can’t.”

“I’ll stay with you, then.”

“Won’t you get tired?”

“Pft! No.”

“Toji, are you sure?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it. Just sleep, nothin’ll get past me.”

Y/N smiled softly at him, and moved up higher onto the bed, not caring about dirtying the sheets with the stains of battle. Toji stood and pulled over a chair closer to the bed, spreading his legs out and crossing his arms. The flickering candlelight cast a shadow on his chiseled features, adding to his alluring enigma, and she wanted to keep discovering everything about him. His gaze darkened, and she knew that he could sense her desire trickling into the bond like a gentle rain.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Y/N huffed, burying her face into her pillow.

“Like what? I’m supposed to be watching you.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“What do you want me to do, stare at the ceiling?”

“No…”

Y/N heard the chair scrape even closer to the bed, and she peeked out from the pillow to see Toji resting his upper body on the bed while still remaining seated on the chair. He nestled his head on his crossed arms, alarmingly close to her face, and closed his eyes.

“Better?” he quipped.

“Mhm.”

“Good, now sleep.”

-•-

Toji’s hair was the first thing Y/N saw when she woke.

The top of his head was directly in front of her, black curtains spilling onto the bed. His arm extended out, as reaching out to try and touch her. He seemed like he was asleep, but Y/N knew he probably wasn’t. This was the most peaceful she had ever seen Toji look, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t find him alluring. She reached over and softly stroked his hair, and Toji groaned softly.

“You slept well,” he grunted, pushing his head closer to her and leaning into her touch.

Y/N hummed, twirling strands of his hair between her fingers. He moved his head, resting his chin on his arms, green eyes trained watching her toy with his hair.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“You’re beautiful,” Toji remarked, a smirk playing on his lips. She smiled widely, humming again, but more shyly. He took her hand that was playing with his hair and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, igniting a wildfire deep within her.

More…

His green eyes blazed with emerald flames, and he pressed featherlight kisses along each of her fingers. Her breath hitched; nothing else in the world felt real anymore, except the sensation of his lips on her skin.

One.

Two.

“Did you dream of anything?” Toji rumbled, rubbing his cheek into Y/N’s fingers.

Three, four…

She shook her head, looking at him with eyes wide and pupils blown. “No, nothing at all.”

Five.

He moved to her other hand, and Y/N wondered just how far she would let him take her.

One, two.

“So, you want me to stay with you every night?”

Three.

“You couldn’t do that.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you wanted me to.”

Four.

“Of course I do, bu-.”

“Shh! Then that’s what I’ll do.”

Five.

His hands enveloped hers, rubbing them tenderly.

“Toji!”

“What?”

“Toji, you can’t do this every night! And I don’t expect you to either.”

“Y/N, if it means you’re safe and sleeping well, then I’ll do it.”

“But your people need you more than I do.”

“Fucks s-, why won’t you let me help? You won’t stay with me, so why can’t I stay with you?”

Y/N cupped Toji’s face, her thumb stroking his cheek. She craved him; he made her pliable, like clay in a sculptors hands. In that moment, she wanted to give him everything he wanted. There was nobody else more willing to help her pass the time in the night. Who else could say they could fight off her nightmares with his bare hands? Toji was made of smoke and steel, breaking through and sliding between every crack and crevice inside her.

“I want you to, but we can’t indulge this,” she whispered, her tingling lips almost unable to speak. “Not now, not until the war is over.”

Toji groaned with exasperation and fell silent. Y/N could feel him thinking hard, and she indulged in his distraction, exploring his face with the pads of her fingers. She traced his furrowed brows, smoothing them out, moving on to the strong bridge of his nose and his smoky lashes.

“What’s the point of praying?” Toji asked suddenly. “How do you know God even listens?

Y/N’s finger froze, just as she was about to trace the scar on his lip. “It’s just what faith is. There’s something that happens when you pray. You can feel God’s presence watching and listening.”

“So, you can still feel it? Even here?”

“Not anymore, but I think he’s still able to listen. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, I like to know how you think. I want to know what you expect from me, because I don’t really understand your… customs.”

Toji stood up, almost reluctantly, and Y/N’s inner voice cried out as he untangled their souls from their intimate moment. “Where are you going?” she whispered, urgency lacing her words.

“I’ll be back here tonight. Wait for me,” he replied, stroking her cheek before disappearing.

Later that night, true to his word, Toji was there waiting for Y/N, but he wasn’t alone. He was with a with a girl, her shaggy cropped hair framing her face, with a thousand and one angry scars crisscrossing every bit of her skin. There was an undeniable connection between her and Toji; their auras mirrored each other, as if they were cut from the same cloth, made of the same blood and flesh.

Y/N hesitated slightly but approached them nonetheless, regaining an air of authority as she walked. Today’s battle had gone awry; Jogo’s soldiers had overwhelmed them completely at a supply outpost. It took both Miguel and Larue to drag her away from the fight, so strong was her desperation to defend their resources. Now, she was left drained and filled with dread, knowing that Geto’s army, as well as her own, had lost even more supplies for their war.

I’m sorry, brother. I will do better.

Concern…

Y/N shook her head at Toji, hoping he understood that now was not the time or place to discuss her feelings. He frowned, seemingly conceding, and introduced the girl beside him. “Y/N, this is Maki Zenin.”

She raised an eyebrow at Maki, though not entirely surprised at the revelation of her relation to Toji. “Zenin?”

“Not anymore,” the girl interjected, her tone a touch sour. “Just call me Maki.”

“I see,” Y/N replied flatly, unimpressed with Maki’s tone, and turned her gaze back to Toji. “And why exactly is Maki here?”

“She left the Zenins and joined my court,” Toji answered, looking at Maki with reserved interest. “But I think she would be able to help you win this war.”

“Is that so?” Y/N sized Maki up, assessing her from head to toe. “Why did you leave the Zenins?”

Maki’s demeanor seemed to shatter and harden instantaneously, her voice strained as she muttered through gritted teeth. “They murdered my sister.”

“And you want to join us because you want revenge? This war isn’t your emotional playground.”

“It’s not, no. And I don’t want to join Geto, just you. Fushiguro is the only family I have left, family that I’ve chosen, and you’re his mate. That makes you my family too, and no more of my family is going to be murdered.”

Y/N’s resolve softened, and she glanced at Toji, who regarded Maki with just a slight hint of pride. He turned to her, and said lowly. “She’s not like them. I trust her to fight alongside you and watch over you when I can’t.”

She clicked her tongue in thought and nodded. What was there really to lose? If Toji trusted her, then Y/N would too. “Fine then, Maki. You can join us.”

Relief…

“Maki, give us a moment,” Toji said, and the girl nodded before walking off into the hustle of the barracks.

“You didn’t think I’d let her stay?” Y/N questioned, her gaze following Maki as she was stopped by Larue, who immediately seemed to be trying to provoke her.

He sighed and stood beside her. “I didn’t think you’d let just anybody get that close to you.”

Y/N hummed. “She doesn’t seem like just anyone if you let her stay with you.”

Toji’s eyes darkened, and he muttered. “I know how it feels to be chewed and spat back out by that family.”

Larue poked Maki’s scarred arm, and she swiftly had him pinned to the ground in a headlock. A group of Curses gathered round, egging on the confrontation, their appetite for violence and bloodshed insatiable. This was the brutal hierarchy of their world, where strength was the only clear language understood. Maki could either overcome it, or crumble. Y/N expected her to survive, otherwise Toji’s plan would have failed before it even began.

“She’s fast,” she commented, and Toji nodded.

“Maki’s like me, nearly fights exactly the same. Through her, I may as well be fighting this war with you.” He nudged her gently, his gaze softening. “What happened today?”

Y/N sighed, pinching her nose. “We don’t have the numbers to defend ourselves and our supplies. We’ve lost too many resources already, and Geto needs all the help he can get to wage out the siege.”

She knew that Toji wasn’t going to offer aid. Doing so would risk openly aligning his kingdom with theirs, and subjecting his people to the wrath of two layers. It would plunge nearly all of Hell into chaos, and subject his people to the same suffering that Geto faced.

Nearly all of Hell.

But not all…

“What will you do, then?”

As Maki brought her clenched fist straight into Larue’s throat, the beginning of an idea started to form in Y/N’s head. Toji chuckled beside her, the ghost of his hand next to hers, as he watched his younger cousin establish her dominance. Though he may not have realized it yet, by bringing her to Y/N, Maki’s willingness to switch allegiance opened up new possibilities.

“I think I might go and visit someone.”

-•-

taglist:

@kkhaosxx @tadabzzzbee @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic

@justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy

@mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978

@littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @limerence08

@iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

@katsvgou

#jujutsu kaisen #toji x reader #jjk au #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #soulmate au #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #gojo satoru x reader #sukuna x you #toji fluff #jjk toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro #gojo x you #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk x reader #jjk angst #toji zenin #gojo smut #jjk gojo #jjk x you #gojou satoru x reader #toji x y/n #geto x reader #choso x reader

[xzhdjsj]

Sakuverse Characters Walking in on You Watching a ✨️Spicy Film✨️

Warning: NSFW!!!

Includes: Andrew, Isaac, Xanthus, Elias

Sooooo this is an idea I got from a recent ask I saw from @ilovegureshin (I hope you don't mind me tagging you). Since there's only 4 chars, I may do a pt. 2 in the future🦦

This is warm up for pt. 2 of that Zaros fic CUZ I'VE NEVER WRITTEN FULL SMUT BEFORE AND IDK WTF I'M DOING YALL

Anways as always, I hope you enjoy😌🫶

‼️ Repost cuz my dumbass deleted the original while editing🙄 We back to being hrny on main tho!

-

Andrew

Andrew is late today, maybe it's traffic, maybe he's just working a bit overtime but in the end you were the one being subjected to torture.

It's been a rough day, and you couldn't wait to get home to him. A bad day is always mendable when your boyfriend knows how to make you feel good. But given he's not home before you today, your next best option was your own hands and something to get your imagination going.

You're sitting on your knees, legs spread apart just a bit and your headphones comfortably shielding you from the noises outside. Your laptop is placed infront of you, theres two character on the screen a blonde and a brunette with a similar body type as Andrew's. You don't reach for these kinds of vides often, more like you don't need to, but sometimes the wait is too much. As the couple in your screen get more and more handsy with each other, you can't help but imagine the way Andrew touches you, the way his hand would ghosts over your thighs, or just gently touch your sides all in his attempts to rile you up. You miss him so much right now but the show must go on.

Your hands move from caressing your skin, making its way between your legs, slowly palming yourself through your undergarments.

You lost track of time, forgetting that soon your boyfriend would be home. Though it was too late for that.

Andrew knew something was up when you didn't greet him at the door like you usually do, and when the calls for your name went unanswered. What he didn't expect was to be greeted by such a... surprise.

Your back is facing the door, and you couldn't hear him through your headphones. He takes a quick glimse at the screen and grins, making his way over to the bed. He, very casually, walked up behind you and turns your face to the side so he can kiss you. You're quickly knocked out of your daze and slam the laptop shut as you scramble at the sheets.

"Andrew!"

"No 'Welcome home' hugs for me today? Although I must say this might be a better welcome after a long day."

Isaac

Sometimes when Isaac works really late you "go to bed early because you're tired", he doesn't come out of his office for hours so you have adequate time to relief yourself without disturbing Isaac. Tonight in particular, you felt completely disoriented. You couldn't get any work done and it was hard to focus. So when you couldn't take it anymore, you faked a yawn and excused yourself for the night. Isaac promised he'd be in bed with you soon, but knowing him "soon" meant at least another hour or two.

So you take advantage of the time, setting up your laptop next to you, and stripping away your clothes. Even though the volume of the video was lowered, your voice was not. Not that Isaac can hear you all the way in his office anyways. Your laboured breaths and soft moans echo the room. You take your time to rid the stress from your body, and your once soft moans increasing in volume as you get closer and closer.

Only for your body to stiffen at the three curt knocks on the door. You close the laptop quickly and pull your blanket over your body. He opens the door slowly, moving just a single step inside.

"Sorry, I uhm... I heard you through the door and- and I was going to leave, I promise! But you sounded so... good."

He's looking down at the floor, a hand on the back of his neck as he explains himself. The way the fabric of his pants stretched to accommodate his erection was obvious and maybe you didn't need your laptop anymore for tonight.

You drop the blanket from your body, crawling to the edge of the bed.

"Come here with me Isaac."

Xanthus

It was no accident. Not when you knew he could hear the video playing in your screen and the way your heart rate quickens.

You're spread out on your and Xanthus' bed, with a random video playing in the background. You didn't really care for the video, it was just there to hold your plan together and make your actions as obvious as you can. It was all just a ploy to get his attention. You knew that he knew that too, and at some point he'd give in and come find you.

You started off discreet, faintly running your hands up and down your body. It got your blood pumping as your heart rate increased, but when that didn't draw him to you, caution was thrown right out the window and you fully indulged yourself in what you could be feeling. Your voice bounced off the walls and he could definitely hear you loud and clear now. Your eyes are squeezed shut, one hand supporting your weight behind your back, the other between your legs.

Your eyes flicker open at the sound of your laptop being slammed shut.

Your pulled at the blanket, barely covering your body at all as you feigned shame.

"Xanthus, I didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah I'm sure the door being open was also part of your plan wasn't it?" He's standing at the end of the bed, eyes completely shadowed over with lust.

"I don't know what you mean." You lie.

"Don't play dumb with me, you love testing my patience don't you?"

"Perhaps"

"Brazen, but you might just regret starting this."

He crawls onto the bed towards you, clawing at the bottom of the blanket ripping it from your grasp and exposing your body.

Elias

There isn't much to do in the safe house, especially when you're alone. Being with Elias all the time is great and you love it, but having some time apart to be by yourselves was also nice. What you planned to do with your time today was one you definitely wanted to be alone for.

You lifted your laptop from the nightstand, placing it infront of you and scrolling to find the videos you favourited. There was a select few that you enjoyed, especially because you could imagine yourself in those scenarios, only now you could also picture someone as the other person in the videos.

Elias was all the way in his room, probably playing games or sleeping, whatever it was you hope it kept him in there for as long as possible. Once you're all prepared, you set the laptop down and kicked off your pants, leaving only your shirt and underwear on. Your eyes are set on the screen, watching and replicating the way the character's hand moved on the other. Your shirt is hiked all the way up, caught between your teeth so you hands could freely access your chest. All you could think of is Elias and if he'd also touch you this way. Surely if you asked, he wouldn't say no to you right?

Your other hand reaches down to the fabrics hugging your pelvis, fingers slipping inside to touch yourself.

But you're pulled to reality when the door knob creaks and Elias comes into view.

"Hey babe, do you wanna- Shit!"

You immediately tug your shirt down and make a high pitched sound and Elias quickly rushes right back out the door.

"I'm sorry!" He yells from outside. "I didn't know and your door was unlocked- Jeez I really am sorry!"

You body drops onto the bed, silently cursing yourself for not locking the door.

"It's okay." You tell him. "Did you need something?"

He's quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"Can I come back inside?"

You swallow hard at his request, pulling your blanket over your lower body.

"Yeah, sure"

The door slowly opens and Elias steps inside.

"Sorry, you look really fucking hot right now and I can't get it out of my head." He confesses and you're dumbstruck.

"Elias I uhm-"

"If this is too much for you, tell me to leave now, else I don't plan to." He cuts you off.

"Don't. I don't want you to leave"

"Good."

Before you knew it, his shirt is on the foor and your arms are wrapped around his neck as he kisses you.

"Were you thinking of me?" He asks.

"....yeah"

-

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #andrew marston #isaac rhoades #xanthus claiborne #elias #zsakuva andrew #zsakuva isaac #zsakuva xanthus #zsakuva elias

[ofcowardiceandkings]

companion piece of young Link

AAHH i finally finished something :'D

i've uh had some very specific Thoughts about Zelda's childhood for a while now so its about time i put them to paper - this is actually round TWO since the original doodles are lost to ... somewhere ... i like these second editions better though so alls well that ends well

we're looking at ages around 4, 7 and 10 years old here touchin bugs in the dirt, archery practice, and playing a lyre ;w;

more detailed Thoughts under the cut 💙

iiitssss customary ranting about my BotW/TotK opinions tiiiimeeee welcome my darlingsss jfkdjfkd 💙

i had a much more solid idea about where i was going with Zelda than with Link but some of it is kinda abstract or weird lol

we know a fair amount about her upbringing in general, or can infer as much from Zelda's interactions with her father and what they and people around them wrote. she was clearly a smart and vivacious kid with a strong personality from the start, no matter how much you sort of squash that shit for the public face, repression etc. so yknow, her mother's death when she was 6, awful. her father's change in attitude especially in her teens, awful. being under public scrutiny her whole life, awful. restrictive structure of royal life, dull (i bet it bored Zelda to death at times no matter how strongly duty-oriented she is). having said that though, she got by and just by looking at her study, she clearly got stuff done to herself - you can take the kid away from the science but the science stays with the kid !!!

additionally, forgive me for mentioning ... timelines ... but in my humble onion, BotW/TotK serve as a Dragon-Break scenario which are SO far in the future from other entries that ALL timelines will inevitably converge and lead to that point, so it doesnt matter any more (i dont like extended Timeline theory, Nindooty doesnt like extended Timeline theory, the current writing team seem to want shot of it, let me be). being a history guy i also subscribe to leaning on the LEGEND aspect of 100 and 1000 year games of telephone, it makes things spicy. tradition is a strange thing, we do things we dont have much of a context for anymore, we're still living with the cultural hangovers of people living when mammoths were around and no thats not hyperbole lol its WILD. ive typed around the point enough lets get going

she was a bugs girl !!!! she still IS a bugs girl lmao but if our 16 year old girlie is gonna pounce on frogs apropos of nothing, that 4 year old girlie is gonna go catch bugs in the Royal Gardens and freak out her maids or escorts with them, good for her 💅

the other two are where my timeline thing comes in; the triforce is never mentioned by name, its just there in symbolism ?? something about the blood of the goddess ?? divine sealing powers ??? no one knows in the same vein, i like to think that its traditional for Hylian Princesses to learn archery and play a lyre or harp ... but no one remembers quite WHY ?? so Zelda does. the Priestess-Princess* role means the public is aware that Zelda had formal singing training, but its not really common knowledge outside of the Castle that the Royal Girls do THIS (no one knows why that part is important either, but it stays in the Castle). she might be a little out of practice now, but give that muscle memory enough time and she might be able to really surprise people.

*this is part of the Japanese translation, at least in Kass' final song Zelda is referred to as an term roughly meaning Priestess-Princess - which makes total sense to me

ohhh my god i talked a lot okay i just love my gorl fhjdkfjdk

actual footage of me explaining my shit and going way long

#tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #botw zelda #totk zelda #totk fanart #botw fanart #loz zelda #botw/totk #pilots doodles #botw/totk blogging #zelda blogging #rory's ramblings

[journals-of-the-guardian-project]

LORE POST #1

Redesign of my Chat Noir redesign to go together with my rewrite which I will talk a lot about under the cut. I'm pretty set on this design too and will link it at the beginning of the fic when I get ten chapters completed and ready to post :3

What is different from canon, why I am changing some things, etc. Feel free to just read my thoughts around the design if you want to read my fic without any guidelines of what I'm planning so far for him

BUT I won't spoil anything major dw

The design:

I've changed chat noir's design so it would blend in more at night. The preferred the sleek black tones over the glow in the dark green I gave him before. I take a whole lot of inspiration from the PV of miraculous ladybug in these designs so of course his hair is still floofy.

When initially designing Chat noir, the tips of his hair are darker since I really liked that trait some other redesigns gave him so I included it without making his whole head of hair black.

I got the idea to base his design off of rust and RAN with it! He still has some greens in his design but they've shifted closer to yellow green and gold for the color scheme!

I've liked the idea about the clothes in the hero designs looking more cloth like too so I've incorporated that into the design with pockets and a zipper cause I can. Since Adrien has been thinking about being a superhero for a while, his design is more thought out were it could be.

EDIT: Forgot to mention!! Ladybelle has a lil more black in her design and now chat has a little more red! :3 matching

I saw some concept art of Chat Noir with a hat at one point and I loved it so much I wanted to keep it in to a certain extent, SO Marichat moment all the way. I decided to add the bells back into his design (I missed them) and took inspiration from @/callimara's Chat Noir design.

Chat noir will still be very cat like in this and I thought it'd be funky if his feat were like a cat's

Overall it isn't much of a design change for some aspects but I really like how it turned out!

K story stuff now:

I want to get ten chapters done before I post chapters again on the first fic since I don't think I did the best job introducing what I've changed. This isn't talking about adrien agreste's life this is more his role as Chat Noir. I'll get to adrien when I get his redesign sheet finished

(any part of this section might be edited in the future but this is basically part of my ideas)

Honestly a whole lot of the fic(s) is(are)

Fault of canon? -> Solution

I've been developing for two years now and I just gotta write it out... Entirely hinging on my execution sigh

Chat noir's powers are now on a more equal footing with Ladybug's (Ladybelle now) and I'll get more indepth when I post Ladybug's redesign and stuff but basically

The miracle box is a mix mash of several miraculous's from other boxes due to an event Guardian Marianne caused. Supposedly, she unleashed the Rabbit kwami of time on the guardians in an act of defiance. Resulting in rips in time eating away the members present for such an event, burning to death in fire. Marianne managed to run away with the miraculous's she could obtain and do her best to live her life knowing what she's done.

The Ladybug and Cat miraculous are a duo pair. Strongest when used in a partnership. Many are tempted to use both at the same time for what the powers merge to become but this isn't the strongest path.

Tikki and Plagg are soulmates you could say. They aren't really romantic but they are bonded for life. Never one without the other.

They are the only miraculous pairing in the new mixmash of the guardian box. Eventually Marianne gives the responsibility to Master Fu, her lover, before the rabbit comes after her as well.

I'll talk more about the changes I've made to Tikki's character in Ladybelle's post but as a part of the Miraculous cure, something all pairing miraculous's have to purify evils and darkness, it requires both parties to be present. Usually some form of touch or communication initiates the Miraculous cure

"Pound it!"

Chat noir can use his power alone to defeat evils but it's like cauterizing a wound. He doesn't figure this out for a bit.

I'll talk more about the miraculous cure in Ladybelle's post

This is still a part of the story I'm working on but:

the miraculous of destruction gets more powerful the longer the user wields it. With techniques and familiarity, Chat noir will be able to make black pockets of nothing just from a touch. Yes I'm including this from the concept art. Though he'll only get this later down the road

Chat noir is still a form of escapism to Adrien and part of his character arc is realizing he can't rely on it like that. A large part of adrien's character I'll talk about in adrien's post ties into Chat Noir too

I'm still figuring out some plot points for him so this is where I'll end this off. But I will say I'm planning on Chat Noir getting more time with the kwamis and more of a role in the Guardian arc and guardian stuff in general

#guardian marianne au #jotg au #journals of the guardian #chat noir redesign #miraculous ladybug rewrite #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #marichat #ladynoir #MDN art tag #my art #adrien agreste

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet for It runs in the blood.

***ok, so the chapter is almost done; I just need to edit it now, and cut some scenes or arrange them around. This scene might get cut, so I decided I might as well post it here. If all goes well, we'll have the new chapter by the end of the week.***

-

“Are you afraid of me, Sirius?” 

They are in bed, Sirius regaining his breath, on top of Voldemort, his forearms supporting his weight, on either side of Voldemort’s head. 

It’s a very weird time to ask such a question, right after Sirius came. He’s still inside Voldemort. 

“Is this what you think of while I fuck you?” Sirius demands, looking down into those focused, sharp eyes. 

Should have let him fuck me instead; or sucked him off. Sirius is sure Voldemort’s mind doesn’t wander on those occasions, as it apparently does when Sirius fucks him. 

“Answer me.” Voldemort’s voice is soft, his gaze curious and intense, impossible to hide from. 

It makes Sirius wonder why he even needs to ask, when it always feels as if Voldemort can see straight into his soul. 

He tries to climb off Voldemort, but one of those deceptively thin arms coils around Sirius’ back and traps him in place, oh so easily. 

“No,” Sirius says. “Not really,” he rectifies. 

One of Voldemort’s eyebrows lifts, questioningly. “Not really,” he repeats. He sounds displeased. 

A cynical part of Sirius almost wants to ask if he’s displeased Sirius doesn’t fully fear Voldemort. 

But he knows it’s the other way around. Voldemort doesn’t want Sirius to fear him at all. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Sirius clarifies. “But I am aware of…hmm.” Sirius moves one of his arms, his finger smoothing over the frown that appeared between Voldemort’s eyebrows. “Of how powerful you are,” Sirius goes on. “Far more powerful than I am.” 

Voldemort frowns harder. 

Sirius tries to move again, and this time he’s allowed. He lies beside Voldemort, but soon, Voldemort shifts, and now he’s glaring down at Sirius. “One only needs to worry about enemies being more powerful. I am not your enemy.” 

“I know. I’m not worried,” Sirius says. “Just- aware. I- well, you wouldn’t understand, would you?” 

Voldemort hasn’t met, and never will meet, someone as powerful as he is, let alone someone more powerful. 

When he was a child, Dumbledore; but, as he pointed out, Dumbledore was an enemy, in Tom Riddle’s mind, branded as such from a very early age. 

He wouldn’t know how it feels to fall in love with someone so out of his league, someone that could destroy him in a second. Someone that sleeps besides him, cooks for him, but, if it came down to it, someone that could easily annihilate him, on a whim. 

Sirius smiles up at him. “It feels dangerous,” he explains. “But that’s not really fear, and I like danger. Living on the edge, and all that. If you weren’t this ridiculously overpowered, I probably wouldn’t like you so much.” 

'Like' is a massive understatement. Sirius loves him, he’s obsessed with Voldemort to a terrifying degree. There lies the problem. “It’s more - I fear that I will disappoint you,” Sirius confesses. Fucking Voldemort. He knows me too well. He knows Sirius is more open after he comes, more willing to voice things he would struggle with at any other moment. “That one day-"

You’ll grow bored of me. I’ll stop being this new shiny toy. 

Though, truly, it’s been a while. They’ve met two years before. They’ve been fucking for around a year now. Sirius has practically moved in with him for a couple of months. And Voldemort doesn’t show signs he’s bored or disillusioned with Sirius so far. 

“Anyway,” he says, trying to end this subject. “I’m doing my best to catch up to you,” he jokes. 

There’s no catching up with Voldemort. Sure, Sirius is growing stronger every day, seems like it. He feels he left his peers in the dust, behind him. He feels he could destroy most Death Eaters in a one-on-one duel; most Aurors, too. 

He feels it’s possible one day, into a not so very distant future, that Sirius will become one of the most powerful wizards in Britain- perhaps even Europe, if he works hard enough. 

It’s not farfetched. Power is in his bloodline, it’s his birthright, and Voldemort’s tutelage only pushes Sirius further on this path of power. 

But he’ll never catch up to Voldemort. Not even close. No matter how many books he will read, what he will learn, how much he practices -it’s simply impossible. 

Men like Voldemort, men like Dumbledore or Merlin, are anomalies, aberrations of magic- their power is not a tangible goal. 

Rarities, exceptions. Truly, it’s a wonder they got Voldemort and Dumbledore in the same century. One of these freaks of magic usually comes around every other century or so. 

And we got two, in Britain, at once. How lucky. This island is truly cursed. 

Or blessed. 

Depends how one looks at it. 

“At least I scare you productively.” Voldemort still sounds displeased, though less so than a minute ago. 

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’m not scared,” he insists, and he pushes Voldemort off him, with enough force to make him retreat. “Why don’t you make me something to eat,” he barks, to show he really isn’t afraid of Voldemort. “I’m starving.” 

The fact that he doesn’t get murdered or at least tortured on the spot, the fact that Voldemort actually gets up and heads to the kitchen, proves to Sirius he really doesn’t have much reason to fear him. 

#it runs in the blood #Voldemort is the worst at pillow talk

[brabblesblog]

Ch 4: I sought whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion has finally found where his consort has gone to, and attempts to bring her back.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing.”

Gale’s voice startled Ban as she sat at the desk of the room he’d graciously loaned her, furiously trying to wipe her tears. He’d walked in at an inconvenient moment, a common occurrence for him. Gale took a seat nearby, reaching out to place a hand over hers. He found her hand a bit damp, but he didn't mind.

It had been a tenday since she’d fled the Ascendant’s clutches, ten days since she had last seen his face. She’d thought it would be easy, forgetting her captor. But he had also been her beloved, and in his absence she found it easier and easier to excuse his misdeeds and only miss the good.

She hated herself for that.

“I miss him,” she said, voice rough from weeping. “I shouldn’t. I should be enjoying my time here, planning for my future - anything.”

Anything, other than thinking of him, of longing for someone who no longer existed.

“I’m sorry, Gale. I’ve been a terrible guest.” She stood, about to start pacing the now well-trodden path she frequently followed in this room.

Gale didn’t offer any false platitudes. Instead, he reached out to squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault. It never was. In the end, ascending was his decision to make, quite like how it’s also his decision to be whatever he is right now.”

If she had put in more work, done better in talking him down, perhaps things would've been different. He had been so afraid and lost; he’d needed her guidance and she had failed. But Ban also knew she wouldn’t have had the heart to deprive him of the ritual’s gifts. Her feelings about it hadn’t been worth him giving up everything he stood to gain. And so, with only a brief effort to dissuade him, she’d helped him when he’d needed it.

That train of thought brought forth a fresh wave of tears. Instinctively she reached out for Gale, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest, where the orb once was. For a moment, she imagined being back in Astarion’s arms. Her Astarion, with his cold hands and a heart that beat a little too slow.

Gale’s warmth was a far cry from that, but the comfort he provided was still very welcome and much needed. He wrapped his arms around her, his voice quiet and full of an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“I’m sorry, Ban. Had I known this would be how you and Astarion would end up… I don’t know.”

Maybe I’d have tried harder to be the one for you, he thought. It wasn’t the right time to say it. It might never be. But he’d be there in any capacity she needed him to be, regardless.

“You’d what?” she said. “There was nothing to be done. No one can see the future - even you, Gale. It is what it is. I just have to move on.”

At first, there had been some worry about Astarion showing up and dragging her back. A quick visit to Elminster and a favor had addressed that issue. Gale now had wards placed around his tower and around Ban herself, preventing the Ascendant from making contact without permission.

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. In the warm firelight he looked rather handsome, and his brown eyes widened as they both realized just how close their bodies were.

They’d spent most of these past ten days together. Gale had been keeping her company and showing her around Waterdeep. Ten days that had in all honesty been wonderful, that were very reminiscent of the early days of their adventure, days when Ban had spent more time with Gale while her budding romance with Astarion was in its infancy. Gale had told her then that he felt something for her, but she had chosen the vampire instead.

For a moment, in the height of her misery and loneliness, she wondered how Gale’s lips would taste. She swallowed down her despair and threw caution to the wind, leaning in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant… and different. She felt Gale’s breathing pick up, his beard tickling her as he deepened the kiss. He felt like warmth and kindness and safety, and she tightened her hold around him in welcome.

Gale broke the kiss, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving.

“I- I don’t think this would be a wise move,” he began, “but I don’t mind that as much as I would like to.”

He reached for her again, but she shied away.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I don’t think I can ever give you what you really want, Gale. Even back then.” Since meeting Astarion, she had never felt anything for another.

Gale’s face darkened a little. “I understand. But Halsin-"

Ban shook her head. “Halsin understood and accepted that I could only give so much. Could you?”

The wizard bit his lip. On the one hand, he wanted to say yes, and damn the consequences. On the other…

“You know me too well,” he said, smiling sadly. “However, if your heart does find itself having room in the future, please do think of me.”

Ban laughed bitterly. An image of Astarion swam in her mind, that shocked and stunned expression he’d made when she’d told him she had chosen him over Gale. The utter disbelief on his face, melting into surprise and pleasure when he’d realized she’d meant what she’d said. She shoved the vision away. Even now, after everything that had happened since the rite, she’d chosen that damned vampire again.

“You already have a place in my heart, Gale,” she said carefully. “Just not the piece you want. In the future, that may change; but right now I cannot give you that which is still tangled in another’s.”

He nodded, resigned. “For now, that is satisfactory.” He looked away, taking in the room he was letting her stay in, the rows of books lending it a cozy, homely atmosphere. “I shall turn in for the evening, then. You’re always welcome to knock on my door if you need to.” He gathered some courage, enough to press another quick, chaste kiss on her lips, and left her in silence.

The nights were never easy, and when she finally laid down, she found the bed too empty and sleep difficult to achieve.

The next morning, Ban was woken up by a commotion, seemingly coming from right outside her window. She could hear a loud bang every few minutes - a sound very reminiscent of the one the statue of Shar had emitted whenever someone stepped too close and triggered the wards around it. She opened her eyes to see dawn had barely broken, sunlight streaming through the windows. It took a moment for her thoughts to sink in.

Her eyes widened at the realization. The wards.

“Ban!” the Ascendant called out the moment he saw her peek out through the open window.

He stood outside his carriage, an ornate monstrosity of black and gold. With him were a number of summons, both werewolves and skeletons, which he had apparently been attempting to send through the wards to no avail. After another failed attempt, he crossed his arms and glared up at her.

“Hello, you ingrate. Are you truly going to stay cooped up in there forever, Ban? I can wait just as long!” He strode forward, pausing to take a cursory, disdainful look at the tower. “And here I was thinking you hated being stuck in one place. At least the palace has better ambience than this dump.”

Ban sighed. She had to admit he looked glorious in the morning sun; the rays caressed his silver curls, making them appear to sparkle in the light. His eyes were sharp and intense, equal parts anger and another emotion she couldn’t quite place. He was dressed in his red and black doublet, the one he knew to be her favorite. She decided she liked him like this: at her mercy, for once.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Astarion. I had thought you would just find some other bride,” she bit out, relishing the way his eyes widened in surprise at her choice of words. He bared his fangs, realizing that she now knew the truth.

“No one else would do,” he retorted, recovering his composure and slipping back into his usual confident demeanor. “You of all people ought to know that. Now. Let me in.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

The Ascendant growled, then barked an order for his minions to step back. If they couldn’t, perhaps he could. He approached the invisible barrier, hands reaching out to it slowly.

One loud bang later and he was on his ass, hair and clothes disheveled, staring in shock at the tower. He made another attempt as a bat, only to be sent flying. An attempt as a cloud of mist ended similarly.

He changed back, angrily trying to comb his hair and smooth his clothes back into place.

“I see Gale’s skills have improved somewhat,” he grumbled.

“A little gift from Elminster, actually,” Gale answered, greeting the Ascendant from the doors of the tower. They stared at each other, not six paces apart, separated by the invisible barrier.

Astarion seethed. “Happy now, Gale? Happy you’ve stolen her, when you never could before?”

Gale shook his head. “I have done no such thing. You pushed her away yourself. You needn’t any help from me in that regard.”

For a moment, Astarion was feral. He bared his fangs and he tensed as if to pounce at the wizard, stopping a hairsbreadth away when he remembered the barrier. As he collected himself, he saw Ban approach; she stopped beside Gale, watching him.

“What do you want, my lord?” Her voice was dry, face affecting a bored expression.

“You. Back home with me.” His answer was instantaneous. Pacing back and forth, much like a predator toying with its cornered prey, he smiled. “I’m not leaving, pet, until you come back with me. And I have all the time in the world.”

Ban considered this, recognizing it wasn’t an empty threat - he could very well set up camp at the gate of this tower, trapping them all inside. This was a stalemate she could not allow to drag on, for Gale’s sake. She sighed and whispered to Gale, who nodded.

“Fine. I will at least allow you into the tower. We can talk. But." She smiled back at him, and it was a cold thing. "I have the same spell around me as this tower does. You cannot touch me. You are also not allowed to harm anyone else.”

She drew herself up, trying to appear as confident as she wished she felt. “Is that agreeable to you?”

Astarion clenched his fist. He wanted to fight back but knew it was a lost cause. “Agreed. Now let me in,” he hissed.

Gale waved his hand, and there was a soft hum as the barrier disappeared. “Only you, Astarion. No ghouls,” he added.

Glowering darkly, the Ascendant acquiesced, following Ban and Gale into the tower.

Ban sat opposite Astarion, hands fidgeting in her lap. Gale had left them to talk in her room; now that she was alone with him again she felt oddly glad of it.

Astarion let out a small sigh, looking as though this was just one more errand he had to do. He’d accepted the offer of tea from Gale; his crimson eyes peered indifferently at her over the rim of his cup as he sipped.

“What will get you to come back?” He almost sounded bored.

“Definitely not that tone,” she snapped, irritated despite herself. Did he expect her to simply fold?

He crossed his legs, watching her a little more intently now. His face betrayed none of his inner turmoil.

“What can I give you, then, to make you want to be with me again?” That sounded better, he hoped.

“Your old self.”

He seethed, lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “What old self, Ban? I’m still me. I’m still the Astarion you love.”

She laughed at that. “You’re right. I studied everything I could get my hands on, for a while. I even asked Gale to look into it. I tried to understand why you’re so different. I thought the rite destroyed your soul.” She shook her head. “But no. You’re you, just worse.”

Astarion bristled. Worse? When he’d become the most powerful vampire to ever exist? “I was weak! I was worth nothing. Why would you want that over this?” He gestured to himself, as if to remind her of what exactly she stood to lose. “I can give you the world - have been giving you everything!”

“Give it to someone else. I need the Astarion I fell in love with. Not you. Not the riches or the power or whatever other trinkets you offer.”

He felt his anger rise, and felt the urge to shout, maybe even lunge at her. But he quelled the impulse long enough to think: Would his anger help anything? Would screaming and threatening her work, when he couldn’t even lay a hand on her? He weighed his options and decided to remain civil until a better solution presented itself.

“I was pathetic,” he intoned. “Worth nothing. You can’t possibly want that. I’m better now. Don’t you want that for me? For you?” He made an attempt to widen his eyes, to appear more vulnerable.

She was not convinced. “I let it happen for you,” Ban said, averting her eyes as she revealed her shame. “Personally? I would have preferred you to stay the way you were; it would have meant that you would still love me the way you used to, would let me love you the way you used to. But that’s a selfish thought, and it’s far too late for regrets.”

She locked eyes with him. “You were everything I wanted, Astarion. Now none of that man remains.”

She wouldn’t admit to him that at times, that man still shone through, that she still saw glimpses of him within the Ascendant. To admit that would give him an advantage, a carrot to dangle in front of her. He’d tell her to wait, to be patient, to allow him time to let his walls down. Would he even mean it? She doubted it, but she was almost sure she’d acquiesce if he pleaded. The ability to resist his vulnerability was never a skill she had possessed.

He stared at her for a long, tense moment. “The man of your dreams, the hope of him, is your own worst enemy. That… spawn… is gone. I am he, and he is me. Except I’m more.” He set his teacup down on the side table and leaned forward, slowly encroaching on Ban’s space.

“Don’t you dare speak ill of who you were,” Ban snapped, her temper getting the better of her. “I have let that happen again and again. I’ve had enough.” She glared at the Ascendant, at the man her treacherous heart still loved. “You may be more now, but you are also so much less - in all the ways I need. You were more than enough before, and this version of you could never even come close to the man you were.”

Astarion seethed anew. He instinctively lifted a hand to grab hers, to tell her that he was all that he’d ever wanted to be and more. Better. Why couldn’t she understand that? Why couldn’t she simply accept all he has to give, accept that he was doing all this for both of them? What was a little less freedom in exchange for everything else? He wasn’t his master, he wasn’t out to hurt her.

But as his hand came close to her skin the wards responded, and he was sent flying back with a loud bang, the chair he'd been sitting on broken into pieces behind him.

He groaned a little as he got up from the floor, his fury renewed at the indignity, but he quickly forced himself to calm. His body hurt and he tried not to wince; powerful as he was, he wasn’t invulnerable. Astarion waited a moment for his breathing to settle. When he spoke again, his voice was more level and seemingly more resigned.

“If you cannot accept who I am now, so be it.” He kept the facade up, refusing to let himself show any sign of sorrow, especially when he felt it as keenly as a dagger in the heart.

“I can find another you in a lifetime; probably in less time than that.” This was a lie, but he forced it out, needing to keep a shred of dignity.

“Then you’ll end our bond? You’ll end this miserable connection we have?” Ban said this with a mixture of relief, hope, and to her shock, dismay.

His eyes widened. “How did you- oh. Gale’s told you, hasn’t he? Is he to be my replacement? He’s always wanted you, even back then.”

He smirked. “He won’t be half the man I am, pet - you know that. Only I can fuck you the way you want to be fucked. Only I can make your body feel the things you so want to feel. Only me,” he drawled, taking a step towards her.

She didn’t take the bait, although the way his voice lowered made a pleasant shiver run down her spine.

“Just say it, Astarion. Will you break our bond, or will you not?”

The bond he’d created when he’d turned her into his vampiric spouse: the mental connection, the ability to feel when the other was in great pain. Gale had explained it all to her. Ending the bond required a simple ritual - but it required both hers and Astarion's consent.

He shook his head. “No. I won’t. I can’t even touch you, my treasure. What does it matter whether the bond exists or not?”

His voice lowered in pitch, the aggression slipping away. He tried to keep his anguish hidden when he spoke again but didn't quite succeed.

“Besides. If I break the bond, I’m not certain I can keep protecting you from the sun, or keep lending you my other gifts.”

This surprised Ban and she nodded, accepting his reasoning. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, I guess. I expected you to take them back the moment you realized I’d left.”

Astarion shook his head. “Wouldn’t do to have my precious treasure burn in the sun,” he said sadly, and there it was again, that softness that made her want to rush back to his side.

He gave her some space, taking several steps back, and chose to be honest for once. Astarion figured it might win him back some grace and might make her think there was a chance for him to be what she wanted him to be.

“If none of my other words are worth anything to you, then at least remember this: I respect that you chose to leave.”

She looked up in shock.

“You were always worth more than just this,” he murmured. “I always felt that you were… degrading yourself, in a way, being my consort.” He looked away, as he always had in moments of vulnerability. “I did try, Ban. I tried with you, in the only way I know how.”

Try as he might to tell himself that he was doing this to manipulate her, the truth was far more complicated.

She shook her head, refusing to accept. “You never actually tried, Astarion. If you did, you’d be him again.”

He’s still in there. Just let me in. Just let your walls down. Let me love you.

She stared at him, eyes cold in spite of the thoughts that plagued her mind.

He weighed his words. This could be the final time they saw each other, if he played his cards wrong. Part of him refused that idea, rebelled against it, wanted to gnash his teeth and bite at her and force her back, dragging her if that was what it took. But the other half, the smarter half, told him to allow her this and bide his time. He’d always been good at manipulating her heart, right from the start. He could do it again.

What he’d never say, especially to himself, were the real reasons he was letting her have this. He saw that she wanted this, that she needed this, and all he’d ever wanted was her happiness. That her Astarion still existed, and he was letting her go, because he didn’t deserve her. He never had, but it had never been truer than now, when he had broken her.

“But I would have ruined your love, used your trust until you were nothing.” A small smirk crossed his features, but it came across as more melancholic than anything. “Better that be someone else’s fate than yours, darling.” He used her old nickname again, the smirk shifting into a wistful smile.

Ban softened a little at these words, glad he was finally showing some small sign of progress. She found that it hurt her too, to lose him, but she didn’t fear him knowing that.

“You’ve already ruined my love, Astarion. If you think you’ve spared me that fate, it’s too late.”

A small glimpse of the old Astarion was visible as the mask slipped. Ban saw him swallow and take a shaky breath, she could almost feel the knife twist in his heart until he stiffened up and recovered.

“Well. Better that it end now at least, than have it last for however much longer. I’ve divested myself of my former self. Maybe you’re the final attachment I need to let go of.” He dusted off his suit to give his hands something to do before meeting her gaze again. The longing in her eyes sent a sharp bolt of pain through his chest; for a moment - just a moment - he considered groveling on the floor for her love.

But that was beneath the Ascendant, and he always won out in the end. He straightened up.

“This is farewell, then, Ban,” he said, “I hope this is what you want.”

He walked away, then turned his head back towards her, reminding Ban of the first night he’d bitten her. When he had thanked her and gone to hunt.

“I’ll still always love you,” he whispered, and for those few seconds it was him.

Without another word, he was gone.

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion angst #ascended astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #vampire ascendant #bg3 astarion #ascendant astarion #ascended astarion x f!tav #astarion x female oc #ascended astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav

[prokopetz]

Hey! So I ran a one-shot of Eat God and we had a blast. I have some feedback to offer from both myself and my players (This was actually a while ago but I’ve been busy as hell so I’m only writing it up now, so I might have forgotten some things). 

First off, character creation was just as fun as advertised. My player’s all loved getting to choose their character’s traits and appearance and designing their deicidal muppets. The game’s mechanics also made it extremely easy to create looney-tunes style shenanigans, which both I and the character’s took full advantage of. 

At one point a character with the roving limbs trait was running away with a barrel containing another character (I put the character in the barrel) balanced on their legs while their top half distracted the town guards, a completely different character slipped into the sewers I hadn’t thought about and I had a chance to throw a surprise alligator at them, and a theocratic pastor said that he “carried God with him in his heart” (which ended exactly as anthropophagically as I had expected it too). I also got the great quote from one of my players “I swear to the god I want to eat.” 

I have a few critiques, a few suggestions for things to develop for future editions, and a few questions. My first critique is that I think that having tokens for obstinacy is a little distracting, since you keep track of everything else about your character on paper (we ended up using Sprite flavored tic-tacs that one of the player’s had in their bag) and would be better done on the character sheet. I also think the game could use a formal turn structure for high-pressure situations. It’s a game that promotes chaotic play, and with people popcorning in it got a bit loud and overwhelming. 

For future developments, I think that having more specific action types like attack, help, investigate, etc. would be helpful. Specifying the mechanical effects tied to some of the abilities, like being able to “stun” someone with Primordial Power and Dizzying Display, having a general movement speed that would be doubled by Fast Feet, being difficult to harm with Defensive Dermis, etc., would be useful for the GM. And more examples of NPC abilities would be useful, if only to have something to base homebrew on. 

There are also a few questions I had. First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat? 

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity? Because I don’t believe any roll over a character’s facet would have no chance of triggering calamity, and similarly don’t believe that positive modifiers would increase the chance of calamity. 

Lastly, a general lesson I learned as a GM that I do not hold against your game: be careful how far you let your characters stretch the limits of their abilities in low pressure situations if you’re too socially anxious to retcon in high pressure ones. 

Ultimately I think it’s a great game and everyone had a great time. I meant to run another session but didn’t find the time, so I might have more feedback when I finally get around to that. For credits sake I’m Kendall R., my players wanted to be credited as Noc, Ladybug, and Brynne.

(With reference to this post here.)

I appreciate the feedback. With respect to your questions:

First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat?

There is not. Defining a more formal conflict framework with a specific round length is a potential addition to a future revision, albeit not one I'm committing to adding at this time.

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity?

Dice rolls in Eat God are generally not modified in any way; the value of a particular die is the number you rolled on that die. Effect modifiers (which I assume are what you're referring to here) apply to the roll's Result, which is the number you get from carrying out the procedure described in "Rolling and Reading Your Result"; any comparison which does not explicitly refer to a roll's Result is referring to the values the dice are physically showing.

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #eat god #game design #violence mention #death mention #cannibalism mention

[drconstellation]

All The Colours of the GO Rainbow

Updated 11 Nov 2023

Edit note: I've done quite a big update on Red, Green and Blue, so if you read this before 11 Nov 2023 it might be worth reading it again.

I'm writing this meta about colours in the Good Omens AU in preparation for some future metas I'm planning, where colour will be important. And yes, I'm going to use "colour" as the spelling, as I'm an Australian and I use the UK English as my usual go-to version of English (that is what I was taught at school,) even though I am finding myself flicking between US and UK English here on Tumblr, leaving out u's here and there and putting in z's where I would normally put s's.

I also think its worth having another discussion about it as there are some colours I've have seen discussed here and there, but not at length, and some not at all that I think are important, and I just want to bring them all to one place.

I'm also going to be referring to @cobragardens excellent meta The Colors of Crowley quite a bit in this meta at various points, so you might want to pause and go read that first, then come back.

BLACK

Most people's initial reaction would be to class black as a colour of Hell. Crowley wears a lot of black, and usually a hidden accent of red (aaand something else. I'll discuss that at the end.) But the other demons are actually quite colourful when you get them into the light. They may tend towards the darker shades but there is quite a range of colours seen. Dagon, for example, is a very dark blue, as their avatar is a marine fish. Normally blue is associated with Heaven in GO. But this fits better if we think of black as being the colour of shadow, where the light does not reach, and the place of hidden things, of mystery

And it's worth noting that Aziraphale wears some black when he is trying to perform a magic show. He also wears white and gold at the same time but normally he does not wear these colours, unless he is performing human magic (see S1E1, Warlock's 11th birthday party, and the 1941 minisode S2E4) This should be striking enough for you to sit up and take note. You could say when Aziraphale dons black it is an expression of his act of "mysteriosity."

RED

Again, red is not necessarily a demonic colour, although we tend to associate it with demons, as Lord Beelzebub and Lord Dagon both wear red sashes as a mark of their rank in Hell. Think of it more as the colour of passion and romance in GO. Ooh, got you there! Makes you wonder what Shax is really up to (I know some of you have.) Perhaps they are just passionate about doing their job, or climbing their way to the top of the demonic ranking ladder?

Edit: After writing up a couple of other metas and some more reading maybe a better description is "devotional passion." Shax is devoted to climbing the power ladder in Hell (her red is usually a darker shade of red than Crowley's,) and the Red Team in the paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1E2 is devoted to following the rules of Management. Crowley is devoted to Aziraphale, of course.

In Christianity red has an association with the left-hand side, or the sinister side. In GO we tend to call this the "demon side" as there is a lot of shot blocking for shoulder-angels and shoulder-demons. Crowley is typically on Aziraphale's LHS because of this, so when he isn't, we take note. Actually you should take note of all the shot-blocking in GO because who is on the shoulder-right and who is on the shoulder-left of shot tells you so much about their moral stance in that scene! Anyway, in religious iconography it will often be Michael robed in red, with a sword, on the left of Jesus, representing the eccentric, the strange, the excessive, fire - and goats. (Hey, goats are a whole other meta, we are here to talk colour!)

Special mention to the 1941 minisode in S2E4 that is just soaked in red, everywhere you turn: in the sparks flying off the burning buildings as the sparks of love begin to fly, the inside of the book shop where Crowley encourages Aziraphale to think like a professional, the magic shop where danger and chaos lurks in every corner but magic is Aziraphale's personal passion, and the Windmill Theater where he finally gets to perform his magic passion on the stage. Several ops see this as a special memory of Aziraphale's so he colours it with the red of romance. We've got big hopes of seeing a third part to 1941 in S3. Some of this red is also used as a metaphor for flames and fire (there always seems to be something burning after a gun is fired) - we are fanning the flames of passion again!

GOLD

Gold is one the colours of Heaven. Nearly all the angels have some form of gold on them at some point. A gold ring, gold embroidery on their clothes, a golden brooch, gold on their face, Aziraphale's gold watch fob (he has a ring, too). We also see multiple golden lions in various places, which appear to have a connection to Heaven and Jesus. (I'm still planning to write a meta on the lions in the future, but I've got to find them all first! They keep turning up in surprising places...) The lions have a royal connection, one of two royal mentions in this meta, in that they represent the connection Jesus has to the Royal house of Judah, and are a symbol of his return in the Second Coming.

YELLOW

Yellow in GO is probably the hardest colour to interpret. We see a lot of it, because Aziraphale is so fond of it, being the colour of Crowley's eyes. The walls of the book shop are painted yellow, he gives Jimbriel a yellow feather duster to use and he turns the Bentley yellow on the trip up to Edinburgh, much to Crowley's disgust. (To be fair, Crowley's Mayfair flat in S1 was colour-coded to Aziraphale's eyes in return, in greys and subtle blues, but that's another discussion.)

But I think the important thing to emphasis here is that yellow is NOT the same as gold, and we shouldn't blend the two colours together.

While some point out that yellow can be seen as an imperial or royal colour, as it is the colour of the Sun, when you put this colour in context in the GO AU, it more clearly points to being the colour of fear, as Cobragarden's explains in The Colours of Crowley. I would expand on their words, and say that is why Crowley doesn't wear his sunglasses in front of Jimbriel when looking after him in the book shop - its a measure of how afraid he is that the the real Gabriel might reappear at any moment. And back in S1 when Crowley is trying to work out how to escape the burning Odegra sigil he inadvertently created Hastur appears in the front seat of the Bentley in pursuit of him and reaches out to remove his sunglasses. The shock on Crowley's face in the moment is palpable, because he realises he's in the shit unless he thinks quickly - which he bravely does!

GREEN

Green is the colour of chaos.

Originally I wrote that Green was Hell, but on after writing this and going on to write further metas (I think I’ve mentioned this elsewhere, and this is an evolving meta) and a brief discussion in the Notes at the bottom with noneorother, I decided I would re-write this for a better fit.

It still fits Hell, however, as Hell is chaos compared to Heaven. It’s overcrowded, its clogged with bundled paperwork that hasn’t been filed, there is old furniture everywhere. It’s still the overgrown suffocating swamp of decay, with the leaking pipes and the light struggling to find its way down through the mess. It’s still Furfur, with plans to unexpectedly disrupt our hero’s magic act. It’s still the colour of the fog outside the bookshop during the Eldritch Ball, signalling that things are not going to plan. Demons love chaos, its their purpose. It’s the opposite to Heaven, which is rigid and structured.

A recent post from @noneorother highlights that the intense green used for Hell in S2 is influenced by the the Powell & Pressburger movie The Tales of Hoffmann. They say:

Whenever something evil happens in "The automaton ball" sequence, the light changes to this sickly green. Colour is THE important symbolism in Hoffmann, so now we know green is evil.

But they wanted to add that evil is not necessarily Hell. And we would have to agree. Because Aziraphale also has a lot of green associated with him, and he has nothing to do with Hell - he's more an agent of chaos, if anything. He's unpredictable. Let us address this in it's own section below.

Veridian/Teal/Aquamarine

This is a special section to discuss the blue-green hues that Aziraphale wears. Heaven mixed with Hell. Lawful mixed with Chaos. He is one unique angel. The first sight of these colours is in 1601, when we find out that the Arrangement first proposed by Crowley in 537 is now in full swing, where he has some teal strips in his Elizabethan costume.

While I'm told its traditional to have a darker colour on the back panel of waistcoats, it's notable that the back of Aziraphale's waistcoat is a distinctly dark viridian green. Why not dark blue? Or a shade of brown to go with the other shades of brown and beige the angels tend to wear? But what's the meta-writer's motto in GO? There are no accidents...

He also wears a pale aquamarine shirt in the present day. (wearecrowley has posted a nice set of GIFs that highlight it here) No white for him since 1941 at least, although his 1821 shirt also looks green to me, but its hard to tell in the dim candlelight of night time Edinburgh (unless he is performing magic, then he is in white, gold, and mysterious black or being discorporated, then he is colourless white - back to his "native" state, like Muriel in her Earthly Inspector uniform.) The cape he wears in the 1941 minisode is also a fascinating colour. I am having trouble pinning down exactly what it would be called - Teal? A darker aquamarine? Perhaps turquoise. It's certainly part of his colour palette, and still indicating a lawful-chaos mix. A "dark horse" indeed!

[Edit: So i saw someone describe Heaven and Hell as Lawfulness and Chaos, and I thought that was a perfect fit for Aziraphale here with his blue-greens. Remember Crowley described him as "unpredictable" to Nina? Yeah...]

[Edit 2: I've made some changes above because I re-wrote the section on Green. This is an evolving meta!]

BLUE

Blue is a signal of Heaven, the colour of the sky, and a colour traditionally associated with the archangels Gabriel and Michael. We see it in a number of places, in both S1 and S2, where it is used with deliberate care.

Usually a primary shade of blue, this represents the rigid lawfulness and rules of Heaven, as compared to the chaos associated with Hell. In Christian iconography blue is what Gabriel wears as the right-hand-side shoulder angel to Jesus. It represents the Law, mercy, protection, water, sheep(!) and foundation. The "good" shoulder angel is always on the right shoulder in shot-blocking in the show.

Below are some examples of where we see it:

The blue paint on the back of Aziraphale's coat when he gets hit by a paintball at Tadfield Manor in S1E2.

The colour of Newt's car, Dick Turpin (which actually presents an interesting juxtaposition, as Newt is a Crowley parallel.)

The colour of the external walls of the coffee shop in S2, and some of the inside, which is also the same as the take-away cups, such as the one the Metatron offers to Aziraphale.

The colour of the gecko Jemima asks to be turned into in the Job minisode.

The colour of the suit Jimbriel wears at the eldritch ball, and the glorious ostrich feather jacket he dons when he exits the book shop to give himself up to the demons.

PURPLE

Purple has long been the colour of royalty, since ancient days. This was for good reason - there was only one natural source of the rich purple dye. That came from a small marine snail that was found on the coast of modern day Lebanon, near Tyre, and they held the monopoly on this trade for centuries. Only kings and emperor's could afford to have cloth dyed in this colour, known as Tyrian purple. It wasn't until the first synthetic purple dye was created in 1856 that the common man could afford to wear it as well.

In Good Omens we see Gabriel, the Prince of Heaven, wearing this colour in his ties, and also showing it in his irises in both S1 and S2. But only when he is Gabriel, not as Jim.

[Edit: So I only just found out that the colour he wears is lilac and is modeled after Elizabeth Taylor's famous eyes. But hey, she was a queen of the screen - movie royalty! And you still need to explain all the other purple below. Also, she was only born around 100 years ago and Gabriel has theoretically been around for...a lot longer, so I'd say Gabriel came first.]

There are a couple of other places we see it used. One is when angel Crowley starts up his nebula. The plume of miracle energy emanating from the book shop after the 25 lazurii miracle is also this colour.

Archangel Saraqael's chair is purple when she is on Earth. And Saraqael and Muriel both have purple in their tartan when in Heaven.

WHITE

White is the colour of the angels. It is the colour of Aziraphale's wings and the colour of his robes during ancient times from the Beginning up to Rome. Once the Arrangement starts, the white starts to be replaced with other colours, and the shades of teal and other blue-greens start to appear.

By the present day he has virtually lost all trace of white, except for his hair. He then only appears in all white when discorporated.

Muriel turns up in a conspicuously bright white police uniform on Earth, and the other angels all have some form of white on them.

Crowley sometimes has small accents of white as well. They can be easily missed, such as the white shirt cuff protruding from his sleek black Elizabethan costume in 1601. Remember they are discussing the Arrangement here - so they are both showing signs of taking on each other's colours at this point. On the other hand, I know quite a few people have commented on the white in his 1941 garb, on his tie, and his pocket handkerchief (and remember, he wears a grey shirt, not black, because he doesn't want to be mistaken for a black-shirted fascist during the war years.)

SILVER/GRAY

There are two colours I keep seeing that I'm going to group together as one, and that is silver and gray.

The senior archangels are notably dressed in what I've seen described as dove-gray, but an article on the costumes calls it pearl-gray, and it was meant to look a bit shimmery. I sometimes refer to this group of angels as the Archangels with the capital A, or the seraphim, the closest angels to God. This includes Gabriel, our current Prince of Heaven, Michael, Uriel. And I'm going to include Crowley in his trademark Tactical Turtleneck master spy disguise when he infiltrated Heaven with Muriel in S2E6. Hey, he could have worn white!

So where does this colour come from?

I've spent a bit of time banging on in the past about "traditional colours" of the archangels, in particular Gabriel and Michael's being blue, and the missing Raphael's being green. Part of the problem is, though, if you go looking online for who's colour is whose, you get a big variation in answers. Michael nearly always comes out with being associated with blue, and Raphael with green, so no problem there, but all the other traditionally named seraphim seem to get other colours put against them. For Gabriel, though, a commonly associated colour does appear to be white or silver.

Now my guess would be that sparkly silver would be too naff a look for the angels. I mean, look at what Crowley manifests as a blending-in "bees" disguise, a slightly shiny grayish suit, which kind of mocks the other Archangels (and you're overdoing the gold hints there a bit, Crowley) but it is curiously the same style as Saraqael's garb, and they did supposedly work together on the Horsehead Nebula. Hmmm. The Archangel's pearl-gray suits look very corporate and business-like, echoing a large soul-crushing business entity.

But this is not the only time Crowley wears this upper echelon colour; he has quite a habit of wearing it, particularly once the Arrangement kicks in.

The problem is, he nearly always wears near-solid black (unless he is trying not to get killed, like in 1793 Paris - Cobragarden's meta on the context why here - or 1941 London - see above,) so it stands out. I find this a far more interesting than the red accents, and should note that we don't always see it on him; its not there in 1967, for example.

One colour that is noticeably missing in the full GO rainbow is orange. We don't get it handed to us on a plate as much as the other colours do. Perhaps one exception is the sign for The Resurrectionist pub in Edinburgh, where Jesus is wearing an orange robe under a blue cloth. [Edit: It must be my screen colour, its been mentioned to me that the under-robe is actually crimson red.]

So now we have run through all the colours, it can be interesting to look at them in combination.

Bonus points for noticing the white mugs for the S2 coffee shop (six-shots of espresso,) to go with the blue take-away cups. The shop is blue-white-gold themed. Truly meant to be a place where Heaven is obtainable on Earth! It also kind of reminds me of the sky - blue sky overhead, white clouds, and a golden Sun shining down (from the brass lamps.) [Edit: There is a paler green inside the coffee shop - its easy to miss, we are too busy watching the characters!]

The book shop also has a combination of colours - predominately red and yellow. Yellow for fear, and red for passion and romance. Ouch, what a combination!

Aziraphales's white, gold and black combination for performing magic also has me intrigued. It's not just the black, but so much golden colour in the form of a golden vest. And we get it both times in both 1941 and 2019. An angel from Heaven trying to hide what he really is.

I've added an extra section below as part of a reblog on the angel off-whites and shades of brown that also appear, as I realised I missed them, and do a character analysis of the Metatron, so make sure you read that as well.

If you are interested in my analysis on the tartan in GO I've one here at: What the Tartan Tells Us

For further meta reading on colour in GO try the following:

If you haven't read it yet, do go and read Cobragardens The Colours of Crowley, Red and Yellow can hurt a fellow: Colour Symbolism in 1941 Part 1 and Part 2 as it makes the colours more character specific, whereas I've tried to give the colours a more over-arching theme here.

And for the importance of the yellow colour Vavavoom! which is used on the book shop walls, (and matches Crowley's eyes) see Vidavalors post on The Vavoom: Or, when the show's hinting Crowley & Aziraphale first kissed

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens analysis #gabriel #shax #muriel #color #colour #colors #black #red #gold #yellow #green #viridian #blue #purple #royal purple #white #silver #grey #dove grey #archangel #archangel gabriel #prince of heaven #maybe you'll spot an archangel

[carawenfiction]

Will we have an update soon?

Tumblr won't let me make normal posts for some reason, so the update will have to be in form of an answer to this ask smh. Anyway:

Hey everyone!

This post is long overdue, I know. I’m really sorry to those who have been worried about my wellbeing, as well as those who have been waiting around for an update for so long.

I’ve put off writing here because this “update” is something I’ve been wrestling with for a long time. But I can’t keep going back and forth on it forever, which is why I’m now letting you all know that the Shadow Society is officially discontinued.

I know that this might not come as much of a surprise to anyone at this point. I’ve tried to salvage the story by remaking it into something I’m happy with through a rewrite. But I’ve rewritten the rewrite itself more than once, and no matter what I do, I’m just not happy with the result. Rewriting something that’s already published with all the coding it involves is a lot more tricky than I initially thought it would be.

This is not a case of me being needlessly harsh on myself, however; it’s simply a truth I’ve come to realize after struggling to find a way to keep going with the story. I’ll never be fully content with it, or even content enough, unless I’d be able to completely remake and rewrite everything from scratch – and consequentially, I will never find enough motivation to continue because of how unhappy I am with it.

I’ve seen some speculation about my reason for rewriting the story and my long absence, and that they’ve had to do with comparisons to other IFs (well, you know which one). This isn’t entirely the case. While the comparisons did happen and probably still do, and while they were discouraging in the beginning, I can definitely understand where people have been coming from when making them. I talked about this more in-depth in the forums right after the release of TSS.

The main reason for why I can’t continue is that it’s not a series I feel passionate enough about to work on. My tastes have changed, and so has my writing to some degree. I’ve tried to convince myself that I am passionate about it. It’s hard to admit that you’re not when it’s been in your head for so long, when you’ve tried for so long to make this work and when you know that one part is published and that some people are anticipating a continuation. But it had to be done sooner or later.

Other reasons:

-While I don’t think that my writing style has changed drastically, I feel like it is somewhat different from how I wrote back in 2018 (which is a GOOD thing). Whenever I tried working on the rewrite or second book and attempted to emulate the writing of TSS, it just didn’t sound right anymore, and that took a lot of fun out of it.

-With everything that has happened with CoG over the past few years, they are no longer a company I want to write for.

Please know that none of this has discouraged me from writing in general. I still love doing it. If anything, this has taught me a lot about what I actually want to write and the writing process in general. Whether I end up publishing anything else in the future or will simply do so for my own enjoyment we’ll just have to see, though.

I still have the idea of a shadow-like world in my head, and maybe it’s one I will revisit at some point. Maybe there will be another version of TSS someday, albeit very different from the original one.

But for now, I can only thank you all for the overwhelming love and support over the years, and apologize for any disappointment this has caused. If people are interested, I’d be happy to share parts of the rewrite and unused ideas. The Tumblr page will still stay up at least for some time, but I will probably not be answering any asks from here on out.

EDIT: Forgot to add, but if anyone wants a genuinely amazing IF read you should check out my friend's wip here: https://uroboros-if.tumblr.com/ ❤️ Play the demo here: https://mistyriousness.itch.io/uroboros

#the shadow society #tss #carawenfiction #interactive fiction