#and the best way to do that is to exercise

[omaano]

SW Hades AU MAY-JUNE Update

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - January - February - March-April - everything else in this AU

Would you look at that! I managed to put together an update post with more than just May the 4th Boba :D Happy Pride, happy last days of June, and please enjoy the fact that I finally added 2 more ladies to the Hades AU. Full renders will come.... eventually ^^; I feel like I'm really super overdue to one though...

We're making this a girls thing >:3

I've drawn a younger, cockier Boba in the style of Hades 2 (instead of the usual Hades (1)) for May the 4th, because I am very much obsessed with the game and I desperately wanted to draw Boba again.

It's been deeply unfair to him that I had drawn him way back in 2022 (Jesus Christ! am I taking my sweet time) and never again ever since in this style. But when he wears it so well!

I also have a surprise Leia! And Satine as well!

If you recall I'd had the hardest of time for months to come up with anything for Leia, which I can only partially blame on whatever shape of artblock/burnout/exhaustion I had been feeling recently. Then one night - BAM! I was just messing around, looking at pose references on my pinterest boards and sketching and all, and suddenly I had a "businesswoman in a rush between meetings not having enough time for your shit" pose and look for her that I was very happy with. Might have been shortly after I watched (and had a great time while doing it) The Phantom Menace. Or the end of Andor. One of these two.

Originally I wanted her to appear as if she was on a holo call with Din, projected by R2, because she is busy and in a rush (like Hermes), but I'm undecided if I will want to go through with that in the end. Mainly because I'm not very thrilled by the idea of having to draw a portrait for R2 as well for that.

I also had a surprisingly great time coming up with a getup for her!

I believe that I finally started slipping along the double edged sword of how it's both a hindrance and liberation that I don't have to come up with character designs of my own for this AU to most characters. It takes a lot of pressure off me that I can treat this as a style and coloring exercise, but at the same time it's very limiting. I think I have already bemoaned how Star Wars character designs can be so grey and same-y at times (especially in the Outer Rim, and seriously, why is everyone so blue? Or black and grey) whereas Hades is so beautifully and colorfully designed!

I did a tiny bit of research on Wookiepedia - nothing major, as this was still just a past-midnight-waste-some-time sketch - and set out to merge some design and wardrobe elements from Breha, Bail and General Organa. If you can make out my handwritten notes, you might see some of these design elements, and to whom they shall refer to (like the bracers and belt to Bail, the braids and bun for Breha and Leia's own future). Ultimately more of the "Bail" elements won out if you wanted to weigh them against each other. I feel like that would fit Leia, her fierceness, and pragmatic strictness and determination best.

I'm a little regretful about the veil, but I worried that it would be too much flowy fabric next to her sleeves/cape. Very sad.

So it really was a relief to get into some designing with Leia, and to add some more colors and intricate details to Satine.

I don't have that much more to say about Boba and Satine tbh. Mostly because Boba is still a bit of a miracle I'm still unsure how he happened and how he looks so good (although not shiny enough compared to the latest update of Hades2 where all the gods, and really all the characters, are suuuuuper shiny. like. seriously). While with Satine my only goal was to make her look less willow-y (because it drives me insane how everyone in TCW is so damn thin), and might have fallen off on the other side of the horse (I'm pretty sure that's not the actual English idiom, please excuse me), and she's got some real massive shoulders and sleeves XD also how does she keep her head up with all that on her head? ^^;

Anyways, I love her with all her faults, and I just really wanted her to look beautiful and sad, and Mandalorian, and let her wear beskar heart elements in her design.

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Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

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If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[kumkaniudaku]

Goodbye

Summary: Three weeks changes everything.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions of Death

A/N: Thank you for your patience. I needed a break for my brain, a break from work to combat burnout, and to take my own advice.

Three weeks were simultaneously a drop in the bucket of life and a stage set for entire metamorphoses to occur. Caterpillars blossomed from crawling things to beings with beautiful wings poised to fly uninhibited. Babies learned new skills, sharpening their toolbelt for life and moving from novice to intermediate. Lives entered and left this plane of existence at lightspeed. Young minds grew a little wiser. In the worst circumstance, lovers slowly slipped away from each other like dandelion spores lost to the wind, never to be caught again.

Three weeks ago, Patrice and Terry learned the beauty of intimacy and all the racing, life-consuming feelings that come with first sexual experiences. Souls merged into one, making the miles of distance between them feel constricting and unbearable. For days on end, they spent their free moments planning a grand reunion and fantasizing about the next time they could put their barely existent experience to work. Patrice sent photos and messages that were better suited as love notes written on college-ruled paper and passed between classes, just like young lovers do. Terry accepted each one with the gratitude of a man being gifted food and water on a deserted island and heaped praise onto his only love, hoping she felt the depth of his affection from a state way. The concept of forever sounded like a safe bet. The future was boundless and exciting.

Two weeks ago, a daily phone call was accidentally missed. An apology came in short order. Then they missed another. Then, one more as Patrice exercised her freedom to enjoy the fruits of college life as a freshman earning her place in the world. Terry tried his best to understand, though he couldn’t shake the disappointment when conversations were cut short, and laughter shared on the other end of the receiver interrupted the only quality time he got to spend with the one person keeping him mentally afloat. Why couldn’t he keep her attention? Private Jackson, a squirely looking kid with glasses thick as vintage Coke bottles, posited theories of more interesting boys and nights filled with secrets she wouldn’t share between jokes during evening dinners. Terry knew it was nonsense, but he couldn’t help when his mind wandered during his silent moments and watered seeds of doubt.

One week ago, Patrice could hear the distance in Terry’s voice as the slow, suffocating creep of unavoidable change turned spirited chatter into long bouts of silence. She half expected it. A week before she was due to take a bus and a train to see him was a terrible time to announce she intended to stay back for homecoming instead. Organization was no longer her strong suit. Fun was too important, and apologies for her lack of care weren’t enough for a young man hearing opinions and unsolicited advice in droves from peers growing increasingly interested in his personal life. 

“I can come next week, TJ! I promise.”

“Whatever, Patrice. Have fun. I gotta go.” 

The hurt in his voice, masked by the bite of fresh anger, stuck with Patrice into the next week, settling beside her in every long morning lecture and trip to the dining hall as her uninvited guest. Texts went half-answered. Good mornings slowly morphed into a short ‘hey’ sent by mid-afternoon. Nightly phone calls ended before either of them felt sleepy enough to hang up. They were different. Victoria called it a slump. Napheesa said they were just missing each other. Patrice kept her heartache behind a closed-mouth smile and nodded along, all the while knowing these were unprecedented times. 

By the weekend, when partying was meant to hit its peak and the greatest homecoming on earth could unleash all its glory, Patrice sat crossed-legged on her bed, listening to Terry breathe on the other end as her two friends rummaged through her closet for something to wear to their first stop of the night. 

“Um…” Patrice hesitated, looking for something to say. “How’s training? Is it still borin’, or are y’all actually doing something now?” 

Questions about all he’d learned seemed to do the trick for an otherwise despondent Terry. Patrice listened to him adjust in bed before he could answer. “Oh shit, baby, we’re free-sparring right now. I got my shit rocked the other day, but other than that, I could see myself doin’ the instructor thing. I think I’m kinda good at it.” 

“Oh yeah,” Patrice smiled. “I bet you are. You’re good at a lot. I’m proud of you.” Pausing, Patrice scanned the room to ensure Napheesa and Victoria were occupied otherwise before continuing. “I love you, Terry. I’m really sorry about this weekend. I know you had something planned, and I ruined it.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it,” Terry grumbled, his mood instantly souring at the mention of what could’ve been as he eyed the small ring box on his dresser.

Terry wouldn’t allow himself to feel that deep, aching part of him that wanted to lash out over what he’d perceived as an intentional slight. The more he stewed in his anger and listened to worst-case scenarios spewed by young men too inexperienced to share rational thought, the more he teetered on verbally unleashing anger meant to stay locked inside his mental dungeon.

Never one to be deterred, Patrice persisted. “We should, though. You’re obviously mad with me. At least–” 

“Patrice, just let it be,” Terry admonished, his voice rising to a level just below a forceful exclamation. “I said it’s fine! Just stop. Shit!” 

“Okay! Damn! I’m sorry. What’s wrong with you right now?”

The gnawing sense of turbulence bubbling beneath a barely even surface was back and fraying the threads of connection they'd built over four years. Napheesa tried to avert her gaze when she heard the commotion but couldn't help but shoot Patrice a look to question if her friend was okay. Patrice's nonchalant nod convinced Phee to let it go for the moment. Still, she kept an ear turned in Patrice’s direction. Just in case.

A deep breath and a wave of embarrassment attempted to ease Terry into regulating his rising irritation. 

"Nothing," he barked back in a lie before softening his tone. "I just…wanna talk about something else. Please? Tell me about homecoming. What's goin' on with that? Since it held you back and all." 

Patrice tried to ignore his intentional jab, choosing to take the high road until they were face-to-face for a real discussion. She sighed before answering. "It's been cool so far, I guess. There was this huge block party last night, and it was really fun. I've never seen that many people in my life," she chuckled. "We haven't done much yet, though, with classes and stuff. Hopefully, tonight will be better. Phee found this off-campus party for us. I think the Kappas are throwing it or something."

"Damn, you canceled on me just to have a bad time? That's crazy." Another jab. Terry's bitter laughter made Patrice roll her eyes while her tongue itched to respond, begging to unleash a flurry of daggers so sharp they’d leave potentially irreparable harm. Guilt immediately washed over him, but pride took her silence as a win for his bruised ego.

"Don't do that, Terry," Patrice softly requested. A deep sigh helped her focus. "Did you hear anything about Lejune yet? Is it a go?" 

Since his arrival in Quantico, the looming question of where Terry would put down roots sat heavily on their collective shoulders. Entire futures rested on the possibility of West Coast living in a foreign land filled with sunshine illuminating every corner or returning to the relative safety of the only state either of them had called home. A three-hour trip to the North Carolina coast was a task, but lightyears better than infrequent physical contact and navigating airports when time allowed for in-person connections. 

Unfortunately, their future still hung in the balance. It didn't stop Terry from dreaming, though. As long as he could close his eyes and imagine a timeline where two boys and a girl existed in a modest multi-story house with Patrice as the woman proudly sporting his last name, he was willing to sell that dream until it became a reality. 

"Not yet. But, I'm pretty sure it'll be there," Terry answered with the confidence of a tenured fortune teller. 

Patrice felt worries creep into her bones and sputter out apprehension before she could lock the words behind glossed lips. "Okay, but then what? And what if it's San Diego?" 

"We'd still get married, Treece. If it's Lejune, we'd have to figure something out. If it's in California, we'd still figure something out. Why are you acting so confused?" 

"I'm not acting confused. I'm trying to be realistic. We can't get married in a month, Terry! I just started school, and you know how much I wanna finish in four years." 

Again, Napheesa's ear caught wind of rising tensions with Victoria on her heels. They paused their exploration of Patrice's wardrobe to turn and face their friend, sharing equal looks of concern. 

"Put it on speaker," Vic mouthed to Patrice as she stepped closer. A quick tap on her cellphone's screen placed Terry's loud voice at the center of attention in the small cinderblock room, bouncing their conflict off the walls like an amphitheater amplifying classic Shakespeare. 

The girls leaned in closer to make sense of Terry's anger as he ranted without interruption. "What's so scary about getting married? One minute, you say you want to do this forever; the next minute, it's too soon. Do you want to be with me or not?" 

"You know I want to!" Patrice exclaimed. "But not now! I just got to school! This is my first time away from home. Why are you already trying to stop my life?" 

"I'm not tryin' to stop your life, Treece. I'm tryin' to start one with you! Why did we do all that talking about the future if you were gonna take it back as soon as we started getting close?" The carefully controlled embers of a rage fostered by Uncle Sam and his band of angry misfit boys became slowly doused in gasoline, spreading like wildfire in Terry's chest. 

Patrice threw her hands into the air in a desperate attempt to fling all of her confusion and anger into the ether. "You made those plans, Terry! You said we should get married! You said we should have a dog, three kids, and a yearly vacation to someplace I've never even heard of. You talked so much that you never even asked what I wanted, and maybe I should've stopped you if I would've known you were so hellbent on making the future happen tomorrow!" 

Three weeks ago, in the front seat of his dingy truck with the music low and spirits high, they'd planned every waking second of their lives. He talked non-stop as trees whizzed past on an empty highway, allowing himself to fall so deep into whimsical passion and the belief in what could be that he'd missed the signs. Patrice never agreed to a date for holy matrimony. She only partially agreed to children and turned her nose up to the thought of a week-long vacation in some mountain town devoid of all the pleasures of resort amenities and clear blue waters. But, in the dizzying whirlwind of hurt feelings overloading brainwaves not yet prepared to deal with such emotional turmoil, flashes of Patrice's lips tucked tight and a smile plastered on to play the role of good girlfriend clicked through his mind like a horror film he couldn't shake.

"First off, stop cussin' at me," Patrice reprimanded, her face screwed in righteous indignation. Victoria slowly reached out a hand to stop Patrice from bounding off the twin bed sitting high off the ground but found her fingertips swatted away in her friend's blind pursuit. Napheesa mouthed a warning to Victoria to let it go. The time for intervention was long gone. "Lie to you about what, Terrence? What could I possibly be lyin' to you about? How many times do I have to tell you that you ain't my daddy?"

Terry had a few ideas. She was exploring her options. At the time, that one sounded good enough to get his fellow Marine decked right between the eyes. Now, the thought tickled the back of his spine like an evil alien trying to overtake an unsuspecting host. 

College brought a new selection of classmates with the kind of book smarts she'd gushed to Napheesa about when she thought he wasn't listening. Smarter, more accomplished men knew things he couldn't dream of learning – complex physics, ancient texts, and how to woo his sweet girl looking to obtain information far beyond her years. 

The need to dig deeper, to hurt Patrice more than she was hurting him by picking at the fresh wound growing wider and more bloody than when it was just a scrape, turned Terry's tongue into a flame thrower, unconcerned with who it burned in its quest for destruction. "All the phone calls and shit –" 

"Strike two, Terry! Stop cursing at me or I'm hanging up!" 

"I wish you would stop lying and just say you don’t love me for real. You love when I'm with you and stuck to you like glue, doin' whatever you ask, but you don't love me. Not like I love you." Another lie an immature mind had conjured in lonely moments, drowning him with the vile, bitter taste of grief. 

Napheesa bottled up the urge to yell out and act as Patrice's attorney, but Victoria couldn't hold back her displeasure. "Oh hell no," she whispered, hoping to get Patrice's attention. "Hang up on his rude ass!"

No dice. Patrice stopped her pacing to plant her body firmly in one spot and challenge Terry's assertion. "Where is that coming from? Somebody getting in your head, or you plain ol' lost your mind out there in Virginia?" 

"Ain't nothin' wrong with me," he answered plainly as if the conclusion he'd generated of his own volition was public knowledge. 

"No, there's obviously something wrong with you. Because I told you I didn't want to get married tomorrow, and you turned that into I don't love you at all! So, now it's time for you to stop lying. I know you want to get out of the barracks, but this isn't ho–" 

Napheesa's quick applause for Patrice's response became dwarfed by Terry's interjection. "It's not about the barracks, Patrice, and you know that! I just did 13 weeks in boot camp. You think I care about staying in the barracks? Stop playin’ with me!" 

"Then what is it?!" 

The line fell silent. Pensive glances exchanged between young women encountering this sort of fallout for the first time spoke volumes. A stutter acted as the only indication that someone else was still on the other line. 

Terry felt his heart drop into his boots. He could tell the truth. Unleashing the true depths of his fear would take little more than a deep breath and a willingness to share the weight of uncertainty with his best friend. 

He could have said he was spooked by stories of deployment and friends never returning to U.S. soil. He knew about what happened to families suddenly ripped apart by the everpresent possibility of death by American enemies. And, if he were honest, he could see himself being part of a number memorialized on special holidays and forever separated from his family. Being married would ensure his name lived on in some way. Mrs. Terrence Richmond indicated the existence of another. Terry hadn't considered the need for immortality until recently. Now, it was all he could think about. That and what Private Jackson said behind those thick glasses one evening.

In a plea to tell the truth, Terry could've spilled the contents of his heart and let it flow until his vessel was empty and they'd reached common ground. 

But he chose to add more fuel to flames burning with renewed ferocity. "Because that's what comes next." A half-assed explanation for a teenage boy suddenly thrust into a man's role. "We said we love each other. I have a job, and I'm getting my duty station soon, so we don't have to wait. I don't see what else we need. My parents got married young, and they're fine."

"TJ, we're not your parents! . Life was different then. Your mama didn't go to college. She didn't get a chance to see and meet other people!" Patrice's exasperation had uncorked the lid on a conversation shared between "just girls." Victoria and Napheesa watched her try to gather sentiments whispered in secret and tuck them back into her mind, equally wide-eyed and frantic. "Pooh, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that getting married now isn't a good idea. Why can't we wait? I know that I love you, but I also want the chance to finish what I started." Silence greeted her first. "Terry?" 

A cold chuckle followed soon after. 

"I figured it was that," he spoke as darkness settled on his shoulder.

"Figure it was what?" 

Quizzical looks exchanged between young women losing daylight and time to start a night of underaged hijinks filled the gaps in conversation. Napheesa rolled her eyes. Victoria started a slow countdown with an animated folding of her fingers. Patrice sat with a breath caught in her throat. Common sense screamed for her to hang up – to wish her beau a good night amid turmoil with hopes cooler heads would prevail by morning. But her body wouldn't take the leap, and Terry had one final trick up his sleeve. 

"What's his name?" 

Shock produced a dry laugh in place of profanities once Patrice allowed her body to make a sound. "Are you being serious right now? What's his name?" The thread of composure keeping Patrice from unraveling at the seams snapped and unspooled before she could patch the issue. She expected Terry to come back to his senses and restore the hope that he was different from the others. 

Waiting turned into grief. Grief turned into disbelief. Disbelief quickly gave way to a slow resignation. They were different in ways that made three weeks ago feel like a hallucination in the summer heat. "Terry. Are you…are you accusing me of cheating on you? Are you calling me a ho?" 

"You said that, not me." A fatal dagger. Regret consumed Terry instantly, the feeling clawing its way around his brain and wrestling with a latent nastiness passed from his father's father and the one before him. 

His accusation landed like a heavy blow on the other side of the phone, effectively wiping out three victims in one. Napheesa saw tears shining in Patrice's eyes through the haziness a light misting had caused in her own. Victoria prepared to take the phone out of Patrice's tightening grip, hoping to put an end to self-imposed torture and salvage what was left of their time together. She was no match for a grip so tight it almost cracked Patrice's device in half. 

Anger curled Patrice's lips into an unrecognizable snarl as she spat, "Fuck you, Terry!" into the receiver.

"Fuck you! Fuck all this! I should've never called yo’ ass!" 

"Strike three. I'm hanging up," Patrice announced before stomping over to the open container on her floor to furiously snatch items for an outfit she'd only half-planned. "I told you I love you and I meant it! I told you I was sorry, and I meant it! So, don't call me until you're ready to apologize." 

"Patrice, if you hang up right now, you don't ever have to worry about me calling you again." 

Napheesa's eyes grew wide as she whispered, "What the fuck?" to Victoria and received a flurry of curses in response.

His challenge stopped Patrice in her tracks. "Is that a threat?" 

"I swear to you. Do it, and we're done." Terry's only experience with ultimatums came against twin girls who would rather count sand on the beach than be banished from their brother's presence and friends who had labeled his rare tantrums as not worth the trouble of a back-and-forth. 

But he'd come against an immovable force as an unstoppable object. A stalemate. An impossible meeting of wills unwilling to bend or warp to find resolution. 

Scoffing, Patrice swiped blinding tears from her eyes and sniffled. "Bye, Terry. Call me when you grow up. Not a second sooner." 

"Patrice, do no–" 

While friends no longer concerned with Kappa parties rushed in to console a heaving, sobbing Patrice, Terry sat stunned with three beeps alerting him to a fear he hadn’t expected to realize. Alone. He'd never heard a silence so finite and cold. Removing the phone from his ear would make his educated assumption a reality. Without a fight, Patrice had pushed him out of her life and locked the door. 

There were no more greetings. No more giggles at midnight, no more 'I love you", and no more chances. Only the anger of apologies he refused to concede and the painful sting of a word he never hoped to say so soon. 

A painful lump distorted the quiver in his voice as he released a deep breath. He knew there'd be no answer, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to hold on to his last lifeline. Closing his eyes, Terry prayed for the best and prepared for the worst. 

"Hello?" 

Goodbye.

----

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[gauntletgirlie]

We need a Terry Pratchett style reimagining of The Silmarillion in which Melkor does not start out evil, or is never really evil, but is just a silly goose.

The Sillymarillion.

Melkor thought he was doing the gang a solid by trying to find the flame imperishable. He thought that was the point. He didn’t realise it was with Daddy Eru and his peers just left him to it “there he goes again, off wandering in The Void!”

“Do you think you should go after him Manwë? Check he’s okay?”

“Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Melkor not meaning to sing discordantly he just can’t sing for shit. Eru facepalming: he’s made Melkor the mightiest Ainur but forgot to give him a good voice. Eru plays this off as if this was the plan all along.

Melkor eagerly agreeing to go down and order things in Arda and just being a clumsy wazzock.

“Here Aulë let me help - whoops!” As he trips and flattens the mountain range Aulë has just finished raising up and polishing off. “Sorry about that… I’ll fix it!” Proceeds to build a volcano instead.

Ulmo, as the one with the best voice of the group (it’s said the song of creation is similar to the sound of water after all) and who particularly cringed at Melkor’s “singing”, keeps begging best pal Manwë to tell his brother to piss off or do as he’s told. Poor Melkor is just desperately trying to prove himself, his desperation mounting with each failed attempt.

Melkor finds himself constantly at odds with his peers, they’re always annoyed at him, telling him off and putting him down, so in the end he just thinks “fine then, screw them, I’ll do it my own way!”

Enter stage: Mairon! At first he’s trying to help Aulë out by being an ambassador to Melkor who frustrates his works the most, but then sees what a dorky goofball he actually is and immediately falls in love. The dude just needs some structure! Organisation! Mairon can help with that. Especially if it means he can spend more time with Mr. tall, dark, and handsome.

Then it’s just the murder husbands pratting around. Melkor destroys the lamps in his attempt to improve them and then plays it off as if he was always meant to totally ruin them actually and oh no Manwë don’t yell at me byeeeee! Oh Mairon you’re here thank The Void. Aha yes, mission accomplished! That was only a fraction of my power you know - oh no I’m shaking with, er, adrenaline! Yes! Not fear of my brother chasing me, no. Not that at all. Yes I would like to be held, a victory hug of course!

Everything he does never starts out with ill intent it just goes that way. Goes to “borrow” the Silmarils, gets in a row with Finwë and accidentally kills him. Doesn’t even notice for 10 minutes whilst he’s monologuing then is like - shit. Erm, time to run I guess!

Thinks bashing the trees of Valinor is a cute bonding exercise with his new bestie, Ungoliant. Doesn’t really think about them being destroyed, is having too much fun with his gal pal.

Realises he’s an idiot too late when Ungoliant asks for the Silmarils. Tries to hide them, in a truly useless attempt, then realises he’s no match for true feminine power and screams for Mairon, who coincidentally inhibits the only amount of femininity Melkor can hack.

“Look at the state of your hands! Those damned jewels have burned them!”

“Tis but a flesh wound!”

Pretends Fëanor does not scare the living hell out of him and acts as though he’s letting Gothmog and the gang prove their mettle.

Doesn’t particularly mind the siege as he’s more of a homeboy anyway and lockdown with Mairon is actually very fun in more ways than one…

Has a blast making dragons. Is so heckin proud of himself. Basically does a blog for Mairon of his progress and Mairon has a star chart for him to reward his good work.

Really CBA to fight this annoying little elf but okay guess I gotta save face with the gang and look good for Mairon. Ah hell as if he managed to hurt me! Play it cool, Melkor, Morgoth, whoever you are, play it cool for your hot maia husband. Er, excuse me, Manwë how dare you get involved!! Sending in an eagle is totes cheating!!

Devastated to be thwarted by feminine power once again though grateful this time he didn’t scream like a banshee on speed. Should’ve known better though, complete goose move to underestimate an elf just because she’s very pretty to look at. Misses Mairon all the more after his puppy is murdered.

Thinks he’s being nice letting Hurin have a world class view of proceedings. Sure he’s got the guy captured but he’s got a room with a view. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.

“Dragons will be dragons! Gotta let them do their thing!” Aka taking no responsibility for his offspring’s shenanigans.

“Guys, guys, can’t we talk about this? I’ll be good for real this time! Tulkas get off me- owww!” Proceeds to thrash around like an eel. “Eww, this totally does not work as necklace guys, it’s meant to be a crown! You’ve ruined Mairon’s work!” This last said with tears in his eyes.

Pines for Mairon whilst in The Void but then thinks… ooooh, maybe this time I can find that heckin flame!! Eru likes to tease him like a cat with a laser pen and sends him rushing around after various lights in the darkness. It keeps them both occupied.

I know I’ve missed bits of his tale out, but you get the gist. Melkor has great capacity to be a hilarious character and I for one would love to see more of that. Tolkien already wrote him with a dark sense of humour and inner whimsy and you can’t convince me otherwise.

[local-magpie]

this is one of the best examples why machine learning is so fascinating from a research perspective (and why i get so irritable when people conflate AI as a field with chatgpt and midjourney clones). HUMANS can tell the marines are humans, and trivally so. the machine was trained on humans, and has no idea they're humans. what can we learn about human cognition from this?

the thing about AI/ML, which makes fears of robot takeovers or AI sentience ridiculous to me & has me convinced the "AI fad" will blow over relatively fast, is that while we don't understand exactly how human cognition works, we DO know that it has to do with layers on layers on layers of heuristics (including heuristics to decide on a heuristic to use). what's a heuristic? well... it's what everyone above used in the exercise. the AI learned what a person walking looks like, and probably what "a person" looks like in common poses - but the AI didn't learn "humans somersaulting" or "humans camoflauged" or "what is a box and how is it supposed to act." AI have to be specifically trained and typically can only use very few heuristics at once, especially because we don't know how to mimic the way humans switch between them & the AI will easily get confused if you try to train it too broadly.

humans on the other hand are constantly learning and constantly determining new ways to apply that knowledge. if you'd never seen a somersault, you probably wouldn't know what the somersaulting marine was doing, but you'd know it was something coming at you and quite probably that it was a human, based off many other cues your brain learned over time and is able to mix together to figure things out. you know what a person looks like, and how they can move and bend in different ways, and then can extrapolate to a degree - you also likely know that virtually no other creature is bipedal AND moves in ways humans are capable of ("familiar" movement styles), and depending on your usual proximity to bipedal mammals your brain also likely filters out the probability of a hairless monkey in clothing coming at you to settle on "gotta be a person." the human brain is also capable of recognizing that that's A Thing and it is Coming At You, and probably also at speed, all of which is A Potential Concern - all of these are things machine learning struggles with and/or needs to be specifically trained to notice.

the contrast and having something to even try comparing to that we know the functionality of is what's so fascinating. we can compare cognition across different species, but the brain is a kind of fleshy black box we really haven't cracked in that way - the AI we have built and know the basic functionality and how it learns, even if what it learns and the specific way it will apply it is usually another black box. because we know the mechanisms of learning we're applying, we can use it to compare to our own mechanisms of learning and start to figure out where and how it falls short & try to seek a better mimicry method. i don't think all machine learning is doing this, to be clear, but it is absolutely the kind of research i find most interesting so obviously thats the only kind that matters

This screams clones to me

[tarithenurse]

Destined - 4

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Loki Odinson x fem!reader. Word count: 2529. Content: Lots of angsting, opposition through sustenance refusal, threatening behaviour, happy ending. A/N: Thanks for the ride, as unplanned as it was. I hope you liked it. As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

4.

You come to in darkness, head throbbing and mouth parched. Feeling around you, you appear to be in a narrow bed beyond which there’s a little table with a candlestick and matches. Greedily you light it, uncaring of who might be alerted to you being awake.

For a moment the little flame is all you see, warm and promising like hope rekindled. Then you look further, finding that the small room has yet another cot and that your father is lying on it, his gaze fixed on you.

There’s also a small window, rounded and thick with nothing but darkness on the other side and the occasional winking star. Is this a ship? If that’s the case, then where are you heading? The realms are vast and the journey from one place to the other can be long.

“I thought my actions would scare you to change your mind,” your father begins, “make you question if it was worth giving up your life for him.”

You can’t meet his gaze, feeling the accusation of having dismissed the love your family had bestowed on you so far. But you watch his movements as he sit up, putting on his heavy boots and tying them.

“One day you’ll understand that this is for the better,” he declares.

“Why?” There’s more strength in your voice than you had imagined possible. “Why do you hate him?”

“I swore an oath and I refuse to break it...but I will not see you doom yourself.”

The dismissal is clear. More so as he leaves the cabin and locks the door behind him. You catch a glimpse of someone standing guard outside, ruining your chance of escape even if you could unlock the door. And then what? You muse bitterly. On a ship in the vastness of the Astral Sea you would have nowhere to go even if you did get out. Locking the door is no more than a display of your father’s control over your situation.

Reaching for your neck, you feel that at least the necklace from Loki is still there and it brings some comfort although you worry what he might think when you do not return at the end of the day.

How long has it been? Is it already evening at home? What will Loki do when he realizes? Sighing, you have no way of knowing and you sink back on the lumpy pillow again.

Your father returns shortly with water and food, at least he has no intention of making you suffer needlessly, it seems. Then he leaves again.

---

The journey is hard to time as there is no sunrise or sunset but judging by the times you are fed and brought out to relieve yourself, you figure it’s a journey of barely a week. Surely, you must be sought for by then – you cannot imagine that Loki would believe you’ve left of your own free will.

Your father only communicates minimally with you, telling you to follow outside or eat or drink. You’ve contemplating rejecting what he gives you but you know Loki would want you to stay strong and so not only to you eat but you’ve taken to exercising as best as you can in the cramped space.

By the time the sky lightens outside and the ship docks, you recognize the port of Alfheim’s capital city. You should. You’ve spend many years here and it almost feels like coming home if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

Your father emerges to bring you up on deck where an escort of local dockworkers are ready, surrounding you and partially guiding the two of you onto the street and to a closed off vehicle that is waiting for the sole purpose of bringing you further away.

Trying to resist, to make a scene that will draw attention, you struggle against the hold of your father and the men but there are few people nearby and the ones you see observing you are maybe too worried to get involved because they turn their heads and say nothing. Do nothing.

“Cowards!” you yell at them just as you are lifted and literally tossed onto the floor of the carriage.

Your father follows, snarling at you to shut up. “One day you’ll thank me.”

“Never! You are the monster!”

He does not raise his hand, just pulls his mouth tight as he clambers in and allowing the door to be closed. A heartbeat later, the vehicle begins to move, bumbling on the uneven cobbled stones so your brain rattles and you must struggle to get onto the seat opposite of your father.

The journey is not long before the carriage comes to a halt and your father pulls down the window, leaning out and handing off some payment to someone.

“Help me!” you scream. “I’m being taken against my will!”

Sighing, the man who claims to care for you pulls out some more coins, gold gleaming in the sunlight, and adds them to the payment. He is, once more, using his wealth to get what he wants and you know that the silence he has bought will be hard to undo.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and you swipe angrily at them, not wanting your father to witness your despair but of course he sees it and for once he has to look away almost as if he’s ashamed. He can rot in his guilt for all you care, it’s no less than he deserves. And your mother? How could she allow this to happen to you?

This time the carriage rattles on for longer, the road eventually becoming more even as cobbled stones are replaced with a dirt road as the city falls behind you.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even.

“Somewhere safe.” He doesn’t look at you but rather at his nails as if trying to find just the smallest speck of dirt there.

“You think it will go over well? Abducting the love of the prince and the friend of the royal household?”

“Your mother has brought a message to the palace – a letter from you describing how you changed your mind and decided to not wreck havoc on your family.”

You gape. “They will know it’s a lie.”

“Will they?”

Of course you second guess it now that he challenges your faith but you have to believe it. Have to keep the hope alive or you’ll despair and so you nod with as much conviction as you can muster.

“He’ll come for me.”

---

You’ve been brought to a house out in the woods. It’s by no means a shabby place, but neat and tidy and with plenty of space to entertain guests or, in this case, house the rotation of guards that constantly supervise you and the butler that tends to your needs. Your father stayed with you for only a night before leaving again, telling you he will be back.

That’s the night you stop eating.

It’s hard when the hunger pulls at you, tempting you to dig into the delicious foods the butler presents you with as he kindly asks you to consider your actions and take care of your needs but you remind yourself that he’s your father’s man and not on your side.

You spend your days by the window, looking out into the wilderness and after a while it becomes easier as the hunger no longer hurts but becomes a dull gnawing instead. Spending your days bathing and caring for your appearance is not enough and you are almost thankful for the items that have been provided for recreational occupations such as embroidery, reading, writing – the latter reminding you of the note that was passed under the door when you were caught in the pantry.

Going to the dress, you find the now crumbled note and find that it indeed is from your mother.

“My dearest. I cannot soften his actions. I do not agree with him and I will find a way to set things right even if it costs me my marriage. Love, your mother.”

It is more than you had ever imagined from her but it gives you hope that she might reveal what has happened to Loki or the queen. Or Odin himself. Tugging the note away, it and the necklace you still wear becomes almost little effigies of the love and hope you must sustain.

One week turns into two and your energy is waning, your hands weak when you dress yourself and the steps sluggish. There is no lustre in your skin or hair and yet you power on, resisting your father’s will the only way you can.

You drink, knowing you must do at least that or perish too soon, and you suspect the butler tampers with the glasses of water because sometimes it tastes sweet and when that happens you put it aside, refusing to touch it until it has been replaced and tastes right again. But your senses are fooling you and often you have drunk more of the mixture than you should before realizing the mistake.

One day your father arrives, looking you over and sighing.

“You cannot continue doing this,” he admonishes you. “Will you starve yourself to death?”

“If I must,” you admit, though you would rather avoid it.

“You cannot force my hand. I will not take you back.”

Looking at him, you know he is speaking the truth. “Then so be it.”

---

You find it harder to concentrate on the small tasks you have set for yourself: the book lies open on the same page, the embroidery shows close to no progress, only a few stitches at a time. But worst is it when you stand or walk. The dizziness overtakes you then, causing you to find purchase on the wall or furniture until you can sit down again. Already your clothes do not fit you like they used to and you can see the concern on the butler’s face and in the increasingly impressive dishes he prepares for you.

And still you refuse.

You’re half asleep in the comfortable chair by the window one day when you hear a thunderous sound outside accompanied by a marvellous display of fragmented light.

All the guards jump to attention, some rushing outside while others come to you, weapons drawn but uncertain of what to do. You wonder if they would threaten you on your life to keep you there but then suppose that you will find out soon enough.

There are voices. Angry. Demanding. And you recognize that of Thor. Where is Loki?

Pushing to your feet, you want to go to them but you are pushed back into the chair only in part by the guard and mostly by your own weakness.

Thankfully, you do not have to wait long before the sound of running feet reach your room, slamming the door open and revealing an einherjar.

“Here, my lord!” she calls over her shoulder, though never fully taking the eyes of the guards by your side.

More people arrive, einherjar at first but eventually Loki and Thor stride in, parting the crowd with their presence.

You’ve never seen Loki this upset before. Nor Thor for that matter but it’s your prince your gaze is stuck on and the way his jaw works as he takes in the scene before him. Light shimmers in his hands and daggers appear but as he is about to take a step forward, Thor stops him.

“Will you let us take her without a fight?” the rumbles at the guards.

They glance at each other, clearly reaching the same conclusion that they have not been employed to deal with the princes and so they back away, lowering their weapons.

Another golden flicker and the daggers in Loki’s hands are gone although he glares not just at the guards but at his brother too as if he’d been longing for a fight.

Getting up, you take a few steps towards him before you can feel the dizziness return but then he’s by you, scooping you up as though you weighed nothing and tugging you to his chest.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave on your own accord,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Never.”

Turning, he carries you out of the house, followed by an entourage consisting of his brother, the einherjar, the guards, and a butler who looks a bit relieved.

“Hold on tight,” Loki whispers and suddenly the air around you is alive with a storm of fragmented light and wind.

It is the sensation of having left your guts behind that gets to you the most as you soar along the Bifrost – because that is what it is – but it does not take long for the slight nausea to pass and you pull yourself closer to your prince, allowing the wind to whip through your hair and clothes, knowing you are safe in his arms.

He crouches upon arrival, curling upon around your tired frame and refusing to let go even as others stretch out their arms to take you from him or to help him to his feet. Horses are waiting and as he places you upon one, briefly thereafter joining you, that is the only time he lets go of you and when he has you in his arms again, he holds you even tighter.

“You’re squishing me,” you feebly complain.

“Sorry.”

Loosening his hold only a fraction he gets the steed to move, quickly transitioning to a smooth gallop that takes you over the long rainbow bridge, through the city with the golden roofs, and to Valhalla that is stretching towards a clear blue sky.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest, “for coming for me.”

“Always,” is all he can get out, voice tight with emotions.

---

It takes a while for you to regain your strength and in that time you hear of the arrest of your father and the divorce he is facing. His decision.

Your mother, bless her, had finally rebelled against his decisions and gone to warn the All-Mother of your abduction at your own father’s hands but she had not known the details of your whereabouts which is why it had taken so long to find you. Your father was clever, warding you from Heimdal’s sight but it was not good enough. After losing his grip on you, when he also learned the truth of your mother’s actions, he had felt betrayed and demanded a divorce.

You haven’t seen either of them. Not yet and you aren’t certain that you will. But at least you hear that your mother has found a place to live on her own and you are certain you will go visit her some day.

You suppose it’s quite a scandal, at least if you judge it by the pitying looks from the servants you sometimes notice when they think you aren’t looking. But you couldn’t care less as you walk through the garden arm in arm with Loki or sit with him and his family at the dinner table.

You are safe.

You are loved.

[arthursknight]

it's a word that inspires more boredom than fear when you're made out of its ingredients, merlin supposes. curse.

men, grown and brutal, tremble at the mention of it. women avert their eyes and murmur apologies to keep it tamed and away, somewhere far from their hearths and doorsteps. kids are taught that jokes are not to be made in its name, and everyone in camelot-- and, by extension, merlin supposes everywhere the sun can reach-- has been taught, from the first crying breath, that magic lurks somewhere behind a shadow ready to catch its claws around your throat and curse you.

arthur is one of those kids, merlin supposes, where the lesson didn't truly land. he's been known to wiggle his fingers at a young knight who lands a lucky blow during training, cock an eyebrow and say in a voice that echoes too much of uther, "you didn't curse me, did you?"

it's funny, merlin can admit, the way their cheeks always stain tomato red as they stammer to prove they're not, you know, ensorcelling the future king by managing to best his parry for once. half the time, merlin knows from the sidelines, arthur lets them, even if he won't admit to it.

but it's arthur's joke to him, too. "i must have gotten cursed," he'll say when merlin's a few minutes behind bringing him his morning bread, "to have been saddled with someone so incapable of being able to tell time. we do have clocks in this kingdom, still, do we not, merlin? or has my father passed ordinances while i've been out hunting again?"

or, when merlin stumbles and spills the last of the wine arthur's been nursing from the skein on his way to try and put it back where arthur can no longer reach it, arthur will moan into his furs, "you can't be serious. is this some d-- devil-- devil--"

"devillry?"

"yes. are you-- 's trying to curse me?"

"by preventing your royal grumpiness come morning?" merlin quips. "nothing gets past you."

it's funny.

arthur can't know the half of it. arthur doesn't know what it's like to live with a curse (and will never, so long as merlin lives and walks this earth beside him, and there's a part of merlin that knows, terrified and ancient in his core, that that will be longer than any man may ever know). arthur doesn't know what it's like to wake every day, live a life that can never be honest, fall asleep listening to the earth calling his name and begging him to embrace his power only to wake up and ignore it with all his might. and-- gods. sure, that's fine. he can mope about the magic all he wants, he'll pencil it in. but-- it's this curse, right. the one where merlin can nod off during an important meeting of some sort or another and look up, only to find arthur secretly laughing at him, smile uninhibited, and his heart will turn to ember. or the one where arthur will already be up and at 'em come morning, somehow wired on energy from a brilliant idea or a new training exercise or just a good night's sleep, for once, and when merlin comes in the door, he'll sling his arm around him and say, "right, so now that you're *here*--," and he'll smell like forest and mulling spice and merlin's skin will sting electric. this curse. the one of arthur's wink across a fire in some woods near the edge of their land, on the precipice of danger, some joke merlin must not get. the one of his smile, bright and wide in the summer sun, women swooning on the side as merlin grumbles about being with an arrogant sod to cover his racing heart. this one isn't very funny at all, is it. and it's one he is sure he'll live alone with, as his other one. pencil this one in, too, beside saving arthur's sorry behind one more extra time this week and the errands he needs to run for gaius. nightmare about magic destiny, then washing up before going to clean the stables, then watching practice, then pining over the crown prince in a way that is horrific, then probably some sort of nonsense beast from a neighbouring kingdom. he'll have time enough. but it's one night of the same-- same as it always is, arthur making some quips, when he presses on the bruise a little too hard. something about how he wishes he could lift himself of the curse merlin brings to him during one of their rare late night card games. "right, well," merlin says, tired and empty from it like he sometimes gets, "i'll take my leave." they haven't finished. "we haven't finished," arthur laughs, confused, looking suddenly boyish. fuck. "wouldn't want to bring you even more bad luck," merlin forces. "curse and all." he doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard tonight when he's normally able to stomach it. maybe it's the weather, the heat. maybe it's the exhaustion. "you-- merlin, i wasn't being serious." "yes, well, it's not-- not a very funny joke, is it." christ. merlin has to steady himself by fiddling with his tunic so he can get his head back on. arthur tilts his head, then. it has been a long day-- a long week-- a long month. this has been a rare moment of reprieve, just the two of them, and merlin's gone and blown it with his cursed emotions. "merlin," arthur says, stern, but when merlin looks at him, it is not the hardened gaze of a bloodhungry father. it's calculating, soft, steady. "do not make me admit to you how much of an honour it is to have you at my side." the air leaves the room, a sudden whoosh. merlin catches himself before he does something stupid and makes the cards explode by sheer force of emotion or something. "oh," he says, a half laugh. "well--" "sit down," arthur huffs, "before i curse you." he already has, merlin knows. and he will, again and again. and merlin, damn him-- merlin will let him.

[queenoforeos]

apologies for the rant but saki’s world link treatment just reminded me of this and i just really wanna share honestly

i feel like… “exercise more” gets thrown around way too often. like okay that’s obvious but the thing is it might just be doing more harm than good?? in my eyes at least

i don’t exercise much. most of my hobbies are pretty low in terms of physical activity— drawing, writing, baking, etc. about two and a half years ago i fell down the stairs and hurt my knee. it’s still injured and (although i do hear it less now) both the doctors and my parents said this i wouldn’t have gotten as hurt if I just lost some weight and exercised more.

for context, i dislocated my kneecap, tore my acl, and chipped off a piece of cartilage. when they took me to the doctor, they said it was just some bone bruising, gave me crutches, and told me to come back in a month, when i should be able to walk again. i could not, and as they soon discovered, they severely misdiagnosed my issue. so they did a surgery, found out a year later that they messed up on that one, and did another, which they might’ve messed up as well (mri pending to figure that one out).

and if i just “exercised more,” the impact “wouldn’t have hurt me so badly.”

just so you know, i fell down two stairs.

Not two flights of stairs. Two steps of stairs.

my kneecap dislocated BEFORE i fell, which (i assume) is because of another knee injury i had since first grade that would cause my kneecap to get stuck while bending sometimes. the pain is what caught me off guard and made me trip. i don’t think exercising more would’ve helped much there. in fact, all that jumping and running around might’ve just made it more likely for my kneecap to dislocate at some other, less convenient time, in some other, less convenient place, instead of at my own house in the morning where everyone was home to help me.

at best, i felt mildly annoyed. at worst, i felt like somehow it was all my fault, that all of this could’ve been avoided if i just wasn’t so lazy and kept playing tennis or something, and that all i did was cause trouble by not exercising as much as i should’ve.

at my most recent doctor’s visit, they told me to exercise more and play sports. so i did. by most standards, the amount of exercise im getting as of this month is barely above average, and certainly less than what a tennis player might get for instance, but it’s still more than i used to.

i “should” be pain-free and “normal” by now. i’ve run out of physical therapy sessions. but i don’t remember the last time i went a day without limping or walking weirdly because my knee was bothering me. it has been zero days since i last felt pain, and the counter has stayed at zero for as long as i can remember. the more i walk, the more it hurts. it’s not looking likely that i’ll be getting another doctor appointment any time soon.

so, yeah. getting more exercise cures everything.

until it doesn’t.

[cuprohastes]

Aging is when the telomers (?) on your DNA shorten. They are like a fuse: once they burn down that’s it no more cell .

The reason that they do this is because if you have immortal cells… Well they just keep replicating and don’t die off and eventually just eat/replace everything else in sight. Or as we tend to refer to it, cancer.

This is not a designed system. Nobody sat there and planned this, this is the result of random mutation that didn’t kill our ancestors, or at least didn’t kill them before they had kids and passed this on to their offspring.

Whilst we would prefer that there was some specific single thing that we could hack by taking a couple of pills that would fix everything and let us live longer and longer, there are severe downsides to it.

Culturally does anybody want Elon Musk to be able to live 1000 years and just inhale everybody’s money while making stupider and stupider decisions until he’s literally destroyed everything?

Or would you really want to live a life where you have to go to a grindingly Terrible job for centuries on end? If you’re immortal, there is no retirement, and you keep getting fired so that somebody can hire somebody else with less experience who can be paid less money.

Biologically, if the only way to remove part of the population is to wait for them to accidentally fall into a wood chipper, then population pressure would either cause massive problems, or the birth rate would drop precipitously and we would be in a situation where eventually you would have communities where everybody was too old to have children, leaving only non-breeding adults who are slowly succumbing to wood chippers, with no replacement.

It is not in our best interest to have massively expanded lifespans.

Which is lucky because we can’t.

There are no existing treatments that can extend peoples life past their natural lifespan which turns out to be a maximum of about 114 years old.

A number that was partially derived from just looking at how old people have historically been able to reach. Which is complicated by the fact that almost all of them either lied about their age or predated documented births, and actually don’t know how old they are but have a guess.

But if you want to maximise your chances of hitting your own personal genetic oldest age, then definitely sunscreen.

Also look into clothes that block the Sun: UPF 50 rated cloth.

Make sure you hydrate, don’t eat so much refined sugar (it dehydrate your tissues and causes other problems with your teeth, pancreas and so on), get some mild exercise so your heart stays healthy, and do some yoga so that you keep your balance skills up-to-date to prevent yourself falling over when you’re older, and also to keep your ligaments nice and supple so that your movement isn’t impeded.

Other than that, there is almost literally nothing that will expand your lifespan.

scrunching my face real hard rn

[daily-odile]

sorry i was gone for a while i just got back from the mountains

[robininthewindow]

“Autistic sniper” “autistic engine”’”autistic medic” BIYCH THEYRE ALL AUTISTIC!!!!!

[swampthingking]

andrew’s definitely gotten in trouble with his pr manager for tweeting things along the lines of:

“no mania inducing medication will compare to the euphoria i will feel the day donald trump drops dead”

[rabidbehemoth]

I'm going through almost the exact same thing! It's been years since I wrote with any regularity, but I've spent those years doing my best to recover from severe burnout (due to Real Life And Other Tragedies).

I felt the spark again just recently after *so* long for a new story! And I knew it was time to try again. And, anon. Anon, look at me. I am grabbing you by the shoulders and looking into your eyes.

It. Is. So. Fucking. Hard.

It's hard! The blank page scares the shit out of me. Words are soooo slow to come, even with a detailed outline, and every tiny decision feels like agony. There is no flow state here.

And that makes sense. No matter how good this idea is, or how many times I've done this before, or what I think I ought to be able to expect from myself, these muscles are rusty. We haven't done this in ages. I think writing is like riding a bike in that you can't forget, but you can become out of practice.

I don't have a magic bullet solution, but I am absolutely certain, down to my marrow, that getting frustrated and angry and disappointed with myself is NOT going to help. It can only make things worse.

Some things I'm trying:

- decrease pressure. when I look at my writing calendar and see so many missed days, I just try to forgive myself. Being disappointed is dumb and only comes from a secret fear that I won't finish unless I pressure and bully myself. But I'm not on a deadline, this is supposed to be fun; I don't need to write often in order to finish, I just need to keep doing it until it's done. The fastest way I can think of to make it not worth doing is to feel bad about it.

- maximum word counts. We've all heard of minimums, but why not maximums? Helps prevent burnout. Helps me stop writing while I still have something left to say, which makes it easier to start again later. I leave little notes for myself like gifts to unwrap later.

- dopamine manipulation. Daydream, as suggested above! I'll sprint with friends, record and post my word counts, talk to friends about the plot, let them help me stay excited. @dementedpuppeteer ILY💜 this would be so much less fun without you!

- look for reasons for hangups. Sometimes it's not me, it's the story, though I'm quick to assume I'm the problem lol. Am I bored with the scene even if I love the idea? Would I rather be writing a different part? Is there an unanswered question I need to think about? Did a character do something unexpected that I've not sufficiently addressed in my own head?

And finally...

- be prepared to put down the pen if that's what your writer brain truly needs. It's not up to us. Sometimes we're just not ready to get back into it, and that needs to be honored and respected. It's not about forcing yourself to write and hating it the whole time, right? Some discomfort will always come with the territory because writing is hard work, but there should be good things too! Good feelings, joy, excitement, satisfaction, curiosity. All the reasons why we do this. If those aren't happening, that's important to pay attention to. Don't ignore pain and run on an injury, listen to it. If writing is too painful, stop. It will always be there when you're ready to try again. You can't lose it, you can just fall out of practice.

My god I didn't expect to vomit this all up but I really do feel for anon's situation, and my own! Putting this on paper really helped organize the thoughts I've been having lately around this. A great practice exercise, haha!

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Play fighting with Moth baby, but he let's us win every time <3

he just wants you to have fun, and if you're happy, he's happy!!

as revenge for Childe's impromptu sparring sessions, you've started suddenly tackling Foul Legacy, carefully of course. he doesn't fall- he usually doesn't even stumble- but he always chirps in surprise, catching and allowing you to clamber up his shoulders, wings fluttering all the while with amusement and delight. you gnaw on his shoulder, teeth lightly clacking against the armor, and Legacy gasps and pretends to swoon, lowering you both to the ground. you promptly lunge, rolling around on the soft grass and laughing so hard your stomach starts to hurt. Legacy pokes and prods you gingerly, not wanting to actually hurt you, playfully scratching your back with the tips of his claws

Legacy flops over with a dramatic chitter, pressing a hand to his forehead. you win, you win! he feigns fainting, cracking his crystalline eye back open as he listens to your stifled chuckling and lifting his arm, urging you to curl up beside him. his talons fiddle with the tips of your hair, purring and crooning softly in a language you don't understand. there's nothing and no one more precious than you, he's decided, running his claws gently up and down your arm to help you catch your breath. you're both a bit dusty from playfighting, your clothes mussed and his armor with a few smudges. but you just laugh again, bumping your head against his and earning a joyful chirp as he promptly nuzzles you back in his absolute favorite way, with his absolute favorite person ever

[abirddogmoment]

thinking about how much time and mental effort I put into making sure my dog is exercised and enriched every day vs the new (largely north american) trend of never walking your dog because "they get enough during the day" (it's one hour of high arousal sports training) (where they sit in a crate for 40 mins of that) (and maybe a romp in a postcard-sized backyard if they're lucky) ((it's not enough for most dogs)) ((they're bragging about it))

[pastawayallday]

So... i was cooking something.

It's not spiderverse and i gave up halfway with the shadows because i no longer have time to work on it, but i thought it was decent enough to put here.

Overall, it was a nice exercise.

[ultimateaclrecovery]

Topped off my arm workout with a hard bike ride. My gyms bike has fun off brand peleton workouts and this hiit workout was so. So. Hard.

Also the gym today was so full of badass women doing hard things and I loved it.

I’m finally reaching the point with my hamstring strain where I can do real workouts again and my mood has shot through the roof. I am such a sad potato girl when I don’t get enough exercise