#i just don't know how to answer anything concisely

[nostalgebraist]

Seeing a lot of python hate on the dash today... fight me guys. I love python. I am a smoothbrained python enjoyer and I will not apologize for it

Python has multiple noteworthy virtues, but the most important one is that you can accomplish stuff extremely fast in it if you know what you are doing.

This property is invaluable when you're doing anything that resembles science, because

Most of the things you do are just not gonna work out, and you don't want to waste any time "designing" them "correctly." You can always go back later and give that kind of treatment to the rare idea that actually deserves it.

Many of your problems will be downstream from the limitations in how well you can "see" things (high-dimensional datasets, etc.) that humans aren't naturally equipped to engage with. You will be asking lots and lots of weirdly shaped, one-off questions, all the time, and the faster they get answered the better. Ideally you should be able to get into a flow state where you barely remember that you're technically "coding" on a "computer" -- you feel like you're just looking at something, from an angle of your choice, and then another.

You will not completely understand the domain/problem you're working on, at the outset. Any model you express of it, in code, will be a snapshot of a bad, incomplete mental model you'll eventually grow to hate, unless you're able to (cheaply) discard it and move on. These things should be fast to write, fast to modify, and not overburdened by doctrinaire formal baggage or a scale-insensitive need to chase down tiny performance gains. You can afford to wait 5 seconds occasionally if it'll save you hours or days every time your mental map of reality shifts.

The flipside of this is that it is also extremely (and infamously) easy to be a bad python programmer.

In python doing the obvious thing usually just works, which means you can get away with not knowing why it works and usually make it through OK. Yes, this is cringe or whatever, fine. But by the same token, if you do know what the right thing to do is, that thing is probably very concise and pretty-looking and transparent, because someone explicitly thought to design things that way. What helps (or enables) script kiddies can also be valuable to power users; it's not like there's some fundamental reason the interests of these two groups cannot ever align.

[shadebloopnik]

Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

[brayneworms]

prompt: l lawliet + food play + pink

wc. 2.8k. gn!reader, foodplay, virgin!l, handjobs, sliiiight come eating, reader is a wet cat in a cardboard box kinda, safe sane and consensual, no real power dynamics.

L contextualises things in the way he sees the world.

Strings of numbers, statistics, behavioural patterns that he's memorised to a 'T' until he can tell guilt from the aversion of an eye or fury from the remnants of nails pressed into the palm of someone's hand. It's why maybe something like sex or desire is a struggle for him. It's not that he doesn't understand it, it's more like he doesn't see the—the need for it, or whatever. You chalk it up to him being extremely busy and also probably totally asexual and don't think about it.

(Don't think about it much.)

It sort of surprises you that it's you he corners with his questions about. Maybe he's more embarrassed than he lets on—as it is, he looks cool as a cucumber save for the faintest shade of pink across his cheekbones. There's no way he would escape a conversation about it from anyone on the squad without a degree of ragging. Misa would squeal like a pig if L dared to broach the topic with her, you're sure. Matsuda would blush bright red and trip over all his words, and Aizawa would probably stare at him like he'd set his firstborn on fire.

And Light is Light. He probably knows little more than L, for all the airs he puts on.

So it's you he comes to. When it first starts, you think it has something to do with a case or lead he's hunting. Tell me, have you had sex before?

Perched like a frog, licking whipped cream off his finger. You don't know if he's doing to be provocative or not; don't know which is worse, that he's aware of what he's doing or not.

"This isn't exactly proper workplace conversation L."

A flicker of a smile. Cheeky, omniscient. "Feel free to report me to HR, in that case."

You do answer—honestly and concisely, if not with a shade of awkwardness. He's essentially your boss. But L seems so far removed from the worlds of sexuality and desire that it seems harmless, occupational, and eventually it stops feeling embarrassing. Out of nowhere—what is the purpose of restrains in an intimate context? Why do you think some people like to feel as though they have no control in the bedroom? Would you say that visual pornography has given watchers unrealistic expectations of actual intercourse?

One night, the two of you alone in front of a big glowing screen, turning to him and asking. "Why do you ask me this stuff, anyway? Is it for a case?"

"No," he says neutrally. A quick glance from his dark eyes you could almost describe as coy. "I'm just... curious."

"Curious," you echo, deadpan. "You?"

"Does that surprise you?" he murmurs. You almost feel that your honest answer—yes—would be insulting now, so instead you just shrug and mumble something incoherent under your breath. "You're not completely wrong. I thought having a better understanding of things like sex and power dynamics would be beneficial in the long run. Most people have a greater knowledge of it than me, which—puts me at a disadvantage." He says these last words with an air of revulsion, as though the very concept of knowing less than someone sours in his mouth, and you chuckle at his childishness.

"That makes sense." You pause. Wonder if you're reading this all wrong, then barrel ahead anyway. "Wouldn't actually experiencing it for yourself lend a better understanding than anything else, though?"

L's eyebrow raises. His smile has vanished, leaving him bug-eyed and unreadable. "What are you suggesting?"

He's not stupid, and you're not subtle. He knows exactly what you were suggesting. The fact that he's trying to get you to go into more detail rather than firing you on the spot is probably a good sign, and further than you expected to get. You squirm in your seat.

"You know. It's like being told about how something feels rather than knowing," you say awkwardly. "I'm just—can I ask—"

"It only seems fair," L says slowly. "After I've been badgering you with my own questions for so long." His chair spins; he rests his wrists on his rucked-up knees, fingers steepled in front of him. "Please."

Hot-faced, you spin your chair aimlessly. "Okay, well, uh—have you? I mean, before?"

L hesitates before he shakes his head, an almost imperceptible twitch that has his dark hair floating. You swallow the sudden large dry lump in your throat.

"Okay. So. Probably somewhere to start," you mumble.

L seems to consider this. "Would you be willing?"

You don't have the right to be surprised, with all the dancing around the subject, but you are, still. You choke on your spit and fly around to look at him, which is a mistake. His gaze is so dark and intense, and you think he can see right through you before you even open your mouth to answer.

"I'm not—" you stammer, with no idea what you're going to say. "I mean—"

"I had assumed you would be," L goes on calmly, but you catch the slight flicker of his eyes, a ghost of uncertainty that makes your chest squeeze. "If I have read your responses incorrectly, though, feel free to forget I asked. I can guarantee no awkwardness tomorrow."

"It's not that," you blurt. L blinks at you, go on. "It's just... do you have any idea what you're, you know. Into? Where to start?"

L's eyes flicker, the barest furrow knitted between his brows. You can tell he hasn't thought too hard about it. "What would you suggest?" he asks, curling his long fingers over his knees.

You swallow. "Well... anything you like the idea of, I guess. Something familiar, to ease you into it."

L's eyes roll over to his desk, where a perfectly glistening slice of strawberry cake waits for him. Pink sponge and halved red berries, topped with pale pink cream. "Familiar," he echoes. "I may have a suggestion."

-

So you feed L a strawberry just to get started.

Hold it up. It's distinctly awkward; L just stares at it for a moment, the berry dusted with frosting that glistens between your fingers. You tell him, "If you're not comfortable with this, sex is probably going to be—"

He leans forward and plucks the fruit from between your fingers; you feel the barest ghosting of teeth, the sweep of his tongue sharp and curious against the pads of your fingers before he leans back again. You watch the motions of his jaw and throat as he chews and swallows. Pins you with his headlamp stare, wide and dark.

You deconstruct the strawberry cake carefully, removing the berries and setting them to the side. Cast a look over at him. "Take off your shirt?"

L twists the hem of this shirt for a few moments before removing it. It feels so strange to see him devoid of clothing, like a knight removing their armour. Pale ribs, pinched waist. He's not whipcord-thin like you had imagined—there's lean muscle packed under the skin, his stomach flat and somewhat soft. It flexes almost nervously when you look at it. He reclines back on his bed without being told, bracing his weight onto his elbows, legs dangling off the side.

"You sure about all this?" you ask, glancing from the smooth planes of his white skin—shit—to the plate of crumbling pink dessert. "Didn't think you'd be into, you know. All the mess."

"I have a shower," L says reflexively.

You take that as permission to approach with the plate. You place the strawberry halves in a red dotted line, starting at his clavicle, watching him shiver and flex at the cold touch. Down—one at the bottom of his ribs, one above his bellybutton, one at his naval just above the low sling of his jeans. He's started to flush, prettily pink down his chest. It makes you slightly dizzy.

"Okay. So. Okay." You try not to feel so nervous, but it's more like you feel out of place, or time, or space. It feels surreal, basically. Standing between L's legs with your fingers stained pink from fruit and frosting. Him looking up at you like that, all big dark round eyes and slightly parted lips. Damn it. You take a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, so, I'll start now if you're okay. And just say if you don't want—if you want to stop, or if you don't like anything, just say, okay?"

"I understand the basic premises of consent, if that's what you're trying to affirm." The words are all L, but there's an element of breathlessness to them.

"Just making sure we're clear," you mutter. You lean forward and smooth a palm over his collarbones. They're sharp, they jut up to meet your hand like cut diamond, and you hear and see his breath hitch, which is slightly intoxicating. His skin is warmer and softer than you thought it would be. You run your hands over his shoulders and neck, which he squirms away from with a wrinkled nose.

"No neck?" you ask.

He shakes his head. So no neck.

Once you're done exploring this part of his body, you lean forward, close your lips around the strawberry and bite the end of it, sinking your teeth into the flesh. Pink juice runs down your chin; L's eyes follow it, transfixed, as you tilt your head forward and push your mouthful against his lips. They part unquestioningly, and you push the strawberry into his mouth with your tongue. Your lips brush together, tantalising and sweet with sugar. A mimic of a kiss, a palimpsest of intimacy. You don't want to overwhelm him, anyway.

This goes on; your hands over his chest next, the soft pectorals. An experimental brush of your thumb over his left nipple that makes his whole body shudder. He's so sensitive, reacting to every prod and touch and tweak with a jerk and a shiver. Gooseflesh blooms up his skin, pebbling his nipples, and when you tweak the other one gently he lets out a choked sound.

Finding the strawberry nestled under his ribs. Taking it between your teeth and passing it to him. His face gets pinker with each one. Stomach, concave, flexing with every hard breath. A ticklish spot over his belly button. Strawberry, bite, pass. The flex of his jaw as he chews.

Fingers over his waist, indenting the skin as much as you dare. You try not to think of how easily he would bruise. Brushing your touch over his lower abdomen makes his breath catch again. You find the strawberry, hold it between your lips. L cranes his neck, searching this time—he thinks he knows the game, has memorised the steps, found the pattern, the sequence. He doesn't know that the best sex is the unpredictable kind. This time, you press your lips against him and when your tongue pushes the strawberry into his mouth it stays there. His lips part, slack against yours, either in shock or inexperience. You allow yourself the briefest twirl of your tongue against his before pulling back with a wet pop.

L stares at you as you retreat. The strawberries leave pale pink residue on his skin. Pulling back fully reveals the hardness between his legs, pushing up against the dark denim of his jeans. He grunts when your eyes land on it, either out of embarrassment or frustration. You swallow and its like sandpaper.

"Still want me to...?"

"I have not changed my mind," he replies, slightly hoarsely and a beat slower than usual. You shrug, smooth your hands over the tent at his crotch, and he whines. It's the most searing noise you've pulled from him yet, and all from some halfhearted palming over the jeans. It sends a thrill zipping through you, hot and addicting. His arms shake with the weight of holding himself up, neck craning to follow as you sink to your knees between his legs.

You unzip him, pop the button, and he groans slightly at the freedom from the constraints of his clothes. He's fully hard, straining against his dark underwear. You experiment, rubbing at the tip, feeling for the wet spot, and he keens and thrashes, losing his stability and crashing to the mattress. He makes a frustrated noise just after, as though cursing himself for his own lack of control.

"That—" he swallows hard, breathes shakily. "That feels..."

Your hand hovers. "Am I stopping?"

"No, I don't..." He scrambles. L scrambles over his words. "Please, continue."

You stroke him over his underwear for a few concentrated minutes, mostly enjoying the way he twitches and huffs and occasionally makes soft, whiny noises, the way he starts to rut his hips against your hand. No technique, no rhythm, just some sort of baseless desire that you find incredibly hot. There's almost a frustration to it that makes you want to laugh—of course there would be nothing more agonising to someone like L than seeing what he wanted so close to him but being unable to accomplish it himself.

When he starts gritting his teeth, you pull his boxers down to his thighs and he makes a choking, embarrassed sound. When you wrap your fingers around his cock for the first time, finding it velvety-soft and leaking, his eyes roll back and his hips arch into the loose wet tunnel of your hand. "Oh," is all he says. Small and soft like he's surprised. His neck twists and his mouth presses into the starched white sheets. "Oh," he says again as your fist moves slowly, stroking with intent, up and down. He's not overly big, fits nicely in your hand, makes swiping over the head where the pre beads with your thumb nice and convenient. And you love the way he shudders and thrashes when you do it.

"How does that feel?" Your voice is lower than you remember it being. L cracks a bleary eye open; his face is flushed bright pink now, a flush that bleeds all the way down his chest, blending in with the strawberry stains.

"It feels," he starts, before his brow pinches. "I—I am not sure how to—how to describe..."

"It's okay," you tell him. His thighs shake, flexing against the edge of the mattress. When he tips his head back the cords in his pretty throat bulge, so biteable. "You can come whenever."

"I wasn't—oh," he gasps, squirming. "I wasn't aware I n-needed your—permission, oh."

"Yeah, well," you say intelligently, a little struck dumb by the sight before you. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

"A-and what page is that?" he pants, thrusting his hips messily into your hand. He's so fucking sensitive that you swear you can see his eyes growing shiny.

"The one where I help you out, so don't be a brat," you murmur. L laughs breathlessly, trying, you think, to summon some retort. You twist your fist around him and it died, half-formed in his brain, his eyes rolling back and fingers flexing hard in the sheets.

After another minute, he reaches out and grabs your wrist hard enough to bruise. He doesn't say it—can't, maybe. But you know. Your pace speeds up just a touch and he honest to god moans, spilling out of him soft and breathy before he comes, streaking over his stomach in pearly arcs. You watch him flinch at the contact, fingers slipping on your wrist. His chest flexes—in, out, in, out.

You collect a big scoop of pink frosting on your finger and dip it in the come starting to cool between his pecs before pressing it to his lips. L's brow wrinkles, startled—but he opens his lips and lets your fingers pass into the hot cavern of his mouth. Like a cat he licks your finger clean, pointed pink tongue prodding with no technique or flourish, just something steadfast, something stubborn.

You do him the dignity of tucking his softened cock back into his underwear and zipping up his jeans. Unsure how to proceed until L sits up rather abruptly. His hair is even more tousled from his tossing and turning as he reaches for a tissue to wipe himself down.

He looks at you. "I understand it's customary to offer some sort of equivalent exchange in these circumstances." A pause whilst he gathers his breath. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm not quite feeling up to the task."

His tone is normal, if a little shaky. You rock back on your heels. "Did you like it?"

L blinks at you. "My curiosity has been sated," he says, carefully. "Yes, I believe I did enjoy it."

Well, that's a relief if nothing else. The pink remnants of the strawberry cake it on the plate; the shade matches his blush.

[luveline]

hi jade !! this is me resending my hotch request bc of ur recent post 🤍 i sent the one about hotch taking care of bau!reader who has a really bad stomachache, thanks so much, i think you’re amazing 💞💞💞

thank you for requesting angel! fem

You do this sad thing with your hands when you're in pain. Aaron wishes he didn't know your tell, that he'd never had reason to understand it, but he does. Your fingers, in particular your pinky, curl toward your palm frenetically, and he has an ample view of your closed off face in the chair opposite. He can pin the moment he knows you're in pain down to the minute twitch of your lip. 

He peeks at Morgan where he lays on the couch before leaning across the table to touch your arm. The jet offers little privacy, so Aaron tries to be delicate. 

“L/N? Are you alright?” 

“Mm,” you hum, too high-pitched to have come out the way you meant it. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You say this, and yet you can't open your eyes, leaning less than subtly away from him as though your pain is catching.

Aaron keeps his head down as he stands so as not to attract attention. You've sat near the wall, leaving an empty seat for him to sit in. “Hey,” he says, touching the crook of your elbow, wanting to fix it, soothe the twitch from your hand, “you're in pain.” 

“It's nothing.” 

“Saying it won't necessarily make it true,” he says. 

“It felt worth trying.” 

He is genuinely perturbed to see you in pain like this without explanation. “You have to tell me what's wrong.” 

“Hotch, I…” you say, your voice wrought with embarrassment as you open your eyes, “it's just my stomach hurts. That's all.” 

“Sharp pains?” 

“Just hurts. Nothing dire.” 

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“Happens sometimes.” 

He puts his arm around you, careful not to jostle your back. You're tense as a rubber band about to snap. It's unlike you to be the more rigid of the two of you, less foreign for Hotch to have softened, especially when it's you. “How often?” he asks, wary of the tears brimming like silver at the corners of your eyes. 

“Just sometimes, I don't know.” You speak in a concise, panicked tenor. 

In this line of work, it could be anything. Not eating enough, not having time to stop for breath. You could be thirsty, sick, anxious, stressed into pain. It could be purely psychosomatic or you could be injured. He can't remember you taking any blows during the last few days away. It could be your period. You might not want to mention that. 

“Y/N,” he says, falling out of boss mode now he's sure it's not going to kill you, and into someone who cares for you, “what can I do?” 

You shudder a breath, slouched under his touch. “It's not that bad.” 

It's clearly a shocking amount of pain. Your shuddering worsens as he pulls you into his side. He's prepared to sit with you until you can give him better instructions, or until the pain passes, or, God forbid, things get worse. “I'm here,” he says, rubbing your arm gently. “Try to breathe.” 

He's wondering why you might think this amount of pain is normal, or acceptable. Wondering why he shouldn't just call for medical assistance here and now, but then you start to come around, your face shining with perspiration. “Oh,” you sigh, wiping your face with your sleeve, leaning into your hand, hiding. 

“Is it getting better?” he asks. 

“I think it's anxiety or something.” Your breath slips out in disjointed huffs. 

He can't guess what it is. Have you been to the doctor? he wants to ask, but perhaps in a moment, when you're steady in yourself again. “From the jet?” 

“No. Maybe.” You frown. 

“Jack doesn't understand that I'm on a plane.” 

You lift your gaze in confusion. Aaron moves onwards.

“He doesn't understand that this is a plane. I brought him by, once, to try to explain why I can't always answer the phone. It's thick metal, you know?” It was an easier explanation than having no signal in the sky. “But he didn't get that it was something that could move. I had to take him to the airport. We watched…” He slows as your eyes meet his completely. “We watched them take off for hours. Now he doesn't get so angry when I don't answer.” 

“Jack was angry?” you ask, half incredulous. 

“A bit.” He tries to string the story together before you can realise what it is he's doing, his arm curling around your from behind, fingers making the most tenuous of circles into the very side of your stomach. A barely there sort of comfort. “It's not like him. He reminds me of his mom when he's angry.” 

Your smile is a physical relief to see. “Does he have tantrums?” 

“Doesn't every kid?” 

You talk about Jack in dulcet tones while he tries to keep the pain at bay, his arm steadfast behind you, your faces closer than they have any platonic business being. He'll pester you into doctors appointments when you touch down, but for now, he just holds you and talks to you like everything is normal. 

You cover his hand with yours when the pain starts anew, talking through it, pain in the soft line of your bottom lip. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asks. You give him a weak smile. He feels awful, but it makes his heart race. So close, and so pretty, and so upset. “Is there anything I can do?” 

An embarrassing amount of weight lies in ‘anything’. You shake your head, whispering, “Nothing. This is enough.” 

Aaron pulls you in closer and wraps both of his arms around you, hiding you from the others, an aimless attempt to protect you from a pain he can't touch. Someone puts a cup of tea on the table for you, but otherwise you're left alone for the rest of the flight. 

[bettsfic]

i just read this post about kids coming up to librarians and asking questions, and how wonderful and adorable it is, and i didn't want to besmirch that post with my response as a former kid who asked librarians for things, so i'm making a separate post.

my parents gave me a lot of privacy. in fact they gave me so much privacy that one could say it was neglect. it's hard to describe concisely what i went through as a kid, but let's just say it wasn't good and i don't have many good memories from that time. but one good memory i have was getting my first library card. in fact it was so important to me that i can't think of it without crying.

i was 5 years old. i could barely write my own name (i was not gifted), but my mom walked me through it letter by letter so i could sign the back. and once i did, i realized it was completely and wholly mine. mine to use. mine to take care of. mine to keep.

i had never had anything that was mine. it was my first taste of agency. with this card, i thought, i have access to anything. and no one can tell me no. the library was somewhere i felt safe, and there were very, very few places i felt safe.

and i used it. i used that card until it was nearly destroyed, just a scrap of cardstock with the lamination peeling off. for years i had these near-daily migraines, just physically and psychologically debilitating, and no one took me to a doctor. so i went to the library and checked out books on migraines so i could try to treat myself, so i could find a way to be in slightly less pain.

and later, i had read through my entire library's YA section and so every saturday my mom would take me to a different one in the library network. i can't tell you how much i looked forward to that. i didn't really understand what "fun" was, but going to libraries a town or two over was a blast for me. it was a reprieve during a time when all i can remember is pain.

i really liked that post i linked above, and i know kids asking for books is definitely cute, but to all librarians reading this: in answering those questions, by showing kids where to find the information they're seeking, you are saving lives.

sometimes i look back on my childhood and think, "why didn't anyone help me?" but people did help me. librarians helped me.

[thezombieprostitute]

Panic Attack - Part 2

Summary: Your ex decides he needs to talk to you. Your friend, Walter Marshall, has other ideas.

A/N: Reader is plus sized. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: Abusive ex, Implied violence, Panic attack. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 1

It's been a few months since your panic attack that introduced you to Walter. Not wanting to appear too needy you limited yourself to just an occasional check-in text every week. Walter would always gently guide the texts into a conversation about your shared interests and the two of you really got to talking.

Sometimes, after chatting, you would cry from relief. You're not scaring him away. He doesn't downplay your interests as “childish” or “immature” like Bryce, your ex, always did. He was polite, even funny, about disagreements in canon. He really helped you feel safe talking about what you like. You weren't used to that.

You were feeling pretty good about yourself overall and it really helped you get through some rough days.

But nothing could help you prepare for Ransom showing up at the bookstore where you work. Ransom and Bryce had been friends forever. If he was here, Bryce was likely nearby. You try to head to the back office but you hear Ransom calling your name. Your manager has been on everyone about not ignoring potential patrons so you take a deep breath and face him.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you nod. “How can I help you today?”

“Oh good,” he smiles, mockingly, “you remember your place.” You take another breath to steady yourself. “Believe me, this isn't my first choice either. Bryce needs to talk to you but due to legal reasons, he needs an intermediary.”

“I have no interest in talking to him,” you reply calmly.

“Yeah, the restraining order made that clear. Still can't believe you got that. It's not like he ever actually hit you or anything,” Ransom scoffs. You struggle to control your breathing, fighting the tears. “Anyways, he's looking at being cut out of the will. But since his father always liked you, he figured you showing up with him to the old man's birthday party would help him secure his place.”

“No,” you reply simply. The shorter, more concise an answer you can give, the better.

“I'd reconsider,” Ransom growls. “The lengths someone like Bryce will go to ensure he's in the will? I could see him doing some...bad things.”

“His relationship with his father is not my problem,” you reply. “Now please, either purchase a book or leave.”

Ransom snorts, “I'm not buying this trash. But don't say I didn't warn you.” He turns and heads out.

You almost running to the break room, tears pouring down your face. You want to call Walter, ask him to help you calm down, but he's a police officer. No doubt he has more important things to take care of. You'll wait for tonight, your usual texting/call time.

Walter's phone starts chiming with the ringtone he has reserved for you.

“Hello, Sugar,” he answers with a smile.

“W-W-Walter,” you stutter, making him frown. “He-he's here. Bryce. He's, he's outside my door. Please help.” You're whispering into the phone and he can barely make out what you're saying but it's enough for him. Especially with the loud banging in the background that he can only assume is your ex trying to force his way into your apartment.

“I'm on my way,” Walter assures. His voice is calm, concealing the burning rage he's feeling. As he keeps talking to you as he gestures for a couple other officers to follow him. “Take a breath for me, Sugar,” he gently orders you over the phone. He hears your breath shaking and he continues, “grab the pepper spray and lock yourself into a room further into your apartment. Wait for me to signal the all-clear. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Walter.” You hang up and get moving. The panic is telling you to shut down. Just accept the abuse. The only way to get Bryce to stop hurting you is to let him tire himself out. But you've been working so hard on getting over these kinds of stress responses. He doesn't own your life any more. You do.

Doing your best to ignore his yells of “open the damn door” you grab the pepper spray out of your purse. The only room in your apartment with a lock is the bathroom so you head in there, locking the door and pushing the bathmat underneath to make it a little more difficult to open.

You can still hear the banging and, while you can't make out the words, you can still hear Bryce's yelling. You don't realize you've started rocking. You brain is in panic mode and you can't think past the impending pain. The punches to your stomach, your arms, places where you could hide the bruises. The promises of worse if you ever told.

The commotion outside suddenly gets louder and you curl up into the fetal position, covering your ears. You're not sure how long you stay like that, waiting for the pain.

There's a gentle knock at the bathroom door and you squeak in fear. “Sugar?” Walter's voice gently calls through the door. “Sugar? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

You lift your head a little, “Walter?” Your voice is barely above a whisper but he breathes a sigh of relief at hearing you.

“Yeah, Sugar, it's me. Can you open the door for me?”

“Bryce?”

“He's in handcuffs in a squad car outside. It's just you and me in the apartment.”

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, you get up, remove the bathmat and unlock the door. Walter wants to open it immediately but it has to be you who opens it. He doesn't want to scare you worse than you've already been tonight. You crack the door open and peek out. You see Walter's familiar broad frame, curly hair and beard, concerned blue eyes and open the door the rest of the way. You throw yourself at him, bringing him into a hug that he's only too happy to return. Your tears are flowing freely but from relief instead of fear.

He gently pats your head as he holds you, whispering to you about how brave, how smart, how quick you were with everything. He never stops reassuring you, even when your crying is too loud to hear him. His arms feel so safe, his voice so calming. It isn't long before you've calmed enough to gently pull away and thank him.

“If you're willing,” he starts, “I'll stay here and sleep on your couch.”

You shake your head, “I don't feel safe here right now. He knows where I live, that means his friends do. I...I don't want to be here for a while.”

Walter nods, “if you're up for it, you can pack a bag and stay at my place. And no,” he stops you before you can say anything, “it won't be a bother. At all.”

You hug him as more tears of relief pour out. “Thank you, Walter.”

Part 1

Taglist: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly

[not-poignant]

Raphael has a very poetic and grandiose way of speaking that is absolutely not the norm for day-to-day life. How do you get in the mindset to come up with his dialogues? They're perfection and I just can't even imagine how long it would take to do one paragraph of the way he talks, but you're writing an entire story with him...

Oh I love this question because I can answer it, lol sadlkjfsda

Okay so, Raphael's character is tough for me.

Normally I do a lot of dialogue research before starting to write a character in fanfiction and original fiction, but Raphael actually gets proportionately very few lines that really show his full emotional range (compared to say, Astarion), and he's got an incredibly specific way of talking that sounds similar to Astarion but at the same time is very different.

They share enough similarities (calling people darling and dear for example) that it's easy to fall into the trap of giving them the same 'voice.'

I find Astarion's voice a lot easier to 'get' and I feel like I can hear him better when I'm writing him. But Raphael I'm taking into emotional spaces we simply never see in the game, and then I have to really guess how he'd sound (like coming up with the idea that the theatricality vanishes when Raphael is genuinely panicking).

I ended up listening to a lot of interviews with Andrew Wincott, the Voice Actor for Raphael who is an incredible actor and extremely articulate. He was very clear in one of his interviews that one of the reasons he was selected to play Raphael was because, in part, he already sounded like him. Obviously there's differences / skill in changing cadence and more, but for the most part, Andrew Wincott uses similar vocabulary and talks in a similar manner to Raphael naturally, so I had an abundance of interviews that I could then listen to in order to get a feel for Raphael's voice. I picked the things that felt more 'Raphael' and added them to my dialogue notes.

I often have to go back and edit Raphael's dialogue. Sometimes it's very simple things, I had him say 'much more' in the chapter I'm editing right now, and I edited it to 'far more' because I think he'd just phrase it like that. Sometimes I expand a sentence into an entire paragraph.

I've also leaned a lot from Korilla's transcripts in the game, which have been super useful. They really cement, more than anything, how much he loves lullabies, nursery rhymes, children's tales and more.

HOW TO DO DIALOGUE RESEARCH:-

If you're new to dialogue research, it mostly involves listening to - and watching a character and then literally taking notes of how they talk. The things you observe are:

The tone of their voice - Fast or slow. Loud or soft. Musical or flat. Theatrical or matter-of-fact. High or low. Questioning or complete statements. Considered or hedging (i.e. very well constructed sentences, or a lot of pauses, ellipses, broken sentences). Rambling or concise.

How often they talk - Some characters actually say a lot with very little. Raphael is actually a lot of observation and facial expressions and eyebrow movements in between his dialogue. Little smirks, hand gestures and more. Do they interrupt or let people finish their sentences? Are they comfortable with silence? I find Raphael oscillates between long theatrical paragraphs, single sentences or words, and then a lot of silence. He's actually not very conversational, in that you can have a conversation with him, but I doubt he'd see the point of two hours of small-talk. (At this point you might be realising that dialogue research is also character research, how a character talks tells you so much about a character.)

The words (and metaphors/subjects) they use - This is a big one and I'm going to break this down a little bit more:

How they pause if they don't know what to say. Is it 'um' 'uh' 'ah' 'hm' 'mm' 'mn' or nothing at all (or something else) because they've mastered self-control over their dialogue? If Raphael says 'ah' he does so on purpose.

Filler words. Things like characters saying 'like' in a sentence. 'He was like, 'I can't believe it'' etc. This is very similar to how they pause, but it's the things people say to get from point A to point B. People who don't do this have often had training or think very hard about what they're going to say before they say it. But people say 'like' or 'and then' or 'well' or 'i realised that' or 'i thought that' etc. to carry them on. Some are more acceptable than others (people do just have realisations for example).

Profanity. How often do they swear, and how intentional is it? Some characters only swear when they get hurt or stub their toe or get angry. Some characters swear all the time for fun. Some characters only use some swear words and not others. Be specific. Be aware that some swear words are cultural! This includes blasphemy. In Faerun they use 'gods' and 'gods damn it' more often than we use 'god' or 'oh my god.'

Vulgarity. This is useful for Raphael (and Astarion) because he's very happy to be vulgar. This is like... how comfortable are they talking about sex, about sexual subjects, being crude, being seductive, flirtatious? And if they use it, do they use vulgarity to shock, seduce, scare, threaten, or for humour?

Salutations and farewells. How do they greet people? Silence? A calm hello? (A lot of greetings are omitted in dialogue but this is still good to know). How do they say hello, goodbye. How does that change between friends and enemies and strangers?

Single word sentences. This might sound weird, but sometimes when a character hears something that shocks them, or needs to acknowledge something, they may say anything from 'huh' to 'yeah' to 'fuck' to 'okay' to 'all right' to 'sure' to 'go on' to 'indeed' to just laughing out loud. The list goes on. Raphael is team 'indeed' lmao.

Sentence structure. Raphael's sentence structure is - when he's most comfortable - gently provoking, teasing, vaguely threatening, and makes liberal use of simile, metaphor, fairy tale, rhyme, sayings, colloquialisms and more. Raphael talks like someone who knows someone could quote him at any moment lmao. But from here, how a character structures their sentences can be helpful to know. Go back to 'the tone of their voice.' Those notes will give you an idea of structure.

Emotionality. How emotional are they? Do they have rage rants? Joyful giggling dialogue? Do they infodump with little emotion? Or with sheer excitement? Does their dialogue feel fake or real? Opaque or transparent? Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, and others will never be able to say 'I love you' in anything other than actions. Raphael's emotionality in dialogue is more present in his anger and irritation, and also when he feels triumphant and/or turned on.

The symbols, sayings, colloquialisms and metaphors themselves. Not all characters use these. But some people/characters will talk through analogies, colloquialisms. This is actually Raphael's biggest dialogue departure from Astarion, imho, aside from the fact that Astarion is a lot more emotional with his dialogue.

Take into account their culture, ethnicity, conceits, upbringing, education and the people they're close to:

This one is vital. Firstly, some people tend to 'absorb' elements of those around them. A person raised by affluent people will often 'sound affluent' and a person raised in poverty will often have dialogue that reflects this and if they don't there will be reasons for that. It might be a conceit (some people self-teach themselves different accents), it might be education, it might be training, it might be the subculture/s they've entered into, and so on.

~

When doing this research, you'll end up with a kind of master-list of actual words and probably some sentences you've written down, along with a lot of notes. You can also do this for any original characters you're making at all, you're just then making it up based on the character, and this research will also give in many ways the shape of the character.

It's a fun exercise and I highly recommend everyone tries it literally for people who don't exist and also observe your friends and family, and do a dialogue cheat sheet for some of them. It's pretty eye-opening! Even one page will teach you more than nothing at all. You can go deep and write many pages, or you can do what I do and keep it lean at 2 pages. Anyone who struggles with characterisation I suggest at least try this exercise, because anyone can put on a YouTube video and/or streaming service or even a favourite Tiktoker and start doing dialogue research! It's a way of building a character from the top down while also getting information about their foundations.

[kbsd]

I put free on in the car because I was thinking about Bucky but I'd never listened to it outside of your video and was confused that it's a little different. Is there another version you used?

hi i meant to reply to this yesterday sorry! under the cut bc i wrote a long answer oops

no it's the regular version but i chopped it up a bit for my purposes. i always want to be concise with my videos and only use the parts of the song i need; i never want to just fill a verse or chorus with footage that's not actually adding anything to my message just for the sake of using the whole song (obviously it's different when the length and Build-Up of a song are part of the point/arc of the video like in my somebody to love and bat out of hell videos).

for free, i cut the second chorus ("i hear the music...") entirely because i wanted it to only appear once and be the centerpiece of the video (the dancing section).

i moved the second refrain ("picks me up, puts me down") to the end of the song so that i could put it after the lines "but there is nothing else that i know how to do / but to open up my arms and give it all to you" to make it the culmination of the gale-specific section of the song and an echo of the first time we hear the refrain (first time: about the war, second time: about gale). i also added an extra "picks me up" to the end of that so the song still ends on a high note. :)

i also trimmed a single line from the second verse ("i said okay, but let's discuss this at the hospital") because i didn't think it fit lol, and it made it easier to cut that verse directly to the first chorus after i moved that second refrain. and then, last but not least, i shortened the instrumental intro and outro to just a couple measures because i wanted to get right into the action, which felt right for bucky. plus i had already decided not to use any dialogue in the video so i didn't need any extra instrumental space for that.

so basically yes it's the same version, i just frankenstein-ed it a little (a lot) to realize my Vision and create the arc i wanted for bucky! normally i don't chop up a song that dramatically (i'll often trim songs, but don't usually move sections around like that) but it felt important and i followed my heart hahaha

that was a lot of text, but here is a visual diagram of the changes i made, my final draft from back when i was editing it (my previous versions had a LOT more scribbles on them lol):

[lollytea]

Unfortunately due to TOH being cut short by Disney a lot of character arcs and more storyline could not be fully fleshed out and finished as Dana had to wrap up everybody’s story in just a few episodes

I'm fully aware that Disney's intervention is responsible for a lot of the plotlines getting suffocated. Which is why I don't think it's fair to go harassing crew members with "why didn't THIS happen??" and all that, because nobody really knows what they endured working on those final episodes and how much they had to cut and rewrite. But from things Dana has said, it was likely a very stressful and exhausting experience. So I don't like to make assumptions about the crew being incompetent. Nobody knows how the season WOULD have turned out if they had been granted full creative freedom and breathing room to develop it to their hearts content.

However, me not directing personal ire towards the crew doesn't mean that I think that the show is immune to criticism. Its flawed. It might not be entirely the crew's fault but that doesn't mean we can't talk about how it's flawed. If anything, I think acknowledging and dissecting its weaknesses is a good learning opportunity for what we should consider when creating our own stories.

Season 3 is a bit of a mess. There's good stuff. There's some less than good stuff. I think ultimately, as a story about Luz, King and Eda, it knocks it out of the park. When they were left with no other option, they decided to prioritize the writing of their three protagonists and I think that was the correct choice.

But I've been thinking about the three specials and how they stand on their own, quality wise, and honestly, there's valid criticism to be said that is completely unrelated to the shortening.

Bear in mind that the crew has known since Follies that the show was getting cut short and they needed to start wrapping up loose ends. So it's not like they started writing Thanks to Them believing it was the first of 20+ more episodes. They knew that they were going to be writing a 40 minute special. So the execution had to be tight, concise and satisfying, right?

Well...it was....weird. Definitely fun. Good for fan service. The main hook was the witch kids navigating the human world in their dorky witchy way. And initially, that was enough. But once the novelty of that wears off and we focus on the plot of the special, what do we have left?

Thanks to Them is very guilty of lore baiting. Dropping in stuff that they know damn well that they're never going to elaborate on, leaving the audience with a feeling of intrigue that is never going to be satiated.

I personally think that is just bad writing. They knew they didn't have a full season 3 and rather than rewrite the means of which the hexsquads finds answers, they still made the choice to drop in what are most likely vague ideas from the initial draft.

I think, if they had no intention of developing it in future specials, there was no point to that scene of Masha telling the Wittebane story. It was just...filler. To stretch out the running time. Which is....kind of precious. Only 40 minutes. If you're obsessive enough about lore, you already knew the story from the Hollow Mind paintings. That scene was for casual viewers. Which is useless, because there's no point in casual viewers learning about Evelyn and Caleb because it never went anywhere.

Also. I personally think that if there was any value to learning the Wittebane lore without making it plot relevant, it would be for the sake of character development. We wanted to know how the kids would react to this knowledge.

Well how did they react?

*Shrug* They seemed a little unnerved but they kinda forgot about it the second they got off the hayride.

So what was the point of all that? What was the point?

Is it because we wanted "Goodbye, Evelyn," to be more of gut punch?

Was it worth it? Was "Goodbye, Evelyn" worth it? We know fucking nothing about Evelyn.

I think the rebus was a stupid and lazy means for the kids to discover Titan's blood. You introduce this mysterious object that was hidden under the floorboards and then you just use it as a plot device.

When the kids uncover the rebus and find the secret code inside, the viewer is not thinking about how it can be used as a means to an end (finding blood) The viewer is thinking "what the fuck is that thing and how did it get there and how did Flapjack know it was there?"

Questions that will not be answered <333

ALL IM SAYING is that I'm sure the crew could have come up with another way for the kids to have a Titan's blood treasure hunt. Maybe they could have dug a little more into the history of Gravesfield and follow leads on weird things happening on this one spot in the graveyard (which turns out to be because there's magical energy there, revealed when Luz realizes she can use glyphs)

I just think that if you're gonna leave the mystery box a mystery, you shouldn't have included it.

And I know. Its subtle storytelling. There's elements of what could have been a far more complex story and they're leaving hints of it here and there.

Well the thing about that is I think the hints are very unsatisfying and weaken the episode's plot significantly.

Also I don't think they should get to just pick and choose what parts of the lore are subtle and what parts are ham-fisted.

YES we are going to be reminded like three times that Flapjack is being secretive and hiding things from Hunter.

NO we are never going to get a payoff for that because he gets shanked and dies first.

BUT!! BUT!! If you squint, its IMPLIED that Flapjack belonged to Evelyn and blah blah blah

You don't get to rub things in the audience face and then choose to be all subtle about it at the last minute. Pick one or the other.

Anyway....I think they could have written Thanks to Them as more of an intriguing and suspenseful horror mystery where they spend forty minutes gathering clues and everything finally clicks together at the very end. That's not what we got.

We got a very weak attempt on the Hexsquad's part to be little detectives, but like a minute of screen time was devoted to them dicking around in a library, a costume shop, and a zoo.

I don't think we can blame the shortening for this.

[fishnapple]

As a professional tarot reader, I imagine you got a busy life outside of that whether it's another job or social obligations. I like how you conduct yourself both on your blog and when making personal interpretation reports for others. How do you tend to manage yourself, schedule, and energy to make the creative-spiritual content that you do? You seem to genuinely enjoy what you are doing. 🥰 Do you have any general or practical advice for people thinking of starting out in becoming a reader for others? 🤔

Hi, thank you for such a lovely message💓🌰 (I feel like sending some chestnuts). Somehow the word "conduct" reminds me so much of Saturn, and then Saturn reminds me of chestnuts.

Your question took longer to reply to than I expected. As I wrote, I realised that this is quite a broad topic. If I were to write to my heart's content then it would turn into an essay, so I will try to keep it concise as much as possible 👀

A bit of context: I quit my corporate job that used to take up more than half the time of day. After being a corporate clown for 9 years, now I just live as a hermit and do freelance jobs. Maybe I will stay as a hermit for the next 9 years then begin another journey, who knows. I'm not that good at self management, but my life right now is pretty simple, so it's easier to manage. I will share some of my personal experiences and observations about time management, creativity and spirituality here:

Time

Routine: Doing readings at a certain time of the day. I just found out recently that I do divination reading best at night time, rather than during daytime. I keep a general timetable in my head so I can have a general idea of when to do something (and not following it).

Checklist: I also keep a checklist of tasks I need to complete on time (PACs, personal readings), the feeling of ticking off boxes can be pretty satisfying 😆.

Space out readings: For PACc, I only read one group/day to keep the energy and length balanced between each group (if I do all the groups in one go, later group's reading length will suffer). For personal readings, I do the opposite, I tend to read all the questions in one go, but won't read for more than one person in one day.

Productivity

Enjoyment: Are you doing readings for your own enjoyment or as a duty? Do you genuinely like the questions, the topics? Do you feel comfortable doing readings for certain topics, for certain people? I don't think divination can be something that you can force yourself to do, especially when reading for other people.

Motivation: What are you trying to achieve when doing readings? for fun, for practice, for gaining knowledge, for digging out people's deep dark secrets, for money or for other reasons? Being clear on what motivates you will give you a better direction.

Perseverance: I like how every time I ask Tarot about my path, I always got the 8 of pentacles. Routine practice is good, don't compare yourself with other people, keep your gaze on what you're doing.

Guilt & Fear: I have productivity guilt sitting in the dark corner, ready to nag and whip any time I dare to be idle. Thanks to this, I was actually able to do lots of things. Doing something creative is also a good way to relieve stress for me, so the more stressed I am, the more productive I become *quietly, begrudgingly mumbling a "thank you" to Saturn aspects*. Guilt and fear, sometimes, can be such great motivators, with the right dose of course. (on the topic of fear, I once asked my friend if they didn't have any fears at all, what are the things that they would do? My friend answered "nothing, If I didn't fear anything, I wouldn't do anything at all")

Creativity/ Energy

Creative energy pool: Not to be confused with general energy pool. I don't know if other people feel the same, but for me, creative energy has a definite allotment for each day. If I use up that energy for one creative activity then I can't do another creative activity in that same day. So cramming many creative activities in one day can be counter intuitive. Doing divination, in my opinion, can also be a form of creative act, as it's about translating the messages inside you into a visible form of communication. So be mindful of that aspect.

The cyclical nature of creative energy: Some people are able to maintain a constant flow of energy, but in my case, it can be sporadic, it waxes and wanes like the moon so if I ever find myself feeling uninspired, I will just leave it and do other things, because I know it will come back later. If you find a topic or a question unappealing, maybe leave it for a while, read other topics then come back to it later.

Energy level: This is about the general energy level. Each person will have a different peak time for doing something during the day. Find out about yours and ultilise it. The tone and quality of a reading will reflect your energy, doing a reading when you're tired or physically unwell will have a negative impact on both the reading and you, not to mention the receiver of that reading if you read for others.

Interaction with energies: Be aware of your interaction with other people's energy, reading for others is a two way connection. Having your moods and thoughts be influenced by other's energy is real. Some will energise you, others can leave a bad taste but don't let that discourage you.

In the end, the most helpful advice I can think of is take it easy, keep doing what you enjoy and keep it fun & meaningful (even the soul searching, deep introspection readings needn't to be all dark and heavy, facing your demons can be like those dark fantasy novels, but it can also be slice of life comedy, none is less meaningful than the other)

I hope this can be helpful somehow. Have a great weekend ahead. 🌼🎐

[alovelyburn]

If Griffith gave Guts an answer he wanted to hear on the hill of swords how do you think he would have reacted? Do you think Guts would ever have ever forgiven him?

(Not quite as old as the other one but still way too old to be acceptable, sorry).

I think he would've been conflicted, and he would've been pissed off at himself for being conflicted, and he would've been pissed off at Griffith for making him conflicted. But he still would have forgiven him, because he couldn't not do it.

Or maybe "forgive" is the wrong word, because I'm sure he'd still be pissed off. Maybe "made up with" is better? I've pretty sure I've talked about it at greater length in the past but I'm genuinely feeling too lazy to go look it up, so I guess the somewhat concise logic is:

Even now, his current mission - his drive to destroy the apostles and drag himself up to Femto's level and theoretically kill him is all informed by Griffith's stupid speech - to this day he is trying to be the kind of person that Griffith (the original Griffith, but by extension the current one as well) could value and respect as an equal.

IMO, this is a huge part of the reason for his breakdown about being unable to hit Griffith. It's easy to assume that this is because he realized he can't kill the man he's been trying to kill, and I'm sure that is part of it. But another big issue for Guts is that he's been living to catch up with Griffith ever since Promrose, and he just realized that not only has he utterly failed to accomplish that, he's actually so far behind that catching him may be physically impossible.

The drive to earn a place next to him became a drive to fight him because of the changing circumstances around the relationship, but it's evident from say the Black Swordman arc or the Hill of Swords that Guts is still looking for that validation, and still looking for Griffith inside Femto/Neo.

Furthermore, for at least a fair stretch of time (leaving open room for the idea that this changed at some point, although I don't think it has), even his determination to take care of Casca was primarily attributed to his wanting to have her around to remind him of Griffith. Obviously this doesn't mean he doesn't care about her, it's just that what he actually wants, more than anything else, according to his own mind... is to hold onto, and become further/more deeply entangled with, Griffith.

Given all that, why wouldn't he make nice with Griffith if Griffith gave him any reason to think there was a point to doing so?

Obviously the argument is that he couldn't forgive the atrocities of the Eclipse, but the thing is, Guts is largely amoral - people love to attribute noble/selfless/moral qualities to him, but he routinely proves that he doesn't give a damn about anyone he doesn't have a personal connection to - he will literally just let them die if it's more convenient that way.

He's also proven that he has an internal hierarchy of significance - he does prioritize his current companions, for example, over strangers, but he prioritizes Casca over them, in turn. I think the Hawks as a whole were one massive "ingroup" - he cared about them, even the ones he didn't know very well, because they were Hawks, and that's all fine...

...but who does he consistently prioritize over everyone else, including all the Hawks and Casca?

Obviously, Griffith. He's the one Guts literally just ignored the Eclipse to try and save, the one he once abandoned Casca in a cave to chase, and the one he legitimately left her to burn to death to search out during Conviction.

My point is, whatever it is he's trying to achieve with Griffith is always going to be the most important thing in his life, and thus will take priority over other things in his life, even things he also feels strongly (but not as strongly) about. And what he tries to achieve with Griffith is heavily dependent on what he thinks he can achieve with Griffith.

One of my favorite Miura quotes is something to the effect that Guts and Griffith's relationship isn't stagnant and won't necessarily remain the same over the course of the story - that Guts remains the way he is as long as Griffith remains the way he is (and vice versa, presumably). He said at the time that he was looking forward to depicting the changes between them as the relationship evolved. Unfortunately he didn't get to it, of course, but it's still a relevant point... that the way Guts is toward Griffith can still change, if Griffith changes, too.

[john-macnamara]

It took us a little while to find the file for this, but we wanted to successfully wrap up PEIP's infamous portal incident. As you know, the Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional Phenomena division of the United States' Military interrogated one Johnathan S. MacNamara after the incident. He was twenty-four at the time. We thought it would be beneficial to share this portion of the story. Give all you loyal followers the full picture.

cws: implied torture, degradation, drugging, implied sexual assault

Interrogation Records: Major Johnathan S. MacNamara; Feburary 15, 2006.

Interviewer: Lt. Gen Joseph N. Brown (JB)

Interviewee: Maj. Johnathan S. MacNamara (JM)

Purpose: Prove connection to ex-Colonel Wilbur R. Cross, now under alias Uncle Wiley

At 2:38 AM, MacNamara was forcibly removed from his bed and taken to interrogation room C. He was confined with handcuffs in case of an escape attempt, and injected with 0.7 ml of flunitrazepam combined with 5 ml saline solution. As soon as the injection was completed, the interrogation began.

[Begin Transcript 00:00:05]

JB: What is your relation to Wilbur Cross?

JM: I don't see how this has any relevance to our current problem. Nor how you have any right to request that information. Sir.

JB: You've still got a mouth on you, huh? Don't know what I expected. You're that street whore we hired, are you not? Of course your mouth would be the most important part.

JM: I'm not sassing you, sir. I'm simply stating my misunderstanding of the situation. If I was woken up in the middle of the night for this, I'd appreciate knowing why I happen to be important enough to question.

JB: You don't need to know that. Simply answer me. What is your relation to Colonel Wilbur R. Cross?

JM: He is- was my friend. Is that all you wanted from me? Can I go now?

JB: Oh, a friend you say? Well you weren't his only friend, and yet you were the only one unharmed yesterday. Why is that?

JM: I don't know, sir.

JB: I'm sure you know something. You went to him first. You could have very well had something to do with the attack.

JM: I would never. I am loyal to this organization above all else. I have been nothing but loyal to you. I swear on my life.

JB: Swearing on a traitor's life doesn't mean much.

JM: I'm not a traitor, you fucking pig! ...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry sir. I'm so sorry.

JB: Board him. He should know how to address his superiors with respect.

JM: Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

[Indistinct]

[00:11:56]

JB: Do we have an understanding, Major?

JM: ...yes, sir.

JB: Will you refer to your superiors by anything other than "sir" or "ma'am"?

JM: No, sir.

JB: Good. Now, would you like to truthfully answer my previous question about your relationship to Wilbur Cross?

JM: My apologies, sir, but I thought I already did? We were friends, and then he swore fealty to whatever resides beyond that portal. Now we're not.

JB: I was looking for a concise answer, Major.

JM: Sorry, sir.

JB: Are you telling the truth about your relationship? There was nothing romantic there, no hidden feelings that may have lead to assisting him after he left?

JM: Of course not, sir.

JB: I don't believe you. Tell me the truth, or we'll put you under the water again.

JM: I'm not lying, we had nothing between us except for a friendship and a mentorship. I promise, sir. If we had anything else together, I'd have told you as soon as it occurred.

JB: Alright boys, you know what to do.

JM: No. Please-

[Indistinct]

[00:18:31]

JB: Would you like to tell us anything yet?

JM: I...

JB: Yes? Spit it out.

JM: I was in love with him...

JB: There we go! Look at you, finally admitting something. At least you have some sense.

JM: I swear to you, sir, that just because I was in love with him doesn't mean I would have betrayed PEIP for him.

JB: Well, I don't know if I can trust that. But I'm nice, so here's what I'm going to do. We're going to dose you with something that'll make you more... malleable. You'll be more likely to tell the truth and to cooperate. Don't try to resist, it'll be easier if you let it take effect.

JM: I- yes sir.

[JM dosed with 150 ml sodium thiopental]

JB: How ya feeling, soldier?

JM: 'ired...

JB: Good. Where are you?

JM: Uhhhh... I dunno? Sorry...

JB: Wow, you just fall right under this shit, huh? I bet I could do anything I wanted to you, and you wouldn't even know. Maybe you'd even like it, you slut.

JM: Mhm...

JB: But that's not what we're here for. Tell me the true nature of the relationship between yourself and Colonel Cross.

JM: Uh- righ', Wil. Yes. We'r frens. I love him, he doesn love me. Simmle.

JB: We already got that part. What was your relationship to him after he went through the portal?

JM: Oh, sorr'... I aven seen 'im ince the portal.

JB: So you weren't lying to me, then?

JM: No sir.

JB: Were you in cahoots with any entity from beyond that portal since he entered?

JM: Nosir.

JB: Well, considering I don't think you can lie in this state, I'm going to assume you're telling me the truth. Our apologies for the misunderstanding.

JM: Issok.

JB: There must be something we can do to make this up to you. What would you like?

JM: ...sleep?

JB: Well that sounds very nice. Unfortunately, we can't let you go to sleep until the drug wears off, you see. But I do have an idea of what we can do while we wait. Does that sound nice?

JM: Mhm, sure...

JB: Now, if I asked you to do anything right now, you'd do it. Isn't that right?

JM: Yessir...

JB: Wonderful. You all may leave, I have something to do here. Now, stay still, pretty boy, and open up your mouth.

JM: [Indiscernible slurring. Reminiscent of protests]

[End Transcript 00:32:17]

[throwaway-yandere]

A/n: ansy speaking, not her. Please. P l e a s e. Don't read ANY of the endings unless you've reached the end of the story in your own way.

Link to the fic.

In the public eye, it's known that you and Gepard were not the closest. Given how harsh his father was to you both, even the spouses were sure that you two had an unspoken rivalry. Expectations for greatness and undying loyalty for the Supreme Guardian had been ingrained so much that everyone thought you both always wanted to outdo the other to gain Mr. Landau's approval.

But that is far from the truth.

"(Y/n)."

"Yes, Captain?"

He looked away, cheeks and ears both red.

"I-Is my hand too cold?"

You smiled vibrantly.

Except for Serval and Pela, no one knew that you and Gepard had been dating for seven years. Lynx must've had a hunch, but you were both skilled enough to dodge suspicions. 

Perhaps that's exactly what made your relationship exciting. Loving him was quite an expensive vice, and you relished every second you squandered. He thought the same as you; your pervasive cheerfulness reserved for his eyes only was something he often mentally chastised himself for obsessing so much, but he can't get enough of you. Being his "vixen" had been a label you cherished ever since he confessed his reciprocation of your feelings, especially when he said that you have made him resort to discreet flippancy when he saw other men and women take an interest in you several times. 

You were certain he was obsessed with you as much as you were obsessed with him 

A secret this big would certainly give Mr. Landau a turn, but when the time comes, you wouldn't mind the slaps and shards of ceramic and glass you'd have to face as long as you get to be with Gepard.

Your hold on his hand tightened. This led you to notice how ringless his fingers were and you frowned. You know Gepard. If you don't tie him down, one of his many fans will beguile and win his unwavering loyalty. That was his nature. And you couldn't accept being "just" some near-servant he was forced to grow up with. 

"Not at all, no.”

He liked that response. Gepard flashed you a small lopsided smile that was incredibly attractive given how he rarely shows it to anyone.

"You don't have a ring on you..." You cast your gaze down. "Will we ever have a chance at getting married?"

Gepard ducked his chin, considering his words.

"W-Well, I don't know about that."

Your stomach dropped.

... You get it. You got it from then on.

Despite being together for 7 years– 7 YEARS– He will always prioritize his duties before you. You knew that was the core of his character– loyalty, and obedience– and it's likely the only real similarity between him and Mr. Landau. You’re used to it. However, seeing it confirmed again in this context hurts more than you thought it would. 

You dropped his hand, you doubt he notices the absence of your warmth.

"So… the future's uncertain."

"Of course."

You didn't speak. There was no reason to do so. You knew that he was aware of how much you didn’t like his response.

Admittedly, Gepard's hands were always cold. It'd be funny to utter false romances on how perfectly warm his hands are when it feels like he walked straight out of a freezer. Today, his hands were ice, and so was his heart. 

“(Y/n), I have something I’d like to tell you…”

Gepard gulped, ashamed.

“The truth is… You frighten me.”

…

…

…

"What…?"

You tilted your head, chuckling. His words didn't make much sense, especially when he was holding you so delicately. 

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps the proper phrasing is that I'm... afraid," Gepard looked away. "Of what's in store for us in the future... Should we continue this route."

You blinked.

"We are not in the Ministry of Education. Be more concise."

"I'm afraid to love you as much as you love me."

...

...

"... That doesn't answer anything."

"I'm afraid that I'll lose my sanity, being so close to you like this, holding you like this" he tightened his grip. "I'm afraid I'd lose my– myself, my hold on reality, my–"

"Name." 

You let go.

"You're afraid that being in a relationship with me will end up getting you disowned. You're afraid of loving me because you have a duty you're obliged to uphold, especially since you're of noble blood and I am just an orphan your father picked up, right? You're afraid to get attached because growing up you've witnessed how little I'm worth. How I lived not like a human child, but a pawn, right? How– despite my skills– I will never be promoted based on my background and upbringing, yes?"

"(Y/n)..."

"Enough, Captain." 

You laughed cruelly. Your breathing rehearsed– your face stiff as a board.

"Let's just forget we ever had this talk."

“Through highs and lows, we’ll always prevail,

Hand-in-hand, we’ll conquer any trail…"

You kept a fixed gaze on Gepard as he continued to sit in his cozy office chair. The unsettling aura that permeated your entire existence didn't appear to trouble him too much. He was aware of why you had come, but he was unable to express himself as he let you in. 

"Gepard."

His suspicions were correct. You weren't here for official matters. This visit was personal.

And he is the one at fault here.

"(Y/n)."

"Don't." You shook your head. "Don't get me started."

"Well, what is it that you wish for me to say?"

"Say that you didn't want it." You spoke, unfettered. "Say that you don't want us to be siblings."

"I don't."

"Then why?" You laughed breathlessly. "Why did you let father– your father do this?"

"I don't– I didn't let him do it. It's just the way it is. They want you as the official third Landau, that is all."

"That's all I am to you? A rival to heirdom?"

"(N/n)..." He covered his mouth with his hand; his stare melancholic yet enraged. “You know it’s not true. Take it back.”

"But ultimately, our relationship means nothing but a waste of time." You shook your head. "It would've hurt less if you just rejected me early on. It wouldn't be this fucking painful."

"I know."

You raised your axe.

"Of course you do. You always were sharp." You scoffed. He gulped as the rough edges of your laughter struck a chord in his chest– Gepard had never heard you cackle this much. 

Strange how the same axe that used to bring him security on the frontlines now overwhelms him with obvious dread.

"At this point, I'm so convinced this pain I'm feeling right now– it's intentional. All a way to keep yourself amused under the guise of upholding the family’s orders."

"(Y/n)." he attempted to speak your name firmly, but there was a quiver by the end of it. "Stand down."

Gepard breathed in.

“I… I can always help you find a match–”

“YOU DON'T GET IT, DO YOU?! I DON’T NEED A MATCH. I JUST WANT YOU!!!”

Your breathing no longer seemed "rehearsed"– resoundingly jagged and feral. Should Gepard be lucky enough to have an outsider witness his final moments, they would've seen how you were crumbling– every inch displaying how you were expiring out of heartbreak.

He gave you half a smile as he approached cautiously. Gepard had always been keenly observant– able to deduce who true criminals were by a single testimony– and you do not have that advantage.

"(N/n)..." 

"Why…?" 

The glint in your eye as you hoisted your axe upward never left. 

"Did you ever... love me back?" You cracked. "In all our years together, sneaking out— carefully unscrewing your windows just to go wherever– did you ever think about us? Or... Or were you just kind this whole time? Were you just afraid of breaking my heart?"

Gepard shook his head, walking towards you with heavy footsteps. He took your shoulders and stared at you dead in the eye, his eyes watering.

"N-No...! No, no, I love you, more than you think. It’s why I’m doing this. I— I love you so much that I knew if I– If I let myself go," he gulped. “I might end up killing Dad.”

"Then why?" You sobbed, wiping your tears quickly to save face. "Why are you giving me up so easily?"

"(Y/n)... What I feel for you just isn't normal." He smiled crookedly. “No sane son would constantly dream about suffocating his father with a pillow just to be with someone. This isn’t right anymore. I-I don’t think I’m sane.”

Gepard cupped your cheeks. 

His hands were cold. As it always was.

"I want you all to myself and it's... I can't. I can't say it out loud. It feels like a crime against Belobog." He leaned in, touching his forehead against yours. Gepard closed his eyes, worried that if he continued to face you, he'd dissolve into nothing. 

The great Captain Gepard Landau, adored by many, was scared of himself.

"I'm always paranoid. I'm scared of watching you– watching you succeed. It's not a person I'm supposed to be. I'm your Captain, I should be happy whenever others imply your promotion but I'm not! I'm– I don't even understand why!!! I’m unhappy when other people have your attention– I just don't want to see that look of fixation in your eyes for another man– I don't want you to look at people like Sampo Koski over— over..."

… me.

With a perverse mixture of mischief and rivalry, Sampo manipulated circumstances that engineered chance encounters with you. He strategized himself in your path, feigning coincidental meetings while leaving a trail of subtle clues only you would realize.

Gepard despises acknowledging it, but he is quite certain that Sampo Koski's strategy of losing from the start is what led to your imminent promotion. Irritatingly, you don't seem to care for his creepy antics and his upfront need for your attention, even inside metallic confinement. In Gepard's eyes, your irritated grin showed that you were taking pleasure in Sampo's "comedic" performances. You don't appear to be bothered by Sampo. Gepard is not identical.

And to this, your dear Captain was starting to see his father when looking in the mirror. 

A bitter old man with little patience when another person touches what’s his.

Gepard breathed in shakily. 

"I don't... want… And that’s why I am not fit to be your lover. You deserve a life much better than this. A life where our opportunities are the same– and I cannot give you that Landau name, but my parents can."

He dropped his trembling hands as they led to his sides. Gepard faced the floor, ashamed with his conscience dirtied. It's as though he's dumping all his dirty laundry on you. No matter how much he voices how much these thoughts plague him, he doubts you understand the extent of his love.

But you do. And you feel it more strongly than he does.

"... You don't want to be ruined by love, that's all?" 

You sighed, ghost-like. 

"I see. Truly, you carry the will of Qlipoth."

Suddenly, you were back to being a model soldier.

Gepard refused to open his eyes.

…

…

…

It seemed as though he had forgotten.

How much you resembled his father more than he did.

A scream echoed throughout the vicinity. 

No one else heard it but you. Not even Gepard realized that guttural sound came from him. 

Always so rehearsed. So calculated. 

As Mr. Landau used to say: "With a strength like yours, (Y/n), it'll take two chops before you can take out a limb."

And he was right. He was always right about you.

"(Y-Y/N)!!!"

You blinked slowly.

Time moved slowly. You grabbed the chopped wood on the floor. You tossed it to the side. It's a lot more moist than usual, and heavier as well, like an over-drowned rotting cactus. The temperature must've dropped again. You should consult Lynx about this later.

"Captain. There's not enough wood for the soldiers at the outpost."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!?!" Gepard screamed. Strangely enough, he sounded like he was in pain.

You blinked again. Why is the Captain so agitated? Is there an emergency?

"What's wrong, Captain?" You voiced out, awfully calm. A silent voice begged you to panic, but you were a soldier first and foremost. How will you protect the people if you're easily swayed by your captain's mood fluctuations?

Gepard shook, holding himself up against his desk. A surge of searing pain coursed through his body as the “chopped wood” was ruthlessly severed. The shock and disbelief enveloped him, no different from a fog. Collapsing to his knees, he clutched the mangled “stump” where his arm once was, blood staining his trembling hand.

Tears mingled with the beads of sweat on his forehead. He gasped for breath. Amid his physical agony, you stood tall, wordlessly threatening to consume him.

"(Y-Y/n)...! P-Please!!!" He yelped in pain.

"Did you hurt yourself? May I see?" 

"Y-You..." Tears rolled down Gepard’s face. “W-WHY DID YOU?!?!–”

"Don't worry. You've helped me train on my combat lifesaver course, please allow me."

You took a step forward, hands moist from the “snow”.

His non-dominant hand slapped yours away.

Why didn’t he use his dominant hand?

"D-DON'T!!!"

You stopped.

"Captain. You're being hysterical. Please take deep breaths."

"H-Hah... H-H-Hhahh… H-Hahh, why? H-Hahah…"

Gepard looked down again.

You both stayed there for minutes.

You stood with a worn axe in hand, a single “lumber” at your feet. In your mind, it was a simple task— chopping wood for your comrade’s warmth and comfort in the upcoming expedition. But Gepard's eyes revealed a different story. 

You observed his trembling form, his gaze fixed on the place where your swing had connected. What had you missed? You couldn't fathom why he seemed terrified. What had you failed to see? Innocently, you believed you were going about a mundane chore. The weight of the axe felt ordinary in your grip, the act of splitting wood a routine you had performed countless times. How could you have known the magnitude of what had transpired?

But he couldn't turn a blind eye to the truth as you tilted his head up, smiling vibrantly.

"I.. .... ..u."

All he could hear was the syllables “I” and “U.”

You knelt and kissed his cheek. He was wet, probably from the snow. Yes. The snow. Gepard was a clumsy man, he must've stumbled on his way to his office. Mr. Landau had always berated him for his unrefined movements, but you secretly thought it as endearing.

"I.. lo.. ..u. So much, Geppie." You grinned as you sloppily slid the axe in your possession to his remaining hand. "But you need to stop crying. You’re a soldier."

That sentence. It was just like hearing them out of Mr. Landau’s lips.

You pointed at yourself— your thigh— your leg.

"Dry your tears and help me chop wood, okay?"

It took him seconds before he met your gaze.

Your eyes were like staring at the blurry snow beyond the gates of the Administrative district. He knew there must be something there but all that gazed back was foggy and bottomless. The problem is, his vision too was starting to blacken.

He weakly pecked your lips.

“Okay… Okay…”

Gepard laughed mid-tears, his energy draining.

His cries reached a hauntingly high-pitched cry that echoed like metal against metal. His mournful wails never resembled wolfish growls but rather heartbroken cries. His speech resembles the guttural syllables "I" and "U" in an auditory expression of grief.

Like a monster whose flesh was stitched with a Silvermane Guard uniform, he grabbed the axe and began to chant mindlessly.

Gepard remembered Pela said something about this before.

‘When the body loses a substantial amount of blood, it can disrupt the delivery of oxygen to the brain, affecting its function and leading to altered mental states, including distress. Hypovolemic shock can also occur within a matter of minutes to hours after experiencing significant blood loss.’

That's right, that must be it. It was even in his lifesaver training course. As a Captain, how dare he forget about it? 

Gepard took the axe with his remaining arm, weakly swinging it as tears rolled in his eyes. His legs are giving up and he’s starting to feel queasy as the world whirls around him,

For a minute there– or the last minutes he would ever have– he finally gave himself the release he needed.

He's been a good child for too long. He couldn't say those three words when you needed motivation. He couldn't whisper when you asked for his relief. He couldn't scream it when you craved its solace.

At least now, he can confess his love when it counted. 

“I-I love you, (Y/n).” Gepard harshly took a deep breath as he lowered his arm. He's a soldier. He wasn't supposed to question the orders from his superiors, and right now, you were the only person he looked up to.

The clock struck 10:10.

“I love you, so, so much.”

An eye for an eye, and you were forgiven.

“In our home, you’re always free to stay…”

It was lunchtime when people started returning to their posts. Pela took a half-day, begging Serval to kindly deliver the papers instead of her due to a convention. This was something the now-promoted intelligence officer wished she had never done.

Pela wished she didn't force Serval to witness the gruesome sight of her brother embraced by his cold-eyed murderer.

She couldn't scream. For once, the vocalist had no smart words to say. She let herself run on auto-pilot hauntingly as though it was a mere volunteer job at the orphanage. 

Serval avoided staring at your chopped leg and Gepard's arm strewn to the side, neatly sitting together like lumber. Her breathing was abnormal as she clawed her skirt. None of this was real to her. None of this made any sense. 

"H-Hey... (Y/n)..."

You looked up.

"W-What… happened?"

"We were just chopping wood." You replied, monotone. “And then he felt sleepy…”

You were starting to feel tired too. You don’t want to stand up anymore. 

"Chopping.. w-wood..." Serval's voice cracked as she began to cry. "W-What... for...?"

"The soldiers at the outpost. We have an expedition. I suppose the captain was just too tired to move…"

"O-Oh dear Qlipoth— (Y/N)!!!" Serval felt bile rising to her throat. “GEPARD!!!”

Serval's heart pounded in her chest as she reluctantly sprinted, her steps quick and frantic. There you “sat”, cradling Gepard's lifeless form in your arms, a serene expression on your face.

With shaky hands, she held Gepard alongside you. Large tears soon splotched Gepard’s peaceful expression, painted with his older sister’s grief.

Your gaze met Serval's, and at that moment, the lifeless confusion etched across your face sent a sharp pang of pain through her heart. You spoke, your words tinged with innocence, unaware of how the dried red liquid soaking both your clothes was starting to turn brown.

Painfully, Serval misunderstood your words. In her mind, she envisioned a violent attack, a scenario where someone had assaulted both of you, clouding your judgment and leaving you lost in confusion like a wounded deer. Afterward, she thought of how you must’ve been mad about Gepard’s passiveness concerning their father’s decision, attacking him without much thought.

Serval's cries intensified. Her understanding of the situation clashed with your warped perception. 

Did she see you not as a perpetrator but as another sibling caught in an ambush? 

Or did she understand what happened, and simply wanted you to get away from the crime you had committed?

Temporarily, her focus was on you. Looking only at Gepard was too much to bear– like another half of herself was burned to sunder.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Serval smiled warily and replied in an overly pert tone. “I’ll get a mop— w-we’ll clean this mess, okay? You didn’t do it. You did what you can. You did nothing wrong…” 

Serval sobbed.

Either way, she won’t lose another important person in her life.

Not again.

You tilted your head, eyes slowly fluttering shut. 

“W-Why are you crying, Serv?”

“(Y/n), i-it’s okay! C-Calm down, calm down. Things just happen. I’ll help you okay? Shhh, d-don’t cry, don’t cry, I'm here… I won’t let you leave me.”

“... Who’s coming to take me away…?”

“N-No, no… I won’t let it happen. They don’t even have to know you were here. P-Pass the mop now, shhh…”

She was speaking to herself more than she was speaking to you. 

Even when she is her only conversation partner, Serval was a lousy liar.

But despite all those lies, she knew that she would never recover from losing Gepard.

“Together, we’ll face each passing day…”

Your eyes fluttered open, your body drenched in cold sweat. 

You’re out of the back alley.

You breathed shakily. You’re free. And yet, a lingering sense of fear clings to your senses. Gasping for breath, you found yourself in an unfortunately very familiar room. You didn’t know what time it was, but the soft glow of moonlight casting a gentle light across the hospital walls told you what you needed to know. And there, by your side, sat Serval who held your hand the entire time, a mix of relief and concern etched upon her face.

"S-Serval?" Your voice trembled as you whispered her name, still reeling from the remnants of that nightmare.

Serval's eyes widened in surprise, her voice laced with a hint of guilt. "You're awake! Oh, thank– I didn't know what I would do if I lost you."

Not you too.

She continued. 

“Seriously, why did you try to escape?”

Her hold on your hand tightened. 

Serval’s hands were cold, just like Gepard’s.

“Don’t you know how worried sick I was?” Serval’s voice was airy as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear her concerns. “I thought you and Sampo eloped. Not to mention this whole event about a murder happening at 10:10– I genuinely thought you were dead when we found you lying down near the Golden Theater at that time!”

She took a deep breath.

“I thought you were dead. I genuinely thought I’d lose another sibling.” Serval cried as she pulled you closer, her head now resting on your shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that again!!!”

You gulped, feeling something stuck in your throat.

“Were… you singing?”

“Ah!” Serval’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes I was.”

“I’m sorry, was it too cheesy?” She laughed quietly. “Lynx, Pela, and I are still working on it. We were hoping to perform it for you once you got better. Dunn was even willing to help out.”

This is wrong.

This is wrong.

This is wrong.

You don’t deserve her kindness. You don’t deserve their affection.

Your obsession with Gepard Landau was consuming, swallowing you whole. With an already fragile mind– he had effectively shattered your mental state, no matter how merciful he had done it. 

Human unpredictability is a terrifying variable. Who would’ve known that the unofficial Landau could lose themselves in blind rage and desperation? A hole so deep, you haven’t realized the axe you wielded severed his arm. But such a tragedy was only the beginning. Gepard tore your leg off your body in the process as well. 

Most importantly, unable to control both physical and mental anguish, you took his life, extinguishing your raison d’etre.

Finally, the lines between reality and delusion crispened.

In his final moments, what was he thinking about? Why was he smiling as you ripped away his arm? Why did he still hold you so gently? Why did he...

You cried.

“I killed him.”

You shook.

“I killed him, Serval!” You grasped a handful of the hospital bedsheets, sobbing wildly. “I killed your brother!!!”

You couldn’t face him. A murderer couldn’t face the family of their victims with a heavy conscience. You couldn’t see her eyes after this. You want her to gouge them out for you.

…

…

“Hah.”

But amidst that silence, you heard a soft somber chuckle.

“I know.”

You snapped your neck towards her.

“What…?”

“I know. I know you killed Geppie.” Serval spoke, emotionless. “And I won’t ever forgive you for that. I’m sorry, (Y/n), but you know how long it takes for me to let go of past grudges. It was so easy for you to just take my brother off this world... Don't you at least owe me an explanation!? I don’t want another "I blacked out" as an excuse. So don’t bother if you can’t give me a good honest answer.”

She’s right.

You can never give her a good honest answer. You can either give her a good one or an honest one– they’re mutually exclusive in this scenario.

You gulped. “I-I’m so sorry, Ser–”

“But,” she chuckled, full of self-loathing. “I grew up with you. You were always there for me, as a servant, friend, my dad’s favorite, my brother’s lover, or my sibling.”

Serval took a deep breath.

“You’re still our third Landau. I don’t know how I feel about you, but what I do know is that I need to keep you alive.”  

“B-BUT—”

“I’m not the only one who will lose another sibling. Lynx will too.”

Serval shook her head, placing a finger on her lip as she closed her eyes.

“I should’ve locked the door to the basement.” She repeated those words with more conviction. “I should’ve locked the door to the basement. You wouldn’t have remembered everything if I just asked Molly to double-check the locks.”

You slipped your hand away from hers.

“What do you…”

You can no longer form complete sentences and Serval won’t let you do so either way.

“Dr. Kang Tu’s medicine has worn off quickly, huh? Maybe I can get Pela to find better connections. She knows people with a Ph.D. in medicine or pharmacy or something, right? It shouldn't be too hard. Maybe I can ask Dr. Kang Tu if it's possible to up the dosage— surely there are a ton of customers who aren't too satisfied with this therapy device. Heck, maybe I can tinker with it for a little. My engineering degree isn't worth dust. Maybe I can adjust the settings just a bit better. Yeah... It'll be fine. I can work this out. I'll just have to—"

You stared blankly as Serval talked to herself. If there's something worse than watching her lie, it's to watch her be incredibly earnest about something vile and wrong.

"Serval?"

"Yeah, I can do that, no sweat!" She laughed out loud. Her pupils were dilated, as though her self-encouragements can make her run a mile. "Yeah, I can do this. Dad may think I'm useless but I’m the only one who can save his favorite kid. Sure, I’m an ex-engineer from the Technology Division, but I’m also the only one that can still protect– preserve this family."

Her prolonged rants were unnerving as she fumbled with what was in her bag. 

Suddenly, remembered all the "experiments" she had done to you when you were tied up in her basement. The stuffy air, the strange electrifying devices, the cables, the sockets that connect to both your temples-- the flickering lights that made you pass out and wake up in a never-ending cold sweat.

Suddenly, you remembered why you wanted to leave.

"What are you—"

You finally shared a gaze.

Your heart dropped.

Her eyes were empty. Cold. Yet it squinted as she wore a large smile. Too large to be considered normal. But this was the same sight you'd see whenever you woke up. And it never fails to make you worry despite the pain you endured.

Serval Landau is broken, yet she wanted to be the one to "fix" you like a good older sister. 

And it's all your fault.

Like all Landaus, there's no stopping them once they've made up their mind. A “family code of conduct”— one that you had once followed before.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Serval smiled as she turned something on.

The mobile amnesic therapy meditation device looked like it belonged naturally in her hands.

“But I still need this happy family to work. If not for Gepard, then for Mom and Lynx. They’d be too heartbroken if they knew the truth.”

You started to hear that familiar radio static again.

“So forget everything that happened, okay?”

[snugglesquiggle]

Any tips on writing Juzi would be nice to see

(planning a fun scene in SKN)

good timing — i was actually just about to hit submit on a reblog where this was asked in the tags, but this works better as a standalone post.

took so long to respond because i underslept yesterday because i kinda feel that, while there's many areas of writing i'm good at giving advice on, characters are one area where it's all intuition for me right now. but here's a few thoughts

the number one insight that made relationships in general click for me is the understanding that it's all about emotional needs. the core of any relationship isn't whether they like each other, or whether they have chemistry, or whether they do anything else that couples conventionally do. it's answering the question "what do they get out of this relationship?"

could be validation, respect, a sense of security, even just having fun, but i find it clarifies things to be able to frame it as "this character needs something, and that character provides it"

there's a fair amount of room to flesh out J's character to whatever works for you story. in terms of what's established, it's not groundbreaking, but you can understand a lot of what she needs through the lens of middle management. she simultaneously wants to have someone above her and someone beneath her, smugly obedient or smugly superior, but always smug.

this isn't all of her character — her humansona drawing is very suggestive of a repressed drive for expression and individuality — but i think it's the easiest part to relate to Uzi.

because Uzi is a lot easier to get a read on. the text all but announces what motivates her: she wants respects. the edgy teen assertions, acting out in class — she badly wants recognition. (i think deep down, it's partly cope and she needs affection more, which N provides, but this isn't a post about nuzi). she also has a drive to for expressing individuality, but she's far less repressed about it (though of course, being loudly unconventional gets in the way of the whole recognition and respect thing).

and again, this isn't all of her character — her quest for answers about her mother suggests a drive for meaning, purpose even — but this post isn't exhaustive

the thing is, you can see the resonance, but these pieces don't fit together. i think it's easy enough to see the ideal form of the relationship. it's mutual respect, it's Uzi knowing J is proud of her accomplishments and who she is, and J knowing Uzi thinks she's doing a good job or that Uzi will listen to her orders.

but the thing that makes J/Uzi so interesting and spicy is how much it doesn't work. even along their most compatible axis, you can see a much more likely outcome is a rivalry, each wanting spite and outdo (or undo) the other. J would want to slot Uzi in as her underling, which Uzi reject conforming to. and given the things that J takes pride in — efficient, orderly adherence to rules — can you imagine Uzi complimenting that?

a very concise way to put it is an old joke of mine. J/Uzi is a mutual superposition of "i hate her, she's fucking insufferable, but i can fix her" and "she thinks she's so much better than me, but i can make her worse"

[furious-blueberry0]

I don't think I'll ever come out as agender to friends and family.

I can already hear the questions that they are gonna ask and how they will judge me if I don't give a clear and concise answer other than "it's just how I feel".

Or how I'm gonna be treated by them as an encyclopedia (again) about my identities. "Oh you don't know what asexual, aromantic and agender mean?? Don't worry, my friend Blue is totally going to explain to you, a total stranger, not only what they mean but also how she lives with these identies and her most personal aspects of them!!" god help me.

Plus I'm not changing pronouns or names or anything like that, and I don't mind being adressed with feminine terms, so coming out is not gonna be that useful lol overall.

So yeah, this is something only you guys will know eheh

[miru667]

How do you manage to stay in a fandom for so long? I'm always mario jumping from fandom to fandom every 3-6 months

Oh, so many reasons. I think I've answered this before but in a much more concise way so idk what happened here when I tried to answer again from scratch but uhhh I wrote a lot lol?? Long ramble time. 😂

I found this fandom at a point in my life when I really emotionally needed it, so I got really attached to it. I stayed because of the friends I've made in it and because of the OCs I got invested in, both mine and other people's, and every so often something invigorated my interest like a new roleplay I got to join or new concept art that got discovered.

I'm also just a really dedicated person (for better or worse) and I still have ideas that I want to get out there creatively. I don't get a lot of free time, and I rarely have energy for hobbies after work so my time passes slowly in the sense that I may still be in the middle of appreciating a thing, meanwhile everyone else has already sped through and processed it and moved on.

So I've gotta be really careful about choosing what to spend my limited time and energy on. It sometimes takes me a whole month to draw a piece of art that I'm proud of. It would be a huge waste of my time to spend so much energy on a fandom that after 3 months I think I might not care about anymore.

And like, if it's going to take me a month to draw 1 thing, what am I going to choose? Fanart of a character from a show that I just finished that I might possibly move on from in 3 months? Or art of my darling Audrey OC that I've been developing for years and whom I know will always bring me joy for the rest of my life? It's not a hard choice! Like I'm sure it's obvious by now but I really love my oc. It's gotten to the point that I look for her in every media I consume. I like characters because they remind me of her, and I like plots because they remind me of her. When I watch a movie and end up loving it, I'm not going to be drawing fanart for that movie, I'm more likely going to be drawing Audrey Grace in some way that's consciously or subconsciously inspired by that movie. I'm sure other people with beloved ocs can relate to that, too.

Back to media consumption: I'm constantly watching new things, shows, movies, letsplays, and I'm able to love them just fine, but I never participate in their fandoms (unless you count reblogging fanart as participation. I personally don't). I just don't feel motivated to and I feel like it's unnecessary. I shouldn't need to prove anything. You can appreciate media without engaging in fandom. In fact, I encourage it, because a lot of what I see in fandoms these days is just stressful, at least to me. And I don't want that stress. I'm much happier as a person when I don't have to read other people's opinions, discourse and drama over some show's themes or ships or whatever. I can just quietly revel in my own enjoyment of the show without being tainted by anything else, and my love for it is not any less valid than the person who's livetweeting their loud emotions while watching the same show and putting out fanart 1 hour after every episode. Bless them, though.

And I guess that's mostly what I do these days with the Onceler fandom, too. Appreciating it more quietly these days, I mean. It's just that...I have a fandom related oc so I draw her. And I have friends here so we do stuff together and we reference fandom inside jokes no matter what activity we're doing. If I encounter art that deeply moves me personally, I reblog it, just like I reblog art for other media on my sideblog. When anyone has a fandom history related question, I'm eager to answer because I don't want the past to be misrepresented or misunderstood. And also, since it's been over a decade, this fandom has long ago become my daily normal. I can do whatever I like but I can't really "leave" this fandom unless I delete all my social media and cut off all my online friends. And delete my memories of the past 12 years of my life as well. Just become a completely different person.

So I guess I can reverse the sentiment: I can't relate to people who hop fandoms every 3 to 6 months. 😭 All the power to you, but that's just not the way I happen to live my life, nor the way I engage with the media I consume! The Once-ler fandom was the one exception. It was special.

But who knows, anything can happen in the future. I'm not so proud that I'm purposely blocking myself from looking at other fandoms or anything. I just go with the flow! Right now I'm slowly making my way through jjba, an omori playthrough, a Plague Tale playthrough, and urusei yatsura season 2 (the new anime). Probably nothing will come out of any it except for a bunch of Audrey inspos, but again, who knows. XD I'm also going to an idkhow concert soon, and I've bought merch from their store already. Does that count as participating in a fandom? Maybe not. But now that I think of it, even if I "join" another fandom, it doesn't necessarily mean I'd leave the onceler fandom either, so maybe it wouldn't matter haha.

Thank you for the ask and thank you to anyone who's read my entire answer!