#i feel it's relevant because it may have happened again? the ask was just asking if it was ship art

[wewillbeseen-butnotbeheard]

thank you for the understanding. i apologise if i appear as a “burden” (for this community, for whatever reason it may be) but if this is a civilised discussion then i need to get this off my chest

obviously i went on a streak of attempting to revile a lot of different pages/accounts on here. i assume some people noticed (i have dozens of asks since yesterday). it’s not the first time, i did it once over a month ago; albeit not as thoroughly as right now.

i have been met with a fair amount of genuine concern and empathy since, and at this point i feel bad for it again. it was only because i reached a point where i thought i would be better off with burning bridges with my own account as so i wouldn’t be welcomed here/whatever else. i’m tired of attempting to move on and failing because i just can’t seem to

but anyway. sorry for ranting (although this may be a rant) i think this is more relevant

i have a brief idea of my own position on this kind of thing, so i’m going to explain as simple as i can. i want to be an animal. probably my entire life it’s been something that i’ve “had” even if i didn’t realise that until recently. it was probably the one constant that shaped me as an individual when i was a little younger. it’s only ~RECENTLY that it’s progressively became a lot stronger as a desire. it’s put me in a situation where i have a lot of strong emotions about a lot of things

so i don’t TRY to be hateful to this community but it becomes overpowering sometimes and i can’t help it, even if i should.

there’s a notion that i come across often, that i’m “repressed”, or “in denial” or anything along those lines. i’ve had it been said to me by people that are probably genuinely important within this community/people that i happen to “look up to” as furries. it feeds into my own disdain for these spaces. let me explain. i don’t think i’m in denial, i don’t feel like it. i genuinely WISH i was in denial. the idea that i’m “denying myself” implies that i “am” a fox or whatever else. yet it only angers me because i would be better off i was in denial with myself. i don’t think i am.

it could come off as “not wanting to be those things”. but i likely say a lot of stuff that could be interpreted strangely. it is in my own nature to want to be an animal, so i would TAKE anything to get me closer to that, no matter how small (that doesn’t mean i would settle on it). I FIND IT HARD to accept this community as things are simply, because the idea that one can “be an animal” and i’m human feels like a punch to the gut. i was afraid of ever typing that out because i’m afraid it sounds immature, but it doesn’t come from a place of immaturity any more than anything else.

because when you start describing “nonhuman/s/etc. as “literally animals” then for me, the thought of wanting to be an animal comes into play. i yearn to be a PHYSICAL animal yet i would give almost just as much to be closer to it in any other regard. it’s only the stigma that i’ve built around “nonhumanity” that stray me from “wanting” to be it. (alongside just; not being one anyway.)

being told to accept myself hurts, because it implies that there is something to accept; or a prospect of getting closer to the concept of being something else. yet i can’t FIND it. i would jump at the first glimpse of that opportunity, as i have been trying to, but i can’t understand it.

i was called a fox in one of the asks, and (i’m sorry to get vulnerable, not as if i haven’t already) a tear literally ran down my face. i’m hardly an emotional person like that. i said not to call me anything like that, and i’m pretty sure they sent another apologising “i’m sorry for assuming what to call you” and i’m not going to lie. reading that felt like having my own guts emptied out. the point is, it’s my fault

ANYWAY. that was a lot of words. i’m sorry for dumping all of this onto here. but i hope that made it clear what i mean/am saying. once again, i don’t think i necessarily deserve forgiveness of any kind despite this. sorry. i hope i didn’t misinterpret anything, thank you for giving me a chance to discuss this and i hope this was coherent.

i don’t think my words hold much value to people like you, and i don’t think you would be willing to listen or take it to heart, but it’s still worth trying. i would like you to realise that you are human in every way. you are not an animal, you are not a dragon. (you probably already know this. maybe you’re in denial. i don’t know) either way, none of you would actually be willing to give it even a second of thought because you’re insecure about yourself, and you’re insecure because you know you’re human. i assure you that you will not reach full personal contentment until you live out your life without pretending to be a mythical creature. wtv have a good day

Ooh, I haven’t gotten one of these asks in a few years.

So I ask this, and every other question I will follow up with, completely genuinely, and if you’re willing to really get into the weeds discussing it I’d love to do so (though I’ll probably reblog any follow-ups to my other blog): why do you think you know me and my experiences better than I do?

Why do you think you can armchair diagnose me with insecurity? What evidence do you actually have for that, besides the fact that I’m nonhuman? What evidence do you have that I’m not already content and fulfilled in my life?

Is it possible that identifying as nonhuman is unrelated to those things entirely, and you’re making a false assumption?

I get it. It looks crazy, when you’re completely new to the concept. It’s weird - it is! But pause and listen to us when we talk about our experiences for a moment.

For many of us, myself included, finding nonhumanity is a moment of suddenly understanding - of pieces falling into place, of my life experiences suddenly making sense. Awakening is something that made me more content and fulfilled, not less - there’s a sadness in it sometimes, yes, but so too is there the comfort of understanding yourself in a new way, of realizing, oh. I’m not just weird. There’s not something wrong with me. There are other people like me.

(If this sounds a lot like the experience of figuring out you’re queer, there’s a reason for that.)

To use myself as an example of the flaws in your hypothesis: there’s… honestly not much dissatisfaction with my life right now. I’ve got a stable job with decent income. I’d like to be able to cut back my hours a bit, but that will come in time. I’ve got enough free time as it is to do my art and play my tabletop games with friends in my off time. I’ve got family and friends around me. Sure, I miss my wings, but I’m hoping to pick up powered paragliding in the near future and hoping that’ll scratch that itch at least somewhat. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. This isn’t the case for all otherkin, but it’s not the case for all orthohumans (people who aren’t alterhuman in any way) either. What it does indicate, however, is that your hypothesis that being otherkin inherently means you’re insecure and unhappy with your life is false, or at minimum flawed - if it were true, I wouldn’t exist.

So, I ask again: why do you think you understand my own experiences better than I do? And moreover, why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?

The name for the thing you’re doing here, intentionally or not, is concern trolling - trying to push me out of an identity by professing concern for problems that don’t exist. Why? Why are you going out of your way to tell other people they’re wrong about their own identity? Why is your reaction, when you see an identity you don’t understand, to decide it’s unhealthy, or just make-believe, or whatever, and then to make that the problem of the people who identify that way? What exactly makes you think this is inherently unhealthy?

Would it not be better to devote that energy to trying to understand us, instead of trying to change us?

You don’t have to answer these questions to me, obviously, but I do encourage you to answer them to yourself at least. Pick apart your worldview for a minute and see if it actually holds up under scrutiny - it’s good for you, and mental enrichment to boot! If you are willing to really get into the weeds of this discussion with me, again, I’d love to do that - I love having discussions like this, and it’s good for me to have my worldview challenged every so often too! Please, genuinely, pick at the flaws in my logic if you see them - if it can be pulled apart under scrutiny, it needs to be pulled apart and rebuilt. No one on the internet is obligated to let a stranger do that, obviously, but personally I enjoy it - it’s a meat pumpkin for me - so let’s talk, if you’re up for it. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a good interesting antikin to debate with.

[the-art-saving-place]

I really wish ppl could be normal abt ships. Like, I have my own boundaries, and certain things end up in an insta-block, but i don't message them to tell them how much of a problem they are for either sipping something or not liking a ship (because that happens too)

Literally the reason i have this blog is because i reblogged some art i didn't even know was ship art (and i'm still not sure it was! i think it was just a roleswap au) and then the next day, 5 anons talking abt how the ship was an issue, and trying to be condescending like i didn't know. I panicked and played dumb like i didn't know ppl hated the ship, but like. i took a while off from tumblr after that, cause i got anons arguing with each other in my inbox. like go away.

and now i have this blog. a blog that's so disconnected from my main i use a different name and set of pronouns so nobody realizes it's me and causes it again. I think i blocked the source but i still am unsure. this all happened because some fucking media illiterate person can't tell that skyward sword is a coming of age story, and hyrule historia says ghirahim is links age, but no, you headcannon him as older so it's invalid.

[slut4thebroken]

Doctor’s Orders

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x patient!reader

Summary | Jonathan Crane wears a weak dose of fear toxin as cologne to his appointments just to put his patients on edge. He’s particularly fond of how you react to it though.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, sexual content, manipulation, inappropriate use of fear toxin, obvi, very dubious consent, painful sex, fearplay, HEAVY breeding kink, forced breeding, technically housewife kink?, overstimulation, abuse of power?, ionno lol.

Words | 3.3 k

Notes | Based on this post. Credit to @lasagnebats for the idea. (Lowkey the plot kind of deviated from the whole fear cologne thing tbh but it’s still very relevant so whatever lmao)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

It’s not mentioned in the actual story but it’s very important for the plot so incase you didn’t read the summary I’m going to say it again lol. He wears a weak dose of fear toxin as his cologne.

“How are you feeling today?” He asked as he walked in and sat down across from you, putting his briefcase at his feet. 

“Better.” You said with a small smile. After only a moment though, your heart started beating harder and faster, and your breathing picked up. You swallowed thickly and cleared your throat before adding, “I- I think.”

“You think?” His voice sent a shiver through your body. You weren’t sure if he was purposely trying to sound threatening, but that’s how you heard it. 

“I…” You couldn’t look at him as your stomach started churning. 

“Please look at me when I'm talking to you.” He sighed, making your gaze snap back to him. “We won’t get anywhere if you continue to overreact to even the simplest questions.” 

“I know— I know. I’m sorry.” You started bouncing your leg incessantly, trying to get rid of some of the nerves you were feeling. “H-how are you?” You asked in return to his original question. 

“Always so polite.” He said with an amused smile. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know… That’s just how I was raised I guess.” You shrugged, not having a better answer for him. 

“It has nothing to do with how terrified you are of upsetting me?” He asked curiously, tilting his head as he looked you up and down. 

“I- I’m not…” You cleared your throat and wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “I was just… taught to respect people with more authority than me.” You said nervously. But it was true. You were always taught to show respect to people above you no matter what, especially if they were older than you. 

“I see. And you feel I have power over you right now?” 

“Yes.” You said quietly. Doesn’t he always?

“Well I don’t want you to fear me. These sessions are pointless if you can’t be completely open and honest with me.” You looked away from him again and swallowed the lump in your throat. “I promise you, nothing you say will upset me. I just want you to be truthful with me… So I can help you to the best of my ability. Do you understand?”

“Yes..” 

“Good.” He paused, seemingly coming up with the next topic of conversation. “You’re still having nightmares?” Your blood ran cold and your heart was almost starting to hurt with how hard it was beating. And all just because of a reminder of it. 

“Yes.” You whispered. 

“The same ones? Or something different.” 

“The same… But I noticed that they tend to happen more after our sessions than on days where I don’t see you…”

“Yes, that’d make sense. Since we talk about it, it’s only natural your brain would be thinking about it more.” 

“Right. Yeah— You’re right.” You said through a breath. 

“May I see your hand?” He suddenly asked, making you stiffen. 

“What?”

“Your hand.” He held out his own, waiting for you to place yours on top. With a shaky breath, you wiped your hand on your pants again, then placed it on his open palm. He turned it over so your palm was against his, then let out a quiet hum. Before you could ask what that meant, he grabbed your wrist and held your hand up, watching it tremble. He released you and you placed it back in your lap. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

“It… it's probably just because I started thinking about the nightmares.” That was the only explanation that made sense. It’s not like you’d be scared for no reason.

“Really? What were you thinking about?” You froze and looked away from him, trying to recall, but you never actually thought about them, more so just… remembered them. 

“I… I’m not sure.” You said absentmindedly, still trying to figure it out. He sighed quietly and took off his glasses, examining you closely. 

“I like to think that we’ve grown a bit closer since our first session. Wouldn’t you?” All you could do was nod wordlessly. “Almost like we’re more than just doctor and patient… Do you feel that way as well?” 

“I- I think so.” You said quietly. It was hard to tell right now. 

“Which is why I think we can try something that might work better for you.” He stood up and dragged his chair around the table, the loud screeching sound making you flinch. He sat down next to you and you waited nervously for what was next. 

“I think… if your brain is half focused on something else— something pleasurable…” he placed his hand on your thigh and leaned closer to you, “then you might be able to talk freely about what’s troubling you. What do you think?” Your chest was heaving as you stared at him with wide eyes, not able to respond. It felt like your throat was closing up and the speed at which your heart was beating made it feel like his hand was on your chest instead of your thigh, pushing down as hard as he could.       

“Is something wrong?” He asked once he noticed your reaction. 

“I-” You choked out, not able to say anything else. 

“Hm?” He waited, giving you a chance to respond. When you didn’t, he sighed. “As your doctor, if you’re in a state that leaves you unable to think or communicate clearly, it is my responsibility to do what I think is best.” His hand started snaking up your thigh, moving toward the center as it climbed higher. His touch was burning a trail on your skin and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“Just relax. You want to actually make some progress, don’t you?” You gave him the tiniest nod, unable to do anything else. “Good girl. If you can control your emotions, then we can talk like civilized people, but for now, we’re going to have to try this.” You weren't even sure what exactly was making you feel this way, but you trusted Dr. Crane. He would only do what’s best for you. 

“Take off your pants.” He suddenly ordered, making your body go completely rigid. “I won’t repeat myself.” He warned and you immediately scrambled to take them off. Once they were on the floor, he grabbed your hips and guided you so that you were straddling his thighs, sitting on his lap. “Now, this might be a bit overwhelming for you, so I don’t mind if you need to keep your face buried against my chest or neck. Like this,” he gently grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into him, “see?” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, bringing your hands up the grab at his suit jacket. It felt like your entire body was trembling now. “Dr. Crane, I- I don’t feel very good.”

“Shh. Your body’s just excited. That’s why your heart is racing and your breathing is shallow.” He explained calmly. You’ve never felt this ‘excited’ before in your life. “Are you going to let me do my job now?” You nodded, burying your face into the crook of his neck to comfort yourself. “Thank you.” His hands started dragging up and down your thighs, just getting you used to his touch, but all it was doing was making you more anxious. His fingertips felt like claws on your hypersensitive body, but when you looked down, you saw no marks left behind. 

“I know you’re excited but you need to try and calm down.” He said calmly. “Take a deep breath through your nose, then out through your mouth.” You complied, though it wasn’t nearly as slow as he actually wanted. But it was an improvement. “Again. Deeper.” You inhaled again, trying to let the smell and warmth of his body soothe you. But it was like the deep breaths were making everything worse. 

“Dr. Crane, it’s not— I…” He sighed and your stomach churned when you realized he was disappointed in you. “No- I’m sorry. I’ll try again. I’ll keep trying.” You rushed out, taking more deep breaths. 

“That’s a good girl. Nice and slow.” His hands snaked up your thighs to your hips, then up the sides of your body, under your shirt. 

“W-what are you doing?” You choked out, when he dragged his hands up even more until he was touching your breasts. 

“Just feeling your heartbeat.” He explained. You gasped when he gently squeezed your breasts, groping them in a way that made your entire body feel hot. 

“Dr. Crane?” You whimpered and he shushed you. So you clung to his suit jacket and buried your face into the crook of his neck even more, seeking comfort. 

“I’ll need to remove your shirt. It’s obstructing my examination.” You hesitantly agreed and he pulled it over your head, then guided you back into the same position, now only in a pair of panties. “Deep breaths.” He reminded you as he continued. He only groped you for a few seconds before focusing his attention on your nipples. You let out a strangled moan when he gently pinched, rolling them between his fingers. You’ve never been overly sensitive there before, but right now, just the barest touch sent a shock through your body. 

“Your heart is racing.” He commented, flattening his hands on your chest and sliding them down your stomach. He reached your hips and gripped them tightly, then pulled them forward to grind your clothed heat on his bulge. You gasped at the sudden movement and when you felt the obvious sign of his arousal. 

“When’s the last time you’ve been fucked?” His tone remained the same; clinical, unemotional. It took you a moment to register his question, but once you did, a blush took over your face. “You’ve been a patient here for a few months now so I’m assuming at least a few months ago?” All the work you did to calm your breathing was gone in an instant. Words couldn’t form in your mouth, so you just nodded against his chest. “How long before that?” 

“I… I don’t remember.” You choked out, finally able to speak. 

“Poor thing. It’s been that long since you’ve been filled?” He cooed with faux sympathy. 

“Dr. Crane.” You sobbed, fisting his suit even tighter to ground yourself. He was still guiding your hips and you started to feel arousal pooling in your stomach. 

“Is that why you’re not making any progress? Your cunt’s been craving a cock so bad, you can’t even think?” You whined and started moving your hips on your own now, desperate for more. “Yeah I think that is the reason. You’re in your prime child bearing years, it’s only natural you’d be longing to breed.” You let out a strangled moan, feeling both humiliated and aroused by his words. “A few more sessions like this and you might actually be able to use that pretty little head of yours again.” 

“Please,” You whined, tears of desperation brimming in your eyes. Your heart was still pounding and your breathing was still shallow, but it started feeling different. Before, you weren’t sure what the cause was, but now you know it’s arousal. At least it mostly is. He suddenly gripped your chin and pulled your head so your face was only inches from his. As his eyes trailed all over your face, taking you in, he hummed in thought, still staring at you with his piercing gaze. 

“Misattribution of arousal truly is a fascinating subject.” He smiled. You had no idea what that meant. “Take off your underwear.” He suddenly ordered, making your eyes widen. When he stared at you, giving you a warning gaze, you scrambled off his lap to remove them. He started unbuckling his belt, then opening his pants. When he took out his cock, your breath caught in your throat. Where is that supposed to fit?

“Sit.” You tentatively got on his lap again. He sat back in the metal chair a little, dragging his eyes down your body. “Put it in.” You swallowed and looked between his face and his length, feeling your heart start pounding even harder. “Now.” Biting your trembling lip, you grabbed his cock and put it at the right angle, then slowly and apprehensively lowered yourself onto it. You whimpered when he first breached your opening, immediately feeling the burn of the stretch. 

“You won’t like it if I have to take over so I suggest you do better than this.” He warned and you whined in response, but forced yourself down lower. 

“It hurts, Dr. Crane.” You whimpered, hoping for sympathy from the cold, apathetic doctor. 

“Enough.” He growled, grabbing your hips and lifting you off of him. He stood and spun you around to push your torso onto the cold metal table with a hand on the back of your neck. Holding you down firmly, he pushed his cock back in, this time going all the way. You cried out and scrambled for purchase on the table as he immediately started thrusting. 

“W-wait, Dr. Crane..” You choked out, the burning stretch bringing tears to your eyes. Not bothering with replying, he removed the hand from your neck and you heard clothes rustling, then he was putting his tie between your lips and wrapping it around your head to secure it. Almost instantly those feelings flared up again. Your chest heaved as you panted, trying to ignore how much it was hurting from your heart beating so fast and hard. 

He put his hand on your head this time, forcing your cheek onto the cold metal as he held you down and started moving faster. You sobbed out a moan and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on calming down but everything was just so much. 

“Is this what you needed? Have you been playing the role of the dumb little patient this whole time just to get me to fuck you?” You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t move it under his hand. “I can feel you pulsing around my cock. Is it really that good?” The way he was mocking you had you squeezing your thighs together, but he couldn’t have that. He lifted one of your legs and placed it on the table, keeping you from getting any real stimulation on your clit besides his balls smacking against it with every thrust. 

“Please!” You cried, the word being muffled by the tie. 

“I know. You’re probably so eager to come right now, aren’t you?” You did your best to nod, despite him holding you down. “Is the thought of finally getting bred making you all needy?” He asked condescendingly and you let out a strangled whimper. “Should I let you come on my cock?” 

“Yes!” You yelled, trying to make it sound coherent through the gag. He released your head and grabbed your shoulders, starting a brutal pace that made you almost scream from the intensity. The table was screeching against the floor with each thrust and you could start to hear his quiet grunts as he neared his orgasm.

“Go ahead then. Show me how needy this pathetic little cunt is for my cock.” He said and, despite the degrading words, you almost cried in relief. You’ve only made yourself come maybe a handful of times since being admitted to Arkham, so it did not take much longer for you to get there. You all but screamed around the gag when it hit you, making your legs turn to jelly. His thrusts didn’t even waiver, but you could hear groans coming from him. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through you, so intense that it bordered on painful. 

When it was finally done, you sagged into the table, but your body immediately went stiff when the overstimulation kicked in. You cried out and squirmed, trying to escape it, so he grabbed your hair and yanked you up, wrapping his other arm around your stomach. 

“I know.” He pulled your head back until it was resting on his shoulder, then turned it so your face was up against his neck. “Just breathe through it.” But you couldn’t. Everything was just too much. You sobbed loudly and buried your face in the crook of his neck as he fucked you, moving both hands down to grab your hips. 

“Just be a good girl and take it. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be fucked and bred like a bitch in heat.” You let out a strangled sob at the degrading words. “No… It’s what you needed.” He growled, making you whimper. “Don’t worry, we’re going to keep doing this until I finally fuck a baby into you. Maybe then you’ll be less cock hungry. But we’ll probably have to keep this up while you’re pregnant because of all the hormones.” After your orgasm, everything your body was going through started to feel like it was from fear again, rather than arousal. His words were making you spiral into overthinking. You can’t have a baby yet— you’re too young. And also there’s the fact that you’re in an asylum… 

“And I think… I might make you my little lab rat. You respond so well to such a small dose, I’m eager to see how you’ll react to something more potent.” Now you were truly confused, but you were also too fucked out and overstimulated to try and understand. “God— that’ll be a fucking sight.” He choked out, rutting into you more frantically. Tears started streaming down your cheeks as he kept fucking you, getting more painful with every thrust. But based on the way his sounds kept getting louder, you knew it’d be over any second now.  

You cried out when he roughly snapped his hips into you and stayed there, wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you close and letting out a low groan. His hips bucked forward with every spurt of come that left his cock, despite the fact that he was already completely inside, pressed up against your cervix uncomfortably. Even after his orgasm ended, he remained buried inside you, keeping you plugged up for now.  

“That’s better, isn’t it? Now you’re nice and full.” He spoke softly, turning his head to kiss your neck as his hand rubbed over your lower stomach. “Mm… I can’t wait to see your belly all big and round— your tits swollen with milk. You’re going to look so beautiful.” Even though everything calmed down, you still felt anxious and scared. “And I’m sure once that kid is out, you’ll go back to being a brainless little bitch in heat so I’ll have to fuck another one into you.” You let out a weak sound, unable to do anything else. Your whole body was shaking. With how you were currently feeling, his words sounded like a threat. 

“Still can’t use that pretty head?” He asked curiously. You didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem like he expected you to. “You must need more, then.” You whined at the thought. He gently pushed your torso back onto the table and you hissed in pain when he dragged his cock out. When his come trickled out, he cursed under his breath. Using his thumbs, he spread your puffy, abused folds, giving him a better view of your gaping hole. You flinched when he used his fingers to scoop up his come and push it back in. “Lucky for you, I cleared the rest of my schedule today just for this session, so I can keep giving you load after load until you drain my balls completely. Maybe then you’ll actually be able to fucking think.” 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @idkdudsworld @nashja @rentaldarling @theoraekenslover @kaorisakamotofan @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @aviamulier @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @xxorazz @halleysc6met @crunchsworld @cillianscrybaby @babaohhhriley @deceitfuldevout @gentyleman @lorelais-world @shroombloom-rry @pinguwrites @thatonesinglefriend @bernelflo @milktert @nyxxie.pooh @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @milkytomura @bigbossbabysworld @bluujaiwrites @crunchsworld @jayroytodd @harleyql @lokabrenna0801

[sunlit-mess]

(I'm pretty sure you've seen me spam your notifs I'M NOT STALKING I SWEAR I JUST LOVE YOUR WORKS!!! But I just want to ask)

You're CLEARLY underrated and some of your posts from vent arts said you don't care about relevancy. How do you do that? How do you manage as an artist?

anon thats so.. wow AHHAHAHA anyway-

As I mentioned for a billionth time, I've BURNT OUT ENOUGH.

I'm in-and-out in burnout, recovering from it is always a challenge but there are always lessons from it...

Before, I had always felt inferior even at a young age because I'm the type to have something- but never was acknowledged for it. Life revolved around what others think/what others have and it fed envy so much.

I had tried to keep up with an insane pace, and tried to stay perfect, tried to squeeze out affirmations, like a competition. The toxic part of it is being two-faced with other people's accomplishments/work.

And always feeling, so, so, disappointed that you expect nothing but that: Dissatisfied. It gets tiring, from the feeling of being envious to self-hatred to depression.

2022 and I realized a lot about inferiority. College already greets you with a variety of skillful people, so what will happen if you start working in the creative industry itself?

I degraded, so so much. To a point, I almost gave up on passion and myself. But I kept clinging. I didn't want to be stuck feeling that way with others. Rather, I started to appreciate and be more grateful for the things/reasons that kept me going in the first place, while kinder to others. This 2024, I learned how to let go of what weighs me and restricts me from doing what I like: drawing/creating. I stopped caring about numbers/count, I don't care who sees them, I don't care if others may think badly of it. I am honest with myself and my work while being open-minded to perception. I LOVE and APPRECIATE those who stay as a fellow audience that enjoys the same thing or whatever! I LOVE learning from other people who are more knowledgeable/skillful than me. I LOVE any advice/lessons I get from others. Loved and applied them!

I stopped wallowing in self-pity and just went: nah I'D WIN.

Mentioning this again, pain is where I strive best because it's what I was accustomed to. I learned grit from clinging to the tiniest spark of hope to battle negative thoughts and just kept going.

And until this day, I'm really grateful I'm still here. I can never get anywhere without any of you, and many other reasons I stay determined.

[anotherplumbob]

Uberhood 2024 Update By AnotherPlumbob (CC free)

The Uberhood is an ongoing��PROJECT where I’m creating a Cc-free savefile, with all the worlds and lore from The Sims 2 ported to The Sims 4. 

NOTE: In this update I've revamped PLEASANTVIEW only - if you were interested in the other worlds or premades, please note they remain exactly as they were in the previous versions.

It currently includes

1.- Remade Worlds

Pleasantview (Newcrest+Willow Creek)

Strangetown (Strangerville+Oasis Springs)

Veronaville (Windenburg)

Bluewater Promenade (Magnolia Promenade)

Three Lakes (Granite Falls)

Bluewater Bay [only partially built] (Brindleton Bay)

All the career lots (detective, hospital and science lab).

BEWARE: the rest of the worlds are either empty, half built or a mess in general.

2.- Families

The save includes all the premade families as well as the iconic townies that lived in those worlds in The Sims 2 times. They all have jobs, relationships, sentiments, lifestyles, reputations, etc. For Pleasantview sims only I've also included more lore in the form of milestones, added traits, midlife crisis, etc.

3. Required packs and How to Install (PLEASE READ)

THE SAVE IS CC-FREE BUT ALL EXPANSION, GAME PACKS,STUFF PACKS AND KITS RELEASED UP UNTIL MARCH 2024. 

If you don’t have all packs, sims may be half naked, and/or bald and stuff may be missing. Install at your own risk. 

In order to install:

BACK UP YOUR SAVES.

Download the the SAVE file.

Put the save in your SAVES folder.  Documents > Electronic Arts > Sims 4 > Saves. I changed the name of the file so that it will hopefully not overwrite any of your saves (including the previous v1). If your system prompts you to overwrite a save, do not click yes. Just change the name of the save (keep it 8 numbers but change the numbers) and try again.

Optional: Put the .package file (StrangetownTexts.package) in your mods folder. This file is used to change the Strangerville mystery a bit, and turn it into the Strangetown mystery (with custom texts, references to the Bella mystery, etc.). Please install it if you want to have some clues on what happened to Bella!! 

4. Play Order

There’s really no set play order but note that:

1.- Brandi Broke is pregnant and will give birth in 3 days regardless of who you play and regardless of whether aging is on or off, so play with her first if you want to be there for the birth.

2.- Same thing applies to Pascal Curious, who’s also pregnant at the start of the save.

5. Disclaimer and TOU

I’m just one person and there may be some bugs here or there, or naked sims or whatever. Feel free to report any bugs you find but I will only fix them if I consider them super relevant or game breaking, otherwise the save is provided as is and you install it at your own risk.

Also please don't waste your breath asking me to do X world, or add lore to Veronaville or Strangetown or whatever, because I will only do it if and when I'm inspired to do it - and the requests quite honestly stress me out.

THE TERMS OF USE ARE: Be nice and don’s steal others creations! 

Download: Sim File Share - Filehosting for Simmers

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you know if Riddle, or Tray, ever stands up to his mother? I think i saw it in a Pinterest post once of teen Riddle being slapped by his mom and Tray taking him away.

His background is sadder than Shoto Todoroki from BNHA

We don’t really get to hear about how things are going back home with Mrs. Rosehearts outside of one brief instance. In 4-3, Riddle is leaving for winter break and mentions he intends on speaking with his mother, though he isn’t optimistic about her listening.

Trey states in the same part of the story that he isn’t allowed at Riddle’s house (because Mrs. Rosehearts has banned him). However, Riddle is still invited to visit him and Chenya at the Clover family bakery (though it’s very unlikely Riddle would be able to, since he hasn’t canonically seen Chenya again since the unbirthday party of book 1).

We never get a follow-up on how the conversation between Riddle and his mother went. It’s never touched upon again, and his mom isn’t really brought up beyond this case. (I did happen to write a short piece about Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts interacting though, if you were interested in seeing my own interpretation of this idea.)

Riddle spends most of his time at NRC since it’s a boarding school, meaning there are few opportunities for him to directly interact with his mother. Even if Mrs. Rosehearts were readily accessible to him, I highly doubt we would get to witness Riddle or Trey doing much to talk back to her. As we see in book 4, Riddle is still quite meek and uncertain when it comes to speaking with his mom. Trey, meanwhile, is generally very non-confrontational and may still be dealing with his own complicated feelings about interfering with what are family matters. (Recall that the last time he encouraged Riddle to be adventurous, it resulted in his friend being severely punished and Trey may harbor guilt over this occurrence.) I feel that neither of them would realistically develop the courage to talk back to Mrs. Rosehearts when only like half a year has passed since Riddle’s OB incident as opposed to like seventeen years of Riddle living under her rules.

***CONTENT WARNING: I will be discussing abuse at length under the cut, so please be advised to avoid reading further if the topic makes you uncomfortable.***

Regarding the comic you saw on Pinterest, it is fan art. That is in no way canonical; Mrs. Rosehearts may be very stern and have a temper, but she has never slapped or otherwise put a hand on Riddle. The closest thing we get to a slap is this panel from the manga adaptation, which isn’t even a slap. You can tell from the movement lines and the FWP sfx that Mrs. Rosehearts is just quickly pulling her arm away since Riddle is trying to latch onto it in an attempt to get her to listen to his protests. There is also no mark on Riddle or harsh slap sfx to indicate contact was made.

Now then 💦 There's something very serious and relevant to this ask I'd actually like to discuss, so I hope you'll stick around to hear me out on this.

I know none of us really like Mrs. Rosehearts (which is fair, she has done a lot of terrible things to her son). However, I think it's dangerous for us to speak about her as though she's a total monster and nothing more than a monster. I'm NOT going to stand here and advocate that she has done nothing wrong (she definitely has committed many wrongs). What I'm saying is that I don't agree with her being treated like "just" an abuser.

Let's say we do demonize Mrs. Rosehearts. We see only her negative traits and allow those to define her entire character. This creates a scenario in which she is alienated and dehumanized, left as a caricature of a woman that is solely known for hurting her child. But the thing is, this ISN’T how abuse really works. Few abusers are completely wicked people through and through. Part of the reason why it is so difficult for victims to leave their abusers is because abusers almost never start off abusive. They usually act totally normal, and the abuse often doesn’t come until later or specific situations arise. It creeps up on you in an almost insidious manner, and you don’t expect it coming. I’d also like to mention that abusers often don’t act with the intentional thought of, “Yeah, what I’m doing/saying is abusive”. Abusers typically justify their actions or convince themselves they are acting out of goodness. They don’t do bad things “because they’re bad people”, they do bad things because they think they’re GOOD people. Some abusers may even be victims themselves.

By painting abusers (even fictional ones) as cartoonishly evil, irredeemable, or always cruel, it makes it harder for us to believe the very real danger that we, whom we see as “good” people, could become “bad” ourselves. It makes it harder to believe victims when they report abuse because “oh, the abuse isn’t THAT bad”. It erases the idea that abusers are also human, and that humans have the capacity to be awful sometimes or to perpetuate hurt. It makes it so much harder to identify abuse because we’d only be looking for the most extreme examples of it rather than noticing the small, subtle signs. By “othering” abusers, it’s inadvertently denying so many nuances of abuse... which ultimately is counterproductive.

I would like to point out that even in the example provided of another abusive parent, Endeavor is portrayed with some nuance. He physically and verbally abused his wife, neglected the children he deemed worthless, and pushed the child he deemed to be his successor to the brink. However, Endeavor is also shown to remember a detail as small as his (arranged) wife’s favorite flower when she only told him about it once. He is notably much more lenient when training his first son, who didn’t have the ideal Quirk he sought. Endeavor at one point even confesses to pursuing being a hero in order to avoid the demands of fatherhood, which demonstrates a realistic insecurity and vulnerability… his humanity.

The same could be true for Mrs. Rosehearts. We only assume he is “just an abuser” because we see her in such a limited scope. There are valid reasons to believe why she is a “good” person outside of how we see her acting in Riddle’s recollections, and this may help to explain why Riddle feels so hesitant to “stand up” to her. I would really recommend reading this post, which goes a lot more in-depth about the complications surrounding Riddle’s relationship with his mother. Again, I am in NO WAY defending Mrs. Rosehearts; I am only pointing out that abusers—no matter how horrible their actions—have identities beyond the label of “abuser” that should be acknowledged.

[violetasteracademic]

I think, possibly, half of the fandom have either began to blend the bat boys together, or are getting them mixed up.

Azriel never said he wanted a mate. Absolutely never. Not in any context, any language, or any interpretation. He only said he wants Elain (a female who already has a mate) and is confused that she isn't his mate because of how he feels about her, not just because he wants a mating bond with her. Which is impossible as far as he knows.

There is no way he actually thinks he can create a mating bond with Elain out of thin air. He just knows Elain isn't interested in Lucien, while Azriel and Elain have developed deep feelings for each other, thus: What if the Cauldron was wrong. Do we actually believe Azriel thinks he can magically form a mating bond, or get rid of Elain and Lucien's mating bond? Where in the text does it suggest that? Now, I for one hope they manage to do this 🤣 but Azriel certainly isn't saying he thinks it is possible. He just thinks he could beat Lucien's ass in a blood duel *if* Lucien called for one (which is doubtful.)

If he had the same feelings about Gwyn, and she also had a mate already, then he would be questioning the Cauldron for her instead. He's not out here saying: I want Elain and I want her to be my mate. In fact, he most certainly thinks that is impossible. What he is saying is: I want Elain and she wants me and it feels wrong that she was "assigned" to someone else. How is that not a fair and valid thought to have? And now that he knows the Cauldron has been corrupted, how could he possibly *not* continue with that line of thought? His thoughts and feelings were validated, and now he is just going to... walk away?

Cassian, however, literally wants a mating bond and was jealous that Rhys and Feyre had one and he didn't:

Cassian was the one who explicitly stated his jealousy over the mating bond, how Feyre and Rhys showed that the tales of the "glory and wonder" of the mating bond are real.

Cassian wants a legendary mating bond. He saw Rhys and Feyre prove the mythicality of it right, and now he has wants it for himself even if he never has before.

Azriel just wants Elain.

Azriel also never said he wanted kids. It is so bizarre to invent a storyline where Azriel would change his mind about the woman he wants because she may have some risk during the pregnancy, which is already so debunkable in a million ways. Yes, Nesta changed her own pelvis but now she isn't sure she even wants kids as of HoFaS. And let's not forget what happened to Feyre was explicitly because she was in Illyrian form during conception. Rhys was *not* afraid to get her pregnant in her Fae form because the risk is way lower.

Azriel is also now 99% if not 100% confirmed to be Starborn, which would make him not fully Illyrian. This is also backed up by his ability to winnow and do other things Illyrian's cannot. At least one of the Made sisters possessed the power to change a pelvis when they wanted to. So how is this still a thing? The fact that people think Sarah would ever even write an "Elain doesn't get chosen because Azriel wants a female who can have his babies" is so offensive and unhinged I hate that I'm even talking about it, but most importantly it is inaccurate to the text. Again, the most important actually relevant piece of information is the fact that Cassian is the one who said he wants kids, not Azriel:

Azriel is asked if he wants children and he says what he wants doesn't matter (then Cassian notices how Azriel has moved on from Morrigan and he doesn't really get why. We all know it is because of Elain, regardless of whether or not you think they are endgame.) Cassian was asked if he wanted children, and he said of course he does.

All lines explicitly stating a desire for a mating bond or children are assigned to Cassian. So why is the fandom thinking they are Azriel's?

Azriel and Cassian are completely different characters, with completely different wants and goals. Cassian's goals, in his own words from his own POV: mate and babies. Azriel's goal, in his own words from his own POV: Elain.

[giddlygoat]

as much as i want to see fiddleford recover and enter his much-deserved era of good mental and physical health, i also want to see the effects of his head trauma follow him forever. it’s important to me that while he heal and find a level of normalcy and peace, he never return to his old self.

kind of a side bar, but it’s relevant so: i also think there’s something to be said about old man mcgucket’s confidence. boldness? idk how to describe it. i wouldn’t say his paranoid tendencies have vanished, but for the most part he’s. breezier. part of it is the brain damage, and maybe part of it is genuine self-evolution in the right direction. but i think the obsessive mind-wiping just… broke that part of his brain. it’s like he’s no longer affected by fear in the same way. and i hope we see strong traces of that damage until the day he dies.

it’s important to me that fiddleford heal and emerge into self-awareness once more. it’s important to me that ford still look at him as very much the same person, despite all of the damage. but he’s also changed severely and irreversibly. i think of old man mcgucket as a much rawer version of fiddleford in that he holds less reservations and has no filter. he’s healing but he’s also broken, and those scars will forever be visible. and that’s important to me because it also changes ford and fiddleford’s dynamic a lot.

ok one last sidebar, then i’m done. when i say it changes their dynamic i mean it in the way that because fiddleford now wears his heart on his sleeve and ford himself is a bit wiser about relationships, there is less self-sabotaging going on between them. romance or friendship wise. and if nothing else, they both feel they’re getting too old for biting their tongues, so i imagine the discussions of certain difficult topics comes a bit easier now.

like, given that they’ve both made many catastrophically terrible decisions over their lives, they have a better perspective on life in general and have had time to reorient their previously fucked priorities. ford lives with a lot of shame for how he treated stan, dealing with the devil, and bringing about the end times. fiddleford lives with a lot of shame for how he treated emma-may and tate, starting a cult that ruined lives [especially his own], and not to mention the multiple death robot incidents. even though they both had good intentions or else thought their actions were justified at the time [mostly], it all collapsed on their heads because these actions were ridiculously stupid.

i think all of this is part of why the rekindling of their friendship happened so easily. fiddleford is eager to forgive ford and embrace him because he’s learned first-hand what grief and paranoia can drive a person to do, and so he feels the best thing he can do is accept his old friend back into his life, no questions asked. maybe ford will forever think he doesn’t deserve it, but he learns to accept mcgucket’s kindness and tries to learn from it. they’re both healing even if it’ll never be Backupsmore again. it’s still them, despite it all.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got a wip where stories and myths are thematically relevant, but I always hear writer advice like never start with a dream or things that aren't happening. How do I present this in the first chapter without it feeling intrusive or feeling like a false start? I've dabbled with ways to convey this story: a character is reading the legend when they're interrupted, a character might be told the story as a child, or a character might be watching performers do a play about the legend. I'm using limited third person with shifting POV every chapter, if that matters.

Avoiding the "False Start" of Beginning with Dreams and Stories

When you start the story with a dream, story, myth, or other story within the story, the risk is that you invest the reader in that story... they believe the setting is the story's setting, the characters are the story's characters, and the plot or conflict is the story's conflict. The risk is that when you reveal it was in fact a story within the story, you potentially confuse them, disappoint them, or give them literary whiplash. Obviously, you wouldn't want to do that unless you DO want to do that... in other words, that may be just the effect you're going for, or it may be a necessary facet of how the story is told. So, unless you're doing it intentionally, because that's the effect you're going for, you want to provide context for this being a dream, story, or myth as soon as you possibly can.

Instead of beginning with an epic battle between a young woman and a powerful witch, you could preface the dream with something like:

Cara almost always dreamed, but this dream was more vivid than most--and darker...

That way, the reader understands that what's about to happen is part of a dream sequence.

Or, if the myth is being read to the character as a child, you could do something like:

Sometimes, in the stillness of the night, Cara remembered the childhood nights she'd spent perched on Grandmama's lap, listening to her spin epic tales about the mighty gods. Cara loved all of the ancient myths her grandmother told, but she loved none more dearly than the tale of Ariadne and Theseus, which began like this...

Here again, you're providing context for the reader that the story about to unfold here at the beginning is in fact a myth, and with this framework, the reader understands that this myth will have importance to the story somehow. They're not going to feel like their time is being wasted.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 12

Summary: After the deaths of her fathers, Y/n past traumas resurface, leading her to do what she does best- push everyone away, including her sisters.

Warnings: angst, suicidal tendencies, substance abuse/addiction, grief, unresolved trauma, self-destructive behavior.

A/N: Y/n is heading down a dark path. If you thought she and Azriel were getting closer to something more, then you’ve seen nothing yet. We’re back to them being strangers- or better yet, she’s just beginning to show her cruelty toward him. Poor Az.

I don’t usually specify eye colors, but trust me it’s somewhat relevant to the plot.

WC: 3.8 K.

You can read previous chapter here. Fictober Challenge

Y/n finally opened her eyes, long after the war had ended. They had won, but at what cost?

“You’re awake! I’ll inform the others,” Elain said quickly, rushing outside. Y/n remained still, taking in her surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened. They may have won the war, but she had lost.

Moments later, her sisters and Rhys appeared in her room. “You’re finally awake. We were so afraid we’d lose you- we nearly did,” Feyre said softly, a flicker of relief in her gaze. “Azriel brought you to Madja and Thesan the moment you collapsed. They managed to save you just in time. If he’d been a minute later…” She trailed off, her voice heavy. “We would have lost you.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to be saved?” Y/n’s voice was low and cold, stripped of any emotion.

A startled silence filled the room. “It took great effort to save you. Not many received that chance,” Rhys said quietly.

“Then you shouldn’t have wasted it on me. You should’ve just let me die.” Her tone was flat, unyielding. 

“Y/n, how could you say that? We love you.” Elain’s voice wavered with hurt.

“I think we should let her rest,” Feyre said gently. “If you need anything, we’ll be right outside.”

As the other left, Nesta lingered, her eyes searching Y/n’s face for a moment before she, too, left. At the door, they ran into Azriel, who had just arrived and asked if he could see her. Feyre hesitated, warning him of her fragile state, but he was insistent.

He entered and took a seat in the armchair beside her bed, leaning forward slightly. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Nothing. I feel… nothing.” Her gaze was fixed on the wall, her expression blank.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Why?” She turned to look at him slowly, her face emotionless.

“I… because I wasn’t there to protect you.” he murmured, searching her eyes for a reaction.

“You wouldn’t have, even if you were there,” she replied, her voice chillingly even. “He would’ve snapped you like a twig. Or maybe he would have ripped your wings from your body, watched you writhe in agony before slitting your throat. And there would’ve been nothing you or I or anyone could do about it but watch.” The detached way she said the words unsettled him, sacred him. The Y/n he knew would have shown fear, pain, or some flicker of emotion, but this…this was something- someone else. 

She turned away from him, pulling the blanket up slightly. “I’d like to rest now.” 

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he nodded to himself and left the room quietly. 

Over the next few days, they brought her food, but she refused to eat or speak to any of them.

Until one day when Feyre visited again. “We buried your father next to ours. Would you like to visit them?”

“No.” Y/n’s answer was flat, her gaze distant.

Feyre hesitated, then reached into her pocket. “Azriel found this when…when he carried you,” she said, offering her a letter.

Y/n looked at it but didn’t move to take it. “I don’t want it.”

“It was from your f-”

“Throw it out, bury it, I don’t care.” Y/n interrupted, her tone sharp and final.

Feyre bit her lip, placing the letter on the bedside table. “You should eat something.” She kept her voice gentle, leaving the food nearby, but Y/n remained silent, her gaze unfocused, lost.

Elain and Feyre took turns bringing food and encouraging Y/n to get out of bed. But Nesta kept her distance, visiting one once since Y/n had woken.

The day Y/n decided to get out of bed was anything but pleasant. She demanded a place of her own, far away from the others, and Feyre agreed. Y/n gave Feyre Truth-Teller to return to Azriel, but Feyre hesitated, hoping that Y/n might be willing to give it back herself- maybe even talk, show some emotion. So Feyre suggested she give it to him directly. Y/n took the blade without a word and left the house.

“Where are you going?” Feyre asked, watching her intently.

“To find a house.”

“You’re going to walk all the way? I can winnow you to the city.”

“I don’t want your help.” If they thought the Y/n they knew was cold and heartless, they were in for a shock with this new Y/n. 

Azriel found her that evening, after Feyre had told him what happened. She was wandering through the city, her gaze blank, unfocused. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly, but she brushed past him, her attention elsewhere. “Feyre is worried about you. We should head home.”

Usually, she’d retort with something like. “That’s not my home,” or argue with him, but now she remained silent.

Finally, she turned to face him, her icy blue-gray eyes meeting his, and held out Truth-Teller for him to take without a word. As his scarred hand brushed hers, he noticed her fingers were cold as ice. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, concern tightening his features. She simply turned and began walking again, but he reached out, gently grasping her wrist and pulling her back around to face him. “Y/n, talk to me. Say something, anything. Just, please, don’t-”

“I don’t feel cold,” she replied, her voice flat, though she didn’t pull her hand from his grip as she met his hazel eyes.

“You’ll catch a cold if you keep going like this. I’m taking you home,” he insisted.

“I want to walk,” she said, her tone barely softening. It was the most she’d said to him in days, so he agreed, keeping close to her. 

Once they reached the Town House, Y/n informed Feyre she’d found a place. Feyre agreed to let her move in on one condition: Y/n was to stay at the Town House for a week, eat regularly, and only then, once Feyre was satisfied she was alright, could she leave. Y/n said nothing and headed upstairs to her room. 

“And we should be able to see you at least once a day,” Feyre added as Y/n climbed the stairs.

And so began the week of forced togetherness. Since Feyre didn’t specify how many times she’d need to eat, Y/n chose the bare minimum. She would come down once a day, eat either lunch or dinner, and then retreat back to her room without a word. 

On the third day, everyone was gathered around the table for dinner when Y/n entered. Since it was the last meal of the day and she hadn’t come down for breakfast or lunch, she was compelled to sit with them. To everyone’s surprise, she took a seat next to Cassian.

“Missed me? Because I sure missed you,” Cassian tried, throwing her a playful grin, but she neither looked at him nor replied. “Come on, Y/n. By now, I would’ve expected to say something snarky or insulting… nothing?... Does that mean I finally won?” He leaned forward, trying to provoke a reaction, but she just looked at him, expression unreadable.

“Pass me the salt.” Her voice was even, unfeeling.

“Say please,” he taunted, his lips curling in a grin, but she ignored him, quietly starting to eat. Feyre shook her head subtly, warning him not to push any further. Cassian relented, handing her the salt. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, though his smile faded as he studied her still, expressionless face.

Rhys was recounting a light-hearted story, trying to lift the mood, until someone jokingly mentioned his death and resurrection by the High Lords. Y/n froze. She hadn’t known. She knew nothing of what happened after the King of Hybern’s death. She hadn’t heard about Amren turning into a High Fae, or how Rhys had sacrificed his life, or how close they’d come to losing even with the King defeated. She didn’t know where Feyre and her sisters had buried their father, or about the treaty discussion that followed, bridging peace between the courts and the courts and the mortal realm. She had known none of it- and didn’t care to, but hearing how Rhys got a second chance struck a nerve.

“So you and your mate get to live, while everyone else who sacrificed their lives remains dead and forgotten,” she said, her voice cutting as she turned to Feyre. “Tell me, why do you deserve to live while they do not?”

Silence blanketed the table. No one seemed to know how to respond. But she went on, her voice low and hard. “You all act as if nothing happened, but if he’d stayed dead, I doubt any of you would be laughing now. You want me to come down and sit and eat with you, but if it had been your mate who died, I wonder if you’d be able to do the same.” She set down her fork and stood, her expression still unreadable, before turning to leave the room.

“Y/n, no one expects you to go back to normal. You have suffered so much,” Feyre said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t trying to force you into anything.”

“Yet you put these conditions on me when all I want is to be left in peace,” Y/n replied, her tone weary and final as she turned and disappeared back up the stairs.

Rhys reached for Feyre’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Give her time,” he murmured, attempting to reassure her.

On the evening before Y/n’s planned departure, it was Nesta who came to see her.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me here with them?” she asked, standing by the door, her tone wavering between anger and vulnerability.

You didn’t turn to look at her, her gaze fixed outside the window. “You are your own woman now. If you don’t want to stay, then don’t.” 

“So that’s it, then? You’re going to abandon me again?” Nesta’s voice broke slightly, her fists clenched at her sides.

Y/n’s gaze remained unfocused, her words sharp. “I never abandoned you, but if that’s how you want to see it, then so be it. I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her tone was cold, far harsher than she’d ever spoken to Nesta before.

Nesta’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing. “You’re a coward. Running away again, just like back then. Instead of facing your problems.”

“Is that what you tell yourself before bed? That I ran away?”Y/n’s voice grew colder, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “What about you, Nesta? Where were you when Feyre risked her life, hunting to keep you alive?”

Silence stretched between them, thick and painful. 

Finally, Nesta’s voice softened, a hint of raw honesty breaking through her frustration. ”I need you, Y/n. We just lost our father.”

Y/n’s lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Don’t pretend you care now. You hated the old man. Or are you feeling guilty because, in the end, he still loved us, no matter what?” Her words were cruel, and even as she said them, she felt a strange emptiness behind them. Nesta’s face fell, and her mouth opened and closed as she processed the words. She had never expected Y/n to say something like that to her, she was heartbroken.

After a beat, Nesta’s eyes hardened, and she uttered words she regretted the moment they left her lips. “You want to talk about guilt? What about you, huh? You let them die. You had all this power inside of you, and instead of using it, you did nothing. You just watched, waited until they were dead, and then you struck. It’s almost as if you wanted them to die.”

Nesta’s words struck Y/n like a blow, and for a moment, her carefully constructed mask cracked. “You’re right,” she said bitterly, voice low. “I did let them die. I failed them, and now… I just don’t care. You, Elain, Feyre, you can take care of yourselves. I am done trying to protect you. Mother knows I did a bad enough job of it as it is.” She let out a huff, dismissing the pain in her own words.

“You did,” Nesta whispered, her voice breaking as tears pooled in her eyes.

Y/n looked at her coldly, her voice quiet but cutting. “You’re no longer my responsibility. And I wish you’d stop being my weakness.” 

Nesta’s face crumpled, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she turned and walked away, leaving Y/n alone in her room. It was the last time they would speak to each other for a very long time.

After Y/n moved into her own apartment, Nesta soon did the same. Neither of them interacted with anyone from their past lives, but at least Nesta would meet Feyre briefly every month. Though their reasons for isolation were similar, each went down their own path of self-destruction. Nesta frequented bars, either drinking herself to sleep or fucking her way into exhaustion with reckless company. Y/n, on the other hand, brought the chaos to her doorstep. Each night, she invited people over, and they partied until sunrise, indulging in every dangerous substance she could get her hands on.

In the past, she’d avoided even casual drinking, saying it dulled the mind and that she needed to be alert, in control. Now, she wanted nothing more than to escape her own thoughts, to numb every feeling, to let go of everything. It began the day she moved out. She’d gone to a bar and asked for the strongest drink they had. The bartender sensing her desperation introduced her to someone with access to stronger poisons. Soon after, she met others who reveled in the same reckless abandon, who didn't care about anything either. When they discovered her identity, they were wary, but she assured them that as long as they didn’t cross her, they had nothing to worry about- no threats from a certain High Lord. The wild gatherings became a nightly ritual. People came to her place, taking all manner of poisons, but no one dared to touch her without permission. She was repulsed by physical contact; even a friendly brush would make her recoil. Yet, as she saw it, life was good- an endless cycle of highs and freedom from responsibility, a blissfully numb existence.

One day, Feyre visited, hoping to explain the Fae cycle to Y/n and offer her help when the time came. But Y/n dismissed her, saying she’d handle it herself and that it was none of Feyre’s concern. She made it clear she didn’t want Feyre;s or anyone else’s assistance and even told her to not contact her unless absolutely necessary. Feyre, unsure of what else to do, convinced herself this was Y/n’s way of healing.

As Winter Solstice approached, Rhys found himself standing on Y/n’s doorsteps. She opened the door, half asleep, assuming it was one of her usual party guests. But when she saw who it was, her body went rigid. 

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice flat.

“Solstice is in a few days. I- we expect you to be there,” he replied, his tone firm.

“To hell with that,” she scoffed, leaning against the doorframe, barely meeting his gaze.

“It’s your sister’s birthday. You owe her that much.”

“I owe her nothing.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “She’s paying for your apartment and…other activities, whatever they are. If you don’t come, those payments stop.”

Y/n’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Fine. Family reunion it is. Yay, can’t wait.” She let out a bitter laugh before slamming the door in his face.

Conveniently, Y/n and Nesta arrived at the same time, neither of them acknowledging the other. Inside, the others were exchanging gifts , laughter filling the room until they noticed the two standing by the door. Feyre hurried over to open it, offering to take Nesta’s coat. Y/n, however, wasn’t wearing one despite the snow blanketing the ground outside. Elain appeared in the foyer, linking her arm through Nesta’s and leading her toward the living room. Y/n and Feyre exchanged a quick look before Feyre guided her twister inside. 

“I’m glad you came.” Feyre said softly.

“I had no choice,” Y/n replied, her tone indifferent.

By the fireplace, Azriel’s gaze fixed on Y/n, his hazel eyes brightening at the sight of her. His shadows trailed after her, drawn to her presence. Though she looked worn, there was at least a hint of color to her cheeks, a sign of life he hadn’t seen the last time she’d stayed. Back then, she’d seemed like a ghost- just breathing, merely existing. 

“We were just starting with presents” Elain announced to her sisters, giving Y/n and Nesta a warm smile.

After wishing Feyre a happy birthday, Nesta began a brief conversation with her, speaking in low tones. The others gradually resumed exchanging gifts, the festive atmosphere returning. Elain handed Y/n a small package from herself and Feyre, and Feyre offered another to Nesta. 

“I don’t need anything,” Y/n muttered, eyeing the package with reluctance.

“It’s a gift. Just take it,” Elain insisted gently, her eyes hopeful. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Y/n noted her sister’s excitement and let out a quiet sigh. “You seem more interested than I am… fine, I’ll open it.” As she removed the wrapping, she revealed a simple, embroidered navy-blue gown. 

“You always liked handmade gifts,” Elain said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Feyre designed the pattern, and I embroidered it.”

Y/n studied the gown, her expression unreadable. “I see… I didn't bring anything for you” she replied quietly.

“You’re here. That’s enough.” Elain’s voice softened, her words laced with relief.

As the gift-giving continued, Azriel took the opportunity to move closer to Y/n. He’d hidden a gift for her, something he’d intended to give her ever since he’d found it at the Dawn Court when things between them had been good, or as good as they could be. Seeing her reaction to her sisters’ gift, he realized this wasn’t the moment. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to speak with her, to hear her voice directed at him once more. Though his shadows had kept him updated on her wellbeing, he hadn't seen her since the day she left.

“Happy Solstice,” he murmured, his gaze steady, searching her face.

She glanced at him briefly, her expression impassive. ”Nothing happy about it.” Sheshifted away from him, choosing a seat beside Elain and remaining silent.

As the evening wore on and everyone began to tire, Y/n muttered a quiet goodbye to Elain before heading toward the door. Feyre followed, handing her a slip of paper.

“Here. Payment for rent,” she said softly.  

Y/n accepted it without a word, slipping it into her pocket as she exited.

Moments later, Azriel appeared at her side, a coat in his hand. “You didn’t bring anything to keep warm. Here,” he said, extending it to her.

She looked at the coat, then at him, her gaze cool. “I’m not cold.” She turned, begging to walk away. 

Ignoring her protest, Azriel draped the coat around her shoulders, his voice gentle but firm. “Even so, you’ll catch a cold. I’ll walk you home.”

“Get back, Spymaster.” The title was cold, distant. She’d only called him that once before- when they first met, when he was nothing more than a stranger to her. Since then, he’d gotten used to her calling him Shadowsinger, the name laced with familiarity, even warmth. And on the battlefield, when she had finally called him by his name, it had melted his heart. But ever since that day, she had barely spoken more than a word or two to him. From sleeping on his chest before battle to treating him like a stranger now- it shattered him. 

“I will, once you’re home safe.”

“I don’t want your company.” Her voice was flat, devoid of the spark he once knew.

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “Aren’t you tired of all this?” His tone sharpened with a mix of frustration and desperation.

“What I am tired of is you and your family. Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” She narrowed her eyes, her words like a wall she was intent on building. “I was perfectly fine on my own.”

“Fine? You mean the partying and taking every poison you can find, just to see which one will be the one that finally kills you?”

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Ah, so you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Of course I have. Did you think I’d stand by and let you go down this path without even checking on you?” His voice softened, a hint of pain slipping through.

She let out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Stop- just stop. I need you to stop caring.”

“Why?” His voice held an edge of anger now. “Because if I, Mother forbid, or anyone else tries to get close to you, you’ll push us away?”

“You’ve got it aaall figured out, don’t you?” She forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow.

“Come back to the house.” There was a plea in his voice he couldn’t suppress.

She snorted, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be part of your happy family. Stop trying to make me fit in.” With a defiant motion, she let the coat fall from her shoulders and land on the snow-dusted ground. 

“That’s not what I-”

“I want to be left alone. What I do with my life is none of your business.” Her voice grew colder, words clipped. “If I choose to waste it, it’s my choice. Stop following me, and don’t send your shadows after me again.”

Azriel’s face softened with hurt as he reached for her hand. “Don’t shut me out. You used to-” But as soon as his fingers brushed hers, she recoiled, her eyes narrowing, a shiver visibly running through her. For the first time, she could see the heartbreak on his face, the pain her reaction had caused. 

“What I used to be is in the past. The Y/n you knew is dead. Move on.” She turned her face away, her voice lowering. “There are things better left unsaid. Don’t make me say things that will hurt you.”

His expression hardened, masking the pain her words had caused. “You’ve already done that. So go ahead. Say what you want.”

Her eyes met his, cold and unyielding. “You’re not worth my time.” She shook her head, walking away from him and disappearing into the dark streets. 

But he followed in silence, staying in the shadows, his heart heavy. And though he moved unseen, she knew he was there- she could feel him, a silent presence lurking in the dark.

Tags: : @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03

[nelkcats]

The Banshee, a JL mystery

A foreign case was being discussed by the Justice League, in general it was not bad, just rare.

It began a couple of months ago, a tourist had come to Star City, but he did not visit the city, he did not even register, he just pop out of nowhere, went to the cemetery, and apparently the cameras recorded him placing flowers in all the tombs and talking with the air or with some of the people engraved in the stones, they were not sure of it.

The strange thing was that the cameras around him were always corrupted, they needed the JLD to even stabilize the image, and ¿was that not worrying? They assumed that something supernatural was following him, the boy looked strictly human, but even the trackers that they tried to put were damaged around him.

Unfortunate for the entire league, although they had the guy features, the image was not clear enough for facial recognition.

The corrupted sound of the camaras sounded like a wail, or a cry, Constantine commented it remembered him to a banshee, so they started to call him "The Banshee" even if Zatanna told them Banshee were strictly women, it stayed.

The wave of visits continued, the boy went through Central City, Metropolis, Washington, Gotham, but it was later where something relevant happened again.

Jason was visiting his own grave when he noticed the boy, he tells, he cared because the young man seemed disconsolate looking at the graves, even yearning if that had some sense.

"Did you know him?" It may be the case of B, but it still had him intrigued. Also, the guy was looking at his grave, he felt like he have the right to ask.

"No, but you could say I already did" the boy sighed, stroking the stone of the tomb "I would also like it-..." Danny stopped, he should not be telling his problems to the owner of the tomb "Ah, no matter, it's good to know he was loved"

Jelousy, the reason why Danny visited the cemeteries was to calm himself, surrounded by what he wants but can not occur, to cry as no one cried for him, Clockwork always said that a part of him died at the moment nobody pay attention to his death, and ¿wasn't that funny?

"¿How do you know?" If someone asked Jason, he would affirm that it was uncomfortable to talk about himself as if he was still dead, but he couldn't do anything about it now.

"Well, he's buried and has a proper resting place, they keep bringing him flowers even though the inside of his grave is empty, you can see the recently removed earth; Many of the dead don't have that luxury, their bodies left somewhere, the missing people were never given a proper burial, I don't know man, ghosts can't build their own graves ¿you know?" He was probably ranting and he knew it, but Danny was tired, he wanted that too, and it was such a stupid rule not to be able to give himself his own resting place, but he wasn't going to burden Jazz, Sam, or Tucker with giving him a funeral.

It was the reason he did this, why he visited cemeteries, laid flowers and talked to the resident ghosts, he wanted to know the feeling, wanted to know what he had lost, wanted to be mourned too.

"Anyway, nice to meet you Nosaj Ddot, be a little grateful for what you have, ¿okay? I know some who would kill for it" he smiled ruefully, starting to pick up his basket of flowers, he had already made his rounds anyway. It was probably time to go back to Amity Park.

"¿Nosaj? What are you talking about-" but the boy was already gone, disappeared into thin air, his communications re-established at the same moment that he noticed his damaged tracker right next to the grave, a short circuit.

"The banshee ¿uh?, he sure is an interesting guy, maybe the League is really onto something this time."

[soracities]

how do you know when you're getting good at poetry? everybody dunks on halsey and rupi kaur's poetry, and i never really got why and idk if that's what i sound like

Honestly, I don't think there's ever a point at which you "know" you're getting good at poetry--I think "good" and "bad" are kind of vague and amorphous (and distracting) categories that don't do much in helping us understand the feel and impact of certain writing, chiefly because they can also be deeply subjective. How a poet views a particular work and how a reader views it will be very, very different because their relationship to the work is different. I also think "good" is a sort of external category that does not (or should not) carry into the act of writing itself--when you make "is this good?" the chief consideration as you write, you're not actually present in the writing: you're focused on the finished product, not the process, but the process is the most important thing: that's where the poem actually meets you. I think growth, in writing, is less about knowing if you're "good" in this regard, and more about being able to have confidence, or simply just trust, in the writing as it happens.

There's a famous saying somewhere that a work of literature is never "finished"--it just stops. I think skill, when it comes to writing, lies in recognising where this point is, in learning and developing how you navigate what it is you want to say, and how you say it. Some poems, eventually, reach a point where you can take them no further and you know there is nothing more to be said in them or through them. Some poems reach a point where you can take them no further, but there is still something left to be said in them. Those poems get revisited, worked, and reworked again, until they (maybe) get close to the first category: this may mean you work on them for a few weeks, or for years--but either way you are prioritizing the process of making the poem, not how it will be received. "Is this a good poem?" in my view at least, is not really the relevant question--what's relevant is "is this true to what I wanted to say?" Leonard Cohen famously wrote over 100 drafts of "Hallelujah"--I don't know if the central question for him here was just a matter of his skills as a songwriter.

Regarding Halsey and Rupi Kaur, I've only been able to read Halsey's poems through previews on Google Books so I don't know what other people's critiques are--based on what I saw, though, I don't know if it makes sense to criticize their quality as "poems" when she is primarily a songwriter and a lot of those poems wound up as songs. I'm more familiar with Rupi Kaur's writing, though, and others like her (Atticus, Michael Faudet etc), and while I have a personal policy of not getting into Kaur online (there's an ask here which is about as much as I'm willing to say regarding my feelings on her writing)--I can get into this trend or poetry "style" as a whole. And to be honest I think the chief issue here with poetry like this is that poetry, by definition, involves a deep and intimate relationship with language: this holds true regardless of whether the poem is simple, or complex, whether it's 5 lines long or goes on for 50 pages. As I said in that previous ask, it's not something you can reduce to a formula, nor is it a matter of mere reportage or a collection of statements: what makes a poem has nothing to do with line breaks (prose poems exist), but everything to do with how the language moves, how the language of a poem engages with its own content, with itself, and, as a result, with the reader.

The kind of work that proliferates on Instagram does not have that kind of engagement with language--they are, to me, pieces of information more than anything else. They reduce language to a series of stock phrases that act, not as actual words, but as images (and I don't mean this in a visually evocative way). It tries to evoke something that requires a thoughtful and sustained examination in order to be expressed, by surpassing the reality of what that examination actually requires. It tries to ape the effect of a powerful poem without the work that goes into actually being able to make that kind of a poem in the first place: and that work is a sustained encounter and confrontation with the language used and its relationship to what it tries to convey, in understanding that words are not interchangeable blocks you move around willy-nilly but that they have weight and intention, that they interact with each other to build up an idea or a feeling or a landscape in the most accessible way (insofar as language can make anything accessible, at least). But this is rarely, if ever, felt in IG poetry because it refuses to recognize or respect the demands and requirements of the medium it uses.

And because it is lacking in this engagement and recognition, these poems are also, for the most part, lacking sincerity--and this, to me, is one of the most crucial things when it comes to writing. I recall one IG poet whose work was in the same class as someone like Atticus, but I also recall one of his poems which genuinely moved me--and it moved me because, unlike everything else on his account, that poem felt sincere: the structure and the language wasn't any different to anything else he wrote, but in reading it, it was not a question for me of whether it was "bad" or "good"--what made the impact was that it was honest: and the difference showed. You can't come into a poem with ulterior motives. You can't come into it without an understanding, or respect, for the language you use. I'm absolutely not policing what people should or shouldn't read, and I'm not saying people are wrong for liking these poems, either, or that Halsey, Kaur, Atticus et al., are wrong for writing them. Expression is expression, and what speaks to you speaks to you. And to be honest, it is a different kettle of fish when you are writing something purely for yourself (and I think allowing yourself to partake in any kind of artform, without worrying about needing to be good at it, is deeply important for the human spirit)--but because they are putting their work out publicly, if we are going to be evaluating what they write and how they write it, that evaluation has to be rooted in an understanding of the art form they intend their work to be a part of.

For me, these are the main issues I have with these writers and their work and why I just do not like them. But I also want to stress that, ultimately, what you sound like in your own poems, anon, does not matter as much as being sincere to yourself does. As I said, I don' like using terms like "good" and "bad" and I think that often they're fairly reductive (and sometimes outright pointless) categories to use when we talk about and assess poetry--more than anything else, the key to building a robust and informed discernment when it comes to poems is to simply just read--read a lot of it and read widely. The broader and richer your repository of poetry (and literature in general) is, the more informed you are when it comes to all the different ways language can move through a poem, and all the different impacts it can have as a result. It deepens and enriches your understanding of all the different ways of looking at something, questioning something, expressing something. Your vocabularly grows and deepens; your net of associations--visual, linguistic etc--strengthens. And when this understanding grows you are able to place the things you read into a much wider and far more informed context. And this in turn allows you to grow as a reader and a writer. I hope this helps you a little, anon 💕

[olderthannetfic]

"Why I don't write F/F" thread proceeded just as unproductively as I expected. It wasn't about moralizing about the women not writing F/F, it was a question about why personal reasons for avoiding a configuration aren't reflected in opposite directions by other groups. Unlike race, gender has an almost 50/50 split, there's a scale to the proportions not there for other types of identity category. "The femslash police suck" is a factor I can understand. But why wouldn't "personal reasons I just don't feel it towards this configuration" end up an even distribution across the population? The expectation for women to write about women isn't a moral rule, it's that if you allow the logic "men in control of stories write about men (and that's why more mainstream stories center men)", then the flip side is, well, why people clamor for more women behind the camera and in the writers' room. Either accept the logic for both sides or challenge it for both sides. Instead we have the worst of both worlds, we accept it for one side and challenge it for the other. Where's the parallel universe where this imbalance somehow resulted in a different quadrant being the smallest proportion of ships?

--

Why wouldn't "personal reasons" be even? Because the kinds of issues people face based on their demographic aren't.

But I think the larger factor is how socialization affects choice of hobbies and volunteer efforts. Cis men and cis women, on average, go in for different flavors. The dudes tend to be more bothered by the idea of "not getting anything back" for what feels like work. When they do do unpaid labor, it's often the kind that accrues glory and career prospects rather than less showy social ties. Open source coding projects where they can be important, yes. Writing fanfic, no.

Looking up any analysis of volunteering and unpaid work that makes such-and-such a part of society function will get you a lot of discussion of this gendered difference. It's pervasive.

Of course, this is just a broad trend. Plenty of guys do write fanfic, and when they dominate a fanfic space, we see tons of fic focused on the female characters they find attractive, including f/f fic.

And if you're asking about cis gay men specifically... well... again, gendered socialization means that the issues faced by cis lesbians and cis gay men are not equivalent. The reasons and ways that people employ allegory to talk about things "too close to home" will likewise not be exactly the same. Traditional US gay male culture goes in for drag and for an obsession with Hollywood divas and The Golden Girls. Plenty is being mediated through female personas; it's just not translating into fanfic specifically. But most people making "Leave the fujoshi alone" arguments are not thinking about cis gays: they're thinking about people in messier identity categories.

The biggest difference is not behavior but simply that cis men are a small minority on FFN, AO3, and Wattpad, the three big fanfic archives. (Some ancient FFN research found that it was 78% female, and that's the archive known for having more men!) The places with more cis guys are much smaller and don't get talked about as much by most fandom history and fandom meta types from the AO3 side of things.

The reason cis men's taste in favorite characters isn't being "pushed back against" isn't a double standard: it's because:

Cis men simply aren't that relevant to site-wide trends on AO3

and

2. The reverse pattern does happen all the time with vanishingly little m/m and lots of f/f

You sound like you think we'd make this fanfic-specific argument about pro media. In fact, plenty of queer women are open that they produce original f/f but not f/f fanfic or they produce f/f fanworks but not fic. A lot of the "too close to home" arguments are specifically about the kind of id fuel, naked-in-public vibes of AO3-style fanfic. Writing that is less id-driven may not feel that same way. A given woman might have a much easier time writing a mystery novel about a lesbian detective who never gets laid on page than a steamy f/f bodice ripper.

The parallel universe you ask about exists. It's horny imageboards full of fan art of anime girls.

The reason you sound judgmental and are getting "unproductive" responses is that you're phrasing things as though we're refusing to solve a problem. In reality, we're attempting to analyze the situation that exists. It's a descriptive approach.

[optimisticartistic]

so here's a fun thought for everyone

Why the FUCK doesn't Kayne want Arthur to know anything about the King in Yellow?

It's tricky to spot over the course of Malevolent as an ongoing canon, but when you look back at the pieces there's a very interesting pattern forming.

First and foremost, the King is (functionally) dead. John's memories of the King's actual life are inconsequential to the point of nonexistent, and Yellow doesn't have any. Given that we know now that Kayne can travel freely between the Dark World and other realities, something no other god is suggested to be able to just yet, we can infer that Kayne put Yellow in the Dark Place explicitly to remove his memories. So there's no longer any first-hand accounts of what the King's motives were/are.

Any humans who could explain the King's motives are dead, and the ones who might have had a reasonable guess is removed. Emily is dead. Amanda is dead.

(Side note: HEY ISN'T THERE ONLY LIKE ONE OTHER HUMANOID THAT JOHN CAN'T DESCRIBE)

Anna is dead.

The Butcher, who has been previously involved with Eldritch Bullshit and may have even held clues as to what was happening with the overall state of the gods, is dead.

Larson, who was an active researcher of eldritch deities, was put in too much pain to function and removed from the scenario entirely. Yellow, who was still sympathetic to Arthur and may have been able to be swung around as an ally, is likewise removed.

(Charlie, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and knows nothing, gets yote for funsies.)

So, the only person Arthur has to rely on about information on the other gods becomes Kayne.

Every time Arthur meets Kayne in person, he is in a compromised position and unable to follow up on his own questions

The first time is 20, right after the prison pits, immediately off-kilter because of Faroe's music box and her song, and Kayne immediately distracts him with his own agenda, pushing the idea of Arthur being special, of the King winning, and he gives Arthur the knife - while prompting him on how to use it, as well as how to summon him again.

The second time is Coda, where Arthur is actively dying, and not only does Kayne continue to keep him off-balance by forcing him to beg for John, he keeps Arthur even further off-balance by forcing him to take the entirely unnecessary deal to get "John without his memories" back. And then he spends all of S3 obsessing about John and too distracted to care further than Larson.

The third time is 40 and Intermezzo, where he is witness to Everything Going To Shit, and at this point has actually developed some learned helplessness around Kayne: he no longer pushes back, except to ask relevant questions.

Kayne constantly undermines John, making it difficult for Arthur to feel like he can rely on him in Kayne's presence. He insults John, makes it difficult to describe him and drops references that John can't understand to put his intelligence into question, putting John on the back foot and into compromised social positions. Revealing the cruel things John has done in unflattering lights (forcing John to perform them in the Dark World and making him sound proud of them in 40) and outright orchestrating the divorce in Intermezzo with the entire 'I'll remove his memories for you' debacle. He puts John in a position where Arthur has legitimate reason to doubt his honesty and intentions, and uses that to further undermine John in Arthur's eyes.

I had more points but I lost my train of thought. anyway i am fucking frothing at the mouth about this, what are we missing about the King??

[nicromancytarot]

WILL YOU BE FAMOUS?

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides if you would ever get the chance of being famous, pick a picture to find out.

DISCLAIMER: when doing this reading I did not quite realise the relevance of famous can range from having a viral video on TikTok to actual worldwide fame, so I will redo this with social media to worldwide sometime soon!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

Pile 4 ———> Pile 5 ———> Pile 6

PILE 1

YES! Once again I received a pile based on helping others lmao, I see you guys receiving extreme wealth from speaking and acting on humanitarian causes. Heavy protesting energy. You will however receive some hate for this so be careful! You may stick to only social media but will become very abundant nonetheless.

PILE 2 (18+ themes)

YES! I see this being something you never imagined being able to do, I notice a lot of wands in this spread so you could lowkey become famous for doing porn, or other sex related work.

However, for those of you who don’t resonate with that, you may be doing something to do with the public in a way of singing or speaking. (The wands remind me of microphones.)

There is a sense of secrecy which was why I was getting sex work lol, but if not, I can see you may have some fans who will attempt to gatekeeper you as you grow.

PILE 3

YES! This pile was very hard to decipher because there’s so many ways this could go, first being that you gain social media fame from getting into a physical fight with someone (this is so weird but i saw someone sat doing a get ready with me while covering up bruises and trying to explain how they got there while assuring everyone that they won lmaoo.) Or you may be exposing a past relationship for being toxic (I feel like this would be a partner in the industry.)

I see you have an opportunity to keep this fame from dying out which can lead you to a new lover if you’re interested in that, you guys may even get married sometime in the future. If not then I definitely see business opportunities coming your way.

PILE 4

YES! This will only resonate with some of you that’s for sure, but I see that you may have a situation where a lover cheats on you (sorry) and you may record either an argument, the breakup or some big tantrum that they throw and post it to social media to humiliate them #slay. The video will certainly go viral but you will receive a lot of mixed reactions so beware. You may also have the potential or growing this fame if you stay consistent and keep it exciting.

PILE 5

Unfortunately I don’t see this in the cards for you. I see that you have a large amount of worry for hatred and criticism and you may just want to live a peaceful, quiet life. I see that you certainly value your peace and would run from the hatred if you got it. I also notice that you may already, or will have a leadership job or opportunity that you won’t want to pass up on. So don’t dwell, you have freewill so if you really desire fame, go for it.

PILE 6

I unfortunately don’t see this in the cards for you. I notice that you totally have the potential (and freewill!) to make ir happen if you really wanted. But I also see that you are never really happy or fulfilled. I think someone told you that you can’t make it happen and I feel that’s why you stopped trying. Do not give up, you never know the difference you could make.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

am i the asshole for not lending my uncle my copy of zelda tears of the kingdom?

i (17f) have two uncles which are relevant to this story, both maternal. they're the oldest and youngest (not sure exactly how old, one is around 30 and the other is in his late 40s/early 50s.)

last year, the older uncle lent me his copy of zelda breath of the wild. this was after about a year and a half of him having it. during that time he made sure i was well aware how difficult and lengthy it was, which was why he couldn't give it to me to play yet. i don't profess to be a gamer or anything- i just enjoy playing videogames, and i didn't really know what the zelda series was at the time, so i kind of just shrugged it off. when he finally did give it to me, it was after i let his kids borrow my personal copy of animal crossing, and he kind of just stuck the cartridge into my hand while i was leaving and insisted i take it.

i was and still am a student, and just didn't have the time to start casually playing until a few months later in the spring, around may. i really enjoyed it and got 75% of the way through by the time summer vacation rolled around, which was when my cousin (his son) started dropping by to ask when i would be giving zelda back. i told him every day for three consecutive days that i would give it back when i was finished, but he was really anxious to start playing because my uncle only lets them have their nintendo switch in the summer. i offered my cousin his selection of any game we had (as we have done multiple times). he said he'd already played all of our games and that a couple of the newer ones my brother had gotten for his birthday were "trashy" and left.

the fourth time he came over he basically stood in the doorway and demanded the zelda game, said it was his dad's, and that he'd give it back when he finished it. my mom scolded him because of his attitude, saying that my uncle mostly just borrows whatever games they want to play from us for up to a year and a half at a time, and we never complain. she told me to go get the game and give it to him, and he started crying and left before i could. my uncle came over ten minutes later to smooth things over and left with botw. he never gave it back and i never got to finish it.

back in around november, my younger uncle, who is unmarried and has no kids, gifted me zelda botw and totk, specifically because he'd heard about what happened with my older uncle. when my older uncle found out at thanksgiving, he asked me to give totk to him. i told him i was busy with college apps and haven't opened it yet and he said it was fine, and that he would play it and give it back in a few days. i refused, saying that i wanted to open my own game when i wasn't busy, and my mom, who was also there, agreed with me and said that i deserved the experience of opening a present and enjoying it on my own time. he tried a few more times to convince me unsuccessfully and eventually relented.

two months ago i opened botw and am making very slow progress on it because i just don't have the time to finish it as quick as i'd like. totk is still in the plastic on my dresser. a few days ago my uncle messaged me asking for totk, and i ignored it. my mom told me just to tell him i already lent it to someone, but today he turned up on my porch while i was waiting to go to school and asked me for it, and in my exasperation i said, "i haven't even opened it yet." he again told me to let HIM open it and that "he'd give it back in three days after finishing it," and just to let him have it. i told him no. and then i told him no several more times. at one point he got annoyed and said, "fine, be like that," and walked away.

some additional context: my uncle is not broke. he makes six figures and has a very good engineering job. he bought a ps5 almost as soon as it came out. he makes the conscious choice not to purchase his own games, i guess because he feels no need to when he could just borrow them from us instead? my family doesn't make a lot of money but my mom saves up so we can have games, usually as birthday or holiday gifts. i have never borrowed a game from him except botw because he doesn't have any to lend. i also feel like if he really wanted zelda totk that bad he could just buy it himself, because he can definitely afford it. my mom, maternal aunt, and cousins (not his kids) are all on my side, and my aunt says that my younger uncle doesn't like my older uncle and would be pissed if i lent them to him. on the other hand i just feel bad for holding out and being difficult because i want to open it on my own time, and i even though i don't like him as a person i still feel guilty for being rude to and pissing him off because he's my mom's oldest sibling.

so, aita for not lending it to him?

What are these acronyms?