#i'm tired of feeling like nothing i ever do is enough or nothing i do is good. or that it's repulsive somehow.

[freedomsargeant]

Complete | Paul Aron

Hello loves! Thought I would make another book now that I'm on Thanksgiving break. My requests are open if anyone would like me to write them a little something! I hope you enjoy it!

Paul Aron X OC

Summary: Paul is unhappy with the race results and Olivia decides to spend the rest of the day trying to cheer him up

Warnings: none, it's all fluff!

Paul leaned back against his car, eyes fixed on the ground. The pit area was quiet now, the buzz of the race weekend already fading into the usual background of his life. But today was different. Today, disappointment felt heavier. He was lost in thoughts of missed turns and split-second miscalculations when he heard familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey, you," Olivia said, her voice bright and comforting as she walked up beside him. Her smile, as usual, softened the edge of his frustration, if only a little.

"Hey, Liv," he murmured, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She tilted her head, looking him over. “Rough day, huh?”

Paul nodded, swallowing back the urge to vent his frustration. His races mattered to him more than anything, and today’s loss—well, it stung. “Could’ve done better. I don’t know...everything felt off.”

Without a word, she leaned against the car beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He felt a familiar warmth, the same comfort that Olivia always brought. They'd been close for years, ever since he'd started racing in junior karting leagues. She’d seen every high and low and somehow never wavered in her support.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she said suddenly. “How about we leave the pit and just...do something fun? Like, something not-racing related?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Olivia always had a way of making things better, even if he didn’t quite understand how she did it.

“Alright,” he said, surprising himself. “What do you have in mind?”

* * * *

They found themselves at a small park overlooking the city, and Olivia had come prepared with a blanket and a bag of snacks she’d picked up on the way. Paul realized how rare it was to see this side of life, away from the endless noise of racing, the thrill of speed. He hadn’t really just...stopped in a long time.

They sat down, and she handed him a snack without a word, her usual sense of timing impeccable. She knew he needed a little time to shake off the disappointment.

“It’s okay to feel let down sometimes,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You’re always so focused, so hard on yourself. But, Paul, it’s also okay to just...be.”

“Be?” He chuckled lightly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s in my programming, Liv. You know that.”

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “I know. But you can try for one afternoon, can’t you?”

He looked over at her, really looked this time. Her bright eyes, her steady presence...for a moment, the frustration of the day melted away. She wasn’t here to talk about the race, to criticize his laps, or even to ask him why he was feeling low. She was just here for him, exactly as he was.

“You know, I don’t say this enough,” he said quietly. “But...thanks. For being here, I mean. For always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.”

A soft smile spread across her face, a look he hadn’t seen before, or maybe had never really noticed. “It’s nothing, Paul. It’s just...I know you. I know how much racing means to you. And it’s okay to be disappointed. But you’re more than one race, you know?”

Her words lingered in the air, and for the first time, he found himself really seeing her, understanding what she meant to him. Olivia had been there through every victory, every setback, her presence as constant and grounding as the road beneath his tires. She wasn’t just his friend—she was his anchor.

He took a breath, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, their shoulders brushing, their faces just inches apart. There was a spark between them, something he’d brushed off or ignored, thinking it was just the comfort of a close friendship.

But now, in the quiet of the park, with her gaze soft and knowing, he realized he didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

“Liv...” he started, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak the words he’d been holding back. “I...I don’t think I could do this without you. Racing, life—any of it. You make it...better.”

She looked up, her eyes searching his face, her expression softening. “Paul, I’ll always be here for you. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be...you.”

He felt his heart pound, realizing just how precious she was to him, how much he’d come to rely on her presence, her quiet strength. Without thinking, he reached over, letting his hand find hers. It was a simple touch, but it said everything he couldn’t quite find the words for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he didn’t feel the weight of the race, the disappointment, or the pressure. He just felt...complete.

As they sat there, watching the city lights blink to life in the distance, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he’d found something even more valuable than a win on the track.

[monstersdownthepath]

Still reading through Divine Mysteries and while I've greatly enjoyed 99% of what I've read so far, there's a few bits that make me frown.

Perhaps one of my biggest disappointments is:

Aonaurious, a Qlippoth Lord* introduced way back in 1st edition's Bestiary 6 as a footnote among the existing Qlippoth Lords who were actually getting stats, alongside Yamasoth (who was given stats in another book) and Shiggarreb (who was never given stats, but who got a Divine Obedience). He had the intriguing epithet of "the Enigma Clot," invoking the imagery of some malefic hair clog or perhaps a constricting fungus, in either case fitting in alongside the grotesqueries of both the other Qlippoth Lords and the qlippoth in general.

Absolutely nothing about Aonaurious was known but his name and his title for the longest time, and though Shiggarreb received some additional development in the Complete Book of the Damned which came out months later, the Enigma Clot was left to languish for 8 entire years and a whole edition shift before finally appearing in Divine Mysteries as... a giant praying mantis.

Not just a loss in terms of what the Enigma Clot could have been, but he also seems to have completely supplanted Shiggarreb, being a warmongering beast hellbent on slaughtering literally anything and everything he sees without pause or tire, exactly as the Marauding Maw/Warmonger Queen was once stated to do. Fair enough, all things considered, especially since with Shiggarreb being gone, we get a more unique Qlippoth Lord named Nyuo-Ogh the Always-Observing... but this also means that poor Aonaurious stands out like a sore thumb among his demigod kin, as his current lore as it is has him lacking any form of parasitic aspects, a mainstay among qlippoth as a whole and incredibly pronounced in the existing Qlippoth Lords. He instead represents a relentless hyper-predator, something that already has representation in the forms of existing lords Chavazvug and Thuskchoon (each of which also embody parasitism in different ways).

All this being said, I don't hate Aonaurious, and I do like the threat he presents as "the predator that kills far more than it could ever possibly eat and chases down prey that could not possibly be worth the effort of getting at," but I feel like such a plain appearance is a waste of a fascinatingly evocative title and a sad miss in terms of fitting in thematically with the rest of the lords.

Nyuo-Ogh is a fantastic addition to the Parasite Pantheon, though, I'll say that. Shiggarreb wasn't exactly a good fit herself, so I do not mourn her.

Edit: Reading his physical description more closely (Divine Mysteries, pg. 226) makes him sound more like a monstrously enormous and clawed house centipede, and if ANY creature could be called an "Enigma Clot" it would be a gigantic house centipede! I'm going to treat him like he's one of those.

[deoidesign]

.

[naivety]

very weird to frame your abuse apologia as being aware that the writers intended to illustrate a mutually harmful dynamic and not an abusive one. when the writers in question also wrote the line 'once you put it out there, they [the audience] decide what it is' because nothing you ever create has any innate definition. when the writers in question decided to racebend major characters and then showcase them being harmed by white or nonblack characters in a repeatedly racialized pattern when they Did Not Have To Do That and then genuinely or disingenuously decide to dialogue about their directly or indirectly illustrated racialized dynamic of intimate partner violence within and outside the narrative. like to be quite honest it does not matter what they intended because this is what they made and this is how it Looks to a notably large amount of people. who just happen to be interpreting it wrong? according to what metric? the very metric they say Doesn't Work in their own fictional creation? ok

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[tchotchkez]

😮‍💨

[sorry for the hardcore tag rants, y'all]

[medicinemane]

Honestly a lot of the time, it's not even about people having to agree with me, it's about needing to know that they actually heard and listened to what I had to say even if it didn't persuade them

Just... some basic indication that there's enough respect to give a shit about what I said, and also to make sure that they disagree because they actually disagree and not cause they just didn't bother listening

It's all I really ask

[apocalypticdemon]

forgot that migraine postdrome can make me so fucking sad. worst feature my body ever installed.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.

[running-in-the-dark]

...

[musical-chick-13]

"Nobody does this, don't EVER write this, no real person acts like that."

Buddy. Consider that. You do not have OCD. And I do.

[savage-rhi]

I'm very much a, "fuck yeah and fuck you, I don't need validation! I'm me, cunts!" kinda fella, but sometimes I could use support.

[archiveofyearning]

.

[cetoddle-archive]

like i just don't get it

[spikystar]

opening tumblr after forever just to complain about shit nobody gives a fuck about I'm so sorry to whoever finds it in the internet void but this Is my og internet diary so.

anyway fuck ai so much fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you

[philosophicallie]

I want a cat. I want 5 cats. they'll help me actually live by being what I need to take care of so I have to take care of myself