#cos sometimes they merge in to one

[endawna]

the warden & co can find pax wandering along the road towards lothering and then being cornered by the bandits enforcing a toll. while he isn’t able to understand what they’re saying and they aren’t able to understand him as he’s speaking cyrodilic ( latin, basically ), he gathers rather quickly what they are trying to do. he’s the first to draw on them and initiates the fight when the leader places a hand on his breastplate to push him back . if they choose not to help, he’ll still defeat them but has to resort to using his magic to aid him. in his agitation and confusion, he’ll be on edge with the group after the battle. if they help him, he’ll be much more relaxed but it’s clear he’s rather….out of sorts. communication is strained at first because he doesn’t know the common language enough for conversation. however, the demon possessing him does. it slowly lends him it’s knowledge as pax is able to….coerce it into doing so. the crew can help him learn the language, as well.

[noxlotl]

Art style breakdown /tutorial(??)

Some friends asked so here we go : disclaimer im bad at explaining (so feel free to send an ask or smth)

Final art (long read so theres a timelapse at the end)

If its not for something important (commissions), i dont usually make a lineart for a drawing but just clean up the sketch , it wont be used anyway

I usually separate them by colors , mostly so i can Alpha lock them and not worry about coloring over parts

When coloring i use a soft airbrush to have gradients within the shading , so its not one solid color . How i shade is very blocky , lots of triangles lol (if im using CSP i love using the lasso fill tool ) but there are parts especially in the skin where I keep it smooth and blended, usually nose and cheek area . Using an asaro head is usually a good start to learning how to shade faces with planes in mind

Depends on the character, but I like adding shadows on the lashes/brows itself , make it look solid and 3d , it makes the eyes pop more imo

Using multiply layer to make the shadows darker for more contrast

At some point I’d merge everything together so i can just paint in one layer, easier to fix things with liquify too ; if im in CSP i keep the separate layers in one folder just in case i need em later but i cant really do that in Procreate cos of layer limits

This is the part where i make the shading more painterly .,To make the shading look sharper , i like adding lines on the edges .

The fun part : adding the ✨

This is the part where I add textures , either from texture images or with screentone/hatching brushes. This is also around the part where i add the character’s accessories and stuff like scars and freckles (its just easier to add smaller things near the end than having them accidentally painted over at the start)

Whenever I feel like the drawing looks too much of a similar shade / temperature , I use a gradient map+layer effects (masked) on parts to give it variety . Technically you can do this by just having a layer effect on and manually adding colors but gradient maps make me go “ooooh didnt think of that color there “

CSP also has a posterization filter that i like using when i feel like some part looks too smooth to me.

I sometimes add in sketchy lines , and seeing how cool it looks in Marvel Rivals art ive been adding it more lol

Artists that influenced me are : Nesskain, Toni Infante , Valorant’s 2d art(their main artist is Suke) ,Arcane , Spiderverse and the most recent one ive been obsessing over is Marvel Rivals ( its got everything i want my art to be when it grows older lmao )

[lovelyzzzz777]

AstroRevelations Vol. XIV – “You feel like home, or maybe you don’t…” 🌙✨

(Moon in the Houses – Synastry Edition)

🌙 Moon in the 1st House – "I can read your heart like a mirror." There’s an instant emotional familiarity. The Moon person feels safe showing vulnerability, while the house person might feel seen—sometimes too seen. Comforting if mutual, but overwhelming if one’s not ready for that closeness.

🌙 Moon in the 2nd House – "You feel like emotional stability… or like a storm shaking my ground." The Moon person supports or challenges the house person’s sense of security. They might nurture them materially or emotionally—or trigger money/anxiety issues if unresolved wounds surface.

🌙 Moon in the 3rd House – "We talk like we’ve known each other forever." There’s emotional ease in communication. The Moon person brings softness or moodiness to the house person’s thinking and speaking. Could be a shoulder to lean on—or create misunderstandings if emotional vs rational styles clash.

🌙 Moon in the 4th House – "You’ve touched the parts of me I usually hide." One of the deepest placements. The Moon person stirs up childhood memories and raw emotional patterns. Healing and intimate if both are self-aware—painful if it triggers unresolved family baggage.

🌙 Moon in the 5th House – "You make my heart feel young again." Emotional joy, creativity, and affection. The Moon person brings emotional color to the house person’s self-expression. But if it’s not reciprocated, the Moon might feel like a toy instead of a muse.

🌙 Moon in the 6th House – "You take care of me in ways I didn’t know I needed." Supportive in practical ways. The Moon person may nurture through daily acts or routines. But if unbalanced, the dynamic can become emotionally draining or feel like emotional servitude.

🌙 Moon in the 7th House – "You reflect back my emotional needs." There’s a magnetic pull toward partnership. The Moon person feels like an ideal companion, but also triggers deep relational needs. If there’s insecurity, it can turn clingy or co-dependent.

🌙 Moon in the 8th House – "You touch my soul—and my fears." Intense emotional intimacy. The Moon person stirs deep psychological reactions. Can feel karmic, healing, or obsessive. Vulnerability is the price of this kind of emotional merging.

🌙 Moon in the 9th House – "You expand my emotional horizons." The Moon person inspires the house person to feel more hopeful, adventurous, or spiritually connected. But if values clash, emotional disconnection or judgment can form.

🌙 Moon in the 10th House – "You make me feel seen—or exposed." The Moon person affects how the house person is perceived in public or career. Can provide nurturing support—or feel like an emotional weight if expectations are too high or performative.

🌙 Moon in the 11th House – "You feel like a best friend or a dream I never dared to feel." There’s emotional understanding through shared ideals or community. The Moon person might nurture the house person’s social life—but could also feel lost in a sea of people if intimacy lacks depth.

🌙 Moon in the 12th House – "You awaken my shadows and soothe my soul." This is a psychic, intuitive bond. The Moon person triggers unconscious emotional patterns in the house person. Soulful or confusing—sometimes both. There may be emotional sacrifice or hidden feelings.

[the-badger-mole]

Father of the Bride

Hakoda swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. He had imagined this day so many times since Katara's birth. The details were different, though. She wasn't marrying a proven warrior from among their people. That was fine. She had spent so much time traveling the world, expanding her horizons, creating her own paths. Hakoda didn't think there were one in a thousand men at home who could keep up with the woman his daughter had become, and he had resigned himself to the fact that she might not end up with a Southern Tribe man years ago.

But he hadn't considered that her marriage might take her so permanently from home. A foolish oversight on his part, he admitted. And at least she would have the means to visit her family a few times a year. Still, he felt a pang. Same one he felt when he left his children behind with Kanna to go fight a war too big for him. Now that pang was tempered with bittersweet happiness as he watched the final preparations being made on Katara's wedding gown-a stunning piece of art even to Hakoda's untrained eye. All silks and linens in shades of blue and silver that recalled the bridal outfits of her homeland. Furs and leathers would be too hot for the climate, but Katara wanted to tell everyone up front how she would bring her own culture to merge with her new people. Her groom-to-be not only supported this decision, but had come to Hakoda and Sokka to ask them how he, too, could incorporate the Southern Water Tribe into the wedding on his end. That had been a long night, with strong drinks and stronger emotions, but at the end of it, Hakoda had decided that despite his initial misgivings about the marriage, he couldn't have picked a better son-in-law than Zuko.

Fire Lord Zuko. Fire Lord Zuko was going to be his son-in-law. Sometimes the thought made Hakoda chuckle. Sometimes it sent a chill down his spine. Not that he was worried about Zuko himself, but Katara's proximity to his throne. The crown. She would be coronated the next night in a ceremony as lavish as the wedding. She would become the Fire Lady. Co-ruler of the country that had spent a hundred years ruining countless lives with a war over something as silly as imperialist pride. Hakoda didn't think they deserved his daughter. If Zuko had earned his trust and respect, the rest of the Fire Nation certainly haven't. Not the nobles, anyway. When he brought them up to Katara, she laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes, which were flint hard and grimly determined. She told him no matter where she went in the world, she would have to fight for any respect she got. At least here she would have Zuko fighting beside her. Hakoda wasn't sure he agreed that was a worthy trade off, but he knew better than to try to talk his daughter out of it.

The Fire Nation had already benefited from her presence. As a foreign advisor, she had fostered trade and exchange agreements between the Fire Nation and all of the Water Tribes, Omashu and Gaoling. As an ambassador, she'd helped negotiate reparation packages that have helped the parts of the world hit hardest by the war recover. As one of Zuko's most trusted counselors, she'd helped him work the Fire Nation's budget so the government could provide for education, health and services for returning soldiers. The same kinds of programs she'd helped Hakoda and Sokka build in the Southern Water Tribe. It suddenly struck Hakoda that she had been acting as Fire Lady for a long time. Before she and Zuko had even realized they were in love, maybe. Today and tomorrow would just make it official. Hakoda still didn't think the Fire Nation deserved a Katara, but any chance he had of talking her out of it had long since slipped by him. And he now he wasn't sure he would talk her out of it, even if he did have the chance.

The final touches were done. The maids stepped back in a flurry of excited chatter. Kanna stepped forward, moving stiffly in her old age, smiling up at her granddaughter through tears. She had had this moment with Kya years ago, and Kya should be standing in her place now. Kanna reached out and ran her fingertips over the necklace she had passed to her daughter, and her daughter had passed on to Katara. Kya was here, Kanna assured herself. And Kya would be here with Katara as she made these next steps, first as a wife, then as a queen, then someday as a mother and grandmother herself.

"She would be so proud," Kanna told Katara. The two women embraced. Then Katara stood up, head high and looking as regal as any queen in any nation ever had, and turned to Hakoda.

"Are you ready, Dad?" she asked. Hakoda shook his head.

"I was never going to be ready for this," he confessed. "But it doesn't matter. You are ready."

[lightwing-s]

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐑

pairing: dick grayson x fem! reader

summary: as an intern at the police department you should know how to separate work from personal life, but when officer dreamy comes after you, you can't help it but mix them together

rating: 18+ (MDNI)

word count: 6,2k warnings: unprotected sex, cum eating, handjob (f receiving), slight overstimulation, a lot of pinning for each other

a/n: i gave up proof reading halfway because i was sleepy, so it might be okay at first and then become messy. sorta base on my experience working at a police precinct earlier this year, but not faithful (at all) to reality.

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

⌜masterlist⌟ ⌜requests⌟

Jumping off the last step down the bus, you rush into the streets, swerving through the crowds, bumping against people, getting sworn at by some, and somehow managing your way through the busy mess that was Gotham’s early mornings.

The headphones glued to your ear were the only thing trying to distract you from all the chaos that was the start of your day, but as the shuffle merged bossa nova into 2000s punk rock, you felt your body react and jump into a faster pace on your way to work. Within each step, the Greek columns of the old imposing building of the Gotham City’s Police Department grew bigger in the horizon, letting you know your commute was close to its end.

Beep beep, your watch announced the start of your shift. Damn it, you were late again. Trying to speed up your steps, you felt your calves start to burn, but the building soon was right in front of you, a couple of steps separating you both.

“Good morning, Yn.” greeted one of the officers, as you passed by him in a rush, as you made your way up the large steps without somehow managing to trip as he was bound somewhere else, already deep into the rash routine of being a police officer at the country’s most dangerous city.

Bursting through the doors, you look around to see if your supervisor, officer McCaffrey, was anywhere near. He hated you and had been on your ass since you started arriving a bit later than you were supposed to, a move further away from the precinct ruining your commute times.

Not seeing his growing bald head anywhere around, you jump ahead and find your way to your desk, stacked with piles and piles of papers, old cases handed to you to be typed and launched into this new software funded by Mr. Bruce Wayne.

Interning at a police station wasn’t exactly a part of your meticulously drawn up plan to get into law school, as law enforcement was on the far bottom of your list of possible careers to choose for your future. However, from day one you were surprised by how much you enjoyed working at the department, by how much you enjoyed the people, both your co-workers and, weirdly, the criminals you got to meet on a daily basis. 

Sometimes it was too much, juggling school work and the internship, plus all the side hustles you had to take just to make it through college without starving to death. But it all had its good sides. Sometimes, some really good ones.

Placing your bag over the pile of cases, you were about to go around your desk and sit down on the rather uncomfortable chair to start typing those damned cases away, when the rough voice of the main antagonist of this current season of your life reached your ears. 

“Miss, Ys,” your supervisor called. Rolling your eyes, you forced yourself to remain still, a lot of effort put into not throwing your head back in defeat as you turned around to meet face of your tormentor for the first time that day. “Thought you started your program at…” he dragged himself out, looking at his clock. “Exactly fifteen minutes ago.”

“Hello, officer McCaffrey.” you forced out a smile while greeting him. “Well, I was here fifteen minutes ago, you must have missed me.”

You confidently tried to lie, hoping the time spent with suspected criminals had taught you something, but being sure your face must have told him the opposite of what you meant. “I’m pretty sure I looked all over for you.”

“Are you sure?” you feigned innocence when trying once more.

“Miss Yn, this is a serious institution and if you’re not going to cooperate by doing your job properly I’m sorry to inform you that…” 

“You won’t need it, Christian.” a deeper voice cut your supervisor off as he started to scold you again. The voice, a tone you could easily identify from how much you’d heard it and dreamed of it in the past few months. “I stopped Miss Yn outside for a talk. I did not think there would be any problem.”

Sounding much more confident in his lie than you did, you were sure you could’ve fallen for it if it wasn’t of you he was talking about.

“Officer Grayson, Miss Ys has got a job to finish, she doesn’t need to go around having conversations with what I imagine are busy policemen.” officer Tormentor replied, not even caring to turn around and face the other voice’s owner, disdain covering each and everyone of his words.

“We were just discussing a case, it’s not that big of a deal. Right, Yn?” Officer Grayson called you by your first name along with a wink, the remaining energy left from not rolling your eyes at officer McCaffrey earlier keeping you from melting at how sweet your name sounded coming out of his mouth. 

McCaffrey finally turned to face your white night in a white button-up, only his back in your line of view now as you were still paralyzed in your spot, the image of Officer Grayson trapping your attention from anything else in the precinct.

“Dick,” your supervisor continued, the name sounding off of him like an annoyance. ”You’re not supposed to share confidential information with the students.” He told him bitterly.

“Aren’t they here to learn about our job, Christian?” Officer Grayson replied, the same annoyance playing on his tongue, but at the same time full of an uplifting fun only Dick Grayson could master and that you were sure only annoyed Christian more.

Facing the sudden silence between you three, you noticed Officer Grayson’s eyebrow raising, challenging his fellow officer to complain about you one more time.

“Sure, but…”

“I was doing just that, making sure Yn’s internship actually brings some value to her future.” Grayson cut him once more. “No sensitive information was shared, just the look of an investigation through a detective’s eye. And even so, miss Yn is one of the most competent interns we’ve had in a while and I’m sure she would’ve been able to keep any information she might’ve gotten. I’m sure talking with actual officers is much more beneficial than typing old cases into a system.”

Silence overcame you three again, Grayson’s words having a certain impact on you. Your shoes, stained and in desperate need of a wash, suddenly became interesting as you lowered your face to hide the burning red on your cheeks. The insides of your lips were chewed on, stopping the smile from spreading on your face.

Finally looking up, your eyes briefly met Officer Grayson’s, but you moved away quickly, afraid of what they might’ve done to you. 

Officer McCaffrey opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his mind certainly trying to muster a comeback to Grayson’s defense of you but clearly failing to do so. His eyes moved from you to his coworker, and you wondered what was going through his head.

Whatever it was, it would never live up to Officer Dick Grayson. He just never would.

“Very well,” McCaffrey finally spoke, turning to face you with a displeased expression. “Get on with your typing.”

Turning on his heel, McCaffrey walked away from the two of you, the hardness of his hips making his walk look funny and with the bald spot growing in his head the both of you let out a soft chuckle.

Resting your butt on the desk behind you, the need of formality gone with your supervisor, you took this time to eye up the man left with you. 

That man didn’t have a bad looking day, showing up like a greek god every single day at work. He wore his usual white button-up shirt, rolled up to his elbows and exposing his thick forearms, built effortlessly at the gym - you were sure -, and decorated with veins you secretly wanted to map with your fingertips. 

He wore gray pants today, a color he often varied with either dark blue, black or beige, but the latter, thankfully, becoming rarer with each passing day. It didn’t compliment him, making his look rather boring in your opinion, nor did it match well with any of his shoes, probably more expensive than anything you owned. 

His badge and gun hang on his hips, held on the black belt made of the most sophisticated leather in the world, or so you’d bet. He seemed to take good care of himself, as not only his skin glistened like a glazed donut, but he exuded a strong woody smell, following him along to every room he entered.

However, the lack of a tie and the untidy hair signaled to you he might’ve been just as late as you were. And still, he looked majestic. The highlight of your long hours at the precinct.

“Hello, officer Grayson.” you greeted him shyly. You certainly should not have spent too much of your days simply just watching him go on about his work, but it was a habit you had created and that was hard not to do, his simple presence was enough to overwhelm you.

“Good morning, Yn. Haven’t had an easy morning, I see?” he raised his eyebrow at you this time, a playful smiling playing on his face. 

“You too, right?” slipped out of your mouth quicker than you’d wished, almost slapping your face out of sheer frustration.

His head bent to the side, a question forming on his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, but soon returning to the playful expression you were used to. “I see your detective skills have been improving.”

“I-I just noticed you’re not wearing a t-tie like you usually do and your hair seems messy, that’s all.” you said without pausing for air and his smile only seemed to grow.

“Relax, Yn,” he dragged out. “I just had to stay up till late last night. What’s your excuse?”

“Commuting has been hell. I just moved to a new apartment.” you told him, nodding for absolutely no reason. He didn’t seem pleased with your answer, eagerly waiting for you to continue. “At the Amusement Mile.”

“Amusement Mile?!” he exclaimed. “That’s basically on the other side of the city.”

Yep, you worded, or not. You were not sure.

“And really dangerous, Yn.” he sounded worried. “Make sure to not leave too late, okay?”

“I’ll try.” you replied, but he still didn’t seem pleased. “I promise?”

You were not sure what kind of tone this conversation had. You and Officer Grayson had always been friendly, as he always came by your desk to wish you a good day or night, to bring you coffee as he did with his coworkers, or to ask you about how classes were going and if the internship wasn’t getting in the way of your studies.

It all sounded friendly to you, as if he only saw you as a younger sister or something like that. Sadly to you, that seemed to be a reality. But today, the friendliness sounded less friendly, for some reason, or maybe they were just the voices of hope playing with your mind.

“Good, I’ll have to work now, and I think so do you. Having fun with typing?”

“It really could be worse.” You joked, bringing out a laugh from him, filling your ears and making your heart pump faster.

“Have a nice day, Yn.” 

“You too, officer.” you eagerly replied, watching as he too walked away from you.

Finally sitting down on your chair, you let out a huge sigh, Officer Dreamy, as you kindly nicknamed him to yourself, stuck in your head. You knew it was inappropriate to harvest a crush on a superior at work, but gosh was it hard to.

“And Yn?” his voice startled you. 

“Hmm” you managed to hum as you found his head poking out from behind a wall.

“Call me Dick.”

Lights went off one by one around you, as you still sat on your desk, files of cases long forgotten, while you typed in a class project you were due very soon. 

As life worked conspired to put you down, your laptop had given up on you, deciding that the smokey life was the way to go now and simply choosing not to work ever again. So, you had to stick around the precinct or the library till the wee hours of the night if you wanted to get any uni work done.

“Yn” a voice called you, starling you out of your seat. “Still here?”

Officer Grayson, looking as tired as you must have looked, made his way to your desk. In his hands, some papers you’d come to know were cases he took frequently to study at home.

“I have to finish an essay.” you informed, voice almost not making it out, as you had neglected your health and hadn’t gotten a single sip of water all day.

“What happened to your computer? I remember you bringing one before.”

“Decided to give out smoke signals, I guess.” you joked, managing to steal a smile from him. “It broke, and I’m too broke to fix it, so I have to stay here if I want to finish this essay tonight.”

Your eyes itched from the extensive exposure to the computer lights, your back also causing you discomfort. But you still had work to do, so there was no way you were leaving any time soon, and quickly you returned your attention to your essay ignoring, for once, your favorite male presence in the precinct as you didn’t want to miss the peak of energy and creativity you had gotten to.

As you typed unaware of his lingering presence, Officer Grayson stood by your desk for a while, watching as you swiftly typed word after word of your homework. “You aren’t going to stay here till too late, right?”

“I’m not sure.” you moaned, rubbing your eyes with the palm of your hands. “I really have to finish this but I’m not even close.”

Returning your gaze to him, you found his eyes and they bore into your, making your breath get caught up in your throat and your heart to skip a beat. You wanted to focus on your school work and go home, get some much needed sleep before starting your routine all over again, but Dick’s mere presence  pushed away all your academic thoughts.

It was like his body irradiated an energy, a gravity field, that pulled you in from wherever you were. That trapped your attention, leaving you breathless even though you hadn’t run, leaving your head heavy as the most painful headache, leaving you completely, deeply, under his spell.

As you focused on him, you noticed the bags forming under his eyes and his much messier hair, as if he had, and he did, spent hours running his fingers through it as an attempt to concentrate. His clothes were ruffled, and you swore his belt seemed to have been loosed at some point during the day. 

To you, he was like a painting at an art gallery. Exquisite, expensive, beautifully breathtaking… and forever unreachable.

On a scale from one to ten, you were minus forty in the levels of importance inside the department. Nobody really cared for the interns. They were nice and all, but they knew they wouldn’t last long, so why bother connecting, why bother giving them too much attention. And yet, officer Grayson would come over to you, every single day, saying his “his” and “goodbyes”, wishing you a good morning, a good night, a great weekend.

He was truly a being out of this world. A gentleman amongst mere humans, too kind, too sweet for this world, for this city. You often wondered how the hell did he, the son of a billionaire, end up working with the police, and the answered you always came up with was that he must have been the only truly good and altruistic person alive, opting to care for the people instead of being a pretentious heir like many others.

If he had looked over at your computer screen, he’d have found a soup of words that together made zero sense, as your mind couldn’t only write Dick Dick Dick Dick, in both meanings of the word.

“A-hem.” he coughed breaking your awkward stare competition. “I have to get going, Yn. Please don’t stay up too late, and message me when you get home.”

“I don’t have your number.” you mindlessly blurted out.

“I have yours,” he stated, catching you off guard. “I’ll text you. See you tomorrow?” he asked, seeming actually interested in a positive answer.

“Uh-huh.”

“See you, then. Goodbye, Miss Ys.”

“Goodbye, officer.”

It was past midnight when you eventually turned off your computer and headed out of the police department. Sleepiness weighs your body down, making each step a harder task than it should've been.

Saying your goodbyes to the officers working the night shift, many of those telling you to be careful as they feared the dangerous Gotham nights would turn you into one more of its victims, you made your way down the large set of steps, an activity much easier than climbing them in the morning.

As you step into the sidewalk you’re embraced by the darkness. The cold breeze hitting you, making you wrap your jacket tightly around your body, a shield from the freezing weather and the demons of the night. Your bag is glued to your hips and your eyes scanning the area for any strange movement.

You’re glad some of those police officers had been kind enough to teach you how to realize some signs before anything bad happens, applying it to your everyday life as you could never be sure of your surroundings in this city.

When you turned right on the first corner, a moving shadow had your neck hairs up and a shiver running up your spine. Your fight or flight instincts overcoming you as your steps grew faster and faster.

“Yn, wait!” you heard the shadow owner scream, your heart skipping a beat before your mind could make up the situation. It took you a while to figure out who the scream belonged to, the fear blinding your senses and preventing you from forming any type of judgment, but something in you clicked and upon turning around it everything was all made clear.

“Officer Grayson?” you questioned, confused by his appearance as he had gone home almost two hours earlier. He now wore a pair of dark gray or black sweatpants, the faint light hindering your perception, a black t-shirt and a thick overall to shield him from the cold. The tips of his hair dripped with a few droplets of water, and even in the darkness you could make up his red nose gifted by the freezing weather. 

He looked cozy, huggable, like a plushie pillow you hugged to go to bed. This look on him made your chest warm up and you swore you wouldn’t need a jacket soon.

“Why are you following me? Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Yn. I thought it’d be better if I didn’t scream, but maybe I was wrong,” he apologized, rushing the words out of his mouth.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here.” you smiled, unable to hide the joy from seeing him again. Your smile made him feel less bad for scaring you, but his eyes still looked into yours like he apologized for it. 

“I didn’t get your text.” he said, his statement confusing you a little. “That you were going home?”

Oh, that! It was your turn to feel bad, your cheeks, if possible for him to see, painted red but not from the coldness.

“I was expecting your text and didn’t get it, so I showered and came here to see if you’d gone home and I found you still in your computer. I was waiting for you to come out.”

YOU WERE WAITING FOR ME?!, you wanted to scream, his words making your head spin, trying to work out the reason why they came out of his pretty lips. The idea of him waiting for god knows how long till you finished your essay making you dizzy.

“It didn’t feel right letting you go home alone at this hour.” he continued to explain, seemingly aware of the questions inside your head. “So I came back after taking a shower to pick you up.”

HE CAME BACK. HE WENT HOME. TOOK A SHOWER, A SHOWER HE PROBABLY, DEFINITELY, TOOK NAKED. AND CAME BACK TO PICK ME UP????

Oh lord, your head was truly spinning and you hoped you weren’t dizzy enough to end up falling and making a fool of yourself. No single sentence was merged in your mind, your lips blurting out whatever overcame them without any filter: “The subway isn’t empty.”

He chuckled at your silly response and reaching for his coat’s pocket, he picked up his car keys, shaking them in front of your eyes. “Are you declining a ride home? Thought you’d love to ride in a Porsche tonight.”

At the sound of “Porsche”, you let out an excited giggle. You always wanted to find out what car Dick drove, a man’s choice of vehicle being a way into understanding his lifestyle and tastes, and not only were you finding out now but you were also getting to ride in it with him.

“I think it’s an offer I can’t really let pass.”

Showing you the way to his car with his head, he let you walk past him, and when you did his hand met your waist as he guided you in its direction. 

It was like you entered into another reality when you crossed the Police Department’s doors, meeting an Officer Dick Grayson that you always dreamed of but never expected to become a reality.

The warm touch of his hand on the small of your back gave you shivers along with a sense of safety not even a room full of police officers had given you. It was different, somehow, in a way you found hard to explain, but that made your heart beat nervously, your breathing to get hectic and your stomach to take turns.

Soon, the silvery car was beside you and the man opened the passenger door for you with his free hand. You thanked him and slid inside the car, the warmed leather seats a comfortable welcome after hours spent on the painful cheap chair by your desk, and when he closed the door you took the few seconds until he was sat beside you to at least try to recollect yourself.

Richard John Grayson isn’t just giving you a ride, he came all the way from his home to do so. You didn’t know where he lives, but it couldn’t be too close. He went out of his way to do that for you, and what that meant frightened you a little.

The warmness of the seats couldn’t compare to what his touch had made you feel. As his hand slid off of your skin you let out a low moan you hoped he didn’t have the time to listen to, already missing the feeling he had given you.

It made you both afraid, nervous and excited, and you couldn’t help the smile from spreading on your lips, even when biting down on them or chewing the insides of your cheeks. You sat still, spine straight and hands resting on top of your bag laid up on your lap, while he calmly walked to the driver’s side, the opposite reflection of how he made you feel.

“Amusement Mile?” he looked at you for confirmation, the engine of the car warming up. Your eyes were glued to his every movement, admiring every single breath he took.

You simply shook your head to answer, biting on your bottom lip in contemplation.

“It’s gonna be a long ride, so make yourself comfortable.” he told you before continuing. “And I almost forgot…”

Reaching for something behind your seat, you felt his breath on your neck, sending more shiver up your spine, a recurring thing tonight. “I got you some soup. To warm up.”

“Wow. Thank you, officer.”

“Yn?” he called you and you hummed, letting him continue. “What did I tell you to call me?”

“I’m sorry.” you apologized, remembering the moment you’d shared earlier. “Thank you, Dick.”

“Perfect.” 

Turned just enough to face you, it was his time to bite on his lip, the sight sending your hormones to overdrive. 

The ride was mostly silent, as you both felt comfortable in just each other’s presence. You drank your soup and he drove carefully to not make it spill. He left his playlist on shuffle and you commented on a few surprising tunes.

“I didn’t take you for a reggaeton kind of guy.”

“Hey, I appreciate the sounds of many different cultures!”

 And faster than you had wished for, you two were parked by your front door.

“Thank you, offic… Dick, really. I would have taken at least double the time to arrive by subway, so I really cannot thank you enough for this, you really didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense, I’m always here to help, and I wouldn’t sleep well knowing you could be in danger.”

For the 1000th time tonight, your cheeks grew scarlet and you avoided Dick’s eyes. The yawn coming out of you the perfect getaway from the situation you didn’t not know how to handle.

“I better get going, or else I’m just gonna take a nap before having to go back to the precinct all over again.” you sent him a smile before opening the door, but before you stepped outside you felt his hand touch you again, this time reaching for you tight.

“If you want to, I can pick you up tomorrow morning.” his thumb lightly drew patterns in your jeans, and you could feel a hit of sweat on the palm of his hands and the spot on your tight grew humid.

“It would be asking for too much.”

“No it wouldn’t.” he didn’t wait for you to finish. “I’d love to.”

He had your full attention, his eyes trapping yours in a drunken haze. The air around you got thicker, warmer, too hot, as if the winter night was just a mere illusion outside the car. You had sat back in your seat, not sure if the door was open or closed because only him mattered now, only his eyes drifting from yours to your lips, only his tongue moistening his own, only the slow movement of his head getting closer to yours.

You wouldn’t remember the next few seconds even if described to you in the smallest details, you just remember meeting his lips halfway. At first, a hasty kiss, your lips barely moving but already igniting you with an electric feeling. His teeth pulled on your bottom lip, causing a moan to escape off of you.

His hand went to your neck and the kiss deepened, his tongue immediately sliding inside your mouth, playing with yours as your hands found his waist in search for balance, even though you remained at your seat.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” you cut the kiss, your own mind betraying you with the words that flew out of your mouth. “But I really want to.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn't,” he said, connecting your lips once again. 

He sucked and nibbled at your lips, certainly leaving small bruises on it, but who were you to complain. All night, your anxiousness tried to get the best of you, but his kiss and his touch held you hostage in a passionate haze.

“It’s dangerous to be on the streets this late.” he told you between kisses.

“We can go upstairs.” you offered, wanting to extend the moment as much as you could.

“I wouldn’t wanna bother your roommate.”

“I don’t have a roommate.” you informed, eyes meeting his once more in search of confirmation.

Kissing where your neck met your ears, he whispered. “I’ll park the car.”

“You can leave it right here.” you moaned, desperately wanting to move things inside. He chuckled, pulled you in for another kiss and then quickly jumped out of the car. He followed you as you climbed the stairs to your floor, managing to control himself and stay far enough as to not throw you against the walls and fuck you right then and there, but the gentleman inside of him held him together and he anxiously watched you unlock your apartment door.

You threw your bag somewhere, and walked inside your home aimlessly. You didn’t bring many guys over, so you always struggled to figure out what to do at this point.

“Yn.” you heard Dick calling, spinning on your heels to meet him. 

Throwing his key on a table, he came over to you without wasting time, hands grabbing your face and smashing your lips together for a hotter, wetter, dirtier kiss.

His tongue sucked you yours as your hands traveled on his chiseled torso, sliding inside his shirt for the full experience. You scratch the skin with your nails and he quivered under your touch. “Fuck.” he let out, pushing you against the head of the sofa.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you shortened the distance between your bodies even more and his hands moved down your body, from your back to your ass, to your tight where he grabbed and entangled them around his waist. He placed you on top of the sofa, magically not letting your lips grow apart.

You could feel the bulge on his pants hardening with each touch, so you lowered one hand to cup his member in it’s entirety, but not managing to get a hold of half of it. Shit. You tried to pull at his waistband, but he pushed your hand away. “I’m not wasting time.” he said, taking you off of your seat. “I need to be inside you.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit. The thought of his words becoming a reality soaking your panties more than they already were, as you had to grind on his clothed crotch to get the friction, the sensation you so desperately needed. You wanted him inside of you now, not a minute later.

“Your room?” he asked.

“First door to the right.” you said, gasping for air between his kisses.

With ease, he walked to your bedroom as if he knew you home by heart, and as if he didn’t carry a girl but just a stuffed toy. His only struggle came at the door handle, but reaching behind you you managed to open it up for him, a group effort for a group pleasure.

Dick let go of your legs, letting your feet hit the floor once again. His hands were quick to find the hem of your shirt, tugging at it before you broke the kiss to allow him to pull it over your head, your bra being ripped off your skin not much later. His shirt and sweatpants flew behind him too in just a few seconds, and he soon had you pinned on the bed, hands trapped by his on top of your head.

Dick had an urgency in him you’d never seen before, more used to his calm demeanor. He grunted on your ear as he sucked on your neck, leaving marks you knew you wouldn’t be able to hide at work, and he grinded his clothed dick on your bare pussy.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting this.” he groaned, one hand grabbing tightly at your boob. “Some days beside you were pure torture.”

You couldn’t imagine an Officer Dreamy having dreams about you, just like you did with him, but from the sound of it, he had plenty. All you could do was moan out his name, his mouth doing magic on your neck as his hands finally reached where you needed him more.

Rubbing slowly at your clit, you tried humping it, wanting it faster, wanting release, but his movements remained slow, torturous. 

“D-dick.” you cried out his name, begging him to speed up his touch.

“Say it again, darling. Say it.” he requested. “Let my fucking name slip out of your dirty little mouth.”

“Dick. Dick, please!” you obeyed, little the silly little slut you were for him. If your friends or coworkers found out about this, they’d be very disapproving, they’d tell you it was wrong to fuck your superior, but fuck it, fuck him you will.

He moaned loudly in your ear and his movements gained speed. He rubbed at your clit harshly, making it bruise, but the pain only added to the growing sensation on your core. He lowered his head and his lip grabbed your nipple, and his sucks were enough to bring you to the edge.

“You came so hard for me, darling.”

Moving away from your skin, setting your hands free, he admired your cum glistening on his hands before bringing them to his mouth and licking it off his finger. “I knew you’d taste fucking delicious.”

This idea of him wanting to fuck you for so long did wonders to your ego and booted any confidence you still had. The man you so desperately wanted for so long had wanted you as desperately for just as long. Your heart beat so fast you were sure he could hear it, but you wanted him too, no secrets lying between you two anymore.

Without you noticing, his boxers were gone and his hard dick bounced on his crotch, the rosy tip, dripping with precum, staining his stomach. Lining up outside your entrance, rubbing his tip on your clit just to tease you a little more, his eyes met yours. They trapped you as they did inside the car, but now they didn’t stare at you with simple desire. It burned, it consumed him and needed to find a way to release it. And his way was you.

With no warning, he thrusted into you, his size ripping you open and you let out a scream as you prayed your neighbors were heavy sleepers. Dick, as soon as his member was fully within you, let out a guttural groan, the sexiest moan you’d ever heard come out of a man.

“F-fuck you’re so tight.” he moaned. “Just like I imagined.”

Lying on top of you, he met your lips, he wrapped your fingers in his and slid your hands to the top of your head again. His thrusts were fast, hard, reaching you deeper and deeper, taking out of you a scream louder than the other, only muffled by his mouth that refused to leave yours.

You wrapped your leg around his waist, wanting him to go deeper, if it was even possible, so consumed with lust that all logic melted out of your mind.

It wasn’t a fuck, it was love making, sensual and nearly animalistic love making, and the idea of it made the butterflies in your stomach go feral just as you were. If he loved you or not, even it was even something else more the pure lust, was a discussion for later, but he fucked you like no one else did, and you only hoped it was a sign he was not like the others. That he wasn’t just a single page in a large book.

The wet sound of your skins meeting each other filled the room, but only because your mouths were glued together, all sound not allowed to make it out.

“You’re taking me in so good, aren’t you Yn?”

“Yes, y-yes. You’re filling me so good.” you cried back.

“Are you gonna come on my dick, Yn? Are you gonna let me feel you coming?” he teased, nearly as desperate for your orgasm as you were.

“Yes.” you replied, louder than you’d wished. With a few more thrusts, you came all over his hard dick, your body shaking ferociously, reaching a high you’d never reached before. “Uuh, yes!” you screamed, as he continued to pump into you, his own orgasm imminent.

“I’m gonna come, Yn.” he announced, thrusting once more before taking his member out of your pussy and stroking it up and down with his hands. His milky load hit your belly, painting you in sin, as your tongue extended out for a little drip of it.

Exhausted, Dick threw himself on the bed beside you, both your breath audibly out of pace. Your body was covered in sweat, your bed sheet sticking to your back as you tried your best to recollect yourself.

“Officer McCaffrey would be so disappointed.” you joked, getting a loud laugh out of the man beside you. Crossing his arm over your waist, he pulled you closer to him, kissing the wet baby hairs at your temple.

“Wanna disappoint him again?” he asked, turning your face to meet your eyes, his new found favorite thing to look at.

“All night?” you asked in return.

“All fucking night.”

It was safe to say you were late for work again the next morning, and would be late a few more times, as Officer Dreamy would gladly keep you up for as long as you wished.

[scalefeathers]

Thinking once again about how Nobuo Uematsu and Masayoshi Soken are both completely amazing composers but in completely opposite directions let me explain

Disclaimer I am not a music theorist; most of music theory is black fucking magic to me. I barely know what a chord is and the circle of fifths makes me quake as though before an Elder God. I just really like both of their works and sometimes I have thoughts about things. Also this is all just my opinion, it's fine if you don't agree, etc.

So: Uematsu is first and foremost, in my opinion, an absolute master of melody. I believe it's what makes his work so iconic and makes so many of his pieces so instantly recognizable. The Final Fantasy theme, the chocobo theme, Dancing Mad, Vamo'alla Flamenco, fucking One-Winged Angel--Just from seeing those names, you've probably got one playing in your head already. You could start humming it right now. Maybe you are already.

And it makes perfect sense when you consider the era he was working in, because back in the 8-bit and 16-bit era, the melody was all you had. When you have such a tiny amount of storage space to work with, you can really play only one, maybe two notes at a time. You can't do anything that's layered, because you only have one layer to work with. I think that's why so much video game music from that era is so memorable and iconic. It's not just because you played so much Street Fighter II when you were a kid that the music is indelibly seared into your brain (though that probably doesn't hurt); it's also because Yoko Shimomura wrote really solid melodies that had nothing else competing for your aural attention (apart from the in-game sound effects, which are probably also seared into your memory). (Yoko Shimomura, btw, also composed the music for Final Fantasy XV, the entire Kingdom Hearts series, and like 50 other games over the past 40 years, another fucking icon).

But back to Uematsu: like I said, melodic genius. Even when his work is upscaled into full orchestral arrangements, that core melody is always front and center. And his affinity for melody makes even more sense when you consider that before he got into video game composing, he was writing commercial jingles. (Younger folks may not be aware, but there was a time when practically every product had to have its own theme song, and the best ones were short, snappy, and instantly memorable--and for that, again, you need a strong, simple melody. Ba da ba ba ba, I'm lovin' it.)

Compare: Soken. Soken only started at Square 12 years after Uematsu, which isn't that long in human terms (to me at least, cos I'm old), but it is a long fuckin' time in video game years. By the time he started composing for games, there was so much more you could do with game music in terms of layering, complexity, and sound, and you can tell from his work that he takes full advantage of that. His work is complex and dense, a rich layer cake of themes and motifs, all beautifully merging and weaving together, often to extraordinary effect.

And again, if you look at his pre-music career, it makes a lot of sense that he'd have that approach to music, because he first got into the games industry as a sound designer; I believe that he is the sound director for all the FFXIV expansions, as well as being the composer. So of course he'd be very aware of not just how a sound (or piece of music) works on its own, but of how it fits into the greater whole, and of how to layer and balance lots of different sounds to create something greater than the sum of its parts. And of course it makes sense that he'd bring that approach to his compositions as well.

As a consequence of this approach, though, his music often lacks the memorable melodies that characterize Uematsu's work. Like, I ground (grinded?) Dun Scaith a lot the last time it was on the Mogstone rotation, I know all the boss themes extremely well and can recognize each of them instantly. But if you asked me right now to hum one? I don't think I could. (This isn't a deficiency, to be clear; music doesn't need a prominent core melody in order to be good.)

And that's also not to say that all his music lacks iconic melodies. His vocal tracks, pretty much by definition, have to put a single melody front and center; and then on top of that (or rather, behind it), you have all that trademark Soken richness and depth. Which is probably also why his vocal tracks go so fucking hard.

I think that's also why, out of all the expansions, I like Heavensward's music the best. Most of Heavensward's score is written by Soken, but the main theme is Uematsu's, and you may notice it's basically a tasting menu of like 5 or 6 excellent, very recognizable melodies, one right after the other. And basically every piece on the Heavensward soundtrack incorporates one or more of these melodies. So it really does give you the best of both worlds, and gives the overall score a cohesion that I don't see as much with the other expansions.

TL;DR, Uematsu and Soken are both amazing composers with very different and complimentary styles that reflect their differing backgrounds and the different eras of games in which they have worked and I just think that's neat.

[pixel7777]

Dedications - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

This fanfic is a sequel and will be better enjoyed after reading Editorial Prerogative.

🪶📜The Netherbrain has been defeated, and the party has gone their separate ways. Astarion and Gale have moved into Gale's tower in Waterdeep while Gale focuses on publishing the chronicle that brought them together. Astarion has an entirely different focus and... thoughts about their post-adventure life he has yet to confess.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, POV Astarion, ~5K words

This fic about the extensive contributions of editors and beta-readers had amazing beta readers! This one was much rougher than Editorial Prerogative as a draft and was improved extensively by their thoughtful suggestions. There was no time for a second round of edits after doing my best to merge everyone's ideas, and sometimes I am stubborn in keeping my errors. Kindly consider all those errors that remain to be entirely my own. You can blame the cum jokes on me as well ;)

Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help! This one is dedicated to you!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Dedications

"Seven minutes left," Astarion purred against Gale's ear, rolling his hips. "Still think you can hold the Fly spell that long?"

The moonlight through the tower's high windows cast blue shadows across their skin as Astarion pressed Gale against nothing but air, twenty feet off the floor just below the vaulted ceiling of their master bedroom. His lover's warmth radiated through him as their bodies moved in tandem, suspended by Gale's magic. Dimmed lanterns lit the bed lay far below, its sheets already rumpled from earlier activities.

Gale's breath hitched. "You underestimate—ah—my concentration."

"Do I?" Astarion shifted his grip on Gale's thighs, changing the angle. "One slip and we both fall."

"I'm well aware." Gale's fingers dug into Astarion's shoulders, a moan escaping him. "Though I suspect that's part of the appeal for you."

"You know me so well." Astarion nipped at Gale's neck, careful not to break skin. The thrill of danger, of testing limits—it made everything sharper, brighter. "Six minutes now."

Gale's magic held them aloft, but Astarion controlled their movements, using his grip on Gale's hips to drive his cock deeper. The tower's chill air raised goosebumps on Gale's skin. Astarion traced them with his tongue, savoring each shiver and gasp he drew from his wizard.

"Five minutes." Astarion grinned against Gale's collarbone. "Shall we make it interesting? If you drop us, you have to indulge that idea I had about Greater Invisibility and the Blackstaff library stacks."

"Not—ah—not a chance." Gale's voice wavered as Astarion found just the right spot. "And at some point you will need to explain your preoccupation with spells with limited durations."

"We'll see about that." Astarion quickened his pace, determined to drive Gale over the edge and test his vaunted concentration. "Four minutes, love. Still feeling confident?"

Astarion slid one hand from Gale's hip, tracing his lover's trembling abdomen before wrapping deft fingers around Gale's cock. They had been lovers for months now, and he knew every sensitive spot, every trick to make Gale unravel. A few strokes—firm and sure—and Gale's breath stuttered, his body tensing.

"Three minutes," Astarion whispered, with wicked delight. "But who's counting?"

Gale's response was a strangled moan, his nails biting into Astarion's flesh. Astarion could feel the precise moment Gale's concentration shattered���the magic holding them aloft flickered, and gravity reasserted itself. Gale's climax hit, his cock pulsing in Astarion's grip, and they plummeted.

Astarion twisted them mid-air and pulled out. They crashed onto the bed, laughter bursting from both as the mattress creaked in protest and they fell apart.

"Well, that was invigorating," Astarion chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from Gale's flushed face.

Gale grinned, still breathless. "You cheated."

"I did no such thing." Astarion feigned innocence. "I recall no agreements with regard to the means by which I may or may not distract you."

Gale pushed himself up, straddling Astarion's hips, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "My turn to take the lead, I think?" Astarion nodded a yes and ran his hands up Gale's thighs. Gale's eyes gleamed with mischief as he reached behind him, positioning Astarion's cock, his hole still wonderfully slick and stretched. He sank down slowly, a gasp escaping him as he took Astarion in fully again.

Astarion's hands found Gale's hips, guiding his rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the bed creaking in time with their movements. And then—a soft, wet plop. Astarion glanced up just as another drop of Gale's cum fell from the ceiling, where it had splattered in generous abundance, landing on Gale's shoulder.

"Oh, for the love of—" Astarion started, laughter bubbling up.

Gale looked down, bewildered, then up at the ceiling. Another drop fell, this time on his cheek. He wiped it away, a laugh escaping him as well. "Well, this is... distracting."

"Focus, darling," Astarion teased, though his own concentration was waning. "You have a task to complete."

Gale shook his head, grinning, and refocused his efforts. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Astarion's chest, and rolled his hips with renewed determination. Astarion stroked Gale's thighs encouragingly, his breath coming faster.

Another drop fell, this time on Astarion's forehead. He swiped it away, growling playfully. "Gale..."

Gale bit his lip, trying to hold back laughter. "Not my fault you wanted to defy gravity. Gravity, apparently, wants payback."

Astarion bucked his hips, driving deeper into Gale. "Less talking, more riding."

Gale complied, his movements becoming more urgent. Astarion could feel his own climax building, the tension in his body coiling tighter. The lantern light glinted off the oil on Gale's spent cock and the sweat on the planes of his chest. Beautiful. His lover was so damned beautiful. He reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. Gale's body pressed against his, their movements syncing perfectly.

And then, finally, Astarion's release hit, his body arching as he spilled into Gale. He broke the kiss, a groan escaping him as he emptied and gave himself to the moment. Gale rode him through it, his own breath ragged, until they both stilled, panting and sated.

Astarion looked up at Gale, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Well, that was—"

Another drop of cum fell from the ceiling, landing squarely on Astarion's nose. He sighed, laughing as Gale collapsed onto his chest, their laughter filling the room.

Gale pushed himself up, kneeling over Astarion as he surveyed the ceiling. "Well, that's quite the mess."

Astarion smirked, stretching languidly beneath him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Gale rolled his eyes but grinned as he stood, careful to keep his balance on the mattress. He reached up, stretching to his full height, and began to chant softly. A faint glow enveloped his hand as he waved it toward the stain, his Prestidigitation spell making quick work of the mess.

Astarion watched, appreciating the view. Gale's body was lean and toned, his muscles shifting under smooth skin as Astarion's own spend ran down Gale's thighs. "You know, I could get used to this sight," he mused.

Gale glanced down, a smirk playing on his lips. "Me cleaning the ceiling?"

"You, naked and on display," Astarion corrected. "The chores getting done is just a bonus."

Gale shook his head, returning to his task. Once the ceiling was spotless, he turned his attention to them, cleaning them both efficiently. Astarion sat up, gently pulling Gale back down to the bed. He reached for a small vial of the soothing oil they favored for aftercare on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

"Let me," he murmured, guiding Gale onto his stomach. He started at Gale's shoulders, massaging gently before moving lower. His fingers found the spot where Gale's back met his ass, and he rubbed slow circles into the skin, feeling Gale relax under his touch.

Astarion took his time, his fingers eventually slipping between Gale's cheeks, applying the oil with tender care. Gale sighed softly, his body melting into the mattress. Astarion loved this—the quiet moments after, when Gale let him take control in a different way.

Even as he tended to Gale, a restless energy hummed beneath his skin. The night had been perfect—dangerous and thrilling and everything he had wanted—but already his mind flitted to what came next. There was always another sexual adventure to plan, another boundary to push.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Gale's spine. "How was that?"

Gale hummed contentedly, turning his head to look at Astarion. "Perfect. Thank you."

Astarion smiled. He lay down next to Gale, propping his head up on one hand.

"You're thinking," Gale murmured, eyes closed.

"Always," Astarion admitted.

Gale cracked one eye open, studying him. "About what, I wonder?"

Astarion shrugged, his fingers still moving. "Just... possibilities. For next time."

Gale hummed, a small smile on his lips. "Dangerous word, 'possibilities'."

Astarion's grin sharpened. "Exactly."

Gale chuckled, shifting to face Astarion fully. "You've been insatiable lately."

"And you love it," Astarion retorted.

Gale's smile softened, his hand reaching up to cup Astarion's face. "I do."

Astarion leaned into the touch, but his mind was still racing, already planning. This night had been a success, but there was always more to explore, more pleasure to experience. And he intended to make the most of every moment.

Gale shifted, reaching for something on the nightstand. Astarion spotted a manuscript bound in stiff canvas. Another proof copy from the printer, of course. Astarion sighed. The book. Again.

"Must we? I can think of far more entertaining ways to spend our time." Astarion traced a finger down Gale's spine, trying to distract him.

"The printer needs the final draft by tomorrow. I just need you to look at one more thing."

"Volo's barely started shopping his version around." Astarion rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling to avoid meeting Gale's eyes, hoping that for once Gale would just set the book aside and come fully back to him without having to be chivvied into it. "What's the rush?"

"The rush is getting the true account published first. Before he can romanticize everything into nonsense. And I want you to edit the dedication."

"The dedication." Astarion's voice went flat. Of course Gale would want his help polishing the final touches of his grand scholarly achievement. "Surely you can handle that without my input."

"I'd really like your thoughts on it."

"What's to think about? 'To my beloved companions, who provided such invaluable assistance.' There. Done." Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Now put that away and come back here."

"That's not—"

Something about Gale's earnest expression made Astarion's skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn't want to examine why being asked to edit the dedication bothered him so much. Better to provoke, to push, to make Gale as unsettled as he felt.

"Or perhaps 'To my dear editor, without whose sharp wit this tome would be unbearably dull.'" Astarion sat up, indulging the impulse to be perfectly dreadful. "Though I suppose that might undermine your scholarly authority."

Gale's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "Astarion—"

"No, no, I've got it." He snatched the proof copy from Gale's hands. "'To my reformed vampiric lover, who made this chronicle possible by not eating me that first night.' How's that?"

Gale gaped. "You really think that I would mischaracterize your contributions? Or that that's how I see you?"

"Isn't it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "It's your book, after all. Your legacy."

Astarion's fingers tightened on the manuscript, the binding creaking under his grip. He knew he was being unfair—Gale had never treated him as less than an equal partner. And he had loved working on that manuscript together during the long months of their adventure. It had been the thing to finally bring them together.

But lately, everything felt... off. Wrong. Like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He had thought it would be simple after they'd saved the world. No more running, no more fighting, no more desperate scramble for survival. Just pleasure and comfort and Gale. And for the first few weeks, that had been enough. More than enough.

But now...

The empty hours stretched endlessly. While Gale pored over proof copies and attended meetings, first with various publishers and then the printer, Astarion found himself prowling their tower like a caged animal. He had tried everything—shopping, decorating, arranging elaborate dinners he couldn't eat just to watch Gale enjoy them.

Sex helped. For a little while, at least. When he had Gale's full attention, when they were testing limits and discovering new ways to please each other, everything felt right again. But then Gale would reach for that damned book, and the emptiness would creep back in.

It wasn't fair to resent Gale's dream finally coming to fruition. His beloved wizard was thriving, getting the recognition he deserved. But a nasty voice in Astarion's head whispered that Gale should be focusing on him instead. After two centuries of serving others, wasn't it his turn to be the center of someone's world?

He glanced at Gale, who watched him with patient concern. That was almost worse than anger would have been.

Astarion hurled the manuscript onto the bed. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Like I'm some delicate thing about to shatter. I've had quite enough of your concerned wizard act for one evening."

"This isn't an act. You have witnessed my best attempts at acting—why wouldn't you think my concern was real?" Gale's brow furrowed. "I genuinely don't understand why you're upset."

"Of course you don't." Astarion stood, pacing naked across the floor. The moonlight caught his pale skin, turning his already pale skin a nearly ghostly white. "You're far too busy with your precious book to notice anything else these days."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" Astarion whirled on him. "You want to talk about fair? While you're off being courted by every publisher in Waterdeep, what exactly am I meant to do with myself? Sit here and look pretty? Wait for you to need an editorial opinion?"

Gale's mouth opened, then closed. The sudden understanding in his expression only stoked Astarion's anger.

"Here's a confession for you—perhaps something you could work into an epilogue. Do you know what I did yesterday? I reorganized our closet. Again. Then I spent three hours watching the unseen servants clean because I was so desperately bored I considered doing it myself." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't even go outside during the day anymore, now that this blasted tadpole is gone. I'm just... here. Useless. Decorative."

"You're not—"

"And do you know what I did last week?" Astarion continued his pacing, each step precise despite his growing agitation. "I reorganized our library. Twice. First alphabetically, which was mind-numbingly dull, and then by level of pretentiousness—you'll be delighted to know your treatise on the standardization of arcane nomenclature ranked near the top. And you have been so singularly focused on the book you never even noticed to complain!"

His laugh came out sharp and bitter. "Then I spent an entire evening categorizing your spell components by color. Not utility, mind you. Just aesthetics. Because apparently that's what I've been reduced to—interior decoration and waiting for you to need my opinion on your prose. "

The words tumbled out now, each confession carrying a twisted satisfaction at revealing his pathetic pastimes in all their absurdity. "I've named all the rats in the cellar. Did you know that? There's Herbert—he's missing half an ear—and Old Lady Whiskers, though she might be dead now. I haven't checked today."

"Astarion, I didn't know…"

"How would you? You've been so very busy at the printers." Astarion gestured wildly at the wardrobe. "I've arranged your robes by the seasons. Then by texture. Then by how likely they are to get you propositioned at academic functions. I even tried to learn that ridiculous card game Wyll taught us, but it's significantly less entertaining when you're playing against yourself and can see all the hands."

Astarion's lips curled into a sneer. "I thought saving the world would finally free you from your compulsive need to make your name, but alas, here we are again—we're both naked, but you're distracted by paper.

"And now you want me to help polish your grand achievement. To put the finishing touches on the story of how we saved the world. Except we're not saving the world anymore, are we? You've found your new purpose. While I..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Well, I suppose I can always fall back on being very good at fucking you senseless. At least until you tire of that too."

The hurt that flashed across Gale's face should have felt satisfying. Instead, it just made Astarion's gut churn. He had gone too far and been monstrously unfair. It didn't help that he knew it and couldn't stop spewing attacks he didn't even mean.

Gale reached for the discarded manuscript. Astarion turned away, not wanting to see more of that wounded expression, but Gale moved to his side and held the book out. The silence stretched between them.

"Really?" Astarion snapped. "After all that? Now?"

Gale didn't respond, just kept holding out the book. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it. Astarion snatched the manuscript, ready to tear into whatever flowery dedication Gale had composed.

"Read the cover first," Gale said quietly.

Astarion frowned. "The cover? What—"

The words caught his eye, and his throat went tight. He blinked, certain he was misreading. But no—there it was, clear as day: "The Fall of the Absolute: An Eyewitness Chronicle, by Gale Dekarios and Astarion Ancunín."

He read it again. And again. His name. On the cover. As co-author.

He looked up at Gale, unable to form words.

A brilliant smile spread across Gale's face. "Did you really think I saw this as just my book? Your perspective shaped every chapter. Your commentary challenged my interpretations, made me question my assumptions." He stepped closer, taking Astarion's free hand. "Your voice is woven through every page. What kind of historian would I be if I neglected to give my co-author the credit he deserves?"

Astarion's fingers clenched, his chest tight with something that wasn't quite pain.

Astarion stared at his name on the cover, tracing the letters with his thumb. His name. Not in a footnote or acknowledgment, but right there beside Gale's. Equal. Co-author.

He glanced at Gale, then back at the book, checking for an illusion to fade, for the joke to materialize. No, the words remained unchanged.

He flipped through the front pages, scanning for the inevitable correction—some footnote or disclaimer that would put him back in his proper place. Surely there would be a note: "With editorial assistance from..." or "Based on the contributions of..." But the title page bore both their names. The introduction credited them equally. Even the publisher's mark listed them as co-authors.

Gale's voice washed over him, explaining how he had meant it as a surprise, how he had never meant to make Astarion feel excluded. "I've thought of it as our book for ages, since before we were even an us. I should have told you sooner—"

But Astarion barely heard him. Two centuries of being nothing more than Cazador's property, a toy to be used and discarded. Even after their victory, even after becoming a "hero," he had been defined by others—the reformed monster, the redeemed villain.

But this... this was different. This wasn't just surviving or being forgiven.

Astarion's hands trembled slightly as he opened to the first chapter. His own words jumped out at him from the page—not just in commentary, but woven seamlessly into the narrative. His marginalia hadn't just inspired edits—they had shaped the story itself. Where Gale's original draft had focused on the metaphysical implications of their tadpoles, the final version explored the visceral horror of violation, the psychological toll of being changed against one's will. His perspective on what it meant to be transformed, to lose control of one's own body, had deepened the scholarly analysis into something raw and real.

Even his most acerbic comments had been valued. That entire section comparing various theories about the tadpoles' nature had been completely restructured after he had written "For fuck's sake, Gale, get to the point before your readers expire from old age."

Astarion traced a finger over a particularly elegant turn of phrase—one he distinctly remembered suggesting as an alternative to Gale's more flowery original version. His words. His thoughts. His perspective. Not filtered or edited to be more palatable, but presented as essential to understanding their shared story.

This was creation. His words, his perspective, preserved in ink and on paper. Not as a cautionary tale or a victim's testimony, but as an author. A chronicler of his own story. Gale was right, of course—by the time they had exchanged back-and-forth notes on any given page, it was likely half Astarion's words and thoughts. He just hadn't thought of it that way.

His throat felt tight. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Gale, I—" The apology stuck in his throat. He had been so quick to lash out, to blow things all out of proportion.

"Don't." Gale's hand covered his where it gripped the book. "I need your help with something more important. The dedication—"

"What is it with you and this damn dedication?" Astarion's voice cracked slightly.

Gale smiled as Astarion hesitated, the pages half-turned.

"Go on." Gale's voice was warm, encouraging. "It's the best part."

Astarion's throat tightened. He had already received more than he had dared hope for. What if this undid it all? What if, after seeing his name on the cover, the dedication reduced him back to a mere contributor?

"My love." Gale's hand covered his on the page. "Trust me."

He turned the page.

Two passages faced each other on the creamy paper—mutual dedications, Astarion realized with a start. Astarion looked up at Gale, blinking fast to keep traitorous tears from falling. Gale's own eyes were suspiciously watery, but his smile was radiant, their argument and Astarion's ranting obviously forgiven. Gale moved to wrap his arms around Astarion from behind. Astarion nestled back into Gale's embrace before shifting his attention to the pages. He read Gale's first—formal yet intimate, managing to capture their collaboration in a way that left his chest tight.

"To my dearest Astarion, whose sharp tongue, sharper mind, and inexhaustible patience turned these words from mere history into something worthy of remembrance. And to our companions, who lived this story alongside us. This book is but ink on parchment; you are the legends."

But the second... He recognized his own words—remembered scrawling them in the margins months ago during one of their late-night editing sessions. He had been marking up Gale's latest chapter with increasingly ridiculous commentary, each note an excuse to keep their conversation going, to stay in that perfect bubble of possibility...

"You kept this?" His finger traced the words. That night had been months ago, before they'd even kissed. Before he had realized that their endless exchanges of notes and rebuttals had become something more than editorial collaboration.

"I kept all of them," Gale said softly. "Every margin note. Every correction. Every time you called my prose 'insufferably flowery' or suggested I was 'compensating for something' with my extensive footnotes. They are as much a part of our story as the text itself."

He had been tired, punch-drunk on lack of rest and the joy of their collaboration, and had written what amounted to a love letter disguised as snark. Gale had picked lines from it and composed a dedication on his behalf.

"To Gale Dekarios, who never met a sentence he couldn't overcomplicate. On the darkest days, your relentless optimism that our story would be worth telling made the endless footnotes (almost) worth it. And to our comrades-in-madness, who not only survived but triumphed despite their best efforts to the contrary. (P.S. You are all still insufferable.)"

"I borrowed that from your notes," Gale whispered, drawing Astarion closer as he spoke the words against his ear. "But of course, you should write whatever you'd prefer. You obviously don't have to dedicate anything to me. Presumptuous, I know, although I meant it to be romantic. This was just a placeholder until—"

Astarion stared at his own words on the page, all his usual sharp retorts deserting him. The dedication—their dedication to each other of the book that had brought them together—was there in permanent ink, ready to be bound into countless copies. His thoughts, his perspective, his story—preserved forever.

He stepped out of Gale's arms and sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the proof copy. The weight of it felt different now. Real. Lasting. Not just Gale's grand scholarly achievement, but their shared legacy.

Gale stood before him, radiating that particular blend of smugness and affection that should have been infuriating. But Astarion had long since learned to love these little moments of his wizard's self-satisfaction—especially when they came from making him happy. "Do you like it? Or shall I prepare myself for another ten pages of revisions?"

"I think..." Astarion's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I think it's perfect."

Gale's eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. He turned to the side table where—of course—he had already set out a bottle of wine and two glasses, clearly having planned this moment. The bastard.

Astarion found his footing again, a smile tugging at his lips. "Though I still reserve the right to deface every copy in circulation with additional notes."

"I would expect nothing less." Gale handed him a glass of deep red wine, raising his own. "To our book?"

"To our book," Astarion agreed. "And to the idiots who made it worth writing."

Their glasses clinked softly in the moonlight.

Astarion savored the wine, letting its rich flavor chase away the lingering tension. "To our book," he repeated softly, still caught on those words.

"I should have told you sooner," Gale said, settling beside him. "About the co-authorship. About all of it. I got caught up in the excitement of publication and forgot that you might not see what I see when I look at these pages."

"And what do you see?" Astarion asked, trying for lightness but not quite achieving it.

Gale's expression softened as he set his wine glass aside. "I see us, darling. Not just our adventures, but the way your wit cuts through pretense to find truth. The way you take my meandering thoughts and sharpen them into something precise and powerful." He took Astarion's free hand. "I saw a future where we might do this again. Together. Writing about whatever catches our interest."

Astarion's chest tightened at the earnestness in Gale's voice.

"And once again, that was presumptuous of me," Gale continued. "Just because you excel at this doesn't mean it needs to be your future. I should have discussed my hopes with you instead of assuming. Asked what you wanted rather than letting you feel trapped here with nothing but closet organization and the corruption of my virtue to occupy your time."

"I suppose I haven't been particularly... forthcoming either. About how adrift I've been feeling." Astarion gave a short laugh. "Though attempting to seduce you into distraction every time you mentioned the book lately probably should have been a hint."

"Gods, I've been stupidly oblivious, haven't I?" Gale ran a thumb over Astarion's knuckles. "Here I was, planning our literary future while you were naming rats in the cellar."

Astarion traced the rim of his wine glass. "Well, to be fair, I hadn't exactly been making any competing plans, really. Beyond finding new ways to scandalize Tara." He gave a hollow laugh. "Two centuries of torture and degradation, and all I could think about was pleasure. As if that would be enough."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what I want. Isn't that ridiculous? I finally have everything I dreamed of—wealth, safety, you." He gestured at their opulent surroundings. "I should be content with endless pleasure and no purpose. But I'm not content."

Gale's fingers ghosted along his jaw. "There's nothing ridiculous about wanting more than hedonism, love. Though I must say, your dedication to corrupting my virtue in the wake of our trials has been a thoroughly appreciated respite."

"Has it now?" Astarion managed a genuine smirk. "And here I thought you were too distracted by your—no, our—precious book to notice."

"Oh, I noticed." Gale's voice dropped lower. "In fact, I've been taking extensive mental notes for future reference."

"Always the scholar." Astarion leaned into his touch. "Though I suppose that's served us both rather well, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. And perhaps..." Gale's thumb brushed his lower lip. "You might consider that pleasure and purpose aren't mutually exclusive. You have a gift for this—for taking complex ideas and making them sing. Why not pursue that alongside your campaign of corruption? Something to consider. And to talk about—together, I hope. We have plenty of time to work through our options, now that the editing is done, at least for the moment—" Gale began.

"For the moment?" Astarion's head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'for the moment'?"

"Well, perhaps—just perhaps, of course—there will be our next book to consider." Gale said it so casually, as if he hadn't just upended Astarion's entire worldview for the second time that evening. "But I think we've earned a break, don't you?"

"Next book," Astarion echoed faintly. The implications spun through his mind—more late nights arguing over prose, more shared discoveries, more chances to shape how their story was told. Not just this one volume, but others. A series, perhaps?

"Though at present," Gale continued, his tone shifting to something distinctly more promising, "I find myself rather more interested in your earlier claim of more interesting ways we might spend our evening."

Our next book. The idea seems so absurd that for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. A future, stretching beyond just this one volume.

Astarion set his wine glass aside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know, darling, maybe we should begin thinking about potential topics for our next collaboration. Perhaps something focusing on the political implications of—" He broke off as Gale's lips found his neck and a frisson of pleasure made him shiver. "—the various factions within Baldur's Gate during the crisis."

"Fascinating," Gale murmured against his skin. "Do continue."

"Well, considering the complex web of alliances—" Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's hands slid down his sides. "I believe my name should appear first on this one, given my unique insights into the city's power structure."

Gale hummed noncommittally, pushing him back onto the bed. "We can discuss the particulars later."

"But the publishing contract—oh." His protest dissolved into a gasp as Gale's beard brushed over his nipples in that way Gale knew he liked. "That's not fair."

"What isn't fair?" Gale's innocent tone didn't match his actions at all. "I'm merely expressing my enthusiasm for potential future literary endeavors."

Astarion struggled to maintain his train of thought as Gale shifted lower. "The... structure would benefit from..." He lost his place entirely as Gale did something lovely with his tongue and borrowed blood left his brain to chase the sensation. "What was I saying?"

"Something about structure, I believe." Gale's muffled voice held entirely too much amusement.

"Right. Structure. And proper credit for—oh gods." Astarion's fingers tangled in Gale's hair and tugged gently. "You're making it very difficult to discuss business arrangements."

"Am I?" Gale lifted his head, eyes dancing with mischief. "How terribly inconsiderate of me. Please, continue outlining your publishing strategy."

Astarion's protests died away as the room was filled with the soft sounds of their breaths, the rustle of sheets, and the distant hum of Waterdeep's nightlife. There was no urgency this time, no ticking clock of a spell about to expire. Just the two of them, realigned in purpose and desire, and it was wonderful.

Astarion breathed into the pleasure as Gale's tongue worked this other magic of his. He could feel Gale's smile against his skin, the warmth of his breath as he moved. Astarion moaned, shamelessly, as Gale took him deeply, swallowing him down and then sucking hard as he pulled back. Gale looked up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Enjoy that, do you?"

Astarion laughed. "You're far too smug for your own good."

Gale grinned. "And you're far too delicious for yours."

Astarion reached down, tracing the line of his jaw. "You know, I think we might have a real talent for this."

Gale's eyebrow quirked. "For what, exactly?"

"Sex, darling. I think we should write a book about it."

Gale laughed, a full-throated sound that warmed Astarion to his core. "A sex book? Really?"

"Mmhm," Astarion hummed, already imagining the possibilities. "Think about it. We've certainly done enough research, more than enough to fill certain gaps in The Quarta Sune and make our own, unique contributions to the field."

Gale's hand took the place of his mouth, clearly intrigued by the discussion but unwilling to abandon Astarion's pleasure entirely. "And who would be the target audience for this illustrious tome?"

"Everyone," Astarion declared, happily rolling his hips into Gale's touch. "Think of all the poor souls out there, fumbling around in the dark, metaphorically speaking. We could be doing a public service."

Gale's laughter shook the bed and disrupted the rhythm of that exquisite stroking. "A public service? Really?"

"Absolutely," Astarion insisted. "And of course, I should be first author on this one too."

Gale's hand moved faster. "And why is that?"

"B-because," Astarion stuttered, his hips bucking up into Gale's grasp. "I have more experience."

Gale's smile was positively wicked. "Is that a challenge, my love? Because I would like to point out the difference between qualitative and quantitative research."

Astarion grinned, pulling Gale up for a kiss. "It's a fact, darling. But I'm sure with your natural prowess, you'll have no trouble keeping up."

Gale's lips curved against his. "I do love a good competition."

"Mmm," Astarion agreed, his body already racing toward the finish line under Gale's firm touch. "And I do love a good—oh!"

Gale's fingers did something particularly clever, and Astarion decided that perhaps they should do a bit more research before committing anything to paper. Between the two of them, he was sure they'd get it right.

[laweema]

Your Joy Ang style drawings look amazing! Do you have any advice for mimicking it?

HOW TO JOY ANG STYLE

Hi there! Yes I have. I will advice everyone, who want co mimic Joy's style, firstly to watch her speedpaints on her youtube channel. ( https://www.youtube.com/@JoyAng ) And watch her other arts, at her site - http://joyang.ca/artwork/ You will need to analyze how she works.

Earlier I didn't get it right away because I didn't quite understand it, but now I know some things:

1. Joy Ang makes a rough sketch of the entire drawing, and then colors it

2. Joy Ang first draws the works with a line, sometimes even on paper

Added my Kinkajou without color to the block

3. Then she creates a base layer under the line

4. Then (not always, but as I understood in most cases) merges the fill and line layer into one and begins to work with color and shades, pipetting the colors from the sketch (I'm saving the layers with the line just in case something goes wrong) Use the "transparency lock" to stay within the bounds of the fill !!!

5. For dragons with lots of scales, like Kinkajou, personally, I first work with the color under the line and only then merge to make light on the scales, otherwise I will smear them all

6. Joy paints with STROKES, very very small strokes, which may make it a little difficult to work, but then the work will be more like Joy Take a closer look!

7. Joy often, but not every time, draws a very contrast line of light next to the contour in her work

8. Her line is not smooth! It's textured!

9. The backgrounds in her works are a great example of working with contrast. Almost all of Joy's backgrounds are very light, sometimes almost white against the background of the characters. This is in order to highlight the character and focus attention on them.

10. Very important! Joy sometimes neglects anatomy in order to create an eye-pleasing picture, here's an example - flowing lines in her drawings, yes, dragons do not have a pelvis, but their body turns very beautifully and smoothly twists. I would compare this to animation, where the characters also usually have smooth, pleasant features.

Bad for anatomy, but great for stylysation!

11. And I think it should be said that her work is full of color, so don't limit yourself to "white and black" by painting light and shadow.

So.. That's it! You will need practice to completely repeat the style, try to study Joy Ang's work yourself, and make some small drawings first to get used to the style, good luck!

[talonabraxas]

“Close your eyes and let the mind expand. Let no fear of death or darkness arrest its course. Allow the mind to merge with Mind. Let it flow out upon the great curve of consciousness. Let it soar on the wings of the great bird of duration, up to the very Circle of Eternity.” ― Hermes

Quetzal Talon Abraxas One of the most beautiful birds in the world, after which the unit of currency of Guatemala is named, and a creature highly revered by the Aztecs, is the (resplendent) quetzal. World expert Dr. Paul A. Johnsgard, Foundation Professor of Biological Sciences Emeritus, School of Biological Sciences, University of Nebraska-Lincoln (USA), has generously allowed us to reproduce here the introduction to his book ‘Trogons and Quetzals of the World’, in which he pays fitting tribute to this endangered bird.

If ever there existed an ultimate symbol of the beauty embodied by birds, the resplendent quetzal would certainly qualify. Rare, stunningly beautiful, elusive, and limited to the remote and mist-draped cloud forests of Middle America, this bird, with its shimmering golden green and blood-red feathers, is an artist’s dream. Most birders, if asked which tropical bird they would like to glimpse in its natural habitat sometime during their lifetime, would probably nominate the resplendent quetzal.

To the pre-Columbian aborigines of Middle America the bird’s glorious plumes were more highly treasured than gold, and only high priests and royalty were allowed to possess and wear them. Ornaments made of the incredibly long, golden-green tail-coverts of the male quetzal adorned the heads of these personages; like the equally coveted and similarly rare jade, these feathers are the color of maize leaves and all the other green vegetation that gives life and beauty to the earth.

Little wonder then that of all the deities of the Nahuatl-speaking tribes, Quetzalcoatl was preeminent. The name of this benevolent god come from quetzal (representing the sky); co (representing earth); and atl (denoting water), thus collectively comprising and representing a combination of the earth, the seas, and the heavens. This so-called plumed serpent is often represented in human form as having a headdress of flowers and feathers and holding in one hand a staff of life and in the other a spear with its point representing the morning star, where his heart resides. Perhaps initially based on an actual historic figure, the last hero-king of early Toltec culture, Quetzalcoatl was later gradually transformed into a major deity among the Aztecs of the high plateau of central Mexico. There he gradually metamorphosed into a wind god, presiding over earth, water and sky, and a peace-loving guardian of arts, crafts, and music. indeed, in a sixteenth-century Nahuatl manuscript, a poem describes how Quetzalcoatl (in his wind-god persona) stole Music and his attendant musicians from the possessive Sun, in order to bring them and their special treasures back to Earth… Bearing them gently lest he should harm their tender melodies, the Wind with that tumult of happiness in his arms set out on his downward journey, generous and contented. Below, Earth raised its dark eyes to heaven and its great face shone, and it smiled. As the arms of the trees were uplifted, there greeted with Wind’s wanderers the awakened voice of its people, the wings of the quetzal birds, the face of the flowers, and the cheeks of the fruit. When all that flutter of happiness landed on Earth, and the Sun’s musicians spread to the four quarters, then Wind ceased his complaining and sang, caressing the valleys, the forests, and seas. Thus was Music born on the bosom of Earth.

In a similar way, birds once brought the first real music to our Earth, music that together with their great beauty and grace, we now all enjoy. It would be a much poorer and sadder world if the quetzal and all of its avian relatives were to disappear. Then Earth would become a more silent and fearful place, as it was before we received, at least in these mythic traditions, the gift of Music from Quetzalcoatl.

[nochd]

I wish tumblr would let you reblog two separate posts and kind of merge them, because I've seen two posts that I want to respond to together. They're both fairly reasonable but their points are in tension with each other. They're both about the niceties of the consent ethic and they're both relevant to naturism, and I feel they need a response.

So I'm going to copypaste them both here, and then later I'll come back and reblog this post with what I have to say about them.

Post #1 is from @homunculus-argument:

I come from a culture that has no nudity taboo - nudity is not considered inherently sexual, or somehow traumatising to witness. What that means in practice is that there is a clearly drawn line between sexual and non-sexual nudity. There is nothing wrong or inappropriate about nudity in a sexual context, and nothing wrong or inappropriate about nudity in a non-sexual context. However, it is 100% inappropriate to be nude in a situation where it is not obvious from context whether this is sexual or not. I've seen random kids who briefly escaped from their parents bolt across a public park buck-ass naked after they were playing in the water fountain and their parents were in the middle of changing their kid from wet clothes to dry clothes when the small nudist escaped. Changing your small kid's clothes right there in public is ok because there is obviously nothing sexual about a child whose clothes got wet. But although people will have baby pictures of their kids in the bath or just running around the house like that because sometimes little apes hate clothes for some reason, it's considered common sense to not share those pictures on facebook mom groups and such, because you have no way of knowing who's seeing them, and that blurs the line of context. It all boils down to the clearly defined context. Bathing nude in the same sauna with five of your co-workers at the office christmas party? Clearly nonsexual, therefore completely fine. Your friend-with-benefits inviting you to come over and opening the door in nothing but a doggy collar and the most porn-scented perfume? Clearly sexual, therefore completely fine. A woman checking her breasts for lumps in the gym lockers just before or after a shower? Clearly non-sexual, therefore completely fine. But if you went to the bank today and there's some guy who walks in and immediately strips naked, doing his banking business wearing nothing but a deep smile and being clearly very content with this situation, you have no way of telling whether he's getting kicks out of this or not. There is no contextual reason for him to be nude. Therefore, that is inappropriate. Then you go home and post on tumblr - as one does - going like "there was some dude completely fucking buck-ass naked in the bank today. That was fucking weird and I wish he had not done that." And someone immediately swoops into inform you that actually nudity is not inherently sexual or inappropriate, and there are cultures out there that have no nudity taboo. It's not fair to call somebody a freak for something like that, maybe that guy was just finnish.

Post #2 comes from @unconventiononthelawofthesea:

like, okay, consent does literally just mean agree. which is what enables this little rhetorical trick. because there's all this cultural emphasis on sexual consent, which is just expressed as consent, a lot of phrases whose intended meanings are "rape is bad" can be taken literally to mean "i should get to agree to everything that happens in my vicinity." for an example, "i didn't agree to seeing you wear that shirt" is straightforwardly a fucking insane thing for someone to say, but people regularly make use of this trick to make the (functionally identical) statement "i didn't consent to seeing that"

And @fucktoyfelix reblogged and said

Strongly recommend that people familiarize themselves with the white supremacist concept of "right to comfort" because of how scarily that concept aligns with this behavior THIS is where the logic comes from that drives misogynistic control of what women wear, how fat people exist in public, how disabled people exist in public, miscontrues kink-related fashion as the same as sex itself, and prevents people breastfeeding their children in clean environments. Its interesting what demographics are effected most negatively by this huh

[sweet7simple]

... can we get a happy follow-up to the dratchrod prompt where rodimus is trying to be what drift and ratchet want?

The thing is , Ratchet and Drift aren't stupid. Ratchet knows how to read a bot and Drift knows how to read auras.

(Ratchet points threateningly at Drift. "Slag. I'm calling slag."

"I can see auras," Drift insists.

"No, you can pick up emotional frequencies from whatever bot you're facing."

"Yes, that is what I said," Drift says with a serene smile. He ducks when Ratchet shakes his servo at him.)

But they also know Rodimus. They can't just go up to him and say, "Hey, you're hurting and we don't want you to hurt," because that isn't going to solve anything. It will be true, but Rodimus won't believe it. If they say, "We're here for you and we want you to be happy with us," then Rodimus will just smile and nod and say, "I know." He will be lying. He's just willing to be their pity lay if it means he gets to stay. He'll leave eventually, somehow disappearing on this ship of 200 sparks. When he deigns to be near them again, he'll treat them like distant friends. Maybe even close friends - but not lovers, not ever again.

Ratchet and Drift aren't taking those chances, so they're going to just keep sneakily chipping away at Rodimus's fears until the cycle comes where Rodimus stays with them.

It's hard work, but they're used to it and Rodimus is worth it.

They make mistakes. They're not perfect and neither is Rodimus. Sometimes Ratchet loses his temper and sometimes it's Drift and sometimes Rodimus pretends he doesn't care about why their mad right before he wanders off and no one sees him for a long time. They know Rodimus gets scared about making them mad. They're working on it.

Ratchet hates it, but he even tried out meditation. Whatever helps, right? Whatever makes Rodimus stops acting like every argument will be their last.

And Rodimus might give the best gifts and go out of his way for acts of service and quality time, but Ratchet and Drift aren't being lazy about it either!

It takes a lot of concentration to figure out what Rodimus actually loves when it comes to interfacing (wireplay, spark merging, sexual, just making out sloppy-style in a utility closet while they're on-shift, you name it) because he genuinely appears to enjoy everything they do as long as they're together. Rodimus gets uneasy when they praise him for how good he is while they're in the berth, so they steer away from that and talk about how beautiful he is (which is true and also makes Rodimus preen) and how much they want him (that gets some honest, desperate keens from their co-captain). Rodimus actually enjoys just laying there and making them do all the work, which they find wildly endearing. It just takes awhile to get Rodimus to that point since he's of the erroneous belief that he has to work hard for their affection.

He doesn't. They already love him. Despite their shared past - because of their shared past - because of Overlord and Pharma and the DJD and everything before and after - they already know who they are dealing with and they want him just as he is, just as the mech he has grown into before he started acting like venting too hard in their direction might chase them off.

They love him and he's worth it and they are oh-so slowly getting through to him.

They invite him over to their hab suite as often as possible. Sometimes, they break into his hab suite (having a medical emergency override door code can be good for a lot of things) and crawl into his berth - whether he's already there or they're waiting for him to arrive. Rodimus always gets this astounded, vulnerable look on his face when he realizes that they're willing to come to him instead of always making him come to them.

They make sure to sneak into his hab suite more often, hoarding soft tarps and thick gel cushions.

They make sure every off-shift together doesn't always include interfacing because they don't want Rodimus to believe that's all they want him for. They cuddle too, which makes Rodimus go molten and fuzzy in sweet way.

Drift shows an interest in Rodimus's art and goes racing with him down on the tracks because he wants Rodimus to know that his hobbies are important. Ratchet won't race with them, but he'll officiate when he can and he'll lie about who wins the race just to grin at them while they bicker over who's really first place.

Ratchet trades assignments, patients, and non-essential equipment with the other medics and Perceptor (surprisingly not Brainstorm, but unsurprisingly because Perceptor stocks up for Brainstorm) for sweets because Rodimus goes feral over mercury melts and oil sticks and bolt candies.

Drift is taking the crystals Rodimus finds the prettiest from his collection and braiding them into a chainlink jewelry drape meant to hang from Rodimus's spoiler.

Ratchet is proving he trusts Rodimus by talking about his chronic pain and joint locks with him, even the parts he doesn't like to talk about (and he doesn't really like to talk about any of it).

"An old mech like me was lucky enough to catch the optic of one smoking hot speedster," he admits with notes of humor, pride, and some small amount of surprise at his own luck. "Now I have you and Drift. It's a good time to be alive."

He makes sure to repeat this many times in some form or another - just how incredible it is that he gets to have Rodimus and Drift. How they're so beautiful and fit and he's falling to pieces. How he doesn't know why they keep him around, but he won't complain about their taste in old, decrepit mecha.

"Ratchet, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're literally so sexy that I get revved up just thinking about sitting on your thigh. You're built fragging thick. Thicker than the wheels on a monster truck, okay? And, besides. You're not as replaceable as you make yourself sound. You're so important to me. To us. I need you to see that."

Ratchet smiles because that's pretty much what he and Drift are trying to teach him. "Huh, I guess you're right," he says. "The three of us are our best when we're together." Rodimus sputters because he somehow feels targeted and he's not sure why. "So we're just going to have to stick together in this dimension and every other dimension we wander through. Thanks for listening to me, kid. I feel better."

"Um, you're welcome?"

It's a work in progress, but there is progress. Rodimus still sometimes chooses to stay in his own hab suite without them during their off-shift and sometimes he stares at them like they're about to flip him off and walk away, but he's slowly reverting back to the mech they fell in love with. He's letting himself make mistakes and own them instead of acting like he's about to get broken up with. He's getting pushy in the berth (which is actually adorable and very arousing) and whining at them to wash and polish his spoiler in the wash racks and he's with them more off-shifts than not.

There's this one time when they're about to slip into recharge and Rodimus says quietly, so quietly like he hopes they won't hear him, "I want to stay."

Ratchet pulls Rodimus closer and Drift nuzzles under his spoiler from behind.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you, kid," Ratchet murmurs. "You don't have to go. We're not going anywhere either. We're all staying."

"All of us," Drift adds, squeezing Rodimus's waist. "That includes you. Be home with us, Roddy. Just be home with us."

It isn't easy, but they're making progress.

At some point in the future, Rodimus will believe them. He believes them both a little bit more each cycle.

[badlifedecisionshotline]

-《Astrology aspects explained!》

☆<[Simple, detailed, 3 minute read]>☆

R - Retrograde, when a planet moves backwards in the sky ~[oppertunities for gathering insight, perspectives and information from something unseen, in order to re-center/re-ballanse or re-focus on a certain aspect in our lives. (THOUGH it can be both negative and positive, depending on the planet affected)]

Conjunction - When two (or more) planets are extremely close together (in a </8°range), causing the different meanings and aspects in them to merge, overlap & connect. No matter how contradicting they may sound- so stay open-minded and interpret things your own way.

Sexitle - 60° distance between 2 signs. [The relationship between the two are co-operative, calm, colected, stress free. An acquaintance-ship that is close to the point that they've known eachother as co-workers for years. That they're so accustomed and relaxed around eachother that they can acheive comfortable silence without any conserns or need to make a good conversation. They also promote and support eachothers respective characteristics, and new ideas and oppertunities flow well as a direct effect of it]

Squaring - 90° distance between signs [challenges and conflicts between two planets. This is a complete 1-80 difference compared to when signs sextile. Depending on what signs are involved + their characteristics it can be utter mutual loathing, disqust, dislike, disaproval, refusal to listen and consider the others opinions]

Trining (trine) - 120° distance between signs [usualy between signs under the same type of zodiac due to it representing synchronization. It does not have to have neither positive nor negative things behind it, purely neutrual. Its an affective pair, souly out of how well they work together and get the job done. They dont know eachother on a personal level, but they do when it comes to whatever work they need done and have been doing for over 5 years together. I imagined a ball they atended for buisness, dancing witch would usualy represent something deeply intimate. Yet neither care about the implications, trusting and knowing one another well enough that they feel safe dancing together. Others arent sure why- neither am i, but they seem to know]

Quincux - 150° distance [This one, once again, an opposite to the last mentioned consept. This ones born out of lack of understanding for eachother. Theres tension becouse of it, and i imagine sometimes each can take great offense due to the others mixed signals- think colture shock between people of entirely different ethnic groups/backgrounds. They feel stuck together, but its neutrual in its own way. Because theres so many mixed feelings and confusion, one moment they can be angry, another anxious, hurt, upset, stressed, tense, shocked- everything and anything]

Opposition - full 180° [opposite of conjunction- FRIENSHIP IS BULLSHIT. ILL BRING UR MOTHER INTO THIS. FUCK YOU EZEKIEL /refrence- Ye lazy and dizzy meow meow chicken butt]

[tifa-simp]

Sephiroth has always had a grudge against Tifa.

Some ppl say that Sephiroth sudden changes his target to Tifa in Rebirth is weird and I say they just have selective memory cos that mf has been after Tifa's ass since Remake. It's just more direct in Rebirth.

So, Sephiroth can control 3 things: the black whispers, the black robed men and his Jenova monsters, occasionally Cloud too. And sometimes Sephiroth appears as a clone or an illusion to get things done himself.

Now let's take a look at Remake.

At the beginning of Remake, Tifa takes care of a robed man named Marco with the number 49 on his left arm. Later, in Shinra HQ, we're shown that he's Jenova Dreamweaver, which is said by Aerith to be the source of everything. Tifa was living next door to something that dangerous for god knows how long.

The morning before the mission, a swamp of whispers appear in Sector 7 and attack Avalanche. We know their purpose is to hurt Jessie so Cloud will replace her. But before that, the whispers attack Tifa, separate her from Cloud. This move seems pretty unnecessary because if they want to, the whispers can push Jessie down the stair without having to do this to Tifa. So I assume the devs put it there for some foreshadowing purposes.

Ah yeah, have I mentioned this?

Later, at Destiny crossroad, the gang has to fight Whisper Harbinger. Cloud, Barret, RedXIII fight Whisper Viridi and Croceo , while Tifa and Aerith fight Whisper Rubrum. As the boys finish their fight and on their way to help the girls, Tifa's distracted by a vision of future and can't react to Rubrum's attacks. Fortunately, Cloud saves her on time.

Now, some fun facts about these Whisper monsters, they're supposed to represent the Remnants of Sephiroth. And Rubrum takes after Kadaj.

But it isn't the only one that has something special for Tifa.

So 2 out of 3 Whisper monsters have an attack specifically aim at Tifa.

In short, in Remake, we have a robed man close to Tifa, black whispers harm Tifa for no reason, illusion of Sephiroth kills Tifa, Whispers monsters direct hit at Tifa.

Now onto Rebirth!

Open with a bang, the Nibelheim accident, where Sephiroth gives Tifa her the scar on her chest.

In Kalm, after the flashback, Tifa asks Cloud for a private talk. This is where Sephiroth starts gaslighting Cloud that Tifa is Jenova

After Junon, they sneak on a ship to Costa Del Sol, there's a breakout of monsters and robed men. The robed men have developed the ability to merge with monster and each other to become more powerful. This is all according to Hojo's plan. Tifa and Cloud have to fight a chimera between robed man and Hojo's monster. When the fight almost ends, the Necrotic Entity collapse in front of Tifa. Before it can harm her, Cloud delivers the finishing blow.

Now it's just me but this looks kinda similar to Rubrum fight. The gang then have to fight Emergent and look, another attack aims at Tifa in cutscene just like Rubrum.

This is the second time Sephiroth appears and "warns" Cloud about Tifa, also when he drops the line "That she can become those you hate. Those you fear. Those you love. And they call her Jenova." (btw in JP, there's only fear and love, no hate)

In Corel, Tifa asks the gang to visit doctor Sheiran-the one saved her from Sephiroth's slash. Once again, Sephiroth appears to warn Cloud in the clinic.

In Gongaga, where Sephiroth's scheme unveils, he's planned a meticulous plan to isolate Cloud, who's extremely weak under influence of Mako, and Tifa, who's in danger, from the rest of the gang. Out of desperation, Cloud gives in his anger and lets Sephiroth take over his body and kill all the Shinra troops sadistically, to the point Tifa has to shout at him to stop. Now this where Sephiroth's grudge is most apparent.

Firstly, we have Cloud fully believes Tifa to be Jenova, forces her to show him her scar and repeats Sephiroth's words on the cruise: "Those we hate, those we love, those we fear- Jenova could be anyone to fool her prey." Pay attention to how he switches love-fear compared to Sephiroth's fear-love. Also looks at this Devil-Angel on shoulder implication, chef kiss.

Secondly, we have a 1:1 recreation of Sephiroth's attempted murder on Tifa with Cloud as the executioner this time.

Thirdly, after the WEAPON saved Tifa, black whispers attack the WEAPON that holds Tifa and Sephiroth manifests in his real body to attack her but misses, or maybe he misses on purpose.

And finally, when she gasps for air, he mocks her that her words won't reach Cloud.

Like damn, this mf is an expert at tormenting Tifa. This has to be the most effort he's put in throughout 2 games that I've seen. Black whispers, illusion, real self, he pulls all the stops for Gongaga, ok?

BUT HE'S STILL NOT DONE!

After the temple collapses and Cloud goes full on puppet mode, obeys Sephiroth's order to give him the black material, Tifa shoves Cloud and tries to wake him up. This mf Sephiroth mocks her AGAIN and commands black whispers to hold Tifa back from reaching for Cloud, which look similar to the black whisper attack in sector 7 in Remake .

In conclusion, in Rebirth, we have real Sephiroth attacks Tifa twice, forces her to show her traumatic scar twice, makes Cloud accuse Tifa of being Jenova twice, makes Cloud to recreate the exact way he permanent scared Tifa, mocks her connection with Cloud twice, his monsters attack Tifa twice, black whispers attack Tifa twice.

This is personal for Sephiroth. With Cloud, he toys with him in flirtatious way. With Aerith, he just dismisses her words, kinda quarrels with her over the Planet true wish.

But with Tifa? Straight action. He always maxes out his resource when it comes to fuck with Tifa: black whispers, robed men, whispers monster, robed man monster, Jenova monster, his illusion, his clone, his real body, Cloud, EVERYTHING. If he has it, he'll use it against Tifa one way or another. I feel like whatever he has for Tifa is pretty nasty compared to Cloud. At least with Cloud, we know that Sephiroth wants to convince him to join his side. We have no idea what's his intention with Tifa to mess her up this much beside for the sake of torture her. Whatever it might be, one thing for sure is that Tifa has an incredible mental fortitude that can survive all of this and more. She'll only grow stronger and tougher in part 3, makes it even harder for Sephiroth to knock her down.

[hyuneskkami]

✮⋆˙ 𝐅𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇. 𝐈

⤷ hq boys x any!reader . . . pt. 1

masterlist

part 1 part 2

⊹ ࣪ ˖ fandom | haikyū!!

✧˖°. includes | nishinoya yū x reader headcannons, study date, noya being adorable, cutesy fluff, like one dialogue related to math but if that’s triggering then you can skip /j (im so funny)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ key | y/n: your name

✧˖°. in which | noya and reader have a cute study date bc reader helps him study in the form of a ‘study date’ so he can get good enough grades to go for their next vb comp

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a/n | hdksjdksks literally my favourite hq blorbo!!! I can’t wait to write more of these hcs <3 it’s a pretty short post but I might keep adding on?

“there is literally no logic in this!”

you have lots of energy left to educate noya about how math works.

“just remember it: differentiation of sin x is cos x, but the integration of sin x is negative cos x. simple!”

“oho, simple, my ass,” he rolls his eyes, ever the drama queen.

the volleyball team found out from daichi and suga that unless they all pass every one of their subjects (especially hinaga, kageyama, tanaka and noya), they couldn’t participate in the next match

desperately, noya begs you to help him out because he’s currently the trashiest at only one subject: math; which, believe it or not, is your strong suit

he’s delirious by the time you’re done with him on day 1, and refuses to continue studying it unless there’s something in it for him too (except the very necessary match he had to play in)

“how about… a kiss for every question you get right?”

and since then, he began understanding every formula and question, just to receive as many kisses as you could spare for him

tutoring sessions turn into study dates as the days merge together

dusk morphs into dawn when you study at his house sometimes, and he ends up falling asleep on the table

looking up to find him softly snoring, with his hair falling onto his closed eyes, you smile at him

he’d been working so hard the past month <3

you reach out to ruffle his hair slowly and pat his head lightly, making sure not to wake him from his peaceful state

“thanks… y/n,” he whispers, still asleep.

your heart melts, and you were glad he wasn’t awake; if he was, you knew he’d tease you about the massive redness creeping up your neck

✰ hq taglist | @puffoz @serendipitous-girl @iheartgirlzn

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[dhddmods]

Plural/System Guide!

Hello! We wanted to share a quick plural guide for anyone that is confused about plurality.

(This guide mentions dissociation quite a few times, so you may also want to check out our dissociation guide. We also recommend you read our alterhuman guide, to understand experiences that non-humans & introjects within systems may have.)

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Plurality/Systems is an umbrella term for anybody that has more than one person/entity controlling a singular body. Each member can have their own name, pronouns/titles, sex, gender, appearance, race/species, orientation, etc. Anyone that isn't plural is a Singlet.

Being in-control of the shared-body is known as Fronting. Fronting can be optional or forced by the brain. Co-fronting is when multiple people are fronting at the same time. If a fronter/co-fronter cannot retreat, it is known as being Frontstuck. When a system is swapping who is fronting, it is known as Switching.

System members are called sysmates, headmates, alters, parts, or facets. Every system has their own preference of what to call their members. In some cases, sysmates are temporary, and may go inactive/fade over time, or exit through a gateway (more on that later.)

Sysmates can have individual memories, or they may share all their memories as a collective. They may or may not get the choice of what to share. If a certain memory is not accessible to all of the system, it is known as having Amnesia Barriers.

An Innerworld/Headspace is a dreamscape that many systems have, where members can live and interact when they are not in charge of the shared-body. They could have one set appearance (ie; a planet, a spaceship, a house, etc), or they could shift/change, either randomly, following a schedule, or at the will of sysmates (either specific sysmates or all sysmates.) The opposite of the innerworld (the physical space that the shared-body interacts with) is known as the Outerworld/Meat Space.

Many innerworlds have fronting rooms, which are areas that sysmates go in order to watch what is happening in the outerworld.

Not all systems have a innerworld. They may simply go into a "coma" when they are not fronting, or may "float" in an empty void. Innerworlds could be any size.

Some systems have NPCs (people who are incapable of fronting & engaging in shared memories). NPCs can be simple (repeating lines, repeating tasks, limited behaviors, etc) or complex (capable of new dialogue, capable of coming up with new tasks, a variety of behavior, etc). For complex NPCs, the only way to tell them apart from sysmates is by the fact that they have no special abilities (like fronting, sharing memories, or set-roles.)

Fragments are sysmates that are not fully developed. They are sort of in-between simple NPCs and sysmates. They have some system capabilities, but are not fully autonomous, and often to not have a full grasp over their personal identity.

Sometimes NPCs and fragments develop into full-sysmates.

Fusing/Merging/Integration describes when two or more sysmates merge together, either temporarily or permanently. If it is a temporary fuse, it is known as Blending. Their physical appearances may combine, or they may take on only one of the sysmates appearances, or a whole new appearance unrelated to either of their previous ones. Their identities may be merged as well, or they may be autonomous within their innerworld body; a system within a system.

Subsystems are systems within systems. They might be a result of fusion, or they may have formed as subsystems from the start, or developed their own sysmates unrelated to fusing.

Some systems have groups that live separately within the headspace (usually on different layers of a headspace). These are known as Side Systems. There may be a Main System (which consists of the people with the most control over the shared-body), or the system may be made up fully of side systems that have equal control over the shared-body.

Here are a few terms for sysmates:

Little/Syskid: A sysmate who is a child, typically under the age of 13. Middle/Systeen: A sysmate who is a teenager, typically 13-17, however sometimes 18-19 is included. Big/Biggin/Sysadult: A sysmate who is an adult, typically 18+. Ageless: A sysmate with no age. They might look like a kid, teen, or child, or they may have an ambiguous appearance. Age-Slider: A sysmate whose age is fluid/fluctuating. How frequently their age changes depends on the individual. Lost Adult/Disadult: A sysmate that is physically an adult, but mentally a child or teenager. Claudia/Paradult: A sysmate that is physically a child, but mentally an adult. Exomemories: Memories that did not occur within the shared body or innerworld; memories from a life outside of the system. This can apply to introjects & walk-ins. Exotrauma: Trauma that did not occur to the shared body or within the innerworld; trauma from exomemories. This can apply to introjects & walk-ins. Introject/Introtive: A sysmate who has a specific "source." For example, a sysmate who forms with the appearance and/or experiences of a fictional character or family member. They may or may not share the personal identity (name, gender, etc) of their source, and may have exomemories/exotrauma of their source. Fictives are introjects with fictional sources, and Factives are introjects with real-life sources. Core(s): The first/original sysmate(s) to exist within the system. Gateway System: A system with a gateway (either physical or metaphorical) that leads to other spaces, such as other layers of the innerworld, or into a different universe. This gateway may be a one-way walk (as in once someone enters, they cannot leave; or vice-versa) or it may be free range both directions. If a new sysmate enters a system through a gateway, they are known as Walk-Ins. Median System: A system where sysmates are not as distinct from one another, and are "blurred" or are simply "different versions" of one main identity.

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Origins

Next up, system origins.

Adaptive System: A system that was formed in order to cope with something. This includes traumagenic, stressgenic, isolgenic, neurogenic, and physiogenic systems. Traumagenic: A system that was formed due to trauma. Stressgenic: A system that was formed due to stress. Isolgenic: A system that was formed due to loneliness or social isolation. Depending on how strongly the loneliness affected the person, it may also count as traumagenic. Neurogenic: A system that was formed due to pre-existing neurodivergence. For example, an autistic person who developed sysmates of characters from their special interest. Another example would be a person with substance abuse disorder who developed a sysmate to help them overcome their addiction. Physiogenic: A system that was formed due to physical disability. This is typically related to stress (stressgenic) or trauma (traumagenic) that either the disability itself caused, or ableism caused. Endogenic: A system that was not formed due to trauma; a system that is not traumagenic. This includes adaptive systems that are not trauma-related, created systems, protogenic systems, spontagenic systems, & unknown systems. Created System: A system that was willingly created. This includes willogenic, tulpagenic, spirigenic, & metagenic systems. Willogenic: A system that was willed into existence for non-adaptive reasons. They may refer to themselves as Willomancers, and might call their sysmates Willomates. If this creation was done subconsciously/unintentionally, it is known as being Catharigenic. If this was done through meditation, self-induced dissociation, and prolonged attempts at summoning, it is known as Tulpamancy. A Tulplagenic system might refer to their sysmates as Tulpas. Spirigenic: A system that was created through spiritual methods, typically connected to religious practices. Metagenic: A system that was created through metaphysical/spiritual methods, unrelated to religious practices/beliefs. Protogenic: A system that has existed since birth, or has existed for as long as the brain can remember. Spontagenic: A system that spontaneously appeared, with no identifiable cause. Unknown System/Quoigenic: A system that formed from unknown/uncertain causes. This includes cryptogenic & congenic systems. Cryptogenic: A system that does not know their origin. This is not the same as a spontagenic system, as spontagenic systems are certain that their system has no cause, meanwhile cryptogenic systems are uncertain of their origins, and may have amnesia or confusion relating to their origins. Congenic: A system with a complicated origin. Their origin may be so complicated that they are incapable of labeling it further, or finding a suitable category. Multigenic/Mixed-Origin: A system that has multiple causes, or a system that has different causes for different sysmates. For example, a system where some sysmates were formed from trauma (traumagenic), meanwhile others were willed into existence (willogenic.)

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Roles

Now, lets dive into system roles. System roles are jobs/duties assigned to sysmates, typically pre-assigned by the brain as the sysmates are forming into existence (however for some people, roles are chosen after formation.) Roles might shift/change over time, or a person may have multiple different roles. Not every system has roles, however a majority of systems do.

There are hundreds of possible roles a system may have, far too many to list, so instead we shall be going over the most common ones:

Caretaker: A sysmate who formed to tend to somebody. They may have a parental/grandparental, older-sibling, or mentor relationship with whoever they formed to tend to. Protector: A sysmate who formed to protect someone/something. They could be protecting their sysmates, the shared-body, the shared-body's relatives, friends/partners, or even physical objects. Holder: A sysmate who formed to deal with a specific thing, for the sake of the rest of the system. For example, a Trauma-Holder is a sysmate who holds a large portion of the traumatic memories/symptoms, so that the rest of the sysmates don't have to deal with it. A Symptom-Holder is a sysmate who holds a large portion of neurodivergent or disability symptoms. Their holding may be voluntary (in which case, they could be classified as a protector), or the brain may be forcing them to hold these things. Manager: A sysmate who makes sure that everybody is fulfilling their duties, and that things are being maintained. Persecutor: A sysmate who causes harm (intentional or otherwise) to someone/something. This is often a misguided protector or manager who is intending to help through harmful methods (such as alcoholism, self-harm of the shared-body, intense criticism, physical punishment of other sysmates, etc). It could also describe a sysmate who is a trauma-holder or symptom-holder, and lashes out as a result of stress, guilt, shame, etc. Alternatively, an abusive sysmate (for example, an introject of an abuser) can also be labelled a persecutor. Gatekeeper: A sysmate in a gateway system that keeps watch over who enters or exits through the gateway. Architect: A sysmate that has the ability to create/edit/destroy the appearance/structure of the innerworld. Beastmaster: A sysmate that has the ability to create/edit/destroy and/or control non-sentient beings (simple NPCs, animals, plantlife, etc) within the innerworld. Host/Outernaut: A sysmate who is in-charge of the shared-body, and fronts most often. Some systems have multiple hosts. Co-Host/Perinaut: A sysmate who takes over when the host(s) are unavailable, or who otherwise helps out the host.

Disordered Plurality (DID & OSDD)

Plurality is neurodivergent in nature, however it is not inherently a disorder. Disordered plurality describes people whose plurality is linked to a disorder of some kind. This includes most traumagenic systems and many neurogenic systems, however there are also a few dissociative disorders that overlap with plurality as well.

Dissociative Identity Disorder/DID (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder/MPD) describes plurality where the system has distinct sysmates (possibly fragments as well), dissociative episodes, sysmates often (or always) dissociate between switches, and sysmates have amnesia barriers between them. This often (but not always) leads to sysmates being unaware of each others existence, and having difficulty with communication. Access to the innerworld is frequently also limited. Dissociation and amnesia can be worked-out through therapy or communication, however it is usually quite difficult.

OSDD-1/Otherwise Specified Dissociative Disorder Type 1 describes plurality where the system experiences dissociative episodes, however it doesn't quite fit the DID diagnosis.

OSDD-1a is where dissociative episodes occur, however unlike DID, there are not distinct sysmates. Instead, the system is median, or made up completely of fragments. Sysmates are "blurry" and similar to one another, but amnesia barriers still exist despite that.

OSDD-1b is where dissociative episodes occur, possibly even dissociation between switches, however amnesia barriers do not exist. Trauma may still cause general system-wide amnesia, but not amnesia that is seperated between sysmates.

DID and OSDD-1 forms from trauma (typically childhood trauma, however older people can develop DID/OSDD-1 as well.) DID/OSDD-1 might cause the plurality, or the plurality may be pre-existing, and the dissociative disorder comes from trauma experienced later. (For example, a protogenic system that had trauma later in life and developed DID, turning them into a multigenic system.)

[13leaguestories]

hello!!! i literally just binged season 1 of superstition and finished it in two days…so amazing. On that note—i exported my save and it won’t let me load it in. I filled out the play without importing field but i was wondering if there was anyway to get the relationships as high as i had them before? Either way i’m so excited to play season two! thank u:)

Alright, gather around me and sit. Let me tell you a story about the dumbass shit that we sometimes find ourselves in.

TLDR; I can't fix this bug because it'll create other much bigger bugs so if you play before the rewrite is done you'll have to just recreate your character. I'm sorry, blame me and my past laptop.

So, I remember getting someone sending me something pertaining to this and I found the issue. Real easy issue. No idea actually how it happened to be honest. Solved it but then found an even bigger one.

I changed laptops a while back. I believed I transferred everything over. That is not the case. At all. When I transfer, sometimes it likes to act like it all transferred and the folders and all that will be there but if I comb through it then I'll find things missing. I legit had to recreate a few things due to this or just change them entirely. So many archived files, lost.

Anyway. One of the issues is that this is now what the assets folder for Superstition S1 look like compared to what it should look like.

Yes. That's it. That's the entire folder.

Now. Normally this wouldn't be a big issue of course, because I do indeed have all the files as you can see, that's how I'm doing the rewrite. I would just have to grab the missing ones from that folder and throw them here. Merge em. Push it out. The problem is still fixable.

But guess what. The earlier episodes all have been tweaked due to the rewrite. You can say: "damn Tee why didn't you just make another folder for that." Brain doesn't work that way. If I have too many folders, my brain shortcircuits and everything becomes a mess. I'm about to have that issue with Ozara from ToA, it's why I'm avoiding her right now. But that too, will soon have to be addressed.

My organization is very precise. But very shit.

So back to the point. Throwing them all in that folder, ignoring the ones rewritten will actually create more problems and bugs. That's because of the new variables introduced, new widgets for things, etc. And I can't just throw Episode 11 in and call it a day because I will still have to merge the files into the index, meaning that all of the episodes that aren't there, will not be there. You will be playing a game with 4 episodes.

So yea. It's a fun time when you figure shit like that happened. I'm sorry, cos it sucks and it's on me. A problem I didn't realize until it was brought to my attention. I legit checked all my backups hoping one of them would be correct but no. I'll have to try and fish out my old laptop and hope that it powers on for me to see if it has the correct versions on there.