#if i can keep this going maybe at the end of this week ill publish the first chapter!!

[glitteronadumpsterfire]

Keeping my bra on while i write to make me feel more professional

[ronanlynchbf]

hi, i wanted to ask what did you mean by the og format of the dreamer trilogy being discarded (in the tags of that opal story post you make about a week ago)? i keep missing all the behind the scenes info on these books :(

HIII hello <333 i'm putting this under a keep reading cut because it ended up being quite long

so in a tweet i think? or actually it might've been a fansign event of sorts i don't rlly remember which one it was but anyway maggie said that originally the dreamer trilogy was set to be further in time, with all the characters in their 20s, and the moderators (worst part of tdt imo) were never actually intended to be in the story AT ALL, from which we can conclude that the story of tdt would've been different bc if u eliminate the moderators there's LOADS of stuff that would change. maggie also said somewhere that - especially when writing greywaren - she had a lot of anger inside of her over being so sick that she put in the book initially but eventually scrapped and redid for some reason or the other (personally i think cdth & mi touched on that anger & frustration she felt abt being sick, but i can't rlly see it anymore once i get to greywaren). maybe she felt it was too personal, maybe she was advised to change it idk but she described it as "an angry draft" or something like that and mentioned having to rewrite a lot throughout tdt after that first greywaren draft/outline. she didn't rlly go that much into detail and i don't remember everything, but considering what she did say and what she implied, the dreamer trilogy originally had a different look and format and setting and outline/story even and tone and also different titles!! the og titles she was gonna go with was this:

which i personally think are very cool and also all corresponding to each other, like the three titles are in the same theme whereas call down the hawk, mister impossible, and greywaren have little to no correlation. ANYWAY i don't have any actual links to when she said this i'm soooo sorry but like bottom line. the dreamer trilogy's story was originally different (though maggie didn't specify as to how or how much difference there was) and sans-moderators, it was more heavy and raw on how tiring and hard and frustrating the reality of dealing with chronic illness is, the characters were originally all supposed to be fully adults (adam was also originally more in tdt but that was also cut), and the titles (and i assume overall theme/tone of the story) were different, so the dreamer trilogy that we now have is likely quite far from the dreamer trilogy we could've had/maggie originally wrote. i for one would LOOOOOOOVE to see the original draft of tdt even if all the books are published already and the story has basically come to an end (i personally believe that, had maggie stuck with the og outline, the epilogue would not have been what it is now, which like. atp i'd take anything over an "it was all good" ending four years later but maybe that's just me) OK ANYWAY this is wayyyy longer than i had intended it to be but that's what i meant with my tags; there's nothing in the world i'd love to see more than that original angry draft of greywaren that maggie changed to - i presume - satisfy the masses, genuinelyyyyy would give anything to get that version in my hands but either way i hope i explained it sufficiently!!! and i hope u have a great rest of the day 💗💗💗 ❗

[goldentangerines]

of leaving

from: willows in gold

word count: i have no idea. it's just vibes (the vibes being death, past trauma, violence, blood, sad, I CRIED ok, loss of a loved one, mcd?, heavy angst etc you get the gist. it's not very explicit because i tried to keep it as vague as possible but yeah. as i said: vibes)

this scene happens at the end of book one. this is the fifth draft i wrote up for it and they were all Good but i need to get it Right. so take this one and let it be known that i have one very different version in my documents that left my ex gf so stunned she couldn't talk to me for at least twenty minutes and that one is still my favorite ever and i will not share that one except for publishing lmao

taglist: @emelkae @nicola-writes @talesofsorrowandofruin @venustversailles and idk who else i really ought to make a proper list somewhere :-) please lmk what you think i'm so insecure!! enjoy <3

///

And Asja can't move. She can't, can't reach Damian, who's beat up and bleeding, and the only thing she hears roaring in her head is the voice of a woman long gone whispering in her ear that everything's going to be alright.

In another time, another place, another life, maybe it could have been. But not here, and not for her.

Don't die, yes? Don't.

Too little, too late.

Somewhere above her, Damian screams. He still fights, Asja reckons, but it's pointless.

In her heart, the woman sings a song so terrible and sweet it takes Asja's breath away. She strokes her cheek, a gentle smile in her voice while their story unfolds note for note.

It feels almost like home, this embrace, and with it comes back all that was lost, all that she had tried to forget — the months down in the catacombs that had never been touched by sunlight, the hurt and loss and the endless torture.

Almost like home, almost like a dream.

In the dream the dirt and grit of weeks past clings to both their faces, and the lice have made a home in their hair, the illnesses in their blood. In the dream they can hear the screams of countless others, tortured with golden whips, silver knives and salt in their wounds. In the dream they're in their cell, huddled in the corner. The woman whose name Asja forgot — or never learned, maybe — holds her, sings a tune to soothe her like a newborn baby, and repeats, repeats, repeats, that everything is going to be alright. They both know it's a lie. They're both aware of the black stain on her clothes, the wound that runs deep, of their time crawling to an end. They can feel it, and they know.

They know.

Reality bleeds through and washes the memory away as Damjan tries to make his way over to where Asja lies in a puddle of her own blood, gasping for air. And Asja hears the voice of the woman who's been dead for three long, long years, and she knows.

She tries to look at Damian, but her head lolls to the side and she can only see his legs.

He's almost there, maybe three long steps away, still held back by people they don't know, and he shouts at her, angry, furious in helplessness, fear, but Asja knows, as her hand twitches towards him and fails to move, that she won't get to say goodbye, not this time.

Don't die, yes? Don't.

Too little, too late.

And life escapes her.

[dawnowar]

Feeling good

I don't know if I'll remember to do it, but I have found out today that theres a way to cross post from instagram that doesnt take too many more clicks than not cross-posting so I'm gonna try and keep my tumblr up. From the day I first found tumblr in the very beginning, I have always preferred this as a format than any other way to post my stuff online.

No one looks at it but not only is that fine, it keeps me very unguarded here since I don't have to worry about which assholes on my friends list are gonna argue about things I say here or who is going to see my opinion about them or whatever so I've been using it as a place to vent.

Anyway I just got back from my 2nd workout of 2024 and I'm just logging here that my fitness level is much higher than it usually is when I start my January diet. Probably because I just did 17 classes in like 21 days to get my 2023 shirt before the end of the year.

It's good. I'm also a lot flabbier than i usually am this time of year but i feel like its very realistic to think that by Valentines Day i'll be considerably less flabby.

I always do January diet and exercise till Valentines day when i begin celebrating my birthday for way too long. Till im sick of it and then i go back to being normal, meaning some balance of eating and exercising till the holidays when it all goes out the window.

I got sick back in October and then again and again and again 5x till i just gave up and was like ill go back on a diet in Jan. Theres no way to be sick and on a diet. anyway i've been eating whatever for so long im flabby as i was before i got serious and took it off last summer so I gotta do it again. Which sucks but I also feel like I know how and I'll do it.

So i just cross-posted most of 2023 over here and had to take the time to look at everything i did all year.

It's a scrapbook really. I think tumblr started out with that premise. That you should use it as your scrapbook. Ive always seen it that way. its just a public-facing scrapbook.

Only things I really left out were some failed relationships. I started or tried to start or meant to start and i think ultimately all of them, even though they were all completely different, failed because I just wanted to do my own thing. I think I've been on my own a long time, and as much as I'd like someone to fall in love with and live happily ever after with, i also have my own agenda and its hard, after so many years to coordinate time and spending money for other people.

And again, I spent all this time on diet and exercise only to have to do it over again now... but romantic dates = eating for some reason and I'm so stressed out spending time and money on meals. I like company but I need to save money and exercise and this is my priority now.

I do girly exercise so its not like i can exercise with a date and its too damn cold to go for walks or whatever. I hate gyms and i dont think theyre a good place to get to know each other anyway.

I just logistically can't make it work.

Oh im sure there are other reasons I'm not trying to publish that things didnt work out with any of these guys but it really is just so much easier and less stressful to not try to date and to eat right and exercise.

So thats what ive been doing and thats what i intend to do for January and into the first two weeks of February and then i guess maybe ill reevaluate.

[childabusesurvivor]

The Revolving Door of Mental Health Crisis Care - What Killed Jordan Neely Long Before that Subway Ride

New Post has been published on https://www.childabusesurvivor.net/reviews/2023/05/17/the-revolving-door-of-mental-health-crisis-care-what-killed-jordan-neely-long-before-that-subway-ride/

The Revolving Door of Mental Health Crisis Care - What Killed Jordan Neely Long Before that Subway Ride

Adam Iscoe does a deep dive into New York City’s mental health treatment system for The New Yorker, and finds a system that hasn’t changed much in decades:

In the late eighties, following a legal challenge to Koch’s involuntary-hospitalization initiative, one judge described the city’s approach as “revolving door mental health—that is, forcibly institutionalize, forcibly medicate, stabilize, discharge back into the same environment, and then repeat the cycle.” Thirty-five years later, the vocabulary that’s used to describe the city’s mental-health-care system hasn’t changed. “It’s a revolving door,” a cop who was working an overtime shift on a subway platform in Clinton Hill told me. “We bring them in, and the hospital just discharges them!” She and her partner both had a few streaks of gray in their tidy black hair, and wore matching N.Y.P.D. beanies. The second cop sighed. “In and out,” she said. “I’m not sure anything we do is going to help if the hospitals keep letting them go.”

There are some efforts that have been made over the years. Mental Health training for police officers to help de-escalate a situation, specially-trained groups assigned to treating the homeless with serious mental health issues, temporary shelters, etc. In the end though, what Adam found is that they barely scratch the surface of the problem.

The article linked above lays out the scope of the problem. There are 200,000 people in NYC living with severe mental illness, and about 13,000 of them are homeless. The system doesn’t even begin to cover effective mental health treatment for the homeless let alone all of the other people in the city in need of treatment.

A hundred thousand city residents with severe mental illness are not receiving any mental-health treatment.

And so, when someone like Jordan Neely suffers a mental health crisis, if he’s lucky the officers who respond have been trained in mental health situations, can get him into some temporary help, and he can live until the next crisis. If he’s not lucky, he could die. He could die from his own actions, he could be killed by police response or a bystander who has no training in de-escalation.

Jordan was arrested over 40 times. He went through the revolving door at least 40 times that we know of until the door stopped revolving while he was in a full mental health meltdown on the F train a couple of weeks ago.

A lot of people have read about what happened and taken a very different approach, heaping praise on the man who killed Jordan Neely as a hero, who did the right thing by protecting the “normal” people on that train from a crazed lunatic. I tend to think that believing that requires a certain kind of stigma about mental health that places anyone having a mental health breakdown firmly into the “them” category instead of the “us” category. I also know first-hand how thin the line is between those two groups. A traumatic event can easily push someone over to the “them” side, and proper treatment can also push someone back to the “us” side, but in our discussions around serious mental illness, we don’t tend to get that full context. We tend to look at the “crazies” as people who should be avoided at all costs, lest they become dangerous, despite the fact that they are much more likely to be the victim of a crime than the perpetrator. We rarely spare a thought for their dignity and humanity. Even fewer thoughts are given to the possibility that they could get better. So, we just keep throwing these fellow human beings into the revolving door over and over again.

Who knows, maybe in the current system there really was no hope for Jordan and many like him. That’s hardly a reason to celebrate his death and the person who killed him. It should be a wake-up call about how poor our current system is and a push for systemic change. Unfortunately, that’s a serious discussion that too many people in politics are not interested in having.

  #Hope, #MentalHealth, #Stigma, #USA

[capriciouswriter207]

dammnnn, that's a lot of stuff

I hope your job lie will end up being just awesome though!

And please take care of yourself-

Your writing is amazing, that much I can say and taking a break can be needed sometimes, listen to your body!

It's amazing that you're able to handle so much writing at once and you should definitely take breaks once in awhile!

I may or may not have been working on my flower husbands hanahaki au today quite a lot, spent some hours searching up both flowers and colours and damn does it suit these two. Currently searching up some stuff about mental illnesses because of course I need to put them through stuff xD

I honestly adore my au so much, it up to now has no name but I hope to find a good name soon

I feel like I'll be the only one to ever like it though, because like, ya know, it is quite extra and it's also a long time project other than my "The Rule" fic which I practically uploaded all at once, it's it's gonna take a long time to even start writing it other than the prologue and I don't want to just throw it out there without further chapters already in process.

And Tumblr, I feel like nobody is gonna see my posts I make about my thoughts and process here on tumblr at all whohciwhixhoqjojco-

I love the au though so I'm gonna try to see it through

-Star ⭐️

Yeah, I know. It’s a lot. Haven't heard back from the doctorate, so programming it is (two more years of school, yay /hj)! Also, I decided to do the thing I've been wanting to do for a couple years now and pursue learning Swedish. Only took me eight years to finally do it. It's close to campus, one evening per week, so it should be fun and manageable. Every time I tried to learn a language by myself, I became painfully aware I need a classroom setting or it's not gonna happen, so this should work. Also, it's an officially recognized and certified course, which is good.

I'm trying to listen to my body, it's just that there's so much exciting stuff out there I want to do and unfortunately, I want to do it all at once. Knowing I have a poor impulse control is a first step, but I'm not very good at suppressing it yet (when it comes to creative projects anyway). Another problem is that I can’t work on just the one thing at once, I get bored too easily to do so. At least I'm not bouncing between ten projects at once anymore. At this point in time, it's just three major projects (Caesar House, empires d&d compendium, Dutch rewrite of 'a story of war') and then whatever empires s2 one-shots I can write. 

But yeah, I'm gonna listen to my body. Or try to, anyway. Maybe it helps that I haven't been able to keep up with empires povs (except for False and Pix's), because I heard Sausage dropped a big lore bomb connected to season 1 and I know myself, I'll jump on that and run with it for months to come and throw off my plans. (I say, as if going back to school isn't going to change anything).

I hope you'll be able to see that AU through. Even if you're the only one who ever will like that story, that's okay! I've got stories that I'm sure only I love, even some that I published online (either under this alias or another one) but it was okay because I liked it. Of course you'd love for someone to like your work as much as you do, but in the end, you can't really control that. Something you spent ages working on might not be to everyone's taste and the one thing you haphazardly threw together and threw out there (which you may not even like that much) might be the thing the masses will love. Just keep working on it as long as it's enjoyable for you to do so. I sincerely hope you'll be able to see it through and find that perfect name for it!

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

Hi! First of all, thank you so much for running this blog, It's become one of three reasons why I haven't yet committed arson (I jest but the Feeling is true). [Hee, hee, hee.] I have a rec for you! It's called "wholesome life usurp immediately" by comfect on ao3 and it's. So good. It's unfinished but the author updates it literally every other day if not faster! It's a lovely fic, I hope you enjoy it. 🌻

Wholesome Life Usurp Immediately

by Comfect (T, 55k, yunmeng sibs, qingli, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: Wen Qing examines Jiang Yanli at Cloud Recesses and has a cure for her poor cultivation.

Now there are Three Prides of Yunmeng.

Everything kind of fixes itself from there.

~*~

hello mojo!! I would really like to recommend standing still (but we keep going) by lwjromantics!! it's really good!!

standing still (but we keep going)

by lwjromantics (justfantaestic) (T, 5k, wangxian)

Summary: Lan Wangji supposed that if having to take care of little A-Yuan and Mo Xuanyu and having to look at the reminders of Wei Ying in their habits and mannerisms was punishment for his actions, he would willingly take it and flay his own back open.

— There are children in the Burial Mounds.

~*~

hii mojo! I just read this cute fic and I loved it so I wanted to rec it :) 

Word Up, Talk the Talk

by Larryissocute (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  It wouldn’t have been a problem (it really wouldn’t) if they weren’t best friends. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what good deeds he did in his past life to be blessed with Lan Wangji as a friend nor does he know what evil things he did to be cursed with being only a friend to Lan Wangji.

Or the one where Wei Wuxian kisses Lan Wangji and then runs away.

~*~

Hey! Love your account — and proud of you for taking the hiatus you needed.  [Lol - it was really nice!]  Idk if you take fic recommendations, but I'd love to rec Roots by ardenrabbit. Fantastic characterization, I really love it!

Roots

by ardenrabbit (E, 46k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  After Wei Wuxian's duel with Jiang Cheng, he finds that stab wounds aren't so trivial when he doesn't have a core to heal them. He wakes to find Lan Zhan in the Burial Mounds with him, already beloved by the Wens and making himself at home. When Lan Zhan tells him that he wants to stay and offers more help than Wei Wuxian knows how to accept, he fears that it's only too good to be true.

Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying is doing the right thing, and he couldn't live with himself if he let him do it alone. For everything Wei Ying has sacrificed, Lan Wangji is determined to give something back to him.

Hanguang-Jun has turned his back on the clans to join the Yiling Wens and their demonic cultivator leader, and every clan has a different opinion on the matter.

~*~

Hello! I wanted to rec a fic on ao3 called "Restoration" by jelenedra. It's complete, an alternate universe of the sunshot campaign told nonlinearly. It has strong fairy tale and fae elements, with a touch of mystery. Bit of a fix it. Some delightful one liners, and the final ending imagery is just LOVELY. The fic deserves much more love. There's also some YilingWei, wwx not raised by Jiang, and sentient Burial Mounds elements. Enchanting read that keeps you enthralled and curious and intrigued.

Restoration

by jelenedra (M, 85k, wangxian)

Summary:  They say he was thrown into Luanzang Gang by the man who killed his parents; they say that he is an immortal cultivator who had been in a deep trance until the Wen sect disturbed his rest and incurred his wrath; they say that he is the fierce corpse of a cultivator who had somehow regained his mind and his spiritual powers.

When Lan Wangji sees him for the first time, he understands why people talk.

Meng Yao wants safety. Xue Yang wants vengeance. The Sunshot Campaign wants victory. Yiling Laozu provides, for a price.

~*~

I usually read all your recommendations. Thanks for gathering all good recs of wangxian. I am in love with every single story your recommend especially the favorites. [I’m so glad!]  I just wanted to suggest a fic i came across while searching for phoenix!wwx. Its a new story I think as author has published it today. The first chapter was very interesting that i thought ill recommend it you and know your opinion. The legendary phoenix and his dragon -Devipriya and Hidden Path to Love by ShadowTenshiV

Hidden Path to Love

by ShadowTenshiV (G, 78k, wangxian)

Summary:  Wei Ying is a servant working at the Gusu Lan castle. One day he enters through a secret passage way connected to the library where he meets a Lan for the first time. He may have left quite an impression, gaining the other´s attention and slowly becoming friends. They would like to become something more, but a servant can´t be with a prince, but maybe his secret can change that.

~*~

hello mojo! i was wondering if I could make a fic rec? it’s called “and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow” by izanyas. it used to be on ao3 but the author has since moved it to eir own website and has started posting updates there. i was wondering if this could also act as a signal boost bc some old readers on ao3 might not have known that it is now on another website.   Author's been through a tough time so I think it deserves a lot more love.

For new readers, please mind the warnings in the prologue and the beginning of each chapter! it’s omegaverse and a very heavy read as it deals with (possible spoiler) off-screen rape that results in an unwanted pregnancy, as well as secondary gender oppression which runs deep, but for people who can bear it the writing, worldbuilding, and emotions are truly spectacular.

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow

by izanyas (E, 270k, wangxian, WIP, link is to WordPress rather than AO3)

Summary: Cangse Sanren was the first of her kind to become a cultivator. Talented, passionate, free-spirited, she bested everything that ever came her way until the very end.

Jiang Fengmian refuses to see her son deprived of that same freedom.

~*~

Hello Mojo! I dunno if this's been recced before, but here's another ficrec for you? It's complete, on ao3, "The Third Young Master of Qishan Wen" by KouriArashi. It's 'if wwx was raised by dafan wen, but gets recognized as 3rd heir due to his skill' scenario. Some really nice banter and characterization. Wwx and lz get together before the sunshot campaign. Story follows the live action but diverges into au, and does some cool callbacks to original canon. Love Meng Yao in this!  [Oh, I know KouriArashi from my last fandom, I love her works!]

❤️The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen

by KouriArashi (T, 139k, wangxian, my post)

Summary:  The fic where Wei Wuxian is adopted by the Dafan Mountain Wens instead of the Yunmeng Jiang.

~*~

Hi Mojo! I can count the number of times I’ve spoken on Tumblr on one hand (I’m shy heh) but I found this fic that I think you and others would really like? I’m a sucker for emotional hurt/comfort and this was just too sweet for me not to share (did I go through 20 pages of bookmarks just to make sure you don’t already have it? Maybe …) [Aww, you can do a sidebar search in the bookmarks for the author’s name.  But I hope you found other good fics by carding through the whole catalog!]  It’s “Close Your Soft Eyes” by timetoboldlygo! I also wanna say thank you for all the hard work you put into this blog! It’s a treasure beyond compare. :D [Thank you so much!]

Close Your Soft Eyes

by timetoboldlygo (G, 12k, wangxian)

Summary:  When Lan Wangji woke, the first thing he noticed was the slip of paper, folded and tucked between his index and middle fingers, not Wei Wuxian’s absence. His fingers trembled as he unfurled the paper. A donkey with a little smile beamed down at him.

-

On the nights that Wei Wuxian was gone, Lan Wangji woke to gifts on his pillow.

~*~

Hey Mojo! I love your blog it is beyond awesome! [Thank you!]  I was wondering if you would consider reading JaenysBloodcourt series "A Bond to Takes us home"? The summary is weird but I like the fics and would love to hear your opinion on LWJ POV (it's part 2). Part one is Mingxian but part two (Wangxian) reads as a standalone for the most part. Anyways, thank you for all your hard work! <3 [I’ll put it on my list!]

A Bond to Take Us Home

by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 10k, mingxian - nmj/wwx, wangxian, series in progress)

Summary:  Wei Wuxian has two soulmarks. He has two soulmates that seem to be the opposite of him. During his first life he meets both of them, loves only one and longs for the other. In his second life, the one he loved first is dead, and the one he pined after is pining after him.

These are the many tales of his soulmates and the raucous they made across the cultivation world.

Some are dark, some are light. Beware.

~*~

I forgot to send this in for Mother's Day a few weeks ago, but have you read dragongirlG's "into the light of a dark black night"? It's a short canon divergence where Mama Lan escapes the Cloud Recesses after spending one last, heartbreaking night with her sons. It's so beautiful and bittersweet! [Oh, ouch.  I just read this author’s time travelling juniors au, but hadn’t seen this one.]

into the light of a dark black night

by dragongirlG (T, 3k, Madam Lan & sons)

Summary:  The night that Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, plans to escape from the Cloud Recesses, she runs into an unexpected complication.

That complication comes in the form of her younger son A-Zhan running up to her door and kneeling in front of it, hushed whimpers escaping from his throat.

Wu Yuhua knows it's not the full moon, knows that it's not the one day a month she's allowed to see her children—but like hell is she going to leave her six-year-old son out there trying to stifle sobs in the snow.

She opens the door. "A-Zhan," she says, bending down and reaching out a hand. "Come in, my sweet boy."

On a snowy night in the dead of winter, Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, unexpectedly spends one last night with her sons before escaping from the Cloud Recesses.

~*~

Hello queen I’d like to recommend for ur follower rec posts Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender by KouriArashi. Banger of an ATLA au, def the best one I’ve seen. It’s a WIP but the author updates pretty regularly and it’s all around an A+ fic [Oh, yes, I’ve been waiting for this one to finish before I jump in.]

Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender

by KouriArashi (T, 123k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  You know the drill. Long ago, the four nations lived in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

100 years later, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli find Wei Wuxian sealed in an iceberg.

Featuring: avatar WWX, waterbending JC, firebending Wens, airbending Lans, earthbending Nies and Jins, Jiang Yanli in possession of the brain cell, et cetera.

~*~

[My ko-fi.]

[thesaltminesrph]

PSA: Be Upfront

Communication is important in RP.

Now, to preface, I am not going to use the really awful phrase "it's a hobby not a jobby" because this is a really sketch take on what is important to people. You can have a hobby mean a lot to you, be you a collector, a gardener, someone that builds model airplanes, a writer, an artist, etc. Those are all hobbies, and the fruits of your labor are NOT only valuable to you and others if you are paid for them. This saying implies that should you never be a published author, never have a painting sell, never do something that can be sold or have a time clock punched, it doesn’t at all matter. It’s a really discouraging thing to be telling people, quite honestly. I have multiple hobbies outside of RP. Kind of really sucks to see constantly they don’t matter because nobody pays me for what I do. I know I’m not the only one who has said this, but the majority aren’t willing to say it amongst the clamoring of ‘rp isn’t a job’ because then you get people jumping down your throat. Hear me out though! I’m not done.

“BUT I HAVE REAL LIFE!”

Yes! So do we all! We all have problems, and things to take care of. The RPC is littered with people with mental illness, neurodivergence, chronic physical illness (I hit all three categories multiple times, LUCKY ME!). Do not, I repeat, do not ever feel like you need to put RP before: bills, marriage/children/other relationships, your health. Literally, do not have your takeaway from this post be these are secondary to your hobby. They are not. Do not get evicted because you were too busy doing RP at your desk at work, that’s just plain dumb af.

You owe people decency means:

-if you can only do aesthetic posts this week because you are low on writing spoons, that’s fine

-if you had work/health/mother-in-law take over you life this week and you literally didn’t have time to log-in even though you wanted to, that’s fine

-if you are sick in bed and can’t bother to write, that’s fine

What it also means:

-dropping what was supposedly a years long ooc friendship because the other mun isn’t dropping their current muse for you and following you into a different fandom ‘because they’re now boring’ and telling them as much in a message...is shitty behavior.

-daily reblogging multiple memes that people are sending in to you, your wire, your discord, ignoring both those and messages to plot, then whining on the dash that no one wants to write with you (also known as trying to guilt trip interaction, obviously you only wanted it from one specific person not the people actively engaging you)...is shitty behavior.

-claiming you’re open for plots and memes, then only replying to the one or two people consistently for 6 months...is shitty behavior.

Again, in case it wasn’t clear- it’s your blog, it’s your life, it’s your health. That’s not in question.

HOWEVER- be upfront and give people some honesty! What do I mean by that?

If it’s feasible, post that you need a writing break, even if it’s going to be indefinite. Take as many fucking breaks as you need to for your physical and mental health to be the best they can be (I’m not going to say great, as I know what it’s like to just have a ‘good’ health day mean ‘it’s less shit than it could be’).

But if the situation is really you only want to write with these one or two people, just say so! It’s your blog, you’re allowed to decide you’re closed for plots, asks, etc. Just don’t lead people on. Don’t say something and mean something else. Don’t keep reblogging your promo and really you don’t want to write,  and you don’t plan on taking on new mutuals, and don’t plan on replying to dms or threads from anyone else.

I’ll repeat it a little differently to be sure it’s clear- you dictate your activity level and number of mutuals, when you answer asks, threads, etc. This should be at a level that is suited for you and your life, health, etc.

BUT when you engage in RP you are involving someone else’s free time with yours, and it is not fair to them to act like they do not matter. You have involved someone else. Until you disengage from them, be courteous.

I’ll give you an example. When you ask for that starter on both your dash, then DMs, and act super hyped, getting the other mun excited for it, and then they put the time and effort into writing it up and posting it for you, expecting a reply? Only for you to go and make new blogs and immediately ditch that muse without a heads-up? That’s not really fair to the other mun. You communicated you wanted to write this, you hyped them up, they spent their time and writing spoons on your starter...and then you told them other people were more exciting and a better use of your time.

“BUT I DIDN’T TELL THEM THAT!”

Okay, so you didn’t message them ‘Hey loser, your starter sucked, your muse is boring, and honestly, a different fandom is better! Bye!’ But your actions sure give that impression, and unless you communicate otherwise, it’s a shitty move.

Now yes, sometimes you genuinely forget a starter was written because you thought it was drafted and it wasn’t, dumblr is an ass and loses your draft and then you forgot it, something came up that day and bumped it from your mind, etc. NONE OF THESE ARE WHAT I AM REFERRING TO. I have ADHD, object permanence is the thing my brain does where often unless it’s directly in front of my face, it doesn’t exist, until I find it again. I’m aware these things happen, as are most muns, and we don’t mind! Hell, we usually have in our rules “hey if it’s been a hot minute and we haven’t replied to this, feel free to give us a little nudge to see if it’s been lost” because we all know between brains and dumblr’s everlasting fuckery...shit gets lost.

I’m talking about those times where you just up and leave someone hanging without communication. I’m also not saying it might even be on purpose. What I’m saying is you should consider how other muns feel when you do this, and if you cannot avoid it, at least communicate with them.

“Hey, I’m just no longer going to be writing this muse. Sorry I had you write that starter. Do you want to try something with this new one? This is where my brain is at right now.” “Hey I really can’t be online this month thanks to fill-in-the-blank but I do still want to write when I am able.” “Hey, I see you sent in that ask. I’m only interested in this one ship, and I won’t be taking on new threads, but you’re welcome to follow and maybe I’ll take on new threads later. I’m just writing with these two people right now.”

Communication is something that is a requirement in a collaborative hobby.

I know it can be scary. I know the mentality ‘well they reblogged that meme but it’s not for me, I know they said they want to plot but they don’t mean me’, but you really have to get past that when you roleplay to be fair to other people.

Spoiler alert: the examples of shitty behavior further above are what help feed this ‘that post/meme isn’t for me’ mentality, when you do those things you’re fostering people’s anxiety and rejection sensitivity...just saying.

If someone gets mad at you for communicating with them, they’re a shitty person and block them. Literally if someone has a problem with you for trying to start something, especially as mutuals, you’re losing nothing by not writing with them. Find nicer people. So don’t  be afraid to communicate you can’t write currently, you need a break, you’re only writing with these certain people. And don’t be afraid to send in the meme. I promise you, the right people appreciate courteous communication. The ones that don’t...

Again, no one is saying put your life on hold for RP, you’re never allowed to narrow your scope, you’re supposed to always have writing spoons, you need to produce five replies a day or you’re wrong, you always need to log-in to communicate you had a family emergency/depressive episode/etc.

What I am saying, is if you are capable of communicating, respect the time and energy of your fellow muns who may also be very low on spoons and free time themselves, and be honest about where you are at when it comes to taking on new threads, new asks, new partners, etc. Treat others how you want to be treated, and consider you probably wouldn’t like being on the receiving end of the behaviors I’ve described. If you need to be on the clock being paid to be a nice person...please re-evaluate.

[meichenxi]

Obsession, ‘productivity’ and habits vs routines: starting learning in a healthier way

cw: perfectionism, obsessiveness, allusion to eating disorders, depression, anxiety (very non-explicit) I’m going to be writing a series of posts from some asks I’ve had waiting for me, on how to build a cohesive language learning routine, but I wanted to preface that first with something we talk about less than we should in the language learning community: obsessiveness, perfectionism, recovery from mental health, and how to approach language learning in a better way. If the personal stuff bores you, feel free to skip the first two paragraphs. 

I have been trying to ‘be more productive’ - in healthy ways, and unhealthy ways - since I was about ten. If you don’t fit in, for whatever reason, hobbies - and especially creative or ‘productive’ ones - are a wonderful escape. They make you feel that it’s ok not to have friends; they let you look down on all those other stupid children with all the misplaced arrogance of every single bored, clever pre-teen. When I was twelve, I realised there was no point eating with people that didn’t like me and went to the library instead, because that was ‘dead time’. When I was fourteen, I realised getting the bus was ‘dead time’, and started doing Anki for two hours a day. When I was sixteen, I realised walking was ‘dead time’, and started either listening to podcasts or talking out loud. By the time I was eighteen, I was doing four A-levels in school, an EPQ, teaching myself an extra Latin GCSE, and taught myself the Spanish A-level in 3 months right before the exam. I also worked out for two hours a day - because eating lunch was ‘dead time’, and sleeping was ‘dead time’ - trained martial arts four evenings a week, tutored twice a week, had a part-time job as a waitress, played the flute in a prestigious orchestra, and was 150,000 words deep in the first draft of a very gay, Norse-mythology inspired fantasy novel. 

I had it all under control. My marks were excellent; I was a well-rounded person, musical and sporty and already decently on the way to becoming a polyglot, I was training to be a teacher, and I had plans to publish my novel. My home life was painful, but I was painfully independent with what I now like to call the ‘Elsa complex’. Or, actually, like Zuko: I could look after myself, by myself. It was all under control. 

I guess everyone can see where this is going. School ended, and with it came endless, open days. I fell apart. 

With endless surprise, I can now say that, four years later, I think I’ve come through the worst of it. I still have tendencies to get obsessive, but my anxiety and perfectionism are a lot better, I don’t dissociate, and I have - gasp! shock! - actual interest in life again. I never wrote that novel, but I’m still gay and still love Norse mythology, so I’m slowly finding my way towards writing again. What people don’t tell you about getting better, though, is that trying to define yourself, trying to find yourself, as a person who exists without mental illness, is very, very hard. Many of the things that you used to identify as core components of your personality or important values may have changed, and you may be hesitant about trying to take up hobbies that you used to enjoy because you recognise - and rightly so - that the incessant drive to be doing something, all the time, didn’t necessarily come from anywhere healthy. That those things which you clung to and which protected you may actually have ended up harming you in the end. A lot of figuring out old patterns of unhelpful thoughts involves realising that the things that you defended or framed as helping - weren’t. That’s a hard thought, especially because those mechanisms developed to try and protect you, one that’s immeasurably sad. 

Seperating your reasons for doing something obsessively and your love of it in the first place, before it became unhealthy, is difficult. And it means that when you feel - finally, finally - ready to start tackling something like language learning again, you end up sorting of approaching it sideways, shiftily, as if you’re hoping to trick yourself into it. It’s a delicate thing, like a baby bird, and it’s dangerous too, because if you do everything which you did before - the only thing you know how to do - it’s not going to work. And every time it fails is personal, because being able to do it again represents getting better, and reclaiming parts of your identity mental illness stole, and it hurts.

I’m writing this post because somebody asked me about my approach to creating a successful language learning routine. And I do have a lot of thoughts - but I wanted to preface that post with this one, to say:

If you are reading this to be more productive, if it is becoming obsessive, if you want to fit the most possible language learning into the tightest schedule possible, STOP. Take care of yourself. These tips for ‘productivity’ are for people who want to learn a little bit more about organising their time, and are in the right space to add more learning to their life. If you are only defined by what many hours you get done a day, if that’s what motivates you, these tips are not for you. Look after yourself. 

And on that note, here’s a confession: I don’t have - have never had - a successful language learning routine. Because of what happened, the only way I can keep going and prevent myself from falling into bad habits is if I approach it sideways, if I pretend I’m not taking it seriously, because I know if I don’t things will go wrong. But I want to be honest and upfront because I know a lot of people read my posts for advice and say that this doesn’t work for me. It might not work for you either. I especially know there are a lot of conceptions of successful langblrs with 7, 8, 9 etc languages in the title - that that we spend 5 hours a day on Anki, fall asleep to Glossika, and so on. And it’s especially important to mention now, because I feel like my language learning habits have only started being healthy in the last year or so - essentially since I started actually enjoying Chinese media. I could teach you how to cram every spare second with language learning, or how to successfully pass an A-level in 3 months with no teachers. I was good (and arrogant, and cocky, and needed bringing down a peg or two). But I won’t.

What I do have are succesful language learning habits. Apart from being a generally more flexible appraoch for all learners, the advantage of building successful habits over a fixed routine is that it allows for learning according to different in energy levels, how busy you are, what you find difficult and what else is going on in your life. Most crucially for me is that it is always a much healthier approach, because what I do is not based on number of hours, or number of units a week, or anything quantifiable that allows me to get obsessive again or frustrated that I’m not doing enough. 

Routine is important, especially when it comes to routinising daily tasks. The only thing I have is that sometimes - on good weeks, and once or twice even shockingly on good months - I have a decent Anki streak going. That’s it. I don’t listen every day - I don’t read every day - I certainly don’t do grammar every day. There’s nothing specific I do every day, though I usually rack up a good few hours of immersion or study - to be honest, I fail at Anki probably at least 60% of the time. Everything else - all these tips I have written about - I do as and when. Framing it in such vague terms makes it sound like I must have an extraordinary amount of motivation to keep going, that maybe I’m just lucky to be interested etc, but that’s really not the case. What I have done to keep learning regularly and somewhat successfully (I hope!!) without limiting myself to a routine which I know I will starting obsessing over is tying specific language learning behaviour to certain moods or levels of concentration. 

All routine is just habit. Habit, with a ribbon and packaged nicely. But allowing yourself to adapt your learning to the circumstances gives you more flexibility than any strict routine, and is more sustainable in the long term. What building habits rather than a specific routine does is allow you to learn what works best when, what works when you’re tired, and what is best to do when you have energy, or when you want to watch a show, or talk to people. It puts you at the centre of your language learning, rather than framing language learning as a central part of you. 

So how can we build healthy habits? How can we utilise ‘dead time’ whilst keeping it light, and fun? How can we adapt our language learning for times when we are tired, and stressed? Or what about when we don’t have time to give 100% of our attention or concentration? How can we identify our own strengths, our own weaknesses, and unite these with our personal goals to figure out what to prioritise in active studying, and what to do when we don’t have the energy for that? 

I’ll give my thoughts on all of these over the next couple of weeks, in what I hope will be a comprehensive overview of how best to practice, addressing everything from how to practice speaking to how to start as a complete beginner. If you have any thoughts or interim questions, or if you’d like to add your own experience to anything I have said, please feel free to!

In the mean time - 

chenxi out. 

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 1)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~6800 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! This is a purely self-indulgent work I didn’t think I’d publish anywhere - but ultimately, if just one other person enjoyed this, it’d be worth it, right?. However, all of this is catering entirely to what I was feeling at the time of writing this (I’m the biggest sucker for hurt/comfort). It’s fairly possible the plot seems short on breath at times and even confusing because to me it just… made sense. I had a string of scenes I wanted to write and so I did, if that makes sense.

Now for a more technical thing - I took a fair amount of liberty with all the ‘lore’ that is offered in the original work. I’m a huge high/fantasy fan and I believe you’ll notice with how chakra is used here. Also my personal headcanons for Tobirama, uh-huh. There is gonna be SCIENCE… and science-y work… uh-huuuuh... _______________ He practically flew past the trees. His heart pounded in his ears, but it wasn't exhaustion. What fuelled his movements was sheer desperation. And ire. Ice-cold fury burning against those that had taken from him what was amongst the most precious beings in his life. How could he have allowed for this to happen? If only he had paid closer attention. If only he had been there with you, he'd have prevented this, he'd have protected you - such thoughts were futile now. He wouldn't dwell on them anyhow, he was too consumed with ending the increasingly despairing search for you. They would come back at him later no doubt, but Tobirama would devote every single fiber of his very being to bringing you back to safety. Though he tried not to think of it - he knew, they hardly kept you in a cell only. It only made his blood boil more. The news of your MIA-status had hit him nearly like the death of his brothers had, many years ago. Beneath his feet, the floor had been ripped away for a moment, a punch to the gut that left him breathless. His love, in the hands of an enemy village that was not known for treating prisoners kindly. Your high status in Konoha no doubt aggravated the situation. A woke mind like Tobirama's would paint a gruesome picture of the fate that might befall you, and his stomach roiled. The cruel logic behind the action, the tactical approach - something he himself might have thought of. That made it worse. "We will find her," Hashirama had assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His gaze had fixated on his brother. He clenched his teeth. "Of course we will - I will not rest until she's back here, anija," he had replied, no, growled. A fierce promise which he intended to keep, no matter what. Hashirama was unfazed by the sincerity of the statement. "Neither will I," he promised. Then his brows had knitted in a way Tobirama did not like at all. His brother was about to say something of which he thought Tobirama might not appreciate it. "She is strong, Tobira-", "I know she is," he snapped back at him, "But she will not suffer for a second longer than she has to." Hashirama closed his eyes. "No, she will not." That had been weeks ago, now. Weeks in which Tobirama's desperation had grown by each passing day. Silently he had wondered if he had ever been in more distress to accomplish a mission before. He'd have to go with no. And progress was agonizingly slow. The enemy knew well to hide their traces, and even for his superior sensor skills, the trail was faint. Barely a whisper in the lush forests of the north-west parts Fire country. The sheer difficulty of the task made him almost balk. Almost. The truth was it worried him. He never found himself deteriorating himself in any way before, even when his own life had hung in the balance. The higher the stakes, the more collected he was. But now? Now he felt he was racing against a clock. And time was running out. For even your beautifully strong mind might break eventually. And he knew what happens to enemies that have no use anymore. The thought choked him at night. To never hold your warm body against his anymore - No. He would succeed. They had picked up on their trail, finally. He clenched his teeth. They would not get away. Tobirama just needed a single thread to unravel this knot and then follow it through the labyrinth, back to you. He rose a hand to bring the squad to a halt - composed of his brother and a couple of experienced jonin of the village, all long-standing comrades. Some even from the warring states period. He closed his eyes to touch the ground and send a pulse of chakra through the area, letting his sensor abilities give him an overview of the signatures in the area. Besides the overwhelming presence of his brother right next to him as well as the far more mute team members around, all he found was animals. Except - "To the east." His voice was devoid of anything except steely urgency.He didn't even look back to check if everyone kept in formation as they followed him. Finely tuned sensory skills had locked in on his target; an unknown chakra signature. Humanoid. In an area where no travellers should pass for there were no connecting roads, no villages to visit. It was what had led them here initially: traces of chakra where there should be none. You were here. Tobirama just knew. If only he had branded you with the hiraishin seal. A regret that festered in his heart in a most painful way. How careless. How stupid. He shoved it aside for later. It was useless now. They enclosed around the signature that soon proved to be not just humanoid, but human indeed. Naturally, they wouldn't give up on the element of surprise. And there still was a slight chance this might just be a civilian. A child, even. Tobirama didn't believe that. Maybe he didn't want to. But as soon as they had a line of sight on the target, walking on a narrow path in the woods - he just knew. This was a Hidden Stone Village Spy. No doubt scouting for any intruders near their hideout. Where they kept you. Tobirama bristled with white-hot rage as soon as the target was in viewing range. Almost, he directly lunged for the man dressed in inconspicuous, earthen-colored clothes. Almost. The team had spread around, hidden in the trees. Hashirama beat him to hailing the stranger. "Greetings," he announced amicably, arms spread, trademark smile. How he was still like this was beyond Tobirama. As gingerly as the First approached, as stormy his brother followed - scowling in such a condemning way the man flinched away. "G-greetings," he stuttered, eyes trained on Tobirama who was well aware of what he looked like now. Good. Let that man be scared. He well should be. His armor clanked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowed to slits, assessing. "May I ask, what brings a man such as yourself to this remote area of the Fire country?", Hashirama inquired, ever friendly, slowly enclosing. "H-herbs," the man was quick to answer, still not looking away from Tobirama. Damn, that answer was sensible - almost. "Is that so? Then where are your gathering utensils? Bag? Or did you intend to rip it all out with your bare hands and stuff your pants full of it all?", Tobirama spat back, the undertone of his voice a perfectly fine, icy growl. Hashirama turned around to give his brother an incredulous gaze. Tobirama snorted. As if that was the worst he had ever said. The logic of his argument was sound nonetheless."I-I-I h-h-have t-t-them o-o-o-ver t-t-there," the man stammered, backing off slowly, lip quivering. He pointed to the trees - where some of the team hid. Perfect, Tobirama figured. Hashirama threw both hands up immediately in an apologetic manner. "Oh, don't worry, please! You must excuse my brother," he approached the man slowly, much like a one would a startled animal. The stranger wasn't swayed. He kept backing off. Then, he started to make a run. That was all the confirmation he needed. Immediately, Tobirama snatched a branded kunai from his satchel and threw it after the man with full force, uncaring if it might hit him - and a second later, the world lurched and he landed right beside him, where the weapon had buried itself in the ground. Swiftly, he tackled the man into the side, sending him off balance and into the ground. Another few finger signals later, a shadow clone of his had picked his target up, restraining his arms behind his back with one hand and securing the head with the other. "Tobirama!", Hashirama called out, no longer bothering to hide his fury. Already, he began to run over. Tobirama ignored him. "Search the area he pointed at for gathering utensils!", he shouted, seemingly at nowhere. Then his scarlet gaze was back on the man in front of him, arms crossing in front of his chest again. "Pray they find them," he spat. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Hashirama came to a halt next to him. "There was no need to-" "Shut up!", Tobirama didn't even spare him a glance. His brother sighed again, now in full kicked-puppy mode. Tobirama's anger flared again. He had no time for these antics. They needed to interrogate this man, now, and then continue with the information. "Lord Hokage!", a call echoed through the forest. Tobirama's head snapped around. One of the jonin returned. Kaori held up a satchel - but her mien was grave. A chill ran down Tobirama's spine. Had he made a mistake? His gaze swayed to the man who started to squirm against his clone's vice hold, earning him only a more bruising treatment. "What's in there?", he demanded immediately, ignoring the fact she had addressed Hashirama, actually. She turned the bag upside down, pouring the contents on the ground. Kunai, flares, paper bombs. Tobirama's heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He took a decisive step towards the man who suddenly had become very still. Hashirama backed off. Wisely. "Start talking. Now." A dangerous undercurrent leaked into his icy tone. The man stared back, defiantly. "Fine." Tobirama's patience had worn out. He was by no means a master of interrogation techniques - but he knew ways to amplify the intensity of a mental assault. He'd have no qualms using every bit of his ability on this person. Already, his clone was moving the man towards one of the trees. Brutally, he wrestled both arms above his head while pinning him against the trunk. Tobirama meanwhile had picked up the branded kunai he had thrown after the stranger earlier. When his clone had both palms aligned over one another he rammed the blade through the flesh. A scream accompanied the sickening crunch as steel forced itself past the metacarpal bones. Blood trickled down the arms of the man whose eyes were wide now. Behind Tobirama, his brother and the squad had gathered at a respectable distance. They didn't say a word. Either they didn't dare, or they had accepted one of them had to take up the tainting burden of the acts that were to follow. Tobirama didn't care at all for that. His mien was ice-cold, his glare as threatening as his intent towards the poor victim. He let his clone disappear. His hand slapped down on the man's scalp, closing his eyes. His chakra wound through the man's network like a snake in prey's den. Viciously, the man fought back, but the pain he had inflicted disrupted his focus. Good. Tobirama focused his own chakra to assault the vault with the information he desperately needed - the mind. Distantly, he heard a loud, anguished scream. A shudder went through the whole of the network, another attempt to buck the intruder off and out of his mind. Tobirama clenched his teeth. Already, he knew the man's chakra reserve was far inferior to his own - he might as well be able to simply overpower him much in a way that might best be described as metaphorical curb stomping. But that bore the risk of impairing the information stored in his mind. Very well, then. He reached into his satchel, procuring a second kunai. The man barely had time to register what Tobirama was doing before the weapon buried itself in his right forearm, hailed by another anguished scream that rang through an eerily calm forest. Tobirama stared him dead in the eye with a glance devoid of any emotion as he gave the weapon, nicely lodged between radius and ulna, a twist. A snap was heard. The scream intensified - then it broke off. The man huffed. "I won't tell you anything!", he shouted, panting, face red by the blood that was dripping down. "How very wrong you are." Tobirama sounded perfectly dejected, raising his hand again to once more assault the man's mind. Who laughed in reply."You think that will make me break?", he spat, "You'll never get that bitch back!" He threw his head back, laughing. Tobirama closed his eyes. His head was swimming with white-hot rage. In a moment of weakness, his mind painted deliciously cruel ways in which he might harm this man, kill him even - ways so despicable that for a moment, he was disgusted by himself, even. Distantly, surprised he’d stoop so low. They were just thoughts, anyway. Yet his body became numb besides ire and every fiber of his being felt like bellowing his rage at this man while he mangled his body beyond recognition for the sheer mention of you. "What you're doing to me is a joke compared to what we do to her, day in, day out," he continued then, finishing with the audacity to spit at Tobirama's white fur collar. "Oh, shit," he heard Kaori mumble behind him. Not a second later, Tobirama raised his leg and kicked with full force against the left thigh of the man, aiming for the femur. The snap was audible, the pain amplified by the way he sacked against the impaling hold of the kunai above his head. The scream was harrowing. But Tobirama wasn't finished. He raised his leg again. The right femur snapped just like the left one had, the howls of the man becoming incoherent screams of anguish, paused only by gasping for breath. Cruelly, the kunai had begun to further cut open his palms and his forearm as his legs wouldn't hold his body's weight anymore due to sheer pain. "Tobirama," a voice called out to him. Hashirama. His tone carried a warning. He didn't have the information yet. He needed the information first. He needed to know where you were. Now. With his heart hammering in his chest, he raised his arm again and grabbed the man's scalp again. This time, his assault was different than the first time. Not a pointed stab of chakra after winding his way through his network - this time, Tobirama let his presence suffocate the man from the inside. His network was a mess anyway - the pain was heavily impairing his control of his chakra now and Tobirama's own gargantuan chakra moved over his like a cruel invader, sparing no mercy for how mentally painful this was to him, how he must feel like being suffocated from the inside out by someone else. Distantly, the screams had picked up again. Tobirama let his chakra encircle around the man's mind; the brain - then he pulled closer. And closer. The man must have felt like someone was sawing his skull open. A few more seconds - then it was over. The fight inside stilled completely, and his victim had given in and him free reign to access every memory of the man. A millisecond later, Tobirama halted his assault and began to assess the information. Instantly, Tobirama knew this man's name was Akio, he was the youngest member of the newly formed Hidden Stone village's espionage team. He tossed that aside quickly to rip open the figurative drawer that held all the information about this mission. He knew, then. He knew it all. Where you were kept - what they had done to you. Well, all that Akio knew of. He wasn't one of the interrogators. Through his memories, he saw your face. Anguished, gaunt. But defiant. Alive. There was time, yet. Even though these memories made Tobirama tremble. It hit him with a force that nearly knocked the air out of his lungs simply for how heart-wrenching it was. He opened his eyes again to find the man limp against the bloodied tree. He gazed at his own palm, balling it to a fist. It shook. His heartbeat was all he heard. All of himself was entirely stiff and still from the sheer, utter rage that had completely become him. Again and again, the Akio's memories thrummed through Tobirama's skull, and with them, your screams of pain, your anguish, your whimpers of pain. Slowly, the scarlet eyes settled on the sorry excuse of an enemy in front of him. He didn't feel a shred of pity- "Tobirama!", a stern voice ripped him out of the tunnel of his emotions. His head turned to find Hashirama next to him now. "Enough, brother," he said - no, commanded. His hand had gripped Tobirama's wrist. Slowly, the fires of ire within were simmering down if just by the calming presence of his brother. Objectivity returned to Tobirama's mind, piece by piece. But no shred of regret. Or disgust. Objective accomplished. That he knew. "You have the information, no?", Hashirama pushed again, not letting up on the unmistakable sternness of his own tone. "I do." Tobirama's own voice was calm, collected. In a grotesque contrast to the atrocity he had just committed. In fact, clarity was settling in - his focus restored, though haunted. Perfectly in control, but still driven by desperate urgency. If anything, said urgency had kicked up a notch now.He had his target now. "Kaori, Daichi," Hashirama called, nodding for Akio. "Stabilise him and take him as prisoner back to Konoha." They confirmed their order and began their work. Tobirama turned around, not sparing the man another look. Luckily he also knew the enemy's numbers and their capabilities, roughly, from Akio's memories. They'd be no match for him and his brother, let alone with their jonin as backup. Soon, you'd be safe again. __________ The hideout was - befitting for shinobi of the Hidden Stone village - underground. Concealed so well that without the information coerced out of Akio, it would have been impossible to find. Tobirama had to give them that. But now they did not just know where it was located, but also how to get in without setting one of the deadly traps they had laced each of the two entries with. Smart. Akio had also been so generous to provide them with a mental map of the place, of course - functional it was, a narrow corridor, just a couple of rooms. Sleeping and living quarters, a weapons and supply chamber which also seemed to serve as a tactical planning room - and finally, the place Tobirama felt physically drawn to. The interrogation chamber. Adjoined, a holding cell fitted to be bereft of any chakra. Just another form of sensory deprivation. He could barely restrain himself from rushing in there full force and eliminate any obstacle in his way. He knew in this very moment, this very second, you were down there, suffering - and the thought wound around his chest and squeezed until his breaths came uneven and his heart stuttered. Until he believed to be in physical pain. But Tobirama also knew how precarious the situation was. The team had gathered at a respectful distance to discuss their plan. Time was running short. They soon would search for Akio, and if they so much as caught a whiff of their presence, you'd slip from his grasp again as they’d flee. Or worse, they might kill you. Tobirama would sooner die himself than allow for that to happen - the mere notion let the blood freeze in his veins. At the very least, it did well to reign himself in. Still, his mind, one thing about the course of action was clear. No mercy. At the very least, they were enemies to the village. "We can easily overpower them. Use the element of surprise, and be fast in and out. I know their numbers and capabilities, roughly." Tobirama crossed his arms in front of his chest. His face was drawn in a deep frown. "That is correct," Hashirama answered evenly, holding his brother's icy glare. Probably the only person around here to do so with ease, Tobirama found. His patience for more faint-hearted had been long gone. "But you mustn't forget that Y/n is down here too-" "I assure you, anija, I am not," Tobirama spat back, knuckles white from how hard he gripped the fabric of his undergarment on his arms. His nostrils flared from the sharp breath he took, offended his brother might even think he’d forget this. "They could use her as a living shield." Hashirama was completely unfazed by Tobirama's hostility. He probably had gotten used to it at this point, in a pitiful way - his brother's predicament pained him as much as your fate did, Tobirama knew. After all, Hashirama was the gentle soul out of the two of them. That wouldn't extend Tobirama's patience, but still. "And you seriously think I don't consider that?", Tobirama huffed, through clenched teeth. Desperation was leaking into his voice more than anger did. The team held a respectful distance at this point. "There is no other way, Hashirama." "There is," he replied far too quickly for Tobirama's liking. "Enlighten me then, please." He took a deep breath, seemingly well aware his next words will not sit well with his younger brother. "We offer them to leave for their home if they release Y/n without a fight." Tobirama's eyes widened. "You must be joking." The mere notion - "After what they did-" he scowled - his voice low, dangerous. The all too familiar rage was roaring within him again, his heart pounding high in his chest. "You haven't seen what I've seen!" his voice bordered a shout, as much as secrecy would allow for right now. Without ever having wanted to, he had taken a step towards his brother, arms outstretched. They were trembling again. He balled his fist. What on earth was Hashirama thinking? "It would be safest for her," he replied evenly, not backing off a single inch. His calmness was unnerving Tobirama even more. He actually seemed to consider this a good plan - "Safest? Safest? What if they slit her throat before my very eyes to let her see me fail her ultimately? Did you consider that in your clever approach?!" Tobirama's voice had risen in volume, but even now, he was aware they were to be hidden still. But the mental image was burned into his mind, now. Your eyes - panicked first, then growing dull as the realisation of being forsaken kicked in. And then, lifelessly gazing at him. That was almost too much for Tobirama to take and the white-hot rage burned so intensely, it felt as unbearable as the thought of losing you while being so close to getting you back. The thought of all the agony you had gone through. Hashirama took a decisive step forward then, placing a hand on Tobirama's shoulderguard. "We won't lose her, Tobirama," he spoke with such conviction, Tobirama was glad to latch onto it if just to escape the dark place his mind was at now. He needed to focus. For you. He shook his head as though to free himself of emotional turmoil, momentarily. "They're still enemies to the village, trespassing in our protected country and guilty of torturing our own. We cannot let them go unpunished." His baritone voice nearly shook towards the end. Hashirama pondered before he sighed deeply. "Very well." Tobirama took a deep breath, then crossed his arms again. "We will use what means of surveillance we have at hand to locate each of them before entering. Preferably when," he cleared his throat uncomfortably and forced himself to speak the next select words neutrally and calmly, "Y/n isn't being tortured. They won't be as close to her. Then we incapacitate them swiftly before they can get to her. The hideout is small. It should be easy to corner them before they can get to her." He needed to take a few more deep breaths, closing his eyes. A hand rubbed over his forehead and happuri absent-mindedly. This plan had to work. It just had. Tobirama wouldn't compromise more, anyway. Hashirama nodded then, turning towards the squad. "Everyone heard him. Let's go." Surveillance proved to be more difficult than they had expected. With Akio's information, they knew how to approach, but the hideout was secured from sensory scanning, of course. Which meant Tobirama was as good as blind, unless he got inside. That was out of question. It turned out their only means of getting inside views were the bugs of Hoshiko Aburame, who was more than eager to show off her newly joined clan's capabilities. And amazing they were, Tobirama found. Not half an hour later, they knew the enemy currently kept to the living quarters of the underground hideout, and the interrogation chamber was empty. You were in the cell, just as expected. The news made Tobirama's heart stutter again, but he reigned himself in quickly now. His focus was required now, even though he itched to rush in there like he never had before. You were right there, alive, breathing. Alone, suffering. He wanted nothing more than to save you from all that, posthaste. Frankly the timing was just too perfect. They had to act now. And they did. Swiftly, and without mercy. They split in two groups to enter the hideout from each entrance, dancing around the traps like only a member of the Hidden Stone shinobi team could. When Tobirama heard their voices, their laughter from the chamber - he saw red. But much more than to punish them, he wanted to take the other turn - through the interrogation chamber, to your cell. Hashirama had explicitly forbidden him to. Tobirama knew, too - the enemy needed to be subdued first. You were not being tortured right now. He needed to be calm and logical now; his help was needed in the fight - you just needed to hang on a little longer. Just a tiny bit. He was almost there, with you again. The battle inside the chamber was atrocious as one might expect from such close quarters and a force such as their own. Tobirama's water release mowed through their earthen defenses as they tried to use the surroundings to their advantage with their expert knowledge of Earth jutsu - though quickly, he had to give way to his brother's wood release lest he'd flood the chamber completely. The squad each had engaged with an enemy personally, the clashes of blades echoed through the room, incantations were shouted, chakra released left and right. No matter, he figured, he was still lethal enough without his water release. With his ice-cold burning ire, he lunged for a very particular enemy: the shinobi he knew had been responsible for your torture, mostly. He just needed to recall Akio's memories of you: what they had done to you, what you looked like. Tobirama's precision was meticulous and deadly, in every way. Later, those who bore witness to the fight uttered words of fright for how the First's brother had been back then - a stern reminder never to cross this man. Tobirama's precision to kill was ruthless, chilling. Parrying maneuvers of his target where punished not just with a clash of metal but the slicing of muscles and nerves. Undeniably he did not just fight the torture master - his target was punished for every mistake in this fight. As soon as the opening for a kill offered itself, Tobirama struck without mercy. The blind rage started boiling inside him more, numbing his body to a point he was sure he wouldn't feel anything despite ire anymore. And the deep desire to get back to you. This battle was taking too long. All throughout it, Tobirama kept his sensory skills trained on the whole underground complex - and especially so on the door that led outside, to you. He would not allow for a single person to leave this room and make a run for you, or outside for that manner. Not that anyone got the chance. Soon, the Stone shinobi were decimated to a number far smaller than the Konoha team, and they realised they were being overpowered - swiftly. But there was no escaping any more. Briefly, Hashirama had entertained taking them prisoner prior to starting their assault - much to Tobirama’s annoyance. Lethal force would be simpler and faster, he argued. Another team member, Taro, had made a more sensible objection then - he doubted they'd surrender and it was questionable if they would manage to subdue them if they didn't. Well, trust Hashirama to make it possible anyway. With his wood release, he managed to ensnare them, an unmistakable sign to the rest of the squad. Fine, then. They might hold valuable information, anyway. Tobirama turned around on his heel to do what he had been wanting to do from the start. He broke down the door towards the interrogation chamber with no grace, clenching his teeth when he laid eyes on the inside. There was a table fitted with restrains - and blood. Dried blood. Your blood. His throat went dry. A flickering gaze wandered over the walls where various tools were stored, all of them kept in neat shape. Drills, saws, irons - he closed his eyes. He couldn't - he didn't want to see that anymore, now. His heart hurt, his body trembled again with sheer rage. How could he allow for this to happen in the first place? He opened his eyes again, bearing the ache the sight brought him. Briefly, his scarlet eyes wandered left and right to find more utensils: drugs. More refined tools, possibly to inflict damage to the chakra network of the victim. Various vials filled with substances, very possibly used to alter perception of reality and make a person more susceptible to torture. Bile rose in his throat. Enough of that. With a few decisive steps, he rounded the table to finally find himself in front of your door. He stared down at his shaking hand before he opened it. He was sure his heart would jump out of his chest at any moment now. The door swung open inaudibly. The room beyond was just illuminated by the dim lights coming from behind Tobirama. When his gaze found you again for the first time in weeks, he nearly fell to his knees. You were curled up in the far corner of the tiny cell, dressed in rags. Your form looked far too delicate - far too gaunt. You were shivering, your hands covered your face and your head. There were bruises on your pale skin. Tobirama swallowed a heavy lump down his throat. A prickling sensation formed in his eyes. He blinked. Wetness rolled down his cheeks. He wiped swiftly at it with his sleeve. "Y/n," he spoke, incredibly softly, entering slowly, as though you might disappear if he were too hasty. He, who was covered in blood - his fine fur collar ruffled, sprayed red. The epitome of violence. You stirred. Flailed. Slow at first, as though you had to work through a haze. To hear a voice beside that of your tormentor - it must frighten you, or so Tobirama thought. Your gaze - your gaze was the worst. It was wide-eyed, devoid of your lively spark. Haunted. Tormented. The ache inside his heart was a physically painful sensation now within his chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks again, but he did not sob. All that ran through him was the fine tremor of despair; of having finally gotten you back and yet being confronted with the reality of your capture. Tobirama knelt down near your side very slowly, just in arms reach but at a respectful distance yet. Frankly he wanted to sweep you up in his arms, kiss you and never let go of you again - but he knew better than that. Recognition had not yet settled into your gaze again. There was fear in them. It continued to feed into the ache inside his chest. It was them - they had done this to you. "Y/n," he whispered your name again, tenderly, in a desperate hope of waking your memory. Your gaze was wild as you straightened yourself against the corner, boney knees tucked towards your body as quivering hands steadied yourself. "N-No...", your raspy, quiet voice stuttered. The abuse it had suffered was evident - for quite some time, you had done nothing with it but scream, Tobirama concluded. His teeth clenched down so hard, his jaw hurt. More tears smeared his facial paint. "I'm here, my love," he finally stammered out. Your eyes glistened. More violent shivers ran through your body. Tobirama subconsciously shifted closer. He needed to comfort you, to hold you - to do anything to ease your discomfort. To help you out of wherever your mind was right now. "I- I've broken, have I?", you suddenly croaked, "They gotten into me, now they're using you to torture me-" - you threw your head back against the stone wall with an audible thud. The sound made Tobirama shudder - that must have hurt you. But it was nothing compared to your words - he understood now. You thought he was part of a genjutsu. The cruel, cruel logic behind that - his eyes wandered downwards momentarily, and he couldn't stop the broken huff that snuffed out any sob he might have made. In his crouched stance, he wiped his palm over his face. You, his beautiful woman, the love of his life - in shambles, all due to his incompetence to keep you safe. He drew a ragged breath. All he now could do was to make up for it by getting you away from here - making you realise he really was here - and keep you safe now. Ensure you'd heal. "No, my love," he answered finally, letting his own agony break into his voice that had become a husky whisper while two scarlet eyes gave you a sad, sad look. "This is real. I'm here, you're safe now. It's over. You're safe now." Signing the genjutsu release in here was pointless - the room was designed to be void of chakra. In fact, Tobirama had not even noticed when he entered - he had been too concerned with you. That realisation now was disturbing - how careless of him - but he very much felt deaf in here for his sensory skills were blocked. No chakra would leave his body, at all. It was an oppressive feeling. To think you had been in here for weeks - You kept staring at him with wide eyes. Uncertainty had settled into your gaze. Tobirama knew he needed to keep leading you out of the darkness now. He inched closer, very slowly. His glance he kept locked with yours, attentive of any sign of fear or hesitation. The last thing he wanted to do was overstep your boundaries now. You remained still. Finally, he was right beside you, kneeling. He was shaking again. As were you. "T-Tobirama...", your abused voice whimpered, the question in your tone tormented him. The magnitude of anguish the whole situation brought him pushed him to a point where wondered how he could handle it - bear it - other than soldier through and simply ignore it for now. What he knew was he had to get you out now and start to move things along. "I'm here," he repeated, "I'm real. You're safe, now. All right?", he raised his shaking hand slowly to lay it on your far too bony shoulder. Your body was agonizingly cold under his palm. "Y/n," he downright whimpered, relieved for a brief second when you did not flinch. Your gaze drifted down onto the hand he had put on your shoulder. Incredulous. The first gentle touch you had received - in weeks. "Tobirama...", you whispered again, now laced with more than uncertainty. There was pain in it. Not the physical kind - the emotional kind. The despair of your struggle to believe all this, to allow yourself to know this to be true was showing. And Tobirama grew increasingly desperate alongside to make you believe this - to end your suffering as fast as he could. His own pain would endure far longer, he knew. That didn't matter, though - his aching heart could wait, if it only meant you were safe. "I will get you out, okay? May I carry you, Y/n?", he asked in a hushed voice, as gentle as he could. When you didn't reply but also showed no sign of refusal, he let his hand slide over your neck slowly to grasp around your shoulder while his other arm reached out to tuck under your knees. He never broke eye contact again. Yours, however wandered to your own body. It shook again - a mixture of temperature and quite possibly the same reason Tobirama himself shook, he deduced. His protectiveness flared even more. It was only when you felt gravity shift towards him and up from the ground that you whimpered - and flailed slightly. "N-no-", you suddenly whispered, shaking your head and the unkempt hair on it. But Tobirama didn't want to ease up now. He just needed you out of this terrible room to make you see he was real and end this nightmare. "Please, Y/n," Tobirama countered immediately, "Trust me." He practically implored you at this point. Your flailing increased. "D-don't," you whispered, your eyes wide again, lip quivering. "I can't," you wheezed, "No more, please!" Your thin arms pawed at his chest armor as he rose to his full height slowly. Your body was far too light in his arms. Your gaze shifted to the open door slowly, the fear becoming painfully apparent, but Tobirama's eyes would never leave you. Realisation dawned on Tobirama then. And once more, he felt as though he nearly doubled over by the implication of it - what your real issue now was. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n, nobody is anymore," Tobirama choked instantly. "We just need to get out here, I can't use my chakra here, neither can you." he tried to reason, unsure of how much that would get through to you. He took a slow step towards the door, though the pain inside his chest made it difficult when he saw your reaction. "Please," you croaked, the fight becoming stronger. He had to close his arms around you more firmly just so you wouldn't wind out of his hold. "Nothing bad is going to happen anymore, Y/n, I promise," Tobirama whispered over your sobs. Then, he opted to take the two steps out of the cell into the damned interrogation chamber - back to where chakra could be used. You were near screaming frightened pleas for mercy then, a sound that would haunt Tobirama. But it was over the second he carried you into the other room. In that very moment, Tobirama let his chakra graze over your network already. But not before he muttered: "Release." His voice bore some relief - the crooked, defeated kind. You stilled completely then. Your eyes were back at his face, he held your gaze evenly while his chakra wrapped around yours, much like a blanket on a cold winter's night. The familiarity of the sensation - to hold you and to feel you in such an intimate way at the same time - Tobirama nearly had thought he might have never have gotten another chance to. For all his determination of the past weeks - the danger had been near suffocating him. But you were here now, in his arms. "You're safe, Y/n," he repeated, over and over. "I'm here." His eyes were glistening again, as were yours. Stray tears fell on the rags they had dressed you in. Tobirama pulled you closer to let your forehead rest against his happuri for a moment. He closed his eyes to drink in the sensation of your chakra intertwining more, feeling you. Stilling the ache in his heart, quenching the rage that had roared in him for weeks. The both of you feeling one another. "Tobirama... I thought -", you finally began, your voice finally more than a hush or a whimper. Still raspy of course. But... more yourself. You had begun to come out of the proverbial darkness back to him, again. The relief Tobirama felt made his knees weak. "I thought I'd never see you again," you finally whispered. Slowly, he pulled his head back. He swallowed. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. It was all he could say right now. But there was so much more he wanted to say. Your head slipped from his forehead to the side of his neck. Exhaustion seemed to be getting to you, too. "I'll keep you safe, Y/n," he let his arms wrap around even tighter, for a moment worrying if he might bruise you. You didn't protest though. Tobirama felt you couldn't be close enough to him now. Your frail hand reached up for his fur collar, fingers winding through it, gripping it, then sliding to the side of his neck. You didn't speak anymore. He shuddered for how cold it felt again, but it only served to make him feel more determined to take care of you now. It was Hashirama who disturbed the moment. The relief was written over his face, though his eyes were wide when they first settled on you, then on Tobirama. "Let's go home," Tobirama then announced, sighing.

[phoenotopia]

The Last Phoenotopia Blog Update

(Date 2021 MAR 01)

I debated how to open this blog post, but perhaps the main crux of this blog post is the best place to start. The blog is being retired.

The purpose of this blog was to be a "development" blog for Phoenotopia, and well, Phoenotopia's development is done. I'll still be doing bug fixes and maintenance on the PC and Switch versions, and playstation and xbox ports are underway (by a publisher). But I'm not going to be making any more major changes to the game. At some point, you put the paintbrush down and say it's done. Blemishes and all.

Recent Events

The game launched on Steam last month, and like any launch, it was hectic. Bugs Galore. This is our first commercial PC launch, so it was a real baptism by fire. Unlike Switch's one configuration, the PC has multiple configurations and factors to account for. The game needed to be able to handle multiple control schemes, screen resolutions, refresh rates, and more! I had a 60Hz monitor going into launch and didn't know anything about Hz (I do now). There was a troublesome stutter that some players were sensitive to that my whole team didn't notice since our eyes compensated it away. There were a few times where in fixing something at one party's behest, it introduced problems for another party. A few times, due to disorganization, I unwittingly rolled back a fix that was meant to be applied. For some, the game couldn't play at all (really glad Steam allows refunds).

It was messy. It was tiring. I.AM.BEAT.

I think the worst of it is over... I'll still be around to do the last updates and bug fixes, but I'm ultimately ready for what's next.

SO what is next?

What isn't next... is Phoenotopia 2. As you may have heard down the grapevine, the game couldn't be what you call successful. No one's earned even minimum wage on it.

Maybe there's hope in the game's long tail. A year or two down the line... maybe. I won't hold my breath though. At some point in the past few months, I finished processing (or grieving) and it's time to move on.

The game has at least earned enough for us to continue our modest operations. As long as we don't expand the team, and we don't take another monster six-year dev cycle like what Phoenotopia took, we can continue. We'll have to be smarter and faster. Perhaps the most valuable thing we gained from all this is experience.

The Experience

It is a dev blog. Here are some of the lessons I've accumulated from this game's development.

- Have a good menu design. Menus aren't just that in-between fluff before you get to the good stuff. Menus are KEY. Your menus need to be robust, expandable, and *understandable* (to you, the developer). Because once the game's out, you will invariably be asked to add more options. And if your menu design is bad, every time you have to add a new menu option, it becomes a whole new pain all over again. Support mouse from the get-go, etc.

- Focus on features that people will actually care about. For instance, I've never seen anyone praise the camera's zoom feature. In practice, people try that feature a few times and then never use it again. But that feature was a constant consideration factor for every level. Run through it multiple times to make sure the level didn't break, think about which zoom levels made sense, resize rooms because they worked at one zoom level but not the other, and so on.

- Don't do boxes that you can move around. Other 2D platformers avoid movable boxes because they're a huge headache to program and they really complicate the game space. Enemies need to respond to boxes you throw in their path and either navigate around or attack it. When you're moving the box, you have to worry about constantly changing your collision size and reconciling when the box gets snagged on the environment. The boxes were also a constant source of bugs because people can manipulate them to soft-lock themselves and more.

- More focused script. Phoenotopia's 100,000+ word script was panned more for being bloated than it was praised for being lengthy. Long scripts take a long time to write and make the game more unwieldy, increasing the costs of translation and upkeep. Every update we're addressing some textual error or mistranslation. There are some highly renowned games (e.g. Hyper Light Drifter) that do without a script at all!

- Be flashy! A bat and a lightsaber take the same amount of work to program, but the lightsaber will draw a lot more attention and interest.

- Slopes, surprisingly! Six years ago when I started, Unity was ill-equipped for 2D games. If you used the physics that Unity provided you'd have a really floaty character that wouldn't adhere to the slope when going downhill. There were a hundred different tutorials saying different things (use forces, use move position, use translation, etc). You can get rectangular collisions done in a day, but to do slopes took weeks. Meanwhile, games can actually get by fine without slopes. Most people won't even notice. Did you know the Phoenotopia flash game didn't have slopes? Neither does Hollow Knight or Rogue Legacy. You can save yourself a lot of work by avoiding slopes.

(big entities look weird on slopes. Bad slope!)

I could write enough little knowledge nuggets like this to fill a book! But I'd rather just make the next game. 

So… what IS next?

As mentioned previously, it's not Phoenotopia 2. Pirate and I are mostly just tossing some ideas back and forth right now. We'll go silent for a year (or two). Our next game's scope will be more modest in some ways, more ambitious in others. It will definitely be more smartly designed. (There will be a map!)

We'll announce it when it's ready for the public. It might be necessary for us to do a kickstarter. I've tried to avoid kickstarters having been burnt on quite a few myself and also because I worry that mismanaging a kickstarter would earn the ire of backers.

But I did keep this blog regularly updated for six years. So I've gained some confidence in my abilities to at least manage a kickstarter well.

Is it really the last Phoenotopia Blog update though?

Okay, not really. There is some news that I'll need to announce, and this blog is one of the game's main outreach channels. Here are the events that will cause me to update the blog:

Announcing the launch of the xbox/playstation ports when they're ready

If a physical edition of the game happens

If a new language is getting introduced into the game (Korean is a high possibility)

When we're ready to talk about our next game

If (BIG IF) we begin development on a Phoenotopia sequel. I do want to do a sequel one day if we have the means and the demand is there. 

Those updates will be more on a "when they happen" basis, rather than me reporting in every couple months.

Fan Art

As always, I'm very happy to see fanart of Phoenotopia. Major thanks again to Pimez for collecting all the artwork from the corners of the internet! Since this is the "last" blogpost, Sir Pimez can finally take a rest from collecting the fanart :P

ÆV made a series of pictures that tell a story. A Pooki is humanely sheared of its wool to create a hat. The Pooki is unharmed. Nice! Gotta love Gail’s expressions.

Amagoo Mazeru makes a stunning landscape shot of a full moon and shooting stars. It’s a sharp and clear vector art. I like the faint glow of the moon and the fire and the subtle gradient in the night sky. Very skillfully done!

Hah hah. I got a chuckle out of this one. I imagine this is how Gail's enemies see her by the end of the game. CaESar made this image based on TerminalMontage's famous youtube videos. Nailed it!

CrownStar drew two pictures of Gail. I'm a big player of JRPGs, so the first shot instantly reminded me of Persona 4's art style. (Hmmm... Phoeonotopia as a JRPG... there’s potential there...) Next, Birdy is shown carried off after her defeat. I really like Birdy's expression here - she just seems mildly uncomfortable.

There's a bit of a story behind the first image. As Firanka shares it, she wasn't able to defeat the Big Eye monster at the end of the flash game, so she believed a tall tale that what awaited after was a 6 armed Kobold boss. Hilarious! The second is a rendition of the lonely Anuri elder. A rare subject. The loneliness is portrayed well here. I feel lonely just looking at it!

Koo_chop draws the clash between Gail and Katash at the top of the towers. I really like this interpretation of the game's art style. It’s faithful to the in-game graphics. And the lighting, from the glow of Gail's bat, to Katash's sword, and the lightning in the background... Amazing!

Lime Hazard shows Gail with a salute pose. Very appropriate for this occasion. I also like how there's a slight tilt in the angle that Gail is portrayed. Those dynamic angles are always hard to get right, and Lime Hazard pulled it off very skillfully. See you next mission!

Lyoung0J with a digital painting of Gail posed sitting on a rock. I like how it almost seems like she was caught in a candid moment - she’s smiling, but also feeling self-conscious. Cute! The art style really pops, and I like how Gail is sporting what I call the old anime style nose. 

MyUesrNameIsSh*t with a sketch of Gail performing a skillful slingshot. I like how Gail is depicted with her tongue out in a mischievous manner, the way all mischievous people with slingshots do.

Niitsu Kentaro returns with a 2021 Happy New Year picture. That happened didn't it? A New Year... Gail's pose gave me a chuckle with how she seems to be waving the bat around as casually as one would wave hello. And "Phoenotopiyear"... Well said! One day we'll have our Phoenotopiyear...

Ochan Nu breaks all records with a stunning NINE pictures in one session :O

There's so many goodies here. My favorite would be the one with Gail staring intently at the screen - it's like she's looking directly at you. You almost feel uncomfortable.

Next, there's an Animal Crossing villager dressed as Gail and sporting her pink hair. It even looks like a house Gail would live in. Gail is a connoisseur of the arts and likes Mona Lisa. Yes :)

There are various comics of Gail pointing out Gail's weird food habits. A picture of Fran looking really cool, and even Gail rocking a bathing suit. (bathing suit image linked here in case NSFW). Wow!

Pimez didn't just collect the arts, he creates them as well! This one, which he aptly named 'The Year 175' is a depiction of when the dragons invaded the towers as told by an elderly Daean woman. Great pixeling skills! I got a good chuckle from the ice dragon leaving with its stuff slung over its shoulder.

Quo made a stunning picture of Gail playing the flute surrounded by the 5 musical notes and the Phoenix logo behind her. The theme seems to be "fire" and it works really well. Gail herself looks awesome depicted in her red suit - it's like she's leading a marching band!

Rai Asuha depicts Gail in the late game with her red suit, and night star bat, and holding a lamp. She looks ready for adventure! I really like the white outline here and Gail's poofy shoulders here - the art style feels reminiscent of Final Fantasy Tactics.

Seri also draws Gail bearing her late game equipment. Unique to Seri's drawing is how all of Gail's equipment is accessible from a pocket on her shirt. I also like how Gail is depicted with her lucky earrings - that accessory is often forgotten.

Treedude depicts Gail with a bat and wearing a funny smirk. She looks like she's ready to hurt someone!

Warotar returns with everyone's favorite Great Drake, Bubbles! It seems so happy to be featured!

I'm really grateful for all the fanart this game has received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Closing Notes

Pirate drew a picture to mark the occasion. It shows Gail enjoying a hot chocolate with marshmallows and a pumpkin muffin. A rest well-earned...

Goodbye! Until next time!

[mademoiselleseraph]

Do I really think this would make Catherine better or do I just want it to be more like Perfect Blue?

AU where Vincent is an aspiring actor still trying to make it big at age 32. He has talent, dammit, but he never seems to get the right auditions at the right times. He's lost more than one job over prioritizing his potential acting career and is lucky that Orlando got him a job with a little more leeway at his workplace.

He does love Katherine-with-a-K, but he'd be lying if he said their relationship wasn't beneficial to him and his ability to chase his dreams. She's paid his bills a few times and she honestly doesn't mind if she'll pay his bills for the rest of their lives, she just wants something to show for it. And honestly, it's worrying that he wants to do something where so much can go wrong and he isn't even insured. Katherine herself got into fashion by designing otokoyaku costumes for stories that would make great Takarazuka shows when the should have been studying. The first conversation they had was about the performance arts. She wouldn't ask him to give up his dream but would it kill him to be more realistic?

The first night out with the guys we see has Vincent tell them that he went to audition for Romeo in a production of Romeo and Juliet. But they were hoping for someone younger and prettier so he read for the part of Paris instead. When Toby admits he didn't actually read it in school, Jonny explains that Paris is the romantic rival. Vincent scoffs at this, objecting that Paris is the one Juliet doesn't want to marry, and would rather die than marry. Toby responds with a sympathetic "ouch."

When the mysterious Catherine-with-a-C shows up she makes a point to mention that she has connections. Helpful connections.

And after waking up with her in his bed and no memory of how she got there, he gets a call from the theatre company. They went with someone else and he apologizes for wasting their time but the director on the other end says their sister company is casting Hamlet and they put in a good word for him as the title character. It would suit him much better than Paris. He thanks them profusely and writes down the address and time so he can make it. He'll have to cancel plans with his actual girlfriend Katherine, but she'll understand.

You don't get suggested for Hamlet after being a Paris so sub-par you don't even get a call-back. It just doesn't happen. Something's fishy here. And yet... maybe that girl had something to do with it. She did have connections, didn't she?

And so it goes. Vincent goes home and passes out after a night at the bar, seeing the same girl every night. He finds himself exposed, clawing his way to the top of a shaky tower. He can't stop or get too comfortable or it will fall from underneath his feet. Sometimes he has to push others down to get there. He wakes up next to that girl he can't remember saying yes to or inviting home and he finally starts actually landing the roles he tries for in tv and film. They're not leads, but the characters are named and have a good amount lines and personality.

Jonny mentions that his girlfriend is an opera singer, and discusses plot points in Faust, her current production, with Vincent, who studied Goethe's version of the tale in college. They talk about nude witches and smutty metaphores involving apple trees, and of course, the betting of one's soul.

Toby describes Vincent chasing his dreams as inspiring. Vincent wonders at what point does inspiring mean desperate and pathetic, but in a cute way.

Erica and Vincent were in a Greek tragedy club in high school that cast the characters "the traditional way" and Vincent remembers taking the role of Jason in Euripides' Medea so Erica could play the title role. He jokes that she didn't seem offended at them letting her perform and she says they just weren't used to girls that looked like her then.

Two questions relevant to Vincent's role as Hamlet show up in the confessional. One is "who's responsible for the king's death?" The answers presented are Claudius, which leans toward order and Gertrude, which leans toward chaos. The other goes "Did Hamlet have a hand in Ophelia's demise?" The answer "he's not guiltless" leans toward order and the answer "it's not his fault she's sick" leans toward chaos.

The best ending for Catherine-with-a-C involves everyone at the bar wondering what happened to Vincent and catching a news story on the tv that he's set up to become a star like few others after showing up out of nowhere and landing roles that should have conflicting schedules left and right. He sounds like a pig in the interview, saying it's all about the connections and sometimes connections have nice legs and a waist you can wrap your hands around and that he's not looking for love but child support would take care of itself if his career keeps up like this. Everyone shares their disdain, hates his shades, and Jonny states that he'll give Katherine-with-a-K a call to make sure she's okay. We cut to the other Catherine sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbing Vincent's hair and saying, ever so sweetly, "I'm still your number one, aren't I?" And he leans in to kiss her, whispering "Anything you say," before his lips touch her neck.

In Katherine-with-a-K's best ending, Vincent mentions signing on to play the neighbor in a family comedy. It's not prestigeous and it won't get him any awards, but it's a steady paycheck, and they've even given him some creative leeway. The deal with his character is that he's head over heals with a lady way out of his league. He suggested that she could be a missed connection from high school, career-oriented, in the fashion industry, and named Katherine. They've accepted all this input. His girlfriend is touched by this and when they get married he declares that she'll be a bigger household name than him, and he can't wait to be known as her husband.

Rin's best ending involves him being a producer, yes, but any movie Rin composes a score for is contractually obligated to offer Vincent a cameo. By the time he dies he's sure people will make compilations of the cameos, construct elaborate theories of them all being the same universe-hopping character, dedicate memes to him, and the like. His legacy will be people on the internet having some harmless fun.

The Neutral ending has Vincent publishing a memoire of that week of nightmares, dedicated to "The two women who taught me what I was not and the person who saw me for what I was. I still think about you, Rin." He's well aware this won't be received as nonfiction, and so he's working an a manuscript for a fantasy novel. There's a hero and a dangerous tower and a god with ill intentions and, well, you'll have to read it to find out what else.

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. At the end of the day, I do love fluff! ♥

Words: 1642 Warnings: fluff! but it gets a little smutty at the end

“Ugh, work sucked, my day sucked, everything sucked! I hate my life!” Indignantly, you kicked your bag with a pout after dropping it to the floor carelessly. A muffled thump echoed through the dark flat. You sighed. Loki never bothered to switch on the lights once it got dark outside. He had almost given you a heart attack the first few times he had surprised you in the pitch-black hallway.

“Now, now… whatever is the matter, little minx?” Loki was leaning against the threshold with his arms crossed.

“Would you mind turning my boss into a frog?” You suggested, a bitter smile playing on your lips. He raised an eyebrow as he smirked in response. “He’s making me cover my colleague’s shift on the weekend. I’ve not had a single day off this week! Does he… does he think I’m a machine?! I’m exhausted and you guess what? I was supposed to be on holiday next week. He postponed it all the way to June. I’m pretty sure that is illegal. We had plans!”

“And have you told him that?” He questioned when you gasped for air.

“For Heaven’s sake, no! He’d have me fired in an instant.” The God of Mischief frowned.

“Can he afford to do that, losing an employee? You told me you are currently the only full-time worker.” Loki knew little to nothing about work life on Midgard but he was a fast learner. You nodded.

“Exactly, that I am.” Tired, you leaned your forehead against his chest and closed your eyes. His heartbeat was calming—even more so when he wrapped his arms around you. “And if I kick out against him, he’ll find two dozen people to hire who will not. That’s how work life works. I’m replaceable.” It was a bitter life society forced you to live, come to think of it. You were about to get your period for sure—Loki seemed to notice the tears swimming in your eyes without even looking at your face. Mutely, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into the bedroom. He could be so sweet and gentle and with you, he always was, even in bed unless… unless you requested otherwise. He was still in doubt about showing you his most primal side, especially when he lost control and revealed his Jötun form to you during sex… but you loved it. You loved him. All of him.

“Why don’t you find a workplace where they appreciate what you are doing?” He suggested gently, sending tingles down your spine as he stroked your cheek with his fingertips—a light touch, like the wings of a butterfly. Smiling up at him drowsily, you curled up on his lap like a kitten. Loki purred in response. So vulnerable… you made him downright possessive. He would positively kill everyone who ever dared harm you physically or mentally, slowly and intimately. Perhaps he should heed your request and turn your atrocious boss into a frog or even better, a rat.

“I need the money, Loki. This flat costs money, food costs money, insurance costs money… I didn’t grow up as an Asgardian princess, remember?” Sighing once more, you snuggled into him. You were far too lazy to take off your clothes. Maybe Loki would undress you once you were asleep. “Sometimes I really feel like I should be a stripper. Life would be much easier that way.”

It was then he arched an eyebrow, pushing you an arm-length away from him so he could face you again. “Now, whatever is a stripper, little minx?”

You giggled. “You don’t have strippers on Asgard? Well, probably not… strippers dance in nightclubs or more specifically… adult amusement clubs—and throughout the night, they keep losing more and more clothing until they’re dancing entirely naked.”

“In front of whom?”

“Everybody. They take money for that, and tips. Maybe that’s what I should do.” You joked. Nevertheless, Loki stiffened.

“That is absolutely out of the question. The only one you will ever strip in front of is me.” He argued seriously, making you giggle once more.

“Don’t you worry, Trickster. I’m all yours.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “That you are…” In fact… a wicked idea came to your mind. Loki had quite obviously never seen a strip performance—and here you were, sitting on his lap and relaxing after a long day at work. What better way was there to distract yourself than to drive the God of Mischief a little crazy with lust and desire for your body? There was only one issue: You had never done anything like this before. How would you know if you looked seductive or plainly ridiculous?

In any case, Loki elected to simply take that decision from you. Gently pushing you an arm-length away from you yet again, he smirked—devilishly. “Strip for me.”

“Excuse me?” Raising an eyebrow in feigned indignity, you watched him cock his head at you.

“Strip for me.”

“But… I don’t have any music!” You complained half-heartedly. What followed was Loki waving his hand and your phone started playing one of your favourite songs—perfect for a little dance performance for him. “Oh…”

You rose with a shy blush on your cheeks. Maybe you were not as badass as you thought you were but then again… this was Loki. The man, pardon, god, who even found you sexy and alluring with greasy hair, chipped nail polish on your toes and an oversized sweater on a lazy Sunday.

Still, when you started peeling off your shirt, you wished you had put on some sexier underwear today.

“God, this is so stupid…” You uttered with a giggle, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“Oh no… this is ravishing. Keep going, little minx. I want to see all of those clothes coming off of that lascivious body.” Loki leaned back, fingers crossed behind his head and his mischievous smirk widening. His boldness made you brave. Grinning at him despite your timidity, you undid the buttons of your trousers and slid them down your legs, making sure to move your hips along with the rhythm of the music until you could step out of them, and then tended to your bra. You unhooked it casually but held the cups in place so you could slip your arms through the straps. Loki’s blue eyes widened when you finally dropped it, all the while dancing seductively. Your breasts, nipples hardening from the cool air around you as well as your growing arousal, bounced with every movement. He was already breathing heavily—but so were you.

Demandingly, his heated gaze wandered up and down your body until it came to rest on your knickers. The silent message was clear—they had to go. Once again slowly, you rolled them off your legs until you could step out of them, leaving you entirely naked in front of him.

Gosh… this was hot! You kept dancing, always making sure to make use of the body parts you liked about yourself the most—you even kneeled down at some point, revealing your glistening petals to him.

“You know… sometimes, for a little extra cash, strippers will dance on someone’s lap…” You mused as innocently as you could muster.

“Hmm… be my guest, little minx.”

Smirking a little, you sneaked towards him, making sure he would remember every single step to admire your naked skin. You were trembling by the time you straddled him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support as you tried to copy what you had seen in films, moving and circling your hips, arching your back… you felt so incredibly sexy it was almost surreal and soon enough… soon enough you were riding his thigh, whimpering quietly all the while still moving to the music playing in the background and turning your dance into something else entirely. If you didn’t stop…

“Keep rocking.” He growled darkly. You resisted the urge to moan when you noticed the wet spot that had formed on his leather trousers. He grabbed your hips when you stopped, urging you on to continue. Breathing heavily, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders as your arousal kept climbing up into dizzying heights, driving you closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm. That was exactly where Loki wanted you to go. Biting your lower lip, you rubbed your clit against his thigh, picking up the pace until you were on the verge of climax, ready to fall into the abyss. He wrapped his arms around you tightly when you began to shiver, pleasure electrocuting your veins like a hot lightning. You came on his thigh, muscles contracting again and again until you had ridden out your relaxing high—and relaxed you were, wasting not a single thought on your job or your annoying boss anymore.

Tenderly, almost as if he was worried you would break like a porcelain doll, he lifted you onto the mattress and tucked you in all naked before joining you swiftly, switching off the lights and pressing a light kiss to your temple.

He was hard when he pulled you into his embrace, almost painfully so, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside your core—but that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, you were exhausted and you needed sleep.

“I turned off your alarm clock.” He announced quietly.

“Loki, no, I have to be up at six tomorrow.”

“Your boss has just received notice that you are ill and will not make it to work tomorrow. Mental exhaustion is a reason for sick notes as well, my little minx.”

“Wait, how did you even… oh, you know what, never mind...” You fell asleep on him before you could even begin with starting a half-hearted argument, with a content smile on your face.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my  first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would  appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[khaleesiofalicante]

Okey sooo, here I am again 😂

I´m late cause yesterday when you published it, I was on my way to sleep. I may not have the healthiest lifestyle, but I just started school last week and they have been giving so much homework and projects. All my classmates make daily jokes about quitting (obviously we don’t, but they are still funny) And it was actually perfect for me cause just yesterday I had to fulfill all the chores I had been procrastinating about and I was like “Fuck, I’m going to miss the chapter” but YAY!! I DIDN’T!!

Ok, now that I have complained enough, let’s get into this (I will try to keep it short)

“It means something that is majestic,” David had smiled at her. “Or someone magnificent. Royal.” “Like what?” Selena had asked. “Like warlocks,” David had said instantly. “Oh!” Selena had beamed. “Like Magnus! He always looks so magnificent!” “Sure,” David had said, his ears pink in the cold. “That’s who I was thinking about.” (We all know what he was thinking 😂😂😂)

I would like the mundane illnesses to be more addressed, It’s so important and now I’m getting worried

WHAT THE FUCK???? THEY INVITED THE COHORT???

“Cortana is not a toy!” Mom told Lexi. “I’m going to have a talk with Emma about giving children swords to distract them.” (EMMA!! YOU CAN'T GIVE SWORDS JUST TO DISTRACT CHILDREN!!! 😂😂

A PUPPY!!! This is the cutest shit i have ever read. DORIAN GREY!!! THAT’S SO FUCKING GENIOUS💙💙💙

"Anjali did look like an angel. But not an ordinary angel like any other shadowhunter girl. Anjali was different. She looked like a fallen angel – all anger and chaos" (THAT GIRL IS A BADASS)

KIT AND ASH!!!!PARABATAI!!!!! NEED I SAY MORE? And Kit runs the London Institute??? Fucking perfect

“Is that the cohort?” Selena asked, her voice a whisper. “No, that’s a bitch.” “Izzy!” Daddy exclaimed as he covered Selena’s ears. (I mean… she is not wrong tho)

"Everything about him was regal" Loved how she described it. I LOVE ALEC LIGHTWOOD-BANE

"Downworlders forgive. But they never forget." I just-wow

My Lightwoods let no one disrespect their husbands!!

“They called me a freak too,” her mother spoke. “Insult our children again and I will show you what freaks can do.” FUCK YEAH CLARY. RESPECT. MY QUEEN

Maybe even closer. Like Uncle Alec and Magnus - cause one of them was a warlock! And they always gave each other dopey looks. 😂😂 Oh god, i love them so much

He walked away and they all followed him. People followed Rafe where he went. It’s simply how things worked.(My baby being such a leader is simple *chef kiss*

"Is anyone else creeped out by this?” Max whispered.- Me fucking to buddy

“What did you call him?” Max asked, his voice low. Selena smelled a faint hint of burnt caramel in the air.( OH GOD. YESSS. NO ONE INSULTS DAVID)

“If people call you a freak, it means you are doing something different. Something bold. Something small minds will never be able to think of. So, it’s not an insult. Don’t forget that.”

“Some people don’t like women in power.” “Why not?” “Because women get shit done.” and “there is no wrong way to be a woman.” THIS??? HOW DO YOU ALWAYS PUT SO MUCH TRUTH IN YOU FICS???💙💙)

HOLY FUCK!! THAT END WAS EVERYTHING!! I LOVED IT. I LOVED THEM ALL SO MUCH I SOMETIMES FORGET THEY ARE NOT EVEN CANON

Conclusion: We all hate Zara Dearb****. TMI gang are superior and their children are superior. End of discussion💙💙💙

That last paragraph. I agree. A fantastic conclusion. 10/10.

[frogsandfries]

Feeling detached (?)

The graphic novel is feeling messy--trying to get it in a "lower content" kind of version, something that I can publish a little faster online, because on average, I can actually ink about a frame an evening (lately I've been eeking out this part that's a lot more detailed), and I can basically trace my linework into a cleaner version on consistent "paper" (I have two different sketchbooks right now, and I've been trying to use up some paper that I've had laying around, so that's three different papers and then sometimes, there are smudges and smears). Obviously tracing my own lineworks, I can do something like five an evening, if that's all I do.

Somehow it's Friday again. Since I decided that I need to finish this diamond painting so it'll stop taking up space in my closet, I've been spending Friday nights just obsessively placing crystals. It's a big boi-o, at 85cm, and I'm bad at getting the crystals to go on straight, plus with the type of adhesive it is, even checkerboard doesn't help straighten them like on a poured glue.

Anyway. So I have over a hundred frames that I can convert into some nice linework art for like WebToon or whatnot. I'm obviously not going to just sit there and catch up the digital lineworks; I'm going to do them whenever I feel like doing them. Mostly, I obviously just want to start the new year with enough pages (and now I'm thinking these pages I'm working so hard on are not quite big enough for the webtoon and similar crowds). I was thinking five frames, three times a week in January and then twice a week for literally just a couple months. But if I increase the strips to ten, I might have to do twice a week for the first month, once a week for the second, or maybe just post like five strips at once and drop to three strips every two months? I'll have to see how things are going. I kind of want to drop the first issue on WebToon within the first six months, and maybe let people know they can show their support and check out a physical book of the art.

That would give me about six months to start working on issue two, if people like issue one, and then the six months that I'll try to post issue two, to work on the low content for issue two. If I want to post that in six months, if I have about fifteen ten-frame strips, I could post twice a month...... However....... maybe posting the first issue in six months isn't quite the best move? I do want people to have enough material to get interested in the story..... I'd like if people who would like to see the story in full color could go do that.... I just don't want people maybe getting the wrong idea? I did draw the great, great majority of the linework for issue one in under a year, even with work and errands and coloring, so I can do the linework, no problem. Even less problem when the frames are easier, which most are. I definitely want cushion for major illness and frames that make me ask how long I can spend procrastinating.

So I just have, y'know, all these loose ends hanging out there. Then there's the matter of really plugging through these more difficult frames that I've been struggling with. And I have lineworks that I'm struggling with as well as colorworks that I'm struggling with, so it's fun feeling like everything is hard.......

Obviously, I'm technically not supposed to have my phone on me while I'm at work, but I do my job well, when there's anything to do and there's little to do right now. So since I'm bored, depending on what I'm doing, I've been flipping between trying to work on linework, and coloring. I guess maybe that's why my project feels like it's getting messy.

I don't presently, actively need to work on more lineworks other than to just keep the style as consistent as possible and to keep the story moving forward on at least one of the many, many levels. Not to mention, it's kinda the point, but the low content version is going to rapidly outstrip the fully colored version. Naturally. But still.

I do love the way it looks fully colored. I don't think I would pass that up. At the same time, if between having to work and spending as much time as possible on the graphic novel--I can't reliably outsource ALL my chores, we've had a lot of trouble with just getting car rides and groceries, not to mention, in our situation, it's just easier to do the garbage and laundry and dishes. Not to mention, I am obligated to leave the house occasionally. If only for my sanity. It's just going to take time. About fifteen months. Y’know.

I don't know if detached is really the right word. It feels out of my present control. It feels messy and like there's too much to juggle at one time. It feels like I've spent too much time on these frames--they're little mini-story frames, one frame broken into four segments, and there are two frames dedicated to the story of the founder, and two for the evolution of the school, and I was trying to keep it visually interesting enough while still simple and informational enough......... I hope. I'm gonna check with my one and only beta.

I think it's the depression speaking. I just don't know where to begin with this thing, I partially want to hold off on coloring for a while, or at least finish this volume, get it published, and then maybe just focus on working on the linework? At least with the linework out of my way, I could give more of my attention to coloring. I think I'm also making a little more trouble for myself by even mentally breaking off issue one from issue two, rather than treating them like the same story.

Either way, it's always so exciting in the first place to see the lineworks, and it's exponentially more exciting to see the colored frames. I don't know why I didn't just do this in the first place.

[oneweekoneband]

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages.  (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time. 

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. 

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift,  she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.