#fixed a continuity error

[zephyrchama]

(Obey Me! Belphegor and MC. The problem with naps.)

You were in trouble.

It had been several hours since you were able to move. Your legs were heavy, most likely numb. You wanted nothing more than to kick and stretch out your neglected muscles. The battery on your D.D.D. was running low.

Belphegor was deaf to the world, his nose buried in your naval with arms coiled around your waist. He was the world's clingiest lap blanket. Despite bending his knees, Belphegor's feet stuck out over the edge of the couch. You had tried fruitlessly over the hours to wake him, but things were getting dire.

You poked at his cheek. Slow and soft at first, but with increasing intensity until you reached a point where Leviathan himself would have recruited you for a button-mashing game.

"Belphie. Belphegor. Belphegor. Belphie. Belph. Belphegor. Hey!!"

You whacked his forehead with your D.D.D. There was no response. You sunk back into the couch cushions to create a bit of distance between your stomach and the demon's face. The next plan was to pinch his nose.

This was also futile. Belphegor clearly stopped inhaling and appeared fine, but such a length of time without breathing would cause brain damage in humans. It disturbed you. He was probably fine, being a demon and all. It was still concerning. You squeezed his nostrils until the excessive passage of time made you uncomfortable and let go. A couple of seconds went by before Belphegor breathed in with a loud snore. Any sense of relief was quickly and easily washed away by annoyance.

You groaned and leaned forward over the demon's head, placing your elbows on the edge of your knees to better cradle your face in your hands with despair. You balled your hands into fists, pressing them against your forehead, and let out a wail.

"Belphie, I'm begging you. Wake up."

Silence. You felt like you were going to explode.

"I have to pee."

You might as well have been talking to a large rock. The demon's weight on your lower stomach was not helping the situation. In an ideal world, you would have reached the bathroom over an hour ago. You leaned back once more and stared dismally at the sleeping figure in your lap. You were running out of options.

"Hear me, Denizens of Darkness. I am Master of Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth. Heed my call and do as I command. Get off of me!"

Wisps of magic curled up your arms, dancing across your neck and face. Its light made everything brighter. Traces of powerful energy - Belphegor's own energy - blew through your hair, whooshing past your ears. Belphegor was forcefully shifted into his demon form and rolled off the couch with all the grace of a baby chick learning to fly.

A deep rumble escaped his throat at the rude awakening. Belphegor lifted himself up in a daze. The fluff on his tail stood on edge as it swung turbulently from side to side. He clenched his jaw, barring his teeth menacingly. "What are you doing?"

You had already seized the chance to leap up. Only, your legs betrayed you. There was no strength to stand and you fumbled over onto Belphegor, colliding with his back. You both momentarily flailed on the ground.

"Explain yourself," he growled while you struggled to stand. Blips of magic were evaporating off your clothes, adding to the disorientation.

"Carry me!" you demanded. "That'll be faster, you've gotta carry me."

Even if you buckled your legs together to hold things in, you worried that wobbling down the hallway with jelly legs would be an impossible endeavor.

Belphegor looked at you the same way he would look at a diseased toad. With no context, he was wholly confused.

"I need the bathroom, now!" It was all you could think of. Magic started swirling at your wrists again as you began to chant, "Heed my words, in the name of the sorcerer..."

"Ok, ok! Wait!" Belphegor scrambled to his feet. He winced at the thought of being commanded again. His chest tightened, already afflicted by the start of your spell.

You had your knees locked together, digging your nails into your palm in a desperate attempt to hold your bladder in. It wasn't the best pose for being picked up. Belphegor did his best. He couldn't carry you in the elegant, suave manner he liked to dream about. Instead, he held you with both arms like an oversized bag of potatoes.

"Go, go, go!" Time was of the essence. He was slow to get a move on, so you beat on his shoulder with your fist. "This is all your fault!"

Belphegor blew a strand of hair out of his face. His expression was a sour frown. He was still cranky from being woken up. "Fine. Just hang on."

You don't get to see the demons use their abilities often. They like to play human in front of you. Unfortunately, with your head buried in Belphegor's hoodie and your mind occupied with other worries, you did not have the luxury to admire the way he bounded through the house with hardly perceptible speed. In just a few quick steps, not even five seconds later, you had arrived at your long-awaited destination.

You rolled out of Belphegor's arms and hastily slammed the door shut in the confused demon's face.

The Avatar of Sloth skulked across the hall to lean against the wall opposite the bathroom door. Now alone with his thoughts, he had ample time to get his mind in order and plan out exactly how to get revenge when you came back out.

[zu-is-here]

TRAPPED [ Error ]

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[rockonlavender]

emma swan + instagram

[project-sekai-facts]

For some reason, Hatsune Miku: Colorful Stage! ran the Someday, with our back-to-back lyrics event as the 4th event on the server, despite the fact that on the JP, TW, and KR servers it was the 6th event.

Additionally, despite the order change and the story listing being accurate to the server, the event title is still listed after RE:START from Here!

[angelapleasant]

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 1 - Lantern

I get to paint the next one!

[imadhatt3r]

Mike Pondsmith I'm so sorry, it doesn't matter how many times you're going to put this in the TTRPG, Johnny will forever have naturally black hair in my head, not blonde-dyed-black. You just will never win

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Editing tonight was looking at

"He could smell dinner cooking upstairs,"

and going, "that's fucking filtering, again, and also vague and bullshit."

and changing it to,

"The smell of roasting meat filtered down the stairs, strong enough to overpower the soap in the tub"

Which is more words, but more importantly:

Not filtering

Actually specific and gives sense details about what food is even being made

Much more immersive

Ah, editing, my beloved.

Editing tonight is also deciding to make this post, going up to copy the new sentence, and realized I spelled "meat" as "meet" the first go round for some inane reason.

[aria0fgold]

WAIT! WAIT WAIT! I'm getting notifications in the browser tumblr again??? It's happening yall, it's happening!!! IT'S HAPPENING! MY TUMBLR BROWSER IS FIXING ITSELF THANK THE STAAARRRSSS!!!

[neviixi]

wanna bash my head against the wall 🐬🐬💙🤗✨💖✨💕💞💗🐬

[jessicas-pi]

Some people kill their darlings. Me, personally? I mortify my blorbos. sounds like a very interesting fic that would probably vaporize me with secondhand embarrassment easily, so im very curious about it

YEEEHAAA

Okay okay so this scene, which I have temporarily dubbed In Which Tristan Steals Half A Letter And Mandalorian Sibling Rivalries Get A Little Violent, is from the very beginning of Paint Bombs, Pixie Cuts, And Elopement, and it is only the first of MANY increasingly mortifying situations!!

---

Sabine had been so distracted, she hadn’t realized she was no longer the only person in her library.

Tristan had breezed in, settled down in her abandoned spot on the lounge, and picked up the letter from Ezra.

“Hey! That’s personal!” she snapped, jumping up and snatching it from him.

Her brother looked up at her and raised an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?”

Sabine stomped back over to her desk and sat down, pulling out a second sheet of paper. “It means that it’s my business, not yours.”

“As your older brother, I think it is my business. After all, you’ve been sending a concerning amount of letters to him, and you won’t let anyone else see his replies.”

“Because it’s personal,” she repeated, not bothering to explain that out of the last six letters she’d sent, he only bothered to reply to the last one, and not very nicely, either.

“Which is exactly why we’re all worried.” She hunched her shoulders and focused on writing.

She was a few paragraphs in when he spoke again. “And it looks like I was right to be worried, because this, little sister, is a pretty compromising letter.”

Sabine blinked, bewildered. “Compromising?” She turned around in her seat and let out a furious cry. That letter—it had had two pages, and Tristan must have let her only snatch the first page without her noticing, because he had the second one in his hand now. “Tristan!”

“Oh, yes, very compromising. I quote—” He held up the letter and read aloud. “It was so nice of you to use all those tender words in your last message to me—have you been writing love notes?”

What she had been writing was a horribly rude letter where she called Ezra every name she could think of, and he’d got sarcastic over it in his reply, which Tristan had to know because the next sentence of that letter was a few of those phrases quoted, but he was apparently being a very selective reader now.

So, Sabine didn’t explain, and just stood, clenching her jaw. “Give me that, and get out of my library.”

He just reclined on the lounge, grinning and kicking his feet up. “You know, I’ve had a few… ah… romantic escapades, in my time. I can be trusted with a secret. So confide in me. Exactly what sweet nothings have you been writing to your adoring Prince?”

“Give it to me and get out, Tristan!”

“Should I make some guesses?” Tristan asked, jumping to his feet to avoid the sofa pillow she hurled at him. Sabine followed him, advancing slowly, fists clenched. “I bet he sends you long letters about his earnest and eternal love, and you send him back coquettish garbage acting like you don’t understand anything he says, so he’ll say it to you again.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, snatching at the sheet of paper that he held away from her.

“Oh, no, it happens all the time. I’ve fallen for it myself. I still have the letters I got from my old sweetheart when I was your age, if you need proof. Or reference materials for the next time you write—I’m sure the little minx wouldn’t mind you borrowing a few of her shameless hints for your own flirtation.”

“It’s not a flirtation!”

“My bad,” Tristan sang, dodging around a chair so it was between the two of them, and moving side to side in time with her to keep it that way. “But in my defense, I had no idea you and he were serious.”

“We’re not!”

“When did you two first get an understanding?”

“We don’t have one!”

“Now that I look back—this all started last summer, when we were in Jedha, didn’t it? He must have been trying to win your heart then, and I can only assume you strung him along for weeks like the sadistic little witch you are, before you gave in.”

She cursed at him, no longer cold from the drafty walls but so warm she felt like she was crawling out of her own skin. She didn’t know if it was from the excitement of finally getting the letter, the heat of the fire, or the flustered burning in her face, and she didn’t really care.

“I may regret asking this,” Tristan said without a trace of regret, whatsoever, at all, in a million years. “But how did ol’ Prince Di’kut manage to woo you? Did he act gallant and noble and play at courting you? Or was this a…” Tristan wiggled his eyebrows and leaned in to whisper, momentarily dropping his guard. “A passionate-midnight-meetings sort of affai—”

Sabine’s fist connected with his nose.

[truethes]

moved tartaglia and neuvillette from request only to primary muses :)

[valeriefauxnom]

A Critical Error In Scaling

Look, guys, I'm far from perfect, and I seem to have made a very very big lore mistake all the way back in chapter two.

In it, we had this paragraph:

Glancing about the room, he saw no immediate differences, but Phares had always been tidy, so Nedrick knew better than to expect things lying precariously in sight.

Maybe a little bit clunky anyways, but what's wrong about it?

Just now, I have the sudden realization that Phares probably isn't very tidy.

Exhibit 1: his own unit art.

Note the uneven piles of books, the abandoned open one on the table, and the random open drawer in the back.

Exhibit 2: chapter 6 movie

Here, we see a very haphazard candle arrangement, books open on the floor, and him stealing a chair to use as an impromptu table for yet more books.

Exhibit 3: his own unit lines

A bit more vaguely related, but Phares says this:

I tend to get lost in my thoughts often.

And while a tendency to get distracted mentally/lost in thought is not necessarily disorganization, I could see him getting a eureka moment for an entirely different subject than the one he's working on and having to totally switch gears so he doesn't forget and just leaving all his stuff behind for later and never cleaning it up, you know?

This concludes my quick overview and argument that Phares is actually a mess organizationally.

Valyx and Leo, whom I view as more likely to be of the 'pragmatic military hyperorganization' type, heck, even Chelle probably likes her ducks and items in a row, probably loathe stepping foot into his domain. And they've given up on trying to get him to change because you never know when he's fixing architectural flaws or finding another cure to a previously incurable illness or (etc etc etc)...

So yeah, he may be a polymath but he has not gotten a PhD in organization...yet!

[ranger-kellyn]

out in the field for a work trip, and on the drive i kept thinking about my fic Second Chances. i've really wanted to get working on it again, but any time i've tried to work on it, it feels like i'm...idk...pulling myself down to work on it? like, i started that fic in ~2017, so i was a younger writer at that point. while i very much have that fic to thank for where i'm at today, anytime i go to work on it to try to finish it off, i feel like i can't write at any of my current level. i also suffer from a ton of "i wish i had done [insert at least 12 different things] differently".

which eventually lead me to asking myself, "What if i just rewrite the whole thing? it would very much be the same story-- we [cynthia/diantha] dated when we were teenagers, had a bad, messy breakup, and both spiraled until we were in our late 30s, where we reunited at a much better place in our lives-- but it would get to be...more polished."

and so that's a thought i'm having

[silverpoints-terminal]

What are those logs you've been posting?

#*posting???

Did I# forward my logs to $everyone again^? Good heavens...

Huh. N~no~~, wait, this is more like a... blog of sorts.

#I was just trying to transfer them. The com##munica#tion department told me the computer terminal I ### using was too 0old for their new servers and # needed transfer# to a new one.

I REALLY ##need to put mYself to/gether. I keep falling asleep...

[13:25:54]

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Why! can't I explain! how this character being gay and on the asexual spectrum has a different result re: attempting to date women than if he were just gay!