#and i just need to re center myself and Every time i do that with any of my blogs i feel so much better

[thespectralcottage]

Spiritual Hygiene

Spiritual hygiene is basically keeping yourself, cleansed, protected and grounded spiritually. People tend to try and do this through daily practices, which for some can be hard to upkeep. As someone with depression and can be lazy at times- sticking to routines can be difficult for me. So here’s some “basics” you can try to slowly add to your day to day that will give you a regular spiritual hygiene routine.

Cleanse yourself when you shower: This can be as simple as asking the water to cleanse you while you shower. Sometimes showering can be hard- for times like this i recommend a cleansing spray. Quick and fairly low spoons. But if you want to put more energy into this step you can enchant your soap/body wash for cleansing, hang eucalyptus above your shower and ask it to cleanse you, make a shower sachet, use spellcrafted oils for cleansing, ect.

Enchant your jewelry and/or skincare for protection: Obviously this one is for when you feel up to doing an actual spell. But, once its done you can just put your jewelry or skincare on for the day and be good to go. Every once in awhile take a moment to check in with your jewelry/items and see if it needs to be cleansed (or make a jewelry cleansing bowl) or needs to be re-enchanted.

Ground yourself when you wake up: once you wake up take even a minute to ground and center yourself. This works both if youre a person like myself who needs to lay in bed for a few minutes before getting up, or if youre a crazy person whos ready to go right away.

Even doing these three things through the week will help build you a strong spiritual hygiene routine and daily practice. Remember to take your time when building a daily practice, and forgive yourself if it’s not done everyday. ✨🫶🏻

[lqveharrington]

Dust Storm | W.H.B.

summary: You and Billy get caught up in a dust storm while on a horse ride.

pairing: William H. Bonney x fem!reader

includes: slight angst, fluff, you and billy are engaged, not a lot of warnings 🤷‍♀️ let me know if i missed any !!

a/n: i had this sitting in my drafts for a billion years 😭 my bad bookies

It had been days since that last dust storm blew in and the spirits in the small county of Talihina, Oklahoma were high. However, there was no rain insight. And with no rain, it left many farmers with empty fields, covered in dried-out dirt and sand. It especially hit the Ashford farm and ranch the hardest.

The Ashfords were the wealthiest family in Talihina. They were well known for being able to run a horse ranch and a healthy farm. The father, James Ashford, was in charge of both the ranch and farm, making sure everything ran smoothly. His wife, Josephina Ashford, better known as Jo, was known for helping around the town and giving to those in need. Luckily for the couple, they had two children who helped them with their work. They had a daughter and a son. You were the eldest Ashford child, and you had a bright future. You resemble your mother in all ways. You were the kind of woman to make young men turn their heads just by walking by. Unfortunately for them, you were happily engaged to one William H. Bonney. On the other hand, your younger brother looked like a replica of your father. Adam Ashford was eight years old with the same determination as his father, hoping to take over the farm and ranch when he got older.

But because of the dust storms starting up two years ago, it was harder to tend to the crops that would grow and bring the horses out of their stables. Before, you would help your father to tend to the horses when you weren't doing volunteer work, but with the constant dust blowing around the whole country, he banned you from leaving the house unless it was absolutely clear from dust. And for the first time in two years, James let his daughter out of the house. Only to run her mother’s errands, of course.

“In case of emergencies,” James tied a red bandana around your wrist as you took your mother’s list and woven basket from the kitchen table. “Wrap this around your head and cover your mouth and nose. I don’t want you to get hurt. And remember to come straight back from the markets—”

“Pa, I’ll be fine.” You squeezed her father’s forearm, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He sighed and shook his head, “Okay.”

You squeezed his arm again before leaving, silently reassuring her safety. You took quick strides to the town center and watched the dust kick up with every step you took. The walk going to town wasn’t bad. The only downside was that there was no shelter for any incoming dust storms. Fortunately, the blazing sun was beating down on the earth and the wind was seemingly absent.

Upon reaching the town center you smiled at the sight in front of you. You found children running around with wooden toys their fathers made and their mothers gossiping about the recent family who left for California. It felt normal. For the first time in years, it felt normal to see mothers scolding their children for messing with drunkards sitting outside of the bars.

You shook your head before entering the town’s only grocery, the bell above the door ringing to alert the storekeeper. “Mr. Taylor?”

“Miss Ashford!” The storekeeper beamed at the young woman. “What brings you into town? I haven’t seen you and your folks for a while.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, “With all this dust, I would hardly expect anyone to be hustlin’ ‘round town.”

“What can I do for you?” He dismissed the comment.

“I’m in need of some of your delicious Fuji apples. My ma s'been craving them ever since Adam read a book about them to her.” You looked around the empty store. “Other than that, I can grab the res’ of the things myself.”

“I’ll be right back.” He knocked the wood on the counter, heading toward the back of the store. You watched him leave before heading into the different aisles, glancing at the brands and prices of the different items. In fact, you were so immersed in deciding which brand of vegetable oil would be best that you hadn’t realized someone new had entered the store until a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and spun you off the ground.

“Oh my god!” You clung onto the stranger’s arm, not wanting to fall face-first onto the ground. You glanced back at the stranger before gasping, eyes lighting up at the male. “Billy!”

“Afternoon, gorgeous.” He put you down and kissed your cheek.

You felt your face warm at the name and action, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?”

“My ma sent me into town to get money from the bank.” Billy followed you around the store, his gaze flickering across your face. “Then I saw my favorite woman walk into town. I decided I could spare some time to talk to her.”

“Uh-huh.” You spun on your heel and peered into his eyes. “Did you get the money for your folks? Or did you forget?”

“You think so low of me, sweetheart.” He tilted your head up with his finger. “Of course I got the money.”

You hummed, giving him a proper look now. William H. Bonney was once a lanky boy in grade school. But he had definitely grown into himself. He got stronger and taller over the course of two years. The loose clothes he once wore now perfectly fit him, making you flush red each time you saw him. Your eyes then traveled from his fit shirt to his tattered, dust-covered boots. You frowned at the state they were in, but no one could do any better from the current weather the states were currently facing. Finally, you shifted your gaze to meet his eyes once more. His crystal blue eyes were such a beautiful contrast to the dust coating his dark jeans and his wavy brown hair. You swore you could get lost in them if it weren’t for him pulling you back to reality each time.

“You’re staring, gorgeous.” Billy grinned, earning a small scoff from his beloved.

“You’re impossible.” You shoved two bars of soap into your basket, heading toward the counter where the apples were waiting.

Mr. Taylor suppressed a laugh at the young couple, taking the basket from your arms. “That all for today, Miss Ashford?”

You hummed as you took your wallet out of your dress pocket, “How much?”

“$3.42 is the total.” He read off the cash register as you handed him the exact amount, trading it for the baskets of groceries and apples.

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor.” You smiled at him and moved to grab Billy’s hand as you left the store, intertwining them. “What’ve you been up to since I’ve last seen you?”

“Since last week?” Billy pulled you closer to him, squeezing your hand. “ Not much has happened since I visited your place. Just helping my ma in the fields like always.”

You nodded and looked toward the ground, watching the dust cling onto your leather boots and the bottom of your maroon dress. “The dust storm affecting your folks’ farm badly?”

“It’s affecting everyone, sweetheart.” He pulled you away from a stampede of running children. “No one can get any crops.”

“I know…” You muttered, rubbing small circles into his palm. You peered up at the bright sun, squinting at the beam. “You know what I wish for?”

“What?”

“I wish for everything to go back to normal.” You adjusted your hat, the Ashford ranch coming into view. “The dust storms have ruined everyone’s crops. I can barely step foot out of my own house. There hasn’t been any rain since god knows when. My pa won’t let me tend to the horses. It’s madness, Billy.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed the side of your head. “I can’t promise everything will go back to normal, but in the meantime, I can find a way to ride horses with you. ”

“William, what’s that supposed to mean?” You squinted at him, his piercing gaze meeting yours. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably not a good idea—!”

“Come on. We can ride the horses and be back before your folks worry.” He pulled you into the Ashford stables, taking the baskets from your arms and tucking them safely in a corner.

You bit your lip, looking at the groceries and then back at the brunette, cursing him for being so convincing. “Fine.”

Laughter filled the air as you raced Billy through the back trails of Talihina, the generated wind blowing through your hair. It felt like you were both young teenagers who had no idea they were in love with one another, doing reckless activities until they were caught by one’s parents.

“Pick up the pace, Bonney!” You shouted as you saw Billy catching up, urging your horse to move faster.

A huge amount of dust kicked up with every stride the horses took, and if you looked back, you wouldn’t be able to see anything. Billy shook his head with a smile and copied you, finally riding beside the pair.

“Sweetheart, you know I can beat you in any horse race.” He chuckles as he brings his horse to a stop, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “You feel any better?”

You nodded and glanced to your left as you tugged on your horse’s reins, meeting his blue eyes. “I do feel better. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He tipped his hat in your direction. “Ready to go back?”

Your smile slowly faded but nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey, we don’t need to rush. We can take as long as we want to go back if you want.”

“I’d like that.” You guided your horse to head back toward the ranch. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about what you’re gonna do when your ma finds out where you’ve been all day.”

“I can tell her I’ve been with my girl all day.” He bit back a smirk when he saw your cheeks tint pink. “I think my folks love you more than me.”

You shoved his shoulder, your engagement ring glistening in the sun. “They should love me more than you. I think my Pa loves you more than me.”

“Impossible.” Billy took your hand and kissed the back of it.

The young couple took short strides on their horses as the sun slowly faded away. One could argue that the sun was setting, but it was still much too early for the sun to set.

“What time do you have on your watch?” You looked back at the darkening sky, picking up the pace.

“3 PM,” Billy muttered, looking into your panicked eyes. “We gotta go.”

The both of you started to rush your horses back as the wind picked up, dust blowing around them which impaired your vision. You hastily removed the bandana from your wrist and tied it around your head, keeping your balance. Billy kept one hand on the reins and shoved his own bandana up, covering his nose and mouth. The sky was now covered with dust clouds and the wind blew harshly against your backs, the mix of dry dirt and sand hitting their exposed skin.

“Are you okay over there?” Billy shouted over the blowing wind. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine!” You blinked away tears from the dirt that stung your eyes, squeezing your legs to make your horse move faster. You could just barely make out your family’s farm, but with each passing second it became more and more obscure.

“Sweetheart, we have to go to the stables! It’s closer to us than your house!” He veered his horse over to the left.

“I can’t! My folks will worry and—”

“Y/N!” He snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Please!”

You quickly followed him and turned toward the stables. Billy slammed the front doors open, causing chaos to erupt inside. The other horses stood on their hind legs, thrashing as the harsh wind blew the dust inside. You raced inside as Billy jumped off his horse and slammed the stable doors shut, grabbing bales of wheat and shoving them by the front. You took deep breaths as you tried calming your own horse, resting your forehead against the head of your horse.

“This dust storm ain’t gonna go away anytime soon.” Billy rubbed dust off his face, removing his mask. “We’ll be fine in here.”

You nodded weakly, combing your fingers through your horse’s dusty hair. “We shouldn’t have gone out— I-I promised my pa that I’d be back—”

“Hey, look at me.” He went over and took your fidgeting hand. “They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. When the storm eventually calms down, we'll head over to your place.” He slowly helped you off the horse and held your dirtied face in his hands, slipping your bandana off and wiping your muddy tears. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You took a breath, holding onto his wrists, following his breathing pattern. You rested your forehead on his, shutting your eyes. “Okay.”

The dust storm only accumulated as time progressed. The field and crops were covered in piles of dust once more and the automobiles were suddenly buried underneath the dried dirt. Those who were inside any buildings had dust seeping through the smallest slivers, despite the taped downed windows and towels blocking the doors. It was as if the storm would never stop, deeply worrying the Ashford family for their daughter’s safety.

“James, you can’t leave!” Jo whispered toward her husband, arms crossed over her chest in disbelief. “It’s late and you wouldn’t be able to see anything with all of that dust blowin’. Adam worries for his sister, but imagine the grief if he lost his pa and his sister?”

“I can’t sleep without knowin’ if my little girl is fine, Jo,” James argued, tightly tying a handkerchief around his head. “If Adam wakes, don’t tell him where his pa went—”

“James!” She held his arm in desperation, holding eye contact. “The storm might end soon, don’t risk it.” She looked between his eyes as he glanced toward the backdoor. “Please.”

His gaze softened at his wife’s demeanor and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.” She murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “When the storm dies down, you can go. I won’t stop you then… I worry about our little girl too.”

The storm kept blowing until early morning. The crops were now either torn out of the ground or buried deep within dry dirt and families had given up on keeping the dust out of their homes. James and Josephina Ashford fell asleep at their kitchen table waiting for the storm to pipe down while you fell asleep in the stables in the security of your lover’s arms. William H. Bonney, on the other hand, stayed awake. He was constantly listening for the winds to quiet to let you know you could head home. In the early hours of the new day, Billy gently shook the woman beside him awake.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” He brushed the dust off that had fallen on you overnight, watching you shift closer to him. “Gorgeous.”

“Give me a minute, William.” You groaned, using his government name as a threat.

He chuckled and sat up straight, bringing you along with him. “The storm stopped, you can go home now.”

Your eyes shot open and you looked over at the male incredulously. “You should’ve said that first, idiot. Let’s go.”

Billy smiled as he stood, helping you up. He shook the final bits of dust off as best as he could and moved the hay bales away from the doors. Billy tilted his head toward you, silently signaling you to head home. You grinned and picked up your dress, racing over to the house without stumbling. You burst into the house and discarded the dust entering as well, finding your parents standing by the kitchen’s backdoor. James had his handkerchief tied across his face, triggering your tears.

“Y/N.” Her father let out a breath of relief and engulfed you in a tight hug. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed into your father’s shirt, clinging onto him. “I’m so sorry, pa.”

“Why are you crying, sweet girl?” He rubbed your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t go straight home. I wanted to be out more, so I-I rode on the horses with Billy an-and then the storm started up. I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve gone home right away. I should’ve stayed home. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, you’re alright.” James sat you down in one of the wooden chairs, removing his handkerchief from his face. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

You sniffled, looking up at your mother who had tears in her eyes too. “I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t wanna worry you…”

“My baby,” She knelt on the ground, taking your hands in her own. “I’m just glad you’re safe. The worst didn’t happen. You’re here. You aren’t hurt.”

Billy knocked on the side of the wall, making his presence known. In return, all heads whipped over to him. “I brought the groceries your daughter bought the other day.”

“William, come over here.” Your father beckoned him over.

“Yes, sir?” Billy stood by your side, removing his hat.

James sighed, putting his hand out. “Thank you for watching over my daughter.”

“Anytime.” Billy shook his hand, bringing him in for a hug. “I would risk my life for your daughter every single time.”

You lightly sock his arm at the mention, lacing your hands together. “Thank you.”

“I mean, now that you’re here, why don’t you help clear the dust out of our house? I’m sure my daughter has brought in heaps of it from runnin’ in here.” Jo patted her future son-in-law’s shoulder.

You flushed red as Billy chuckled, feeling him squeeze your hand at the comment. “Of course, Mrs. Ashford.”

The young couple got to work clearing out the dust while Jo and James started preparing breakfast for the day. It would be a while until all the dust would clear out of the house completely, but it wasn’t the worst problem they had. The dust storm that day might have ended, but little did the Ashford family know that it would only be the true beginning of their hardships.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[drbased]

please teach us The Ways (re: ppl judging)

So the first thing to recognise is that you're at the centre of your own life experiences. You're the one who feels the feelings, thinks the thoughts, does the actions, experiences the experiences, etc. etc. So for every single belief you have, every single attitude and value you maintain as part of your selfhood, you 'should' (I put this in air quotes for reasons that will soon become apparent) have this fact at the center of how you process the world. As well as the fact that you are you, and only you, you are also the only person you have to live with and know intimately for the entirety of your life - so being kind to yourself and loving yourself is what I consider to be the most pure form of logic there is. Since you're at the core of your life experiences and always will be, that means there's a necessity in treating yourself with the care you'd expect to be required of such a situation. So when I say you 'should' do these things, I'm not saying that it's a requirement of you by some nebulous force (I don't know if you're religious anon but I have found that developing an atheistic worldview has really helped me with this), but rather that if you want to have the kind of self-confidence and inner peace required to really face life head-on, reframing your life experiences with you as the focus of your own attention, love and support is frankly the only way to achieve this robustly. Remember: this is not something you're waiting to happen, but rather an active choice you make to love yourself and to show love to yourself, just as you would other people. When you really internalise this fully, a lot of things start to slot in place naturally, as if you've unscrambled a jigsaw and now you can see the complete picture of yourself. True acceptance is hard to describe, but I think the best analogy is that of focusing your eyes - you don't know how you did it, but once you've put some fullness of effort in, it's automatically happened. Also you can slip out of acceptance at any time - this is a lifelong process, after all. And it's beautiful that it's a lifelong process! Love is a lifelong process! We don't go, aw no, I have to kiss my partner every day and tell them I love them - so the same attitude can be applied to your own selfhood.

What I like about this attitude is that there's a very solid, complete sense of logic to it - every breakdown I've ever had since, every terror I've had due to my depression, relationship with obligation, hyperchondria, drug-induced paranoia etc. etc. has ultimately hit this wall of 'oh right, I'm going to be me for the rest of my life and I'm always going to be the one experiencing my feelings, and I like having good feelings, and I can do that for myself so I'm going to do it. I don't need any justification from some external force to allow myself happiness, joy, peace and comfort - I deserve it simply because I am me and experiencing those things is good'. If you want a secondary argument to bolster it, I've found that waiting to be in the right place before I'm Allowed to do things is incredibly fragile and unsustainable and has made me kind of a worse person overall. Now with my full acceptance of my own selfhood I can be much more genuine in my decision-making and ultimately generate a sense of robust meaning from my own choices in life. It's still ultimately Not The Point, because the point should be always that I necessarily don't exist for any purpose other than myself, but sometimes I like having that secondary argument for comfort's sake, because whilst I want to do the right thing for everyone in every situation, that mentality is what caused me to have literal burnout. Now instead, my focus is on myself - my fundamental values haven't necessarily changed, I still care about everything I did before, but I refuse to martyr myself anymore.

The thing is, when you think about it, if there was One True Way to approach everything, if there was One Official Judgment of the world, then we should frankly all give up on individuality right now and just turn into the borg. But life isn't that way, so you can learn to recognise that as an individual (who, by the way, didn't ask to be born), it's your prerogative to exercise your individual personhood - and that's necessarily going to clash with the individual personhood of others. That's the whole point of being, like, a person. That's the reason you have a separate brain, a unique perspective. Your mind is your own playground, free from the chain of cause and effect, where you get to consider all sorts of wacky ideas. I used to think of my mind as form of prison, but I came to understand that the fact that we have a mind at all and aren't simply a slave to basic biological process is, to put it in a corny way, an extraordinary gift. (And why do I say it's a gift? Because I'm at the center of my own experiences and I value being kind to myself, so I make a choice to see it as a gift rather than a curse, because regardless of which is the more 'logical' choice the ultimate logic is to be kind to myself, because I'm at the center of my own world and I don't have to sacrifice any sort of comfort for some abstract sense of the greater good - and besides, doing so would achieve nothing, anyway! That's the process in action right there.)

So the first element is to shift your perspective to have you as the focus of your attention, the second is to recognise that it's your prerogative as an individual human to exercise your unique judgment, (that's what all those 'confident' people are doing, btw!) and the third part is to take these principles into learning who you really are what you really value. Once you learn true, judgment-less acceptance of you (maybe I do only ever want to eat cereal for my evening meal for the rest of my life! maybe I do only want to wear red t-shirts! maybe I do want to have a room in my house dedicated to pictures of frogs!) you get to learn who you are. This, just like the rest of it, is an ongoing process. And remember, this is about getting to know yourself! It's joyful, it's beautiful! You're finally taking yourself seriously - instead of pathologising yourself you're getting to recognise your fundamental right as an individual. Now, but those actions have consequences, right? But that's where getting to know your value system comes in. Once you've truly accepting things about yourself, you can use the power of imagination to picture yourself actually living that life - or, hell, maybe you can just start doing it. Maybe the life you've imagined for yourself turns out to have been much more about a narrative construction or categorisation of yourself - but that's fine, because now you've learned something else about yourself! And then you can change your mind! You can decide that you want to live in a different way! Ever since I developed this system, I am in a constant state of negotiating with myself: oh, if I do this thing, people will think of me as weird -> do I care if they think it's weird? -> oh, I do care a bit, why is that? -> oh, because I dislike the social consequences of that -> which do I care more about, me being 'authentic' 24/7 or me not weirding people out? -> oh, I care a bit more about not weirding people out -> then I guess I won't do the weird thing, then! -> oh, but I wouldn't like to go my whole life without doing it -> maybe I can do it sometimes, depending on the people I'm around -> Oh, I've just now made a full, complete decision on how to conduct myself based on my own personal value system!

Notice how none of this so far has been about other people? I've not had to say once anything about how to practice confidence, to fake it till you make it, or any other corny cliche. Because any attempt to do so would be deeply ironic - in order to not care about what other people think of you, you have to recognise your own prerogative as an individual to do whatever the hell you want. And only from there can you make decisions that are 'judgment-free' in the sense that the judgment doesn't feel like it comes from some terrifying nebulous force, but rather from your own internal value system. And some of those values will conflict, and that's fine! Because if the core premise is always self-love and self-centering, you will find a way to bring that into every decision. And that is what confidence is. Turns out it's not something that other people 'just have', and instead I can achieve it myself - something that younger me did not believe at all.

Another point I'd like to make here is that once you learn this kind of deep empathy for your own selfhood, it sort of naturally starts to dissipate outwards. Opinionated people can be irritating but you don't feel as threatened by them because you've stopped percieving them as some conduit for some nebulous greater truth, and rather as a whole separate human being who has a prerogative to their own weird-ass opinions, just like you. I've described this as your fear of yourself becoming somewhat higher because you learn that you're not just a series of disparate impulses but rather a complete entity with a point of view, but your fear of everything else decreases massively so there's much more of a level playing field between you and everything/everyone else. What's that quote that's like 'they're looking at me, but I'm looking right back at them'. And like, they might be looking at me, but fortunately I'm not privy to any feelings of disgust they might have looking at me, but I am privy to the feelings that I have when looking at them, so the latter is naturally my priority. It's a fucking blessing that I can't feel what everyone else feels! This is my life, my reality, my senses, my world, my opinions, my everything. And that doesn't make me a hardened psychopath, but rather the opposite - I'm free from fear of judgment so I can make much more genuine decisions.

And it builds over time, I can promise you - I sat at a comedy thing literally just this week and I was at the front row where the very aggressive comedian was bantering with me and I bantered right back! Seriously, if that had happened years ago I would have run away crying. But he's just some guy, and I'm just some guy, and now with my strong sense of self I'm not caught off guard when people talk to me. I know who I am, I know what I care about, and what I value. And the irony of life means that if there actually was some external judgment that I should care about, I'm doing a much better job to appease it now than I ever did.

[leet911]

Regret

They've been in Wildemount six days and Imogen casts sending every night before bed.  It hasn't worked yet, but still she tries.  She steels herself for the static as she weaves the spell and murmurs her message into the void.

"Laudna?  Can you hear me?  Tell me you're alright.  I need you to be alright.  Please.  I'm sorry, Laudna.  I–"  The screeching feedback interrupts, washing out her words and cutting her off.  A spike of pain shoots between her eyes, making her falter.

Imogen lets out a grunt of frustration, flings her pillow against the wall, and when it drops to the ground with a most unsatisfying sound, she invokes her power.  She pulls it from the ground with telekinesis, rips the pillow apart in the air.  As down flutters around the room, Imogen thinks of screaming, but then she remembers that Laudna isn't around to mend her messes, and she instead falls back to the bed with a sob.

There's a soft knock at her door.  "Are you ok?"  It's Fearne.

Imogen tries to steady herself and her voice.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Can I come in?"  Fearne is not convinced.

Imogen opens the door and looks around sheepishly.  There are still small bits of dust and feathers drifting around the room.  She realizes then, that she's not wearing her gloves, and her markings are clearly visible.  Self-conscious, she rubs her exposed forearms where the "Whitestone is for lovers" shirt doesn't cover.

Fearne steps in and glances about.  Her voice is soft and gentle.  "Do you want a hug?"

Imogen nods without looking up.

Warmth engulfs her as Fearne reaches out.  "It's ok if you miss her." Fearne smells like the outdoors, like wilderness and animals.  It reminds Imogen of Flora, and Gelvaan, and those mornings spent in the woods with Laudna, back before it felt like the world was ending.  Or maybe it did feel like the world was ending then, but for entirely different reasons, and they hadn’t known it actually was ending.

"It's…" Imogen rubs at her own neck,"it's just that I promised myself we wouldn't be apart again."

"None of this is your fault."

"But I promised her I wouldn't ever leave." Imogen thinks she might cry, and she hates herself for it.  All this power at her fingertips, and she still feels useless.  Calm emotions beckons at her, but that sounds too much like avoiding the question.  That sounds too much like cheating.  Because maybe Imogen believes she needs this pain, that she deserves this punishment.  Imogen was supposed to save the world, even if she never asked for it. Imogen was supposed to save the world so that Laudna would have time to hear all the things Imogen still had to say to her.

"We got sent away, maybe they did too.  We'll find them."

"But what if we're too late?  What if something happened, and Laudna needs us, and we're not there.  You heard what Deanna said.”  Imogen’s voice drops to a whisper.  “What if Laudna needs me?"  And she isn’t sure if the whisper is to keep the thought from Fearne or herself.  Because the next thought stays inside her own head, not daring to be spoken or broadcast.  What if I need Laudna?  See, Imogen remembers the last time Laudna was beyond the reach of her magic and what that meant.

The arms around her tighten.  “Laudna is stronger than she looks.  Orym and Ashton are too.”

Imogen sighs, nods her head.  She knows it’s true.  Laudna is the strongest person she’s ever met.

“Do you want a cookie?”  Fearne asks all of a sudden.  “FCG made them.”  And she rummages through her pouch to pull out a lone cookie.  “It’s not warm anymore, but it’s still pretty good.”

Imogen takes the treat because accepting seems easier than refusing, and eating is easier than talking.  She’s not really hungry but she bites into it anyway.

It’s a gingersnap, of course.   It’s crispy on the outside, and a little soft in the center.  Just like Imogen. Or Laudna. The surface is sweet, dusted with sugar, but there’s depths of spice hidden underneath.  And in the finish, the slightest tang of citrus.  Esteross’ recipe.  Laudna’s favorite.

The rest of the cookie is devoured.  And to Imogen, it tastes just like regret.

[idontlikeem]

tw incoherency self-pity and discussions of cancer and medical stuff surrounding it, honestly this is just me being so whiny and i just need to get it out, but i'm talking about actual medical procedures and etc in here so if that or me being a terrible self-centered daughter is going to trigger you please don't read because i'm not censoring this or making it palatable.

i have had a little bit of a fraught relationship with my mom for my whole life, as i think a lot of eldest/only daughters do. there was friction when i was a teenager, there were (are) body image issues thrust upon me, there were expectations and unfair standards and as the only girl a bit of sexism mixed in with it all...the usual, you know. but once i graduated college and grew up a little we've had a much better relationship. i've gotten better at letting her stray comments about my weight and life choices roll off my back (mostly), and she's trying to be less overbearing and critical. i talk to her a lot, and i want to share stuff with her.

she's stopped picking up when i call.

it's not every time, but it's enough that i'm noticing. it's enough that i text to follow up. it's enough that my throat gets tight whenever it happens. aaaaand it's enough to make me cranky and petulant when i don't get a reply.

i have this blue armchair i bought a few months ago. it was my first big furniture purchase after i got divorced that wasn't a necessity and was just something i wanted, and i love it. the problem is it was a discontinued model and color from ikea, so there was no ottoman/footrest that matched that i could buy, and i've been looking for something that was at least a close match ever since, because i'm tall enough that even a chair and a half is not comfy for me to sit on for long periods of time without somewhere to prop my feet.

and i finally found one! it's not perfect but it was inexpensive and i like how they look together, so that's all that matters. come thru target, i should have started there tbh. so i wanted to show her since it got delivered today and i was able to confirm it was a match.

i facetimed twice and she didn't answer, and i texted asking if she was busy with no reply.

i got mad! i got pouty and texted my friends about how my mom barely ever picks up when i facetime her anymore, and i always have to follow up and ask what's going on and if she can talk, and it's annoying to me. as i was doing that, i was texting my dad asking if she was ok.

turns out yesterday she was in the hospital all day getting fluid drained from her abdomen. the chemotherapy she'd been receiving since last fall has recently stopped working, and her blood markers are skyrocketing and the tumors are growing again. she's started a new treatment, sort of a hail mary, but if this doesn't work that's kind of it.

we've always been buying time, but i'd stupidly let myself sort of...i mean, i didn't think she was going to be cured, that's not possible, but when a treatment is letting her sort of seem better, feel better, be out in the world and doing stuff and closer to 'normal'...it's easy to lull yourself into a sense of denial, like 'oh this is just how it's going to be forever'.

stupid. of course it wasn't.

and meanwhile i'm sitting here reading my dad's text about the procedure, about how she had to get 2.75 liters of fluid drained out of her abdomen and she's probably going to have to get a drain re-installed so they can do it at home again (she'd gotten it removed early summer because of how well the chemo was working, the ascites was all but gone), and all i can think is:

i want to show my mom my stupid ottoman. i want her to say 'oh that looks great! isn't target the best? why do we ever shop anywhere else. oh and it has storage! you could put your hats and gloves in there, or maybe even some extra toiletries.' i want to chat about a fucking furniture purchase and listen to her talk about how she's going to try it out when she comes to visit me next. i want her to keep me on the phone for too long, to the point where i get annoyed and make up a meeting so i can hang up.

it's not fair. i want my mom to be my mom. she's sitting at home so exhausted and dying and this is all i can fucking think about. it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair.

[diskmess]

Brainbloodvolume

(CONTENT WARNING for animal death)

THE (RE)DISCOVERY

I’m only twenty-eight years old, and I’m going gray. I think it’s because I spend roughly fourteen hours every day being worried. It’s certainly not for a lack of trying to manage the worry. I’m constantly scolding myself, trying to center my attention on something life-giving instead. This, of course, gives birth to new worries: I worry that I will become the worry. It usually becomes me. 

If stuck is what you say Well, that is what you've made

In eighth grade, when I was about thirteen years old, I listened to Brainbloodvolume in its entirety at least once a week. It was the last album I needed to collect from Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, my favorite band at the time. They were a watershed influence for me as a young bass player.

I initially discovered them in my late uncle’s CD collection. He was about as old as I am now when he died. My dad ended up with his CDs in a tray. I’d occasionally pull out some dusty piece and give it a spin. I once happened to spin The Neds' debut album, God Fodder, and the opening track floored me. I played it back several times. I brought it in to my guitar teacher because I needed to know what made the guitar sound so springy. He told me that a guitar wasn’t making that sound, it was a bass. I checked the liner notes: there were, in fact, two bassists. The trajectory of my life as an occasional bass player was changed forever. 

I eventually collected all of their albums on CD. I have no doubt that I was their biggest fan in the entire United States. I also doubt that anyone else within a two-hundred mile radius of me was listening to them in 2008. The people who know them are usually some flavor of British and deep in their fifties by now. They might be about as gray as I’m going to be in my thirties.

As I brushed my teeth one morning, staring at my gray hairs in the mirror, songs from Brainbloodvolume kept popping into my head. I decided to listen to it on my way to work.

I wondered if anyone had uploaded the album to YouTube. When I searched for it, I was shocked: I did. I uploaded it fourteen years ago, in dog-ass quality. I couldn’t believe it was still there. I forgot I ever uploaded it.

I played my old dog-ass CD rip, filtered through Windows Movie Maker, through YouTube circa 2009, and again through NewPipe in 2024, atrociously artifacting its way through my car speakers and into my ears. I drove.

I saw a bird fall over on the other side of the road. It flapped its wings pathetically against the pavement, spinning in circles. I knew it was going to die. A car was going to hit it. I pulled into a nearby parking lot so I could turn around. I had hoped I could scoop the bird off the road before it got run over.

A man sitting on a bench in the lot started throwing up without even a hint of shame. He simply opened his mouth and let it flow out. When he finished, he crossed his arms, closed his eyes and returned to listening to music on his Beats by Dr. Dre. By the time I turned around, three cars had passed in the direction of the bird.

I pulled out of the parking lot and saw roadkill in my rear-view. I went to work.

THE EXPLORATION

See what you find digging in the dirt —

Any exploration is really just an exploration of the past. I will not attempt to prove this. I will barely elaborate. Hell, I’m just going to be honest: I don’t think I believe this, even a little bit. I am fresh off listening to this album for (God only knows) the 357th time in my entire life, maybe the 20th time in my adult life. That, back there, is the sentence that fell out of me the second my hands touched the keyboard.

I am going to pretend it’s true, just for the next little while. I’d like to invite you to do the same. You can say no.

Any exploration is really just an exploration of the past:

I drag my feet through the mystery muck that the Me of yesterday left behind. It’s a rotten legacy. Only the Present Me knows what I really need. Past Me has to burden himself with procuring those things. He has to go out through all the muck and break his legs looking for something good, and he probably won’t find it, and he’ll probably have to turn around and walk all the way back, and by then he'll have his hands full of new muck. It’s a rotten legacy, but I can’t be upset.

Let’s explore.

I am about thirteen years old. I am approximately four hours into a nine-hour bus ride to Boston for a school outbound trip. I grab my portable CD player. I flip through an enormous stack of jewel cases in my backpack and pop in Brainbloodvolume. This is my first time hearing the album in its entirety. I saved it just for this trip — my favorite band’s final album. The opening track contains a soft, quiet opening that was not present in the music video for the song. I’m floored. Of course I’m floored.

There is a sudden jump in volume as soon as the real song begins. I don’t see it coming. I jolt upright and scramble for the volume, my face burning red in embarrassment. I see a chaperone motion for me to turn it down. It was audible outside of my headphones.

I spend the next forty minutes or so in deep concentration. I stare at the ceiling because I do not want to look at my neighbor. I do not close my eyes because I do not want to look like I am asleep. I do not close my eyes because I want to look like I am listening to music, and that is what’s special about me. I do not close my eyes because I know that everyone is looking at me and deciding whether or not I am worth anything at all, and I know that I will accept their decision no matter what, so I look awake, and I look awake because I am enjoying my different, secret little music more differently and secretly than everyone else, and I play the bass and I write songs and one day I will be a little famous but not too famous because I don’t want to be “mainstream” or “sell out,” and when I look awake while listening to my different and secret music, You, You who is looking at me right now, will be able to tell that I love music very much and that it’s my destiny to make music, and God will know it, and it’ll be okay when I go off losing my homework and daydreaming during class and screwing up at home and doing a terrible job at the family business, because You saw me then and understood that I’m Just Not Built For This Stuff, but I have music, and one day I’ll be past This Stuff and beaming my great terrible beacon right in the eyes of everyone else who’s Just Not Built For This Stuff, and they’ll know that they can get through it because I got through it.

A bump in the road causes my CD to skip at the climax of the last track. After the album ends, I turn to a teacher who I think is maybe one of the “cool ones.” I remark mildly on the frustration of my CD skipping. I want someone to ask what I was listening to. I want to be seen. I anticipate the teacher’s response.

“Ah. Bummer.”

He turns away. Years later he gets fired for being a pedophile.

Years later I know some things differently. I am going gray. I do not care if I am seen or not. I grow no fruit from any wisdom, and I do not imagine handing it down to some younger and gone version of me.

It’ll be okay.

One day I will see Me in the corner of my rear-view mirror, shrinking away as I get to work, and I'll understand that I’m Just Not Built For This Stuff, but it’ll be okay because I have

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Ahh, finally used expelliarmus on you-know-who? Well 👏🏼 done 👏🏼. It was long overdue 😂 💕

Bloody hell guys.

I woke up, did my things, then I checked Tumblr and there were messages like this one, people writing in my DMs that you-know-who (for lack of better terms) is attacking me...

Like, wtf?

I feel trapped in a mystery novel where I witnessed a crime, tried to do something about it, and somehow ended up as the prime suspect for the crime.

Yes, I know, you people told me to block him ages ago, I'm an idiot, you were completely right.

Mea culpa

There, I said it.

Also, because I'm curious af, I can't help it, I went to see what the hell he wrote and what he's claiming he said it's not even what he really wrote under the post and it's completely decontextualised. Is this how someone feels when they get trapped in a conspiracy?

I'll start from the beginning so everyone can understand.

I published a post where I fundamentally celebrated some of my favourite female characters.

One of those was Ginny. And of course, every time I say anything remotely positive about Ginny (who is probably the main topic of this blog) he had something negative to say in return instead of just... I don't know... stop following me????? Like every decent reasonable human being?????

One of the things I said was:

And also breaks that idiotic pattern of the hero ending up with the helper. Ginny is truly a character who deserves her own saga.

So, of course, under a post that celebrates female characters, in a blog that is very Ginny-centered, he felt the need to comment that Ginny for him was a helper even if not as close as Ron and Hermione.

Now, of course, I was supremely annoyed by that comment, and I had three options here:

Leave it there

Answer it disagreeing with it

Erase the comment

I didn't want to leave it there because well, first of all, it annoyed me and this is my blog but also because I don't want my posts used to spread ideas with which I disagree. You are free to do that with your posts, but not with mine (also, he could have easily just reblogged it and said what he apparently absolutely needed to say).

So I could answer the comment, I already did it plenty of times, but I exactly because I already did it plenty of times with this specific person, I knew it would have been pointless as usual.

So I erased the comment. Seemed a reasonable solution. It's an option I have, a boundary that I'm absolutely free to set.

He re-wrote the comment under the post.

I know, nuts.

Maybe he thought it got cancelled as a mistake? Possible, I re-erased the comment.

He re-wrote it.

This happened like four times.

Every single time I checked Tumblr he had re-written the comment. I went to sleep with the comment erased, I woke up with the comment there again, I erased it, and five minutes after the comment was there again. Surpassing by a long mile a boundary I had every right to set for myself: not having comments under my post that annoy the fuck out of me, written by someone who takes as a personal insult every post I make about a character I love (because obviously the fact that this was the 50000th post in which this subtle bashing happened played a huge factor, a behaviour displayed in such a way that lead multiple people multiple times to tell me to block him).

So I just decided to block him. Seemed the reasonable route at this point.

I don't want to be followed by someone who can't take a hint and can't respect other people's boundaries.

Turns out I wasn't exaggerating considering that he started leaving that comment under my fanfictions on ao3.

I wish I was joking but it's totally true. And now I'm wishing I hadn't erased them so you could all see the absolutely psychotic behaviour.

And now, apparently, he is writing posts on Tumblr about me.

Anyway, if this to you sounds like something normal to do, please stop following me.

I'm in no way against people disagreeing with what I say and telling me (I would prefer the asks box for that though), I'm against people who do it with no valid argumentation and more importantly obsessively.

[fairyniceyeah]

11 and 17 for the writer asks??

Hey Anon^^

Thanks for the asks!!!

Ask 17 is answered here: Asks 3, 6, 17

You really made me sweat with question 11XD

I spent half my morning re-reading fics to be able to answer this! It’s a really interesting question though, so thanks for choosing it!

11. Do you have a comfort fic that you always come back to? What is it?

Well, here we are again with hyperfixations on fandoms! I don’t necessarily have a specific comfort fic I will always read because it’s just not the fandom I am interested in currently. Below, will follow a list with a few fics I really like and find comfort in re-reading.

But, first of all. This must sound super arrogant and self-centered but there are two fics I do come back to regularly that I wrote for myself:

One is Red - The Blood of sick men, focused on Les Misérables’ Enjolras suffering from Ulcerative Colitis. As somebody who has this awful and potentially embarrassing chronic illness (and had a lot of health complications due to it), it does comfort me when I start to feel awful physically or mentally due to it. It’s bittersweet because I am writing about a lot of my own personal issues, things that have really happened to me but with the twist of his friends knowing and caring about him. Basically it’s Enjolras getting the comfort I need(ed).

Same goes for Black - The Colour of Despair, where I make Combeferre deal with his parents getting a divorce – and yeah, it’s basically a retelling of my parents divorce… but it helped me deal a lot because I was able to finally write down my thoughts and figure out my feelings towards my parents.

But as promised:

Shadowhunters

The first fic that comes to mind is Tea of Every Flavor by IntrovertedRavenclaw. It teaches about the various uses of tea and it’s generally very sweet. Especially Chapter Seven with this dialogue

Alec sips the tea carefully, testing out the temperature. "It's bland." "You threw up. You don't need sugar." Magnus says.

is my roman empire.

Les Misérables

I just love The Peace of Wild Things by ariadneslostthread. The way Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac care about each other is very sweet and what I wish for I had as a friend group (not that I am not happy with my friends but this is the kind of thing I do yearn for as somebody who is used to getting yelled at by my mom for being sick). It’s very well written and, while long, I never get bored.

Now, back to K-Pop!

SEVENTEEN:

I absolutely adore most of kaiteki’s Seventeen fics (all those not containing anything NSFW). They focus on Jihoon and are always very well written. I tend to come back to Simultaneous, Observational, Difficulty in Falling and Who Else? They are either sickfics or (emotional) hurt/comfort. Though again, there are some NSFW and 18+ fics on that account so proceed at your own risk!

ATEEZ:

I am in love with the series 8 Makes 1 Family by aambass. The fics are so well written an each part focuses on one member specifically. Seonghwa who struggles with being the oldest, Wooyoung with self-esteem issues, San’s insecurity about his place in the team, Jongho’s struggle with being maknae, Hongjoong overworking himself and realizing he barely spends time with the members, Yunho pushing himself too far, Mingi’s insecurity and anxiety and Yeosang refusing to speak because nobody ever listens to him anyways. However, that blog also has some NSFW contents, so be careful when scrolling through. I am pretty sure that the series is safe though.

I come back at times to THE WEIGHT OF LOVE by matz_love. That fic is not SFW but you can anticipate where it starts and stop/skip like I do. Generally the author has a really nice writing style that I love to read, but check the tags on the fics! It's about Jongho figuring out his sexuality and the way Hongjoong and Seonghwa speak to him is so comforting I nearly cried when reading it.

Random fics:

I am neither MoA nor Shawol but these fics also caught my eye and I re-read a lot.

All three ShinEE fics by justalittlehoarse, especially Day 6.

fever only makes the cuddles warmer by honeybeomgyu is very sweet.

Lots of love,

🧚🏻‍♀️

[lennsart]

Okay The Dark™ has intrigued me, enlighten me my friend ~

Ooooh so this one is a bit harder to talk about because it is in my wips, but it's not really a story ! It kind of gathers all of my ideas around Dark Link and how I present him in my fics. It's a lot of vibes, and some things that I thought way too much about njfenjejnejez

So here's the gist of it :

- Dark Link isn't one specific Link's shadow. I like the headcanon that he is Time's, but here, he is more of a dark reflection of the Hero's Spirit as a whole.

- This idea is kind of weird (and hard to grasp), but he's both younger and older than every hero. He started to exist recently, but he kind of exists outside of time and space's borders. He has witnessed every hero's quest and knows where his predecessors failed.

- He can change his appearance to look like the heroes, and also to look like a "dark version" of them. And when he does that, depending on who's face he's wearing, he has fun lil powers !

I'm not a 100% sure for these powers, because some of them aren't really related to the hero... Some of them are there as a placeholder until I have a better idea (unless I don't dskkskdkdskds)

But for now, here's what I have :

Four : clones (like Shadow Link do in some of his battles, but also in reference to the Four Sword of course)

Sky : lightnings (like Demise & Sky during the final battle)

Hyrule : puppetering, as in taking control of his adversary for a little time (not really a reference, but since Hyrule has the most magic out of them all I wanted Dark Link to take his face for something a little overpowered lmao)

Legend : mind diving (kind of a reference to Link's awakening in that you spend a lot of time in Legend's head ? I'm not sure about this one)

Twilight : portals, like teleportation (like the way you warp in game)

And for the last four ones, elemental magic

Wind : wind power (it seemed obvious, also one of Wind's power in game)

Warriors : fire (because war -> violence -> fire, but also Volga)

Wild : water (kind of a reference to the shrine of resurrection and Mipha's powers, but also very much a placeholder)

Time : earth/plants ? (because Kokiri forest ? Definitely a placeholder)

I know it would be criminal to not give Time, well, time-based powers, but it felt weird to have only three element out of four ? But also maybe earth would fit Wild more. I have to think about it, up until now when I tried to write fights I avoided using these powers at all fgjkjfdkfdkf

And now that I'm laying this down, I see that I had a pretty good theme of using the villain's powers in game and I just... Kind of dropped it ? Like Demise, Shadow, Volga, and then Time's here with plants lmao

I have to think more about it ! But as you can see, the goal is to have Dark Link be the worst threat every heroes have faced.

- One thing that I like to use is the fact that Dark Link is "fueled" by negative feelings. The more tension there is within the Chain, the more powerful he is.

In the dreaded "Bitch are u okay" wip that I talked about earlier, he more specifically feeds off of "the hatred of a hero for a hero/the hero's spirit". Which means, if two Links hate each other, that's nice for him, but if someone hates themselves, that's perfect as well !

And, as I put it in my notes and made myself snort re-reading them, "he can be nerfed by the power of ✨therapy✨". Which means, if the heroes are honest with each other and a good team, he'll be less powerful. But he knows that and they don't :0 so he'll try to turn them against each other !

- Last but not least, I referred to him as "he" in all this post for clarity, but in most of my wips he has pronouns 💅!

Mostly 'it', sometimes 'they' and sometimes 'he' !

Basically, I used him when I need a powerful antagonist, for fights but also in fics that are more centered around feelings and stuff ! He is both an amalgamation of the worst things in LoZ's bad guys, and occasionally, a (not really well hidden) representation of mental illness.

It's been a while since I've written anything with those ideas though, but seeing them written down makes me want a Dark Link come back in my stories lmao

[finite-breakpoints]

trust issues (Angstpril 2024, #9)

[ Previously: emotionally distant // no way out // never see you again ]

"What is this place?"

Paige hates the unsteadiness in her voice, echoing even at a whisper -- this isn't the time or place for fear, let alone displaying it. Standing here in a long-abandoned building on the edge of a city no longer familiar, where no one will hear if she calls for help, shivering in the cold.

But if not now… when?

"Temporary accommodations. Used to be an off-cycle stopover for the light-rail, before the track got re-routed." For a program who seemingly spends most of their time committing sedition and thinking of new ways to instigate civil unrest, Signal's voice is surprisingly soft. "Might be some network programs around, if we're lucky. Last I knew, there were a few of 'em crashing here, in and out."

They look more like a data processor than a hardened revolutionary. Maybe that's the point. But Paige can see it too clearly for it to be entirely a facade -- cautious in their movements; a fastidiousness about their appearance; sandy hair pinned back with studied precision. Not very tall, kind of spindly. Not exactly built for fighting.

But then again… neither is she.

"If we're lucky, huh?"

"Sure. They're friendly, mostly harmless. Good kids." Signal hands her the heated canister they've just finished preparing. "Here. This should help. Might be a bit strong, though."

"Thanks." She waits a moment first; and they notice, making a point of pouring the rest into their own glass with a playful grin. She wonders what's hiding underneath it -- watching as they skim through the documents on the data cube. Faster than should be possible, but she has no doubt they're taking in every word.

Sips at the concentrated energy idly, feels the warmth of it even out in her circuits. It is strong stuff, the kind you only need in unpowered places like this… or when your energy processing's been altered by constant direct input. Straight into your circuits, for cycles on end, until your body and mind start to give out.

Yeah. Data processor for sure. Or at least they used to be. She'd bet on the presence of those telltale silver scars at the base of their neck and across their shoulders. Not many of them left, not now. She worked with so many of them at the medical center -- sealing re-opened ports, tapering down their energy levels as safely as she could. It's entirely possible that Signal was one of them.

"…Who knows you're here, Paige?"

Oh, there it is. Her hands are shaking, and not from the cold. Keep it together -- but what does she have to hold together, anymore?

"Lie," hisses the sharp voice in the back of her mind. But what's the point? Tesler will be hunting for her soon, once he realizes what she's done. She has no home to welcome her. No sense of purpose, not now. No friends to lean on for support. Nowhere to go, and no one she can trust.

Only one program's offered her a way out of this.

"No one," she says. "I'm a program of my word."

"So I hear." And that smile turns to something a little less reassuring. "But Tesler seems to know -- and that means General Advan does, too. I don't know if she'll cooperate, if he decides he wants to look for you. But I'd rather not take that chance."

"…What do you mean?"

"I mean that you need to hide, and quickly. They'll be tracking your data signature. We need to fix that… and your metadata, too. Let me see your disc."

"No." She steps back, purely out of instinct, as an acute sense of danger grips her. But she can take them in a fight, if it comes to that. "Not happening."

"Won't hurt a bit, promise. I've done it myself enough times." They pull up a tool -- something that takes her a moment to recognize. It's a wrench, and not an entirely unfamiliar one. But this looks heavier than the ones Mara keeps in her garage, or even the one the Renegade would carry with him. Older, maybe.

But Signal holds it differently. Not with the casual nonchalance of the Renegade, or even the curiosity of Argon's mechanics, but with the same careful attention that Paige remembers having for her own tools. The sort of respect -- reverence, even -- that you have when your tools are capable of both wonderful and terrible things.

"You're not touching my disc," she says quietly.

"Alright, fair enough. But if you aren't careful, they will find you. I know you don't trust me -- and maybe you're right not to. But I can help keep you hidden, if you'll let me."

"I'll take my chances." Fights back the creeping panic, feeling that sharp and slithering pain, as if those code worms have returned, burrowing into her database. "I'm not doing that again."

By the time she realizes that it's slipped out, it's too late.

"…Oh." Signal rezzes down the not-a-wrench. For a tick or two, they seem unusually at a loss for words… and not quite sure what to do about it. "I wondered about that. Barbaric of them. I'm sorry."

"…What are you talking about?"

"There's a scar, under your eye. I'd guess your render usually compensates for it, but you're starting to run low on energy. For all I know, you might not even have known it was there." They regard her with something just short of pity, sharp grey eyes clouding over with emotion… or a memory. "You stayed there even after they did that to you -- and then you came all the way out here, you gave everything up. There was a reason, wasn't there?"

It's not really a question. She doesn't answer.

"I think you left because Tesler lied to you." Their tone implies no moral judgement -- although she suspects, given what she's read over the cycles, that Signal might be holding back a little. "I never will."

And for just a clock-cycle, she very nearly believes them.

[daincrediblegg]

2, 9, 11, 12, 22?

2. Do you read/reread your own fics? It really honestly kindof depends on the fandom on this one. Generally speaking when I put some creative thing out there of any kind I am loathe to re-watch or re-read it (with the exception of looking at my own fanart- unless it was especially bad I love looking back at some of my old stuff just for the sheer thrill of seeing how much progress I’ve made) BUtT!!!! There is the exception of when it’s like. I’m either in a fandom in which the character I like gets character assassinated in fics a lot of the time and I need enrichment from outside sources or my own. OR when I’m just in a fandom where people don’t write x reader fics that much for the character and I’m the only one writing them and I have to re-read myself bc that’s the only content out there (current predicament re; everything Jared Harris has been in and it’s a crime that I’ve spent the whole year trying to remedy lmao).

9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written!

OK SO!!!! This was actually a couple of paragraphs I got down yesterday and it’s some of the more solid stuff I’ve put out in recent months, but I’m very proud of how it turned out:

Sinclair was never particularly fussy when it came to her appearance, which made changing for dinner a fairly brief affair. She had learned from an early age that there was certainly no room for such attentions on a ship, and in fact had great fun in witnessing first-time sea-faring ladies, passengers of course on The Demeter, who tried to keep their appearances in spite of the swell and sway of the high seas. She remembered fondly then, the laugh of Mrs. Rose Anthony. How she’d wished to hear it now and all these months gone past. She would have laughed to see Fitzjames on the deck this morning, with that ridiculous cloak flowing behind him like a peacock with his feathers at half mast. None of the men would see it as she did. Not that she was in too much want of friends among them. But fewer still would understand her sense of humor as Rose had.  Pondering this, Sinclair forewent her shirt and waistcoat- both of which were custom tailored, as it wouldn’t do for the navy to commission such a garment. But her father had, for her sake. One of his many parting gifts. The very same man whose picture Sinclair’s gaze drifted to as she buttoned the deep blue bodice that had also been part of the set he had purchased for her, this one long sleeved to match the deep blue flannel day skirt she kept on, and which had served her so well in the chilly climate. She’d missed too how well he’d been able to do her hair for an occasion like this, where Sinclair now only managed a bun tied fairly neatly to the back of her head (more than she’d dare to manage for her daily duties, she might add), but it suited her all the same for the impression Sir John, and indeed, most of the men had of her. Neat as a pin. Diligent. A fixture of a plain sort of beauty in the corner. Never the center of their attentions, but never quite ignored.

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it!

As I said in the other ask I have like. Just so many. None of them coherent- but THIS ONE has been my instrumental inspiration for a little while so there you have it. Someday I will consolidate all my fave lady terror vibes into a proper playlist... but that is not today...

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

I mean… sort of. Like in general I do like to have some kind of sense where something is going before I start it- if it’s anything I’ve learned from commercial failures like GOT and the Star Wars Sequels it’s that poor planning will fucking kill you because actually as it turns out narrative structure is important. But at the same time- I think this was a quote from George R.R. Martin that some writers are “builders” who have everything pre-conceived before they put anything down (in reference to Stephen King), and some are “gardeners” (like George) who let stories just grow as they go. For me personally I’ve never felt too tied to either camp, so I put forth my secret third option being: “chef”. I know what I want the end-product to be. I have a general sense of what it should taste like and how I should cook it-thematically speaking. But things still come up as I go. Sometimes it needs a bit more of one spice than another and I try to listen to those instincts when they tell me to add something to what I’m making. 

11 ANSWERED HERE

[fainthedcherry]

PARAMORE RELEASED THEIR A24 TRIBUTE COVER TODAY. AND I GOT INSPIRED BY THE LYRICS AND THE VISUALIZER.

IMAGE CREDITS BC VERY OBVIOUSLY THIS IS AN EXPERIMENTAL PIC COLLAGE PIECE PRIMARILY BELOW DESC (I DID NOT TAKE THE COOL PICS OBV.)

OK GIANT CREDIT BLOCK GO (Freepik and pexels my beloved saved my entire college year lmao):

1 OCEAN WAVES

2 OCEAN WAVES AGAIN

3 YES A THIRD OCEAN WAVE

4 VERY COOL DROPLETS

5 FLAME. OO FIRE PRETTYYY /POS

6 BG I CHEATED YOU INTO BELIEVING IS RAIN

The drawing though is made by my acoustic arse /lh

THE LYRICS ARE TAKEN FROM THE VID I LINKED. HAYLEY'S VOICE MY BELOVED AND FOREVER DEAREST ENTIRE BAND /POSPOSPOS. I wanna sing like Hayley so badly, she is such an idol to me, when it comes to vocals and I wish to sing as expressive as her some day 🤧✨💖

--

WHAT MORE CAN I SAY, OTHER THAN I'VE BEEN EXPERIMENTING WITH SHORT DRAWINGS, THAT TAKE UNDER A DAY TO COMPLETE TO FIGURE OUT SOME THINGS I WANNA DO AS AN ARTIST AND POSSIBLY COMMISSIONS. + These drawings genuinely kinda de-stress so it's been free therapy too, oops. I wanna do more of these vector-style drawings, that are just me taking lyrics and creating these fun collages, of things that inspire me or I like. It's a chill practice and lets my creativity actually do the work for once, instead of my usual need to outdo myself in every drawing and improve lmao. Improvement is cool and all, but dear god did I not realise how hard my need for perfection last year stress and strangle me tf out. I seriously need to re-evaluate the way I approach art as this massive, intimidating medium, when most artists literally draw for fun, and for me it's been like...A Sisyphean task.

--

If you enjoyed seeing this, I might make a sequel with C'est Comme Ca and w/ Marco in it instead and a red BG,, if I want to, I might turn these into a series, just like those aesthetic icon drawings I made of my 2 boys, started Lotta, and IMMEDIATELY lost that sketch due to my USB's death back in 2022 and lost all motivation for art due to that massive loss /neg

--

Not sure what else to add here other than my thoughts that I already did!! Other than ofc, the usual, MASSIVE thank you to my friend Hollowed-Hartlocke for introducing me to Paramore back in 2019 <3

Think I'm done rambling now tho!! OH WAIT. I can add, that I had to actually pull out Adobe Illustrator just to add stretched text for aesthetic purposes. Then I got so impatient with the effects panel not showing me the usual layer-effects and me being too lazy to look up, whether InDesign was the one, that had the usual layer effects I use in an Adobe program or not. Btw still mooching off my college acc that shoulda been dead long ago but just isn't??? LMAO I'M STILL GONNA USE IT IF I CAN ALRIGHT.

OH YEAH BTW. This drawing took 3 hours. NO I'M NOT KIDDING. PEOPLE WOULD PROBABLY BE SHOCKED THAT SUCH A LAZY LOOKING PIECE TOOK SO LONG. BUT I GENUINELY AM RATHER SHOOK THAT I TOOK SUCH LITTLE TIME TO CREATE THIS. TBF I threw MOST proportion checks and canvas flips I do out the window, so there's a BIG chance I will hate this, if I flip the canvas xD ANYWAY I RAMBLED LONG ENOUGH I THINK NOW. JUST ENJOY EXPERIMENTAL ART

^Before-bed edit; Yeah his torso's a TAD too much leaning to the left, it's off-center to the rotation of his pelvis to be in fact, but maybe? I'll roll with this mistake. It kinda gives the piece its abstract nature..I kinda like the mistake?? This is the first time in my life I ever tolerated a mistake I did and now declare it on purpose and will probably build one into the next piece as well. Hell, maybe it'll yield an interesting result. Anyway, it's 12PM as I write this, and I have to get up at 4AM for my train soOooo, yeah, gotta sleep ASAP for school.

I have NO clue again what to 100% accurately tag this, so forgive me if the tags are wrong LMAO, I just will believe what I believe it has overlaps w/ within art-genre.

This piece kiiinda gives pop art??? So I'm gonna tag it as such as well, but but might be incorrect. If a pop-art enjoyer wants to correct me, PLEASE DO. I'm going off the definitions of pop-art I learned in high-school. So I could most def be wrong about me adding this tag in particular. How tf do people confidently tag their posts when I doubt almost every tag I add man. Tagging is the worst part of uploading art to me due to how hard it is to label art really, not meant to be in a genre. xD

Def adding Paramore tags tho bc I NEED to know more Paramore fans out there bc we feel like such a tiny community, when they're literally one of the most influential rock bands of the 2000s and 2010s imho AUGH

[kcowgill]

Weekly recap!

So I ran 3x last week. A few times fewer than I had targeted (which was: every day) but since I’m kind of pushing the mileage aggressively (for where I am in regards to running currently) I think I’m OK with some rest days. FOR NOW.

My weight continues to drop. Today’s reading might be a bit light but I’ll take it. I’m also taking it because it takes me under one of those x0 ranges, i.e. the middle number (the tens) has decreased to the next range.

NSV: I’m about to run out of belt holes on the belt I bought over Thanksgiving. I hadn’t run out of larger holes on my old belt, it was just getting old. I was pretty dismayed at the measurement reading on the new one (holy crap is my waist really that measurement? (spoiler alert: it wasn’t (at least I don’t think) - but belts made of thicker material/leather tend to get their sizes a bit funny)). Anyhow I’ve decided I want to learn enough leathercrafting to make my next belt before I run out of holes on my current belt. To that end, here’s my first completed project; a sheath for my leathercraft knife:

Yes, I pounded the rivet too much. Yes, the strap doesn’t actually block the knife from coming out of the sheath; I should’ve angled it toward the center. And also yes, it’s a bit small and the stitching is bunched up at the bottom. And there are some other steps I’d change the order on which I completed them. I also need to figure out how I’m going to finish the leather.

I might do a re-do. I bought a few pounds of scrap to teach myself and there’s plenty left over.

Non-fitness-related victory: I have a small number of C-level execs at my company think of me when they encounter problems that are admittedly in the domain of the team I lead, but we’re not a small company and that level of recognition feels nice. I had one reach out to me late last week and it made me feel good so I made a mental note to post that.

[prose-mortem]

A Day of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon: ARC Review

Rating: 5/5 Stars

Samantha Shannon has universes inside of her mind, and I feel so lucky to be privy to the mythologies, poetries, and magic she brings forth through her writing. This book is in the top five favorite fantasy books of all time for me, which is really saying something since I read around 300 books per year… most of which are SF/F. A Day of Fallen Night is a masterpiece, and I will be recommending it to every single person willing to discuss books with me.

This fantasy work is the book that women+, femmes, and women who love women deserve. Every female character is deeply cultivated and nurtured in terms of character development and page time, which I cannot say for most fantasy books being written these days. A wide range of ages is represented from girlhood to elder years, and that is so very meaningful since many fantasy works are more skewed toward a teenage audience. While there is nothing wrong with a market for younger readers, we need a place for people above the age of 23 to be able to self-actualize and find themselves through the books they read. Women of all ages are heroes, and they deserve to be seen in all their glory, regardless of the season of life they are in. As one of Shannon’s characters says: “If women are flowers, we are not roses, but day’s eyes- blooming not once, but over and over, each time the light touches us.”

Although any male/men+ characters who appear in the book are crafted with care and attention, the emphasis is less on romantic (and sexual) love between men and women, but rather is centered on friendship. Though men in Shannon’s book are meaningful and heartfelt, they never steal the show from the women+/female characters. The real romances and complexities of passion are given to the women—the sapphic element of Shannon’s book(s) being one of the most appealing to me. Even though this work of fantasy is far from being all sunshine and roses, it feels like a safe space to explore relationships between women with all their nuances and challenges.

The thing about big fantasy books is that they can also be slow burns. Some people enjoy a slow, but methodical approach to storytelling, but I would be lying if I said I was one of them. Shannon’s book is a BIG ONE, but I failed to find a single dull or boring moment the entire time I was burning through it. As with many fantasy works, the story is told from the perspectives of a few main characters (mostly women), with the occasional, important side character added in as the book progresses. (There are nonbinary characters too with they/them pronouns!) With many big (nearly 1,000 pages) works like this, I usually find myself loving one or two characters, but being bored with the others… sometimes feeling like I want to skip the chapters with perspectives of the characters I find less interesting. I loved every single character in A Day of Fallen Night and found myself re-reading passages because the prose was just that beautiful or pivotal. There is something to enchant you in every paragraph whether it is amazing poetry, deep wisdom, or a juicy unfurling of one of the beloved characters. In short, Samantha Shannon has a rare gift, even in a market as massive as fantasy storytelling. Every word is potent, and every chapter is as inviting as the last. There is no filler or sense that she is trying to rush through the plot. Every moment is purposeful and delightful, and my hat is off to Shannon for her skillset.

You may be thinking at this point: “Sounds great! You didn’t really tell me much about the book’s plot though.” The truth is that I can’t dive too deeply into the details because this is one of those books that is best enjoyed when almost every morsel is allowed to flower in the moment. Simply put, it would be all too easy to ruin something for another reader, and I do not want to steal that experience from anyone. What I will say is that as much as I obsessed over The Priory of the Orange Tree, this book is even better (It’s hard to imagine, I know.). A Day of Fallen Night takes place about 500 years before the events in Priory of the Orange Tree, so if you read POTOT first, you will find some easter eggs and “aha!” moments in this prequel. For those who might read ADOFN first (since they can be read in any order), I am pleased to tempt you/them with the knowledge that there are talking dragons, adventures in the peaks of the high mountains, magic, and so many beautiful moments that give you chills when you realize where Shannon is going with a plot idea or character connection. So, if you want to give yourself the best treat in the world and live several lifetimes within the span of a book cover, this is the number one book you will want to read in 2023.

Lastly, I am so grateful to the publishers and creatives at Bloomsbury and Netgalley who sent me an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review. To you lovelies, it may have been another approval request on a Wednesday, but you wielded the kind of magic nestled in the realms of humans and transformed my week into something beautiful and enrapturing. Thank you so much.

[askelectrochromic]

what is the Krikani language like? i like the description of Cheloan glyphs as analogous to Hanzi or Kanji (being able to identify the ``spicy'' character) but id love to know about the Krikani writing system

(im not expecting you to write a whole conlang of course but was curious if you had a general shape or feeling to it in mind) ^^;

SableGear0: You know, I haven't actually given it much thought yet. I probably should, though. My first impulse was to say "they don't have a written language" (for reasons I will discuss in a moment) but that seems impossible; they're a sapient species capable of space-travel and manage huge military systems, they probably have writing since not all communication can be person-to-person. So, organic rambling solution-finding and some links and images under the cut.

Generally I conceptualize Kriken as a (semi-)eusocial hive organism that are passively psionic, to keep in touch with the greater hive. How much direct communication happens psionically I'm still not sure; whether it can be used "conversationally," or if it's merely a "vibe" they share with local Kriken that's strong enough to pick up on the "vibe" from the core colony sometimes. The fact that they have a spoken language probably means its closer to the latter.

If the psionic communication is powerful enough, then maybe they wouldn't need to write? But then how would you do something like label the controls on a starship or make maps? You might have to devote someone to memorizing what all the labels would be and then telepathically ask them what you're looking at. Which isn't totally unreasonable, if we consider them highly specialized hive organisms. Maybe they do have "librarians" that keep this stuff in their minds and can be asked/accessed on a whim. This would be an extremely alien way of keeping track of information. While I kind of like it, it seems maybe a bit too weird for the Metroid series as we know it. Arguably, Metroid has kept its aliens fairly (socially) tame, giving us a lot of written logs throughout the Prime series. Though the ones we've gotten the most lore on are Pirates and Chozo, which aren't great benchmarks since they were respectively "the bad guys" and "the good guys (mostly)."

Being insectoid, Kriken might also communicate via pheromones? But pheromones and what/how Kriken eat have been stumping me because... well, their heads aren't really attached.

Trace has no neck. And while in some renders it looks like that tiny teardrop of a head is resting on the body, the in-game model and wireframe show pretty clearly they do not touch. Hence why I go with psionic; their heads float for spooky psionic reasons. This also means that while their heads may be a sensory center (headshots still work in Hunters), I doubt it's where they stick food when (if?) they eat, so it being a chemosensor feels a little unlikely, but I digress.

Anyway back to written language. I suppose I have to ask myself, what would a written language look like if it was invented by ants? Or bees? Ants is a tough one mainly because I don't actually know much about ant organization. My impression is that they build and tunnel fairly organically, just wherever is easiest to go and/or smells like it has the most food. When I think about bees, though, I think about bee dances, and how that might be adapted into a written language; a system abstracting the orientation and movement of the body into markings that can be re-read at any time so that worker doesn't have to bust down and dance it out every time she wants to relay some information to someone new.

And thinking about that, I think about Phyrexian. This conlang shows up in the Magic the Gathering universe, and knowing what I know about Phyrexians (an all-consuming hivemind-like culture that take creatures and turn them into half-mechanical abominations to serve their own purposes), it seems like a decent fit.

The shape of these is really what I was going for but the cultural implications match up too. I was thinking of the cross-strokes being similar to the directional facing if you were to write down a bee dance, the extra marks indicating other movements like stops or the frequency of a waggle.

It also looks like something a bug might make if you dipped it in ink and let it walk around on a paper, so that's neat. Scratching marks like these out would be fairly quick and easy for a Kriken, since they only appear to have a crab-like manipulator and a single combat claw, and I've stuck with that design choice in describing them because it's more interesting than "oh and they have normal hands too".

So there's your answer, I guess. Written Krikani probably looks kind of like Phyrexian; branching strokes off a central line that stem from an ancestral system of gestural communication (and I like the verticality so I'll probably keep that too). Simple, efficient, and easy to replicate.

Thanks for the ask! This was a bit of a brain-teaser.

[that-gay-jedi]

I've been saying "Not everything is that deep" to myself for like 10+ years but it actually is ALL that deep.

I like to sit in the woods because they're beautiful. I like the relative quiet, the ancientness and bigger-than-me-ness and aliveness of it all, but maybe I also grew to like the woods bc my parents were afraid of them and kiddie me was afraid of my parents. It's okay if the reason I associate the dark and monsters with safety is that they kept the people and things I had reason to fear away. It's okay if I celebrate this now by wearing all black and embracing various edgy and/or unsettling aesthetics and make it a big part of my personality. It's okay to become more and more of a faggot specifically because it upsets the kind of people who want me tamed and neatly put in a box. Like. Actually it's okay for responses to my living environment to be part of my identity. I can be a creature that lives in a place and has experiences.

I'm gradually figuring out the small things are allowed to be big things. It's okay if the only reason I don't like certain fictional characters is that past abusers liked them. I'm allowed (as long as I don't unfairly take it out on anyone) to get so viscerally angry every time my face itches bc my body remembers that one time a family member who noticed me scratching nose invaded my personal space and startled the fuck out of me based on some dumb superstition. It's okay if shallow things like liking Halloween or hating Christmas come from a collection of small, only moderately impactful personal experiences that gradually congealed into preferences over time and now I feel strongly about them because they span so many things at once.

Like maybe shit is allowed to all come back to one thing and maybe that one thing is my trauma and maybe that's okay and when people talk about not letting your trauma define you sometimes I think there's a fundamental disconnect bc all that stuff was inflicted on me with the intent of turning me into a particular kind of person, the whole reason it was trauma was BECAUSE it defined me, and maybe I should stop thinking it's negative or stupid (or self-centered or short-sighted or whatever other adjective of Do Not Want is applied) to acknowledge that and being told I'm never going to live a full, happy life unless I act in a specific way is probably just replicating my traumas and if acting in a way that's nost natural and freeing also involves a lifelong dialogue with my traumatized wounded animal self that probably just means I'm a living being with a biological brain that I can't alter by just deleting a few lines of code.

I really do feel like a lot of the messages we get about recovering and developing an identity outside of trauma have this unrealistic expectation that you should summon a concept of who you want to be out of thin air and embody it completely unbound from any prior experiences or states of being and that's just no more realistic or healthy than the idea that a physical body needs to have a thigh gap and perfectly flat photoshop stomach. They're both about shrinking yourself to achieve an impossible ideal that for most people is actively harmful if you do achieve it, and all just for the sake of being able to say you Did It Right and/or that anyone else is Doing It Wrong.

Yes, I do get to choose who I'm going to be, but I don't get to make that choice in a vacuum and neither do you and I don't think we should have to make it look like we did.

There were kids in my classes in high school who always got good grades and would vocally claim on a semi-regular basis that they never studied, that all they did was play video games and/or basketball/hockey, and that they never did anything intellectual for fun either. And it was never true. I always wondered why it was so important to them that people think they just magically knew all the material. Why would doing the work be shameful?

And I think I get it now. Nobody wants to be seen as real people who have to either do nerdy shit for fun or actively try in school in order to know stuff. Socially, we're rewarded for making everything seem so effortless and perfect and powerful and individualist that it it's actively unrealistic, you're supposed to be a cloud of mist. It applies as much as having a good relationship or a fulfilling life or a healthy lifestyle etc as it does to getting good grades. It's gouche to be a mere mortal.