#it's that the things that are happening are more linear and out in the open

[awesometrollingman10]

Understanding the Spectrum

[Image ID:

Understanding The Spectrum. An arrow points to a masculine-presenting character, reading “Introduced by Archie!” Archie is holding his hands together. His eyebrows are raised, and he’s not making eye contact2 with the reader. He has small, oval-shaped glasses; his short hair is parted down the middle, and he wears a shirt with a folded collar over long pants. Throughout the comic, Archie does not make eye contact with the reader2 and does not open his mouth. Dialogue bubbles from Archie read, “Language can be confusing for me. It takes me longer than the average person to process conversations. And although I am good at making conversation, it can take me longer than normal to respond.” Next image. Archie holds up a finger to make a point, but he’s looking down at the floor2. His mouth is closed. He says, “But, neurotypical people find language confusing too. And it can lead to some people misperceiving who I am.” Plaintext reads, “I hear alot of people misinterpreting or misusing the term ‘autism spectrum’. So for Autism Acceptance week, I decided to make a comic to help explain the term and how it affects things. Archie is one of the reasons I became so interested/knowledgeable in autism (I like to go all out in research when I write characters for comics n such) so he’s the one presenting everything! The rest of the comic is under the cut, because I don’t want to spam ^^;” Next image. Archie appears confident. He raises his eyebrows, closes his eyes, and raises his pointer finger higher. His mouth is in the shape of an upside-down V. He says, “That is why I would like to explain what is meant by ‘spectrum’ when we talk about the ‘autistic spectrum’”.

Next image. Archie says, “Sometimes when people think of this word, they think of the autism spectrum as being like this:” He points up at a spectrum in the shape of a line. The spectrum ranges from a pink “Not autistic” point on the left to a purple “Very autistic” label on the right. He says, “A very linear ‘spectrum’ which gives the impression that people range from being ‘a little autistic’ to ‘very autistic’.” On the other side of the image, Archie changes to a questioning pose and says, “Hm. How can you be ‘a little autistic’? It’s that vague language that I always find confusing.”

Next image. Archie is being held up by his shirt by a giant hand, with the forearm out of frame. Archie dangles over the same “line” spectrum as before, from pink to purple. The hand looks like it’s deciding where to place Archie on the spectrum. Archie says, “The problem with thinking of the spectrum in this way, is that a perception of an autistic person also becomes linear.” The person on the other side of the hand says, “You’re only a little autistic, Archie.” Archie says, “Hm. I still don’t understand, can you be less vague?” The hand says, “You’re able to have a normal conversation with me and act pretty normal! You’re not severely autistic.”

Next panel. Archie still does not make eye contact with the reader. He puts his hands up to the sides of his head, “...And so you see, if someone thinks you’re on a ‘low end’ of this spectrum, this often happens:” Next panel: The hand’s forearm is still out of frame. The hand pushes Archie toward hand-drawn words on the right side. Each hand-drawn word has a font choice that is either intimidating, confusing, hard-to-read, disorganized, or a combination of each. The person with the hand says, “Archie, you can handle all of this just fine, you’re not that autistic.” From top to bottom, each hand-drawn phrase reads, “New situations.” “Too much noise.” “Lack of routine.” “Smart” in all caps. “Tight clothing.” “Loud conversations, all at once.”1 “Don’t stim” in all caps. “Don’t fidget.” “Be more organized!”

Next image. Archie bobs his head back and forth and covers his ears in distress. He has speech bubbles, bordered with increasing squiggliness that read, “Ah.” “Ahh-” “Aah!” “Aaah!” Text behind him in all caps is covered beneath the other text on the screen. Orange speech bubbles from off-screen read, “How can you be tired? Everyone does this every day. You’re just being lazy.” Another bubble reads, “Wow you’re being so over dramatic, get over it!”

Next panel. The same hand holds Archie up by his shirt over the same linear spectrum from “not autistic” to “very autistic.” The person with the hand says, “Woah, you’re more autistic than I thought. I’m gonna re-label you on this spectrum…Since you’re very autistic, I don’t think you should have a job, just to be safe, y’know?” Archie still does not make eye contact, and speaks to the reader, “And if you’re seen as being on the ‘high end’ of this spectrum – it can lead to some people labeling you as being incapable of doing anything at all.”

Next image. Archie has a confident posture. He says, “The truth is though, someone who is neurodiverse in some areas of their brain, will also be no different to your average person in other areas of their brain.” He is holding his hand out to a circular graph of the autism spectrum: “You see, the autistic spectrum looks something more like this.” The circular graph looks like a color map, with each color corresponding to different phrases that surround it. Next image. Archie is pointing up at the same color map, still not making eye contact2 with the reader. Arrows point to different coordinates on the circular graph. An arrow points to the phrases that surround the circle: “The spectrum consists of many different ‘traits’ or way in which the brain processes information.” These traits are, “language,” “motor skills,” “sensory,” “executive function,” and “perception.” Another arrow points at a coordinate in the “motor skills” category, closer – lower – to the center: “Some traits create difficulties in everyday life (hence being diagnosed).” A third arrow points somewhere farther – higher – than the center: “But also many traits are useful in everyday life.”

Next panel. Archie says, “Each person with autism will have a set of traits all in different areas of the spectrum. The areas where they don’t have a trait will function no differently to a neurotypical brain, but may be affected by circumstances. For example, I am good at making conversation (language), but I get sensory overload in loud and crowded spaces, which then makes conversation very hard for me.”

Archie says, “And so, another autistic person might be very happy in loud crowds, but find conversation hard in general.” Archie is pointing at an example of an autistic person. They are holding the color map like they’re turning a wheel. Their eyes are closed, but they’re still facing the audience. They look happy. They say, “You could say I’m just a real ‘party animal’!”

Next panel. Archie holds his hands together like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands2. He continues not to make eye contact with the audience2. He says, “You can see with this spectrum then, that not every autistic person has ‘savant skills’. Or that someone who can’t communicate verbally might still understand what you’re saying, but just need a different way to communicate, such as sign language.” Next panel. Archie holds up a finger to make a point, but it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his other hand2. He says, “It shows how not every autistic person acts the same way, and we are all capable of varying strengths and weaknesses.”

Next image. Archie smiles and holds his hands close to himself, in an expression of hope. He says, “Sometimes, if someone is diagnosed as being ‘on the spectrum’, and informs another person of this, it’s so that they can get some understanding and respect for the things they are unable to do. But, it is also so that they can cooperate with the world around them- so that they can be the best in the things they can do.

Next panel. Archie continues looking hopeful, and holds the color wheel in his hands. “I hope that in the future, people will better understand the term ‘spectrum’ and continue to respect the differences and similarities we all share in how we experience the world.”

What follows is the plaintext at the bottom of the post: Last but not least, some explanation for anyone unfamiliar with some of the language used...

Neurotypical = the majority/average brain, in context to this a non-autistic person

Neurodiverse = the opposite, but some people use this term to refer to more then just autism, things such as dyslexia, adhd etc.

savant skills = being extremely good in one area of thinking, I guess the most common one is being extremely good at math and having a perfect memory.

Also, my depiction of ‘the spectrum’ is simplified (to be used as a starting point/simple explanation), if you look into it there are alot of different traits or factors that make up the spectrum!

Edit: Loads of people have asked if they can have a print version of this comic so they can share around schools/family/friends, so here’s a high quality print version (pdf):

I fixed the spelling mistakes too, thank you for pointing them out XD Thank you sooo much for sharing around, I’m real happy the comic has been helpful/been so well received!

./End image ID]

Image ID’er’s notes: 1 This phrase is hard to read. 2 Another classic symptom of ASD.

Understanding The Spectrum

I hear alot of people misinterpreting or misusing the term ‘autism spectrum’. So for Autism Acceptance week, I decided to make a comic to help explain the term and how it affects things. Archie is one of the reasons I became so interested/knowledgeable in autism (I like to go all out in research when I write characters for comics n such) so he’s the one presenting everything! The rest of the comic is under the cut, because I don’t want to spam ^^;

Keep reading

[greenerteacups]

I think I read somewhere that you haven't outlined book 6 and 7, but I was just curious out of all the seven books which one would you think will be the longest in Lionheart? GoB is my fave so far but then again I said that about every new books I read when it came out

I am proud to report I have much stockier outlines for them now! They are Growing. Book six in particular is a doozy, I think it's 3,000 words and that's just the major beats. Book 4 is actually bigger than Book 5 will be, if I can stick to my projected word counts (she said, with teeth gritted), and if all goes according to plan for 6 and 7, then Book 4 will remain the longest — it's just doing so much to set up where everyone is in the second half of the series, and it's a tonal transition point for the books as well, so in a sense it's doing the most work of any installment.

[shimmershifts]

an open letter to those who have not yet shifted.

i don't know how many of you will see this, let alone how many will read it entirely. this letter is for those who have been trying to shift for two years, five years, more. those who cannot give up, and those who will not give up, and maybe even those who already have. to preface, this letter will not rehash everything you already know. you've scrolled every forum, you've seen every method, you've read every tip. you've trialed, and errored, and persevered... but you're still here. law of assumption, manifestation, belief, intention. but you're still here. you've been told all about shifting... right? you already know what shifting is... right? you should already know how to shift... right? but you're still here.

this letter is not intended to debase or invalidate those who do already believe in those things and who are satisfied with that. this is for those who have been trying that way for 2 years, 5 years, and more, and still haven't shifted. this is for those who might want an alternative perspective.

what you've been told

in my personal opinion, the online shifting community as it currently stands is very... rigid. narrow. there are a few dominant views, and then the many who drown out any possible dissent or disagreement. i do understand why this happens. reality shifting is already a marginal belief, hounded by anti-shifters and disbelieved and debunked on all sides, so it makes sense that people feel the instinct to close ranks at any sign of an outsider. unfortunately, this has led to a community that raises its hackles at even other reality shifters who simply don't believe the exact same way that you do. law of assumption. manifestation. intent. (and dare i say it, the multiverse.)

i don't believe in any of that, in the context of shifting.

now, wait! don't go yet, stay with me. it's okay if you do. i'm not intending to change the minds of those who already believe in these things. i'm not going to go at anyone and say "i'm right, you're wrong, and you must change your mind to agree with me!" that would be silly, and counterproductive. let's lower our guards, and extend an olive branch, please. if you feel these things serve your journey, then carry on. you're allowed to disagree with me, i won't be upset. you're allowed to think i'm wrong, if you want. literally no worries at all.

but i am a little tired frankly of certain ideas being treated as the only options, and often in a rude or hostile manner. if you are someone who has spent five years trying to shift, and you see yet another post that boils down to "all you have to do is want it hard enough" does that not hurt your soul? the following sections of this post are for those who these ideas have not been working for. for those who have not yet shifted. it's been two years. five years. more. and you're still here. are you open to another possibility?

what is reality shifting?

i've told you what i don't believe, but what about what i do? i'll try to keep this as concise as possible for the sake of brevity and comprehension, knowing i could potentially clarify in future posts. but please continue with the understanding that im a chronic overexplainer, and my curse is the fact that the extra words don't always actually increase understanding. bear with me.

reality shifting: broadly speaking, this refers to shifting your linear experience of reality from one, to another. this has been known by many other names in the past, across continents and cultures, even in pre-agriculture societies. i'd include ideas like persistent realms, quantum jumping, focus 21, etc. language is subjective, and people may describe or understand the same experience in different ways.

i believe reality shifting is a haphazard side effect of our limited ability to perceive and comprehend reality. let me explain. space, as we understand it, is three dimensional. but reality isn't. it's our bodies and minds limiting our perception and understanding that makes all of reality seem that way to us at surface level.

1D: let's consider a hypothetical one dimensional existence. everything would a straight line, and the only way to perceive anything else would be as a single point directly in front or directly behind you. forwards and backward. the 2D and 3D are beyond your limited ability to physically sense or feel, let alone to comprehend. Forget about the 4D (time). due to your lack of comprehension, you cannot move at will in two dimensional planes, let alone three dimensional space or even time. you are static, a single point.

2D: let's consider a hypothetical two dimensional existence. it would be a flat, infinite planar expanse. you might be a square, or a circle. you can move freely in two dimensional directions (forward, backwards, side to side), but not in the 3D. No up, no down. If you tried to perceive a three dimensional object, you would only be able to comprehend it as linear, a line on the horizon where it intersects your 2 dimensional plane. you would perceive the 3D as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it. the 4D, or time, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

3D: what about our three dimensional existence? congratulations, you now are a form, such as a sphere, or a cube. you can move freely in a voluminous, infinite three dimensional space. Forward, backwards, side to side, up, and down. if you *try* to perceive the fourth dimension (time), you can only comprehend it as linear, a line where it intersects your 3 dimensional space. You perceive it as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it yourself. any dimensions higher than that, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

quick 4D sidebar: clearing this one up now because this will confuse some of you who are involved in other communities. in many law of assumption and manifestation communities, "4D" has been used to refer to your imagination, inner world, a bridge to "higher vibrational states", etc. i don't use it that way. i use it in the sense of the mathematical concept, or linking three-dimensional space with time. 4D=time.

4D and 5D: so, time is the fourth dimension. that means it is four dimensional, yet due to our limitations as 3D creatures, we can only perceive it as linear. we perceive it as moving around us, without our direction, forwards, (or backwards in some cultures). what about the 5th dimension? the static one? the one we can only perceive one point of at a time? let's call this 5th dimension... reality. due to our limited perception, it may not seem like it, but time and reality are just like space in that all of it exists at once. if you were a 5th dimensional creature, you wouldn't see a bunch of different realities, you'd just see one the way we just see one 3D universe around us right now.

tip: think of it this way, if a three dimensional creature moving through time is only able to perceive it linearly, it may think that each point of time exists separately, passing by in chronological order. this would be like a character in a book, the character experiences each page one at a time as we turn the page. but we know that actually, the entire book exists all at the same time, and already did exist before we picked it up and started reading it, and continues to exist even when we set it down. the same is true of time, and reality. even if we perceive it as linear, or a point, all of it actually exists simultaneously, like space.

still, we can only perceive one point of reality at a time. i believe when we reality shift, we are by some freak of nature (or nurture) finding a way to trigger a "movement" in this "5th dimension," and therefor shifting our linear experience of time and our singular perceptual experience of one reality to another. ("movement" is a bit of an abstraction here, as movement generally refers to 3D space. you're not actually moving anywhere, you're already there, you just... can't see it at the same time as this.)

ok, so how the heavens do i shift?

if you read through all of the above, i assume that's what you're asking by now. "get to the point shimmer! how do i shift?" if you don't need intention, belief, assumption, manifestation, three gallons of water, crystals, or anything else then what do you need to shift?

if we boil shifting down to its absolute core, all you need to do in order to shift is to shift. (put down the pitch forks, and the flaming feathers and tar. i'll elaborate.)

shifting involves finding a way for us 3 dimensional creatures to trigger a shift in a dimensional direction that we do not have the capacity to perceive. so what i mean by "all you have to do to shift, is to shift" is that there is no physical movement, or secret password we can whisper that makes us shift, not inherently. it's sort of like being told to find your invisible and non corporeal primordial tail, and then swish it in a direction that doesn't spatially exist. find your "move in the 5D button", and then press it. except, there is no button.

so how do we "move" from one point of reality to the other? well, the first clue to this is in noticing what part of us is actually doing the "moving".

you don't make it happen with your three dimensional form. there is no body part or mass or motor function in your 3D body that triggers a shift. there's nothing that allows a three dimensional form to move in five dimensional directions... you just can't. your body stays here. that's good news actually, in my opinion. there is no need to force yourself into strange bodily positions, or chug water, or whatever else. your 3D body is irrelevant, because it's not going anywhere. you don't have to do anything with your body to shift. some people can shift awake, asleep, in the shower, walking around, etc.

you also don't necessarily do it with the fourth dimension, time. there is no specific amount of time that you'll shift after. it might seem you've spent a lot of time trying to shift, but the actual shift itself is instantaneous. some people shift their first try, and some of you might be on your second decade of attempts. again, the time factor being irrelevant is good news because this means it doesn't have to take time.

i also don't think we do it with just intent or belief. the intention word gets used so much it basically means nothing, but the general idea is that intent is the driving force that manifests your desired outcome. in the context of shifting, people use it like "set your intention to shift, and you will" or "intent makes you shift." or the dreaded "you just have to believe harder." personally, i don't think that's true. i don't think intention makes you shift. if it did, you all would have shifted by now, right? i think looking anyone who's been trying to shift for 4 years dead in the eye and telling them they just haven't intended to shift yet is honestly a bit cruel and unusual. some people who intend to shift will shift, but in my opinion, its a case of correlation, and not causation. there are also people who shift without intending to, or who intend to shift but don't.

it's also not really our thoughts that shift. or our mind as a concept, or our entire self. we know this because you don't turn into a comatose vegetable when you shift to a different reality. your thoughts, mind, and self here are unaffected by your awareness shifting away from it. if you successfully "permashifted" to hogwarts tonight, your self here would still wake up in the morning and go to work.

so what does shift? only our linear experience of our own awareness. so in order to reality shift, we just need to find a way to trigger our awareness to shift from one point of reality to another in a non linear fashion, and then integrate that into our linear experience. aha! you think. great! now how do i do that...? unfortunately, this is not an exact science (yet.) once you begin shifting regularly, i think it gets "easier" in some regards because you get a sense for how your awareness "feels" and what works for you. for those who haven't shifted, i can't say "take three deep breaths and recite the secret words, and then you'll shift." there is nothing specific you can physically do that will for certain make you shift. there's no secret passwords.

there is no key to shifting. the good news is, this means there is also no lock.

what we can do is get ourselves primed, into a state that increases the chances our awareness is triggered to shift. ie, find the "move in the 5D" button, (you know, the one that doesn't exist) and learn how to press it. and because it is our awareness that shifts, my "methods" have to do with priming your awareness for shifting. you don't need to believe, which is a good thing because it means doubts won't hold you back. you don't necessarily need to intend, which is a good thing because it means there are no secret blockages in your way. no "subconscious", no "reprogramming", no "delusion is the solution." you don't need any of that. you also don't have to do anything specific with your body or space unless you feel like it and want to. you don't need a script, but you can make one if you want. it's whatever, it's irrelevant darling, it's non-consequential.

these three methods below basically encompass all shifting methods out there. i might expand on techniques for these methods later, but for now i'll go over the basics.

method one: pure awareness

it basically boils down to two steps. get into a state of pure awareness, and then shift.

the first step for this method is actually a simple one, sort of, but i think it's unkind to call it easy. it can be easy, if you just happen to have a perfect technique that works for you on your first try. if so, congrats! if not, don't despair. it comes more naturally to some than others, at first. you can probably build the skills and try different techniques necessary for you to get there.

but what is pure awareness? it's currently very often being called "the void state", but i'm not using that term for a few reasons. one, i think using the term "the void state" or calling it "the void" is making people think it's some sort of place that they're trying to go. it's not. it's not a physical place at all, and that's kind of the point. most of the time, your awareness is perceiving reality through the confines concept of 3D reality, because that's the data input it's receiving from your brain and body. that grounds you in this reality, and allows you to go about your day to day life. your goal with the pure awareness method is to focus on just your awareness, absent of all 3D distraction data and input. that way, your awareness is primed to be triggered to shift its focus to the 3D perception of a different point of reality when you come out of that state.

i might make a post about techniques for getting into the state of pure awareness, but this post is already long enough.

method two: destabilization of awareness

this method gets over complicated, but it basically boils down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift.

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, "symptoms", and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift.

method three: absence of awareness

sleep method gang, rise up. i'm serious. this method involves reducing your awareness to zero, or as close to it as possible, another potentially prime state to trigger a shift. (and by sleep method, i don't mean lucid dreamers or SATS, i mean simply going to sleep here, having a period of complete unawareness, like totally dreamless sleep, and then waking up in your DR.)

this absence of awareness during sleep is (in my experience) the most common cause of accidental or unintentional shifts, but you might be one of those who can trigger a shift to desired realities with this too.

sleeping is not the only way to get to the state of the lack of awareness. i'd say total distraction methods also count for this. you're not asleep, your body is awake, but you're so "zoned out" (or alternatively in a meditative state such that) you're absolutely not aware of the 3D experience of this point of reality anymore.

this is completely different from the state of pure awareness by the way, because in the state of pure awareness you are aware. like, in pure awareness you have a full train of thought and total control. the absence of awareness is the opposite. it feels sort of like a "blip" where reality time and space passed you by and you were not aware of it.

[hrrtshape]

How to stop checking 3d no glue no borax

how to stop checking 3d?? no glue, no borax, no spiritual snake oil, just the facts.

right, so, you want out. you want to stop checking 3d like it’s a stock market crash, like it’s a renaissance painting where, if you just squint hard enough, the divine truth will reveal itself. you want to stop, but you keep doing it, and now you’re here, which means you are both self-aware and in trouble. let’s fix that.

let’s diagnose. checking 3d, whether compulsive, casual, or full-tilt existential crisis, is a symptom. you are looking for proof. confirmation. a wink from the universe that everything is working, that your assumptions are correct, that the metaphysical postman hasn’t lost your order. it’s like shaking a polaroid before it develops: you think you’re helping, but you’re just interfering.

here’s the brutal truth, courtesy of every dead philosopher worth their salt: reality doesn’t care if you check. schrodinger’s cat is going to be what it’s going to be whether you pry open the box or not. your job, if you actually want to stop checking, is to stop thinking you’re the forensic analyst of your own existence. because you’re not. you are the architect. and architects don’t micromanage bricks. they draw the plans and trust the builders.

so, the method. no glue, no borax, no manifesting mala beads necessary. just strategy.

i , replace the action :  every time you catch yourself checking, do something else. immediately. drink water. text a friend. recite some poetry (preferably by someone dramatic, like plath or pound). make this a rule: if you check, you must also perform an arbitrary task, like doing a plank or translating a sentence into latin. you won’t like this. that’s the point. your brain will get bored and stop the cycle.

ii , reframe the impulse :  checking is a power move in reverse. you are telling the universe you don’t trust it. that’s embarrassing. stop doing that. act like someone who already has what they want, because people who have what they want do not spend their free time poking at the logistics of their own happiness like it’s a faulty ikea table.

iii , refuse to engage with time :  checking is a byproduct of impatience. impatience is a byproduct of thinking time is linear and oppressive instead of weird and malleable. ignore time. pretend it doesn’t exist. pretend you are a 14th-century aristocrat who has never seen a clock and moves exclusively by candlelight and gut instinct. the more you detach from time, the less you will care about what happens when.

iv , control your narrative intake :  what you consume, you become. if you’re constantly reading anxious forum posts and scrolling through tiktok videos of people catastrophising, congratulations, you’re marinating in doubt. stop it. read things that make you feel powerful. read war strategy. read virginia woolf. read a single wikipedia article on some obscure form of combat and let your brain steep in the idea that you are the general, not the foot soldier.

v , become so interesting that you forget to check :  this is the most important step. if your reality is boring, you will check on it like a neglected houseplant. make your life impossible to check on. fill it with distractions so lush and decadent that you forget to care. become the person who is too busy living to investigate. read difficult books. learn weird skills. get obsessed with something obscure and ridiculous (medieval astronomy, japanese joinery, renaissance poison recipes). make your brain so occupied with living that it forgets to spiral.

last thing, and this is crucial: trust like it’s your job. because it is. trust is not passive. trust is an active, radical decision. the moment you commit to trusting, fully, unflinchingly, with the audacity of a gambler pushing all their chips forward, you become untouchable.

so go. don’t check. do something better.

[403tarot]

HOW TO BRING LOVE TO YOUR LIFE?

close your eyes and take a deep breath to choose the photo that calls you the most. take what resonates with you and leave the rest. answer in keep reading <3

PICK A PILE!

PILE 1

you have high expectations when it comes to love. even if you haven’t experienced great romantic adventures, you believe in love and deeply long for it. you expect love to arrive with a grand entrance, like the person destined for you will come with confetti and a flashing red neon sign above their head. besides that, you might have the false idea that love should be linear.

the reality is that you need autonomy to go after the love you want to experience. the perfect prince or princess is unlikely to just fall into your lap while you stay at home or turn your nose up at everyone when you go out. give love a chance to happen. don’t lower your standards, but recognize that people can change and adapt to you, and that in itself is a sign of love. go after what’s yours; take initiative instead of just waiting for it to come to you!

PILE 2

you are someone who, in recent times, has developed a strong sense of opinion and distinct personality traits. you may have used a particular event in your life or even the new year as a way to change how you act and think. however, your emotional side still needs healing before you’re truly ready to enter a relationship. you might have difficulty recognizing and valuing love, even if it were right in front of you.

you have internal battles to resolve. you might be dealing with inconsistencies or uncertainties about your future, and that disrupts the balance of other areas of your life. you need to prepare your emotional foundation so you can fully embrace love when it’s ready to come to you. strengthen your self-esteem, individual goals, and mental well-being so that your love path can open up again.

PILE 3

you've been through experiences that made you close yourself off when it comes to emotions. loss of trust, frustration, disappointment, or past situations have caused you to withdraw and shift your perspective on love. you’re not sure if love is really meant for you, and you might even wonder if your cupid got lost along the way.

even so, love is very close to crossing your path, and that’s why you need to open your heart so this person coming into your life can find you. pay attention to the signs and the movement happening around you this year. work on yourself internally to become more open and less hesitant when someone approaches you, and reclaim your autonomy in love. love is going to come to you shockingly faster than you expect.

PILE 4

you’re not sure if you really want to be in a relationship. you might have moments of loneliness, but when you think about it, a relationship could mean a level of commitment you’re unsure you can maintain. maybe you’ve had a rough history in love, like a painful breakup or a situationship that shook your confidence and openness to relationships. it’s possible that you haven’t fully healed yet.

the cycle of suffering is over, and it’s time to leave what happened behind. not forget, but not let those things become obstacles in your path. you don’t need to be in a relationship to experience love. allow yourself to connect with people. don’t focus only on seeking relationships, but give value to meaningful connections. not every encounter has to lead to a relationship. let yourself live freely and embrace new adventures. your mind needs rest.

PILE 5

there might be someone around you who has feelings for you. whether you suspect it or not, or whether this person has revealed their emotions yet, it's likely that this will come to light in the near future.

this might be someone you don’t currently see as a potential partner, but they genuinely care about you and will show concern for your feelings and well-being. it’s up to you to decide whether you want to give this person a chance to become something more in your life.

PILE 6

you like romance and the idea of committing to someone, but your interest can fade just as quickly as it appears. you might have rushed into relationships, only to realize soon after that they didn’t make sense for you, leaving you in an emotional mess. it can be hard to trust your own feelings for someone since they tend to be volatile and unpredictable. this makes you hesitant, wondering if anyone will ever truly hold your attention and emotions.

the advice here is actually a warning. be careful with karma and emotional irresponsibility towards others, because if you’re not mindful, it will come back to you in the form of a deep emotional blow when you least expect it. watch out for love bombing (both from you and others). slow down and learn to live one moment at a time, without the anxiety of trying to plan a future with someone you’re merely getting to know. love may come to you in a way that seems casual at first, but over time, it will strengthen and develop into deeper, more mature feelings, leading to a relationship that actually makes sense.

IMPORTANT!

this reading was done with the guidance of pombo gira menina, an entity known as a protector and guardian of children and teenagers, a sorceress who masters the charm and magic of love. she holds strength and healing power and stands as a defender of the helpless and those who suffer injustices and sexual abuse. if this reading resonated with you, give a small thank you by shouting: LAROYE POMBO GIRA MENINA!

you can also get a personalized love divination reading for 25% off the regular price until the end of march. check out my price list at the bottom of this post here!

[waiting-foratrain]

> ‘your body remembers what your mind forgets,’ or, i think nona being as loved as she was should fuck harrowhark up a bit.

hello! i have a migraine and too many feelings, thus, as promised, im here to have feelings about tlt! (to preface, this is just a thought i have, it very well might not correlate w/ the text. i’m not fact checking x)

(NONA THE NINTH SPOILERS, I ASSUME)

to begin with, we need to talk about memory. specifically, we need to talk about somatic memory, or the physical sensations of trauma that remain in the body even when the brain itself has repressed the memories of said trauma (sound familiar? it should!) — nona, an amnesiac soul in someone else’s body, almost perfectly embodies this concept.

then, please remind yourself that the body that she’s in is belongs to harrowhark nonagesimus.

nona doesn’t remember drearburh, she doesn’t remember being 200 dead children, she doesn’t remember rolling away the rock, or harrows parents suicides, or any of the casual trauma of harrowharks upbringing… but her body does. then, in ntn, we watch that same body that is now experiencing care on a scale it has never comprehended prior.

forgotten trauma is still healable, and though the trauma that nona retains from having been alecto is still very much present and we see it affect her as she remembers more, simply experiencing the level of love and care that the people around her are giving- pyrrha, camilla, palamedes, even crown, aim, we suffer, etc, in their own ways (not to mention the people at the school)- is something that i think should start to sink into her body, even if she doesn’t have the words or the memories to process that anything is happening. it might not help with the somatic memory around nona being the soul of the earth, but i think it should affect harrow, after nona leaves her body.

nona is someone who is fundamentally kind, fundamentally loving, and fundamentally easily open to connection without so much as a whisper of the layers of guilt and shame harrow was brought up with in place between herself and others. nona doesn’t freeze or move away from touch; she constantly turns towards love, towards affection, towards being taken care of

(also, i think there’s something to be said for the lack of love alecto received vs the magnitude that nona did and the affect that has on the way they both turned out, but that’s for another post-)

anyways, here’s the thing: that sticks.

healing isn’t linear, and it’s certainly not instant, but the way nona treats harrow’s body, the way she lives in harrow’s body? i think that has sincere potential to start rewiring the way it responds to the world. so by the time we get to harrow in alecto? nona is gone, yes, but i think that the care she was shown, and the care she accepted should have started affecting harrow on a level she doesn’t even understand.

nona didn’t just exist in harrows body- she taught it, via experience, what it’s like to be loved... and i think that personally, harrowhark should have to deal with the after affects of that physically. (and emotionally. but this post is about physically)

[bamsara]

I'll ask, if it hasn't been already - regarding the tags on the fanfic poll:

What kinda things make you click out/give you the squick? I'm so curious 👀

rubs my hands together: could be a mix of things anywhere between character dynamics, personalities or even how the fic is formated

Btw for people who don't know what squicks are: 'Squicks' are just personal preferences that someone doesn't like. Nothing wrong with em it's just not your vibe. (Exp: Like how all my friends HATE tomatoes but I am tomato eater forever)

anyway long ramble list:

Can't read big blocks of text without breaks very well, and I dislike when characters (esp main characters that are talking in every chapter/scene) have bolded or italicized dialogue. I think it's fine for special reoccurring characters but it genuinely messes up with reading flow for me when it comes to taking in information if used too much

If I'm reading a fic specifically for a monogamous romantic paring, I don't care for the 'past lover interest reappears' trope or one of them currently has one, or the love triangle that results in one of them being like 'oh but i love them both i can't possibly choose!' *cough twilight cough* it just makes the relationship feel disgenuine and icky. zero stars. Any mention of a character's past relationship usually makes me just click out, just personally not here for that

-^^^ to go with this, big fan of the 'misunderstanding where someone thinks there's a love rivelry but the third person never had a chance.' Like to the main pairing there's only eyes for each other and that's all they care about, there's just some third person who's there and causing problems (either because someone in the pairing is jealous of the third person thinking they're gonna steal the other when it's not, or the third person thinks they're a love rival when in reality they're not even thought about) *cough Tyren cough*. I think there's a lotta comedy to have with this. Bonus points if it brings main pairing closer together

When characters have linear character development and recovery. I prefer my characters to realistically relapse and bit a little bit of a hypocrite as they develop from start of story to end. Failing and falling short and again makes the final result much more satisfying when they're healing

When characters use 'therapy speak' or otherwise react perfectly 'acceptable' to stressful situations. Again, I prefer realistic depictions of characters under stress, and work out becoming better under that stress rather than just One Big Thing Happen and suddenly they're never going to react negatively or lash out again because another character told them It Was Bad and To find Better Coping Mechanisms.

Unhappy endings. (Or open ended ones) Sorry for hurt/no comfort lovers but none of my fics will have unhappy endings. I like my stories to have people that go through absolute hell and still come out on the otherside

The ace in me doesn't care for fics where physical attraction is a large part of the ingredients that gets the pairing together. Not saying they can't admire each other when the sunlight hits them or wearing a nice outfit but just not a fan of reading about how 'sexy' a character is to another. Probably why I usually blast all my characters with the aspec beam

That's all I can think of off the top of my head but if someone had a more specific question I might be able to answer

[gdinthehouseee]

Born To Die (CHAPTER 1): KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: your first meeting with the man himself. or at least, you think it's your first…

word count: 5238

tags: slow burn, mystery, gothic and creepy masquerade, vampire!jiyong, human!reader

series masterlist ⛥ next chapter

“It’s got someone else’s name on, I can’t just waltz in there and pretend to be someone I’m not…”

“Who cares? You’ll have a mask on, you’ll be fine.” 

“And what happens when I get mistaken for the person on the invite?” 

“You’ll be fine.” 

That is how you ended up in a stuffy dress, a delicate mask to match, and shoes you can barely walk in. Standing in front of a manor that doesn’t even exist on your phone’s map, gripping the invitation—registered to a name that you or your colleagues didn’t recognise—like it was your only lifeline, desperately trying to hide your nervousness.

Just the other day, a sealed envelope appeared in your letterbox. It's made of heavy black paper, embossed in gold with a single name that didn’t belong to you. No sender. No return address. No one at your agency knows the name on it. No one’s ever heard of the event, the venue, or the host.

But your boss told you to go.

“Maybe it’s a cult,” he joked. “Maybe it’s your big break.”

You didn’t think it was funny. But you go. Because what if it is something? What if this is the one story that finally gets your name out there? You're the youngest reporter at a mid-tier news agency, constantly dismissed, stuck proofreading real journalists' work while you’re told to write, at worst, about petty crime stories that have a straightforward, linear narrative. If you have to write about one more failed burglary, you might rip your hair out. Or quit. Who knows? 

The manor looms like something out of a painting: tall and wide, lit from within by an amber glow that spills out across the courtyard in soft, flickering streaks. The walls are ivy-clad stone, older than anything should be, and the iron gates open for you as though they’ve been waiting. At the door, a man in a dark suit and gloves takes your invitation. He doesn’t ask for your name. Just runs his eyes over the envelope’s seal, nods once, and gestures for you to enter.

You’re inside.

It hits you all at once—the sound, the heat, the weight of the air. Everything is velvet and gold, candlelight and shadow. The ballroom stretches impossibly wide, with ceilings so high they vanish into darkness. Chandeliers drip crystals like frozen rain. Soft music drifts through the space, the kind of melody that doesn’t seem to come from a band or a speaker. It just is, as though the house itself is humming.

The guests are beautiful in a way that makes your skin crawl. Tall and graceful, dressed in intricate silks, brocade, and lace. Their masks shimmer like precious metal, feathered and bejeweled, each one more elaborate than the last. They all turn when you walk in. Not suddenly—not all at once. But you feel it. The shift. Eyes behind masks following your every step, heads tilting slightly, smiles that are just a touch too wide. Like they’ve been expecting you. Like you’ve wandered into something you shouldn’t have. Like you’re the only real thing in the room.

You try to blend in, but it’s impossible. Your mask is too simple. Your posture too stiff. Your pulse too fast.

Someone brushes past you, their perfume rich and strange, like crushed flowers and old paper. Another murmurs something in a language you don’t understand, their gloved hand ghosting across your arm as they pass. You keep walking, pretending not to notice the way they all keep glancing your way—just a little too long. Like they’re not curious, but hungry.

A server offers you a glass of something dark red and thick. You take it to be polite, but your fingers tremble on the stem. The glass is cold. The liquid doesn’t slosh like wine.

Somewhere, laughter rings out—sharp and sudden—and then cuts off like it was never there.

You move further into the room, past swirling dancers and flickering candelabras, past paintings that seem to watch you back. You wonder if anyone else feels it. That wrongness. That tension beneath the glamour, like a thread pulled too tight. You weave deeper into the crowd, careful not to let your discomfort show. Your steps echo faintly against the marble, drowned by the rustle of silk and the low hum of voices. The scent of wax, perfume, and something darker—earthy, metallic—clings to the air.

Everywhere you turn, people are dancing. But not in the carefree, joyful way you’ve seen at galas or society parties. These dancers move in perfect synchrony, gliding as if they’ve rehearsed for years. The music sharpens now, winding and slow, and the dancers shift with it like they’re attached to invisible strings.

You catch the eye of one masked figure on the edge of the floor—tall, elegant, dressed in deep, navy blue. Their mask is carved into the shape of a fanged beast, gold-tipped and gleaming. You look away quickly, but when you glance back, they’re still staring.

Someone bumps into your shoulder, and you turn to apologize—but the woman is already smiling at you.

“You came,” she says softly.

Her mask is a delicate creation, obscuring everything but her mouth. Her lips are painted a deep plum, and her smile is too knowing.

“I… I think there’s been a mistake,” you begin, but she simply tilts her head.

“There are no mistakes here.”

Before you can ask what she means, another guest sweeps by and catches her attention, and she disappears into the crowd without another word. You stare after her, uneasy. Then, from the shadows of a nearby archway, a man chuckles. It's low and rasping, like it scrapes the edges of your spine. “Clever in every lifetime,” he says to no one in particular.

You pretend not to hear.

Further in, you pass a group gathered around a long table set with impossible food—fruits that gleam like polished jewels, meat that steams and bleeds onto gold plates, black cakes decorated with red sugared flowers. You’re offered a bite of something unfamiliar by a gentleman in silver and ivory, his gloves pristine despite the wine staining his glass.

“Taste,” he insists. “You’ll never be the same.”

You shake your head with a polite smile and keep walking, heart pounding faster.

The walls seem to lean closer the longer you stay. The mirrors show angles that shouldn’t exist. Some don’t show your reflection at all. You pass one that does—and for a moment, the figure in the glass is smiling, even though your face is not. You step away quickly. It’s too much. Too strange. More than anything, you’re starting to feel watched. Not just glanced at. Not admired. Observed.

You need air.

You spot a set of glass-paned doors at the far end of the ballroom—tall and heavy, slightly ajar. No one seems to be paying attention to them. Or rather… no one stops you from slipping through.

Cold night air rushes over your skin like a balm the moment you step outside. You exhale for what feels like the first time. The terrace is wide and open, stretched out like a marble balcony above the world. The stone beneath your heels is cold, veined with pale silver that catches the moonlight. Ornate balustrades line the edge, carved with strange, curling shapes that almost seem to move when you don’t look at them directly.

A soft breeze brushes past, cool against your overheated skin. It carries the scent of night-blooming flowers and something older—wet earth, ancient stone, maybe even a trace of smoke. You can still hear the faint thrum of music behind you, but out here, it's muffled, distant, like a memory already slipping away.

The only light comes from the moon, full and low, casting long shadows across the terrace. A few lanterns glow dimly from sconces set into the walls, flickering gold and orange like fireflies trapped in glass. It’s just enough to see the garden stretching out beyond—rows and rows of hedges rising like dark waves in the fog. A maze. Or maybe something older. Something designed to trap. The fog rolls slowly across the grass, swirling between archways and winding paths, cloaking everything past the first few turns. Statues loom within it—half-seen, white and tall, their shapes too strange to name.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a few blissful seconds, it’s just you and the stillness.

“First time?”

You turn.

He stands at the edge, half-shadowed, moonlight pooling over the sleek black of his suit. His mask is elegant and minimal, a sliver of silver curling up one side like a claw or a crescent moon. The lower half of his face is bare—sharp jaw, expressive mouth, the faintest trace of amusement. You’ve never seen him before, but you’re not sure that’s true.

Still, you exhale, trying to shake the weight of the night off your shoulders. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s done it before.”

You give a small laugh, grateful for the moment of normalcy. “So not your first, then?”

“No,” he says, almost too quietly. “I come every century.”

You blink, then grin. “Wow, I must’ve missed you last time. I was here in the 1800s. Wore a lilac corset with white lace. Almost passed out. Fell for a poet who recited something about violets and dusk.”

“Lilac?” He echoes, after a beat. “With white lace?”

You nod, a little unsure now. “Yeah. Weird detail to pull out, right?”

“And the poet?”

You laugh again, nervously this time. “Oh, he was hopeless. Said his name was Ji… something. Ji-hwan? Ji—” You stop, frowning. “No. Not Ji-hwan. That’s not right.”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s not.”

“You know him?”

“You could say that.”

Silence stretches between you and the mystery man, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s weighted, like the air between you is holding its breath.

“Impressive,” he murmurs.

Your brows knit. “What?”

“Most people can’t describe dreams they had last night. Let alone ones from a hundred years ago.”

You tilt your head and scoff out a polite laugh, assuming he’s continuing the sudden improvisation you started out of your jittery nerves. You look away, down toward the garden maze swallowed in fog, something old and electric pressing against your ribs. It feels like standing on the edge of a memory you’re not allowed to access—like if you reached just a little further, you’d find something you lost long, long ago.

“You haven’t eaten anything tonight, have you?” He asks suddenly.

You glance back. “No. Not really hungry.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Because the food here is terrible,” he answers with a crooked smile. “Trust me.”

You huff another small laugh, but the tension lingers. You’re not sure if he’s flirting or warning you. Or both. He’s still watching you like you’re made of something fragile and precious and impossible. Like he’s trying to stop time. Like he already knows how this ends. Was that even possible?

You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “so what else do you do? Aside from… whatever this is?” 

“Cause trouble. Charm strangers.”

“Mm. You’re one for two so far.”

That earns a soft laugh, low and rich. He steps closer, just enough that the edge of his coat brushes your arm. “Tell me what would tip the scale.”

You raise a brow, amused. “That’s bold.”

“You’re on a balcony in the middle of a masquerade hosted by God-knows-who, dressed like a dream and looking like you don’t belong to anyone here. I figured bold was the way to go.”

A laugh slips out before you can catch it. Warm, real. His eyes light up like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“There it is,” he says, quietly. “I knew you had a good laugh.”

“So you’ve been watching me?”

“Of course I have. You walked in like a secret everyone wanted to keep.”

Your smile falters for just a second—the way he says it. Like he means it. Like he’s known you longer than this single conversation allows. He tilts his head, catching the flicker in your eyes.

“Too much?”

“No,” you say, softer now. “Just unexpected.”

He grins. “Good. Then I’m doing something right.”

For a beat, you say nothing—just study him under the low silver light. His mask hides just enough, but you can still see the shape of his mouth when it curves. Still feel something low in your chest that doesn’t quite have a name.

“I could steal a dance,” he says after a moment, almost lazily. “But I think I’d rather steal a little more of your time out here.”

You quirk a brow. “Bold again.”

“Habit.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

You bite back another smile, heart ticking faster than you mean it to. And when the breeze moves through the terrace again, lifting the edges of your hair, he’s still watching you—as if he’s memorizing something. As if he already has. Then, he simply extends his hand, palm up between you.The gesture is quiet. Elegant. No pressure, no expectation—just an invitation. You hesitate for a beat. Then your fingers slip into his, and he closes his hand gently around yours. Warm. Steady.

Without a word, he turns and begins to walk, guiding you down the wide terrace steps and into the garden below. It feels like stepping into a dream. The air changes first—cooler, scented thick with night-blooming flowers and something older beneath, something almost metallic. The stone beneath your feet gives way to a soft, mossy path, winding lazily through an explosion of colour.

The garden is nothing like you expected. No tight hedges. No rigid rows. Just wild beauty. Everywhere you look, something’s blooming. Roses the color of wine and ash, foxglove swaying like bells in a silent wind, moonflowers yawning open under the pale silver light. There’s lavender spilling over low walls, clusters of narcissus, pale peonies blooming like secrets in the dark. Petals brush your ankles as you walk. The air hums with quiet life.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t ask him to.

There’s no sound but your footsteps, soft against the moss, and something quieter still—a hush beneath the silence. Like humming. Like a distant memory.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur.

“It’s never looked quite like this before.”

You glance over, curious, but he’s already looking away again, gaze drifting toward the flowers like he’s known them longer than time.

You walk in silence for a while, passing under low branches and beneath archways grown thick with jasmine. The scent wraps around you. Sweet and dizzyingly warm. It fills your lungs, makes your chest ache.

“This place feels… familiar,” you say, half to yourself. “I don’t know why.”

He doesn’t answer. But your hand is still in his.

“I must sound crazy.” You continue.

“No,” he says finally, voice low and steady. “Not at all.”

You glance at him, expecting a joke, a smile. But he’s looking at you with that same quiet, unreadable gaze. Something about him feels… old. Not in a bad way. Just deep. Pondering. Still.

“You talk like a poet,” you say before you can stop yourself.

That makes him smile — not smug, but soft. Fond.

“Do I?”

“Mm. The romantic kind,” you tease. “Maybe you’re the poet I mentioned earlier. The one from the 1800s.”

He doesn’t laugh like you expect. He just looks at you for a long moment. Then quietly says, “Would you believe me if I was?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“…No,” you say slowly, watching his expression. “But you do have the dramatic stare down.”

That earns a small laugh, low and quiet, curling at the edges.

You walk on, deeper into the flowers. Somewhere behind you, the music from the manor fades completely. All that’s left is the hush of the garden… and the man beside you, still holding your hand like it was always meant to be there.  The garden thickens as you walk, blooms crowding the edges of the path in bursts of color and scent. Somewhere behind, the manor has vanished from view, swallowed by flowering branches and ivy-laced trellises.

Moonlight spills across the winding path, silvering everything it touches. Honeysuckle drips from wrought-iron arches overhead. White lilies cluster beneath wild roses, tangled like lovers in secret. You pass through it all in silence, every step deeper into the heart of something forgotten. Here, the garden feels older. Less curated. Less dreamed-up. The flowers grow wilder, stranger. Twists of nightshade blooming in delicate clusters. Long-stemmed orchids, dark as spilled ink, stretch toward the sky. Some of them sway without wind. Others seem to lean subtly toward your footsteps.

You don’t speak. Neither does he. It’s not uncomfortable—far from it. There’s something about the quiet between you that feels sacred. Like anything louder might wake the garden into something else.

Then the path changes. Stone again, older this time. Worn flat by time, cracks laced with moss and silver threads of root. The trees part slowly ahead, and nestled between ivy-choked hedgerows, something rises from the ground.

A mausoleum.

Small. Weathered. The stone is carved in flowing patterns — flowers, stars, something that might be script, but worn down too far to read. Pale vines creep up the sides, blooming with tiny, ghost-white blossoms. It doesn’t feel menacing. Just… quiet. Like the garden has been holding it close for a very long time.

You stop without meaning to, your breath catching.

“What is this place?” You whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are fixed on the structure ahead, unreadable in the half-light. For a moment, he looks like a statue himself—carved from shadow and silver.

Then, softly, “some say it’s where the first guests were laid to rest.”

You glance at him, uncertain if he’s joking.

His mouth curves, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Not during the party,” he adds lightly, as if that helps. “After.”

You huff a quiet laugh — but it dies in your throat.

To the left of the mausoleum, four gravestones sit nestled beneath a drooping willow tree. Their surfaces are dulled by time, weathered smooth in places, with faint lines of script barely legible in the moonlight. You step a little closer, squinting, finally letting go of his hand. The names blur just before your eyes can make sense of them. The carvings seem to shift in the shadows, impossible to hold still in your mind. A strange chill brushes the back of your neck.

Turning toward him again, you ask softly, “Have you been in there?”

He turns his gaze toward the mausoleum, his expression unreadable. The silence hangs for a moment, and you can almost feel the weight of time pressing in from all sides.

“Once,” he says, voice distant. He takes a step forward, his eyes studying the ancient stone. “Strange thing, isn’t it? It always seems so much smaller from the outside… but once you’re inside, it feels endless. As if the walls were never meant to contain what they hold.”

You feel a shiver go down your spine. It’s not quite fear, but something deeper—as though the air around the mausoleum is full of stories, long-forgotten.

He smiles slightly, almost to himself. “And the man who built it? A devoted one. Loved his wife, I think, more than anything else. Or maybe that was his mistake, building something like this for her. The stones never really let go of that kind of devotion.”

You look at him, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

He looks at you then, his gaze soft and searching, as if measuring something you can’t quite see. He tilts his head thoughtfully, his words slow and deliberate. “He was a man of wealth, a man of passion. But when his love passed from him, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her forever. So he built this mausoleum, this grand place to keep her memory alive. But… some say it wasn’t just her memory he wanted to preserve.”

You blink, the words settling in an odd, weighty way.

“What did he want to preserve, then?” 

His smile deepens, just a fraction, and he steps closer to you. “Not just her. Her spirit. His devotion was so great, he wanted to keep her with him forever. And so he… made sure she was never truly gone.” He lets the words hang in the air, like a puzzle he’s only half-revealed.

You stand there, staring at the mausoleum, the chill creeping deeper into your bones. There’s something in his tone that makes it feel less like a story and more like a secret. One that is just out of reach, like the names on the gravestones.

“Let’s not linger here too long,” he says softly, his voice laced with an odd, tender finality. He offered out his hand once more, and you took it. Without hesitation this time.

He gently tugs your hand, guiding you away from the mausoleum and the lingering chill that had crept into your bones. You’re still caught in the weight of his words, the haunting story of devotion and loss swirling in your mind, but his touch feels like an anchor, pulling you back into the present moment.

As you walk, the garden’s flowers seem to fade into the background, their petals dimming under the canopy of darkness. The distant sound of a breeze rustles through the trees, but it’s almost as if the garden itself has fallen silent in the wake of your conversation.

His steps are steady, measured, his hand still warm around yours. You glance up at him, his face unreadable in the soft glow of the moonlight. It’s hard to shake the feeling that he’s leading you not just through the garden, but through some kind of invisible threshold, into a deeper space that neither of you can quite define.

When you reach the edge of the garden, he pauses for a brief moment, as if assessing the change in atmosphere. His gaze lifts toward the manor, the flickering lights of the party still visible through the trees, like a beacon calling you back.

He leads you back through the stone paths, the shadows of the hedges falling behind you, and toward the iron gate that separates the garden from the mansion. With a slight tug, he opens the gate for you, stepping aside to let you through first. As you pass by, you catch a fleeting glance of the moon reflected in his eyes, something almost wistful about it, but it’s gone before you can truly make sense of it.

Once inside, the contrast is jarring.

He keeps his hand loosely around yours, guiding you back through the grand entrance of the manor with an ease that makes it seem as though you’ve never left. His presence remains a calm contrast to the bustling atmosphere inside, and for a brief moment, you feel a quiet bubble of relief. You’re back in the world you know, yet with him beside you, it feels like you're standing on the edge of something unfamiliar.

He pauses for a moment when you reach the ballroom, a brief hesitation in his steps before he turns to you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“How about a dance?” 

The music flows gently in the background, a soft, melodic waltz filling the room as couples twirl and glide across the marble floor. The light from the chandeliers casts a soft glow over everything, the room filled with laughter and a quiet hum of excitement. 

You blink for a moment, surprised by the sudden offer, but then a grin tugs at the corner of your lips. There’s something about the way he stands there, waiting, as if he knows you’ll say yes.

“Alright,” you reply with a small, teasing smile, “But I warn you, I’m not the best dancer.”

“Then I’ll just have to lead, won’t I?”

His touch is warm and confident as he gently guides you toward the dance floor. You can feel the soft pressure of his fingers as he places his other hand on your waist, the proximity between the two of you sending a rush of warmth through your chest. The world around you fades slightly, the sounds of the party becoming a soft murmur as you’re swept into the rhythm of the music.

His movements are smooth, graceful, and effortlessly in tune with yours, guiding you through the dance with a kind of quiet elegance. There’s a fluidity to the way he moves, as if he’s been dancing for centuries, and yet, he keeps his attention on you, his eyes never leaving your partially covered face, studying your expressions with a mix of curiosity and something else—something that makes your heart skip just a little faster.

As you sway together, the world around you feels distant, the night air drifting in from the terrace now nothing more than a memory. It’s just the two of you, the music, and the dance.

He leans in a little closer, his voice low and intimate, just above the music. “You’re a natural,” he murmurs, his tone playful. “I might have to keep you on the dance floor all night.”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his breath against your ear. “I’m sure you say that to all your guests,” you tease, but there’s something about the way his fingers tighten around yours that makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s not entirely joking.

The dance continues, the two of you lost in the movement, the connection, the electricity hanging between you. The night has only just begun, but with every step, every turn, it feels as though time itself is slipping away—just for the two of you. And as the dance comes to an end, the soft melody of the waltz fades into a slow, quiet hum, but neither of you move away immediately. You stay close, his hand still resting on your waist, your fingers lightly intertwined. The energy of the room has shifted around you—couples begin to break away, retreating into conversation, leaving the two of you in a rare, almost forgotten corner of the night.

For a moment, neither of you speak, and it feels as though time itself has slowed. The buzz of the party outside the bubble you’ve created seems so distant now. All that’s left is the quiet rhythm of your breath and the feeling of his fingers lingering on your skin. 

One hand stays on your waist, while the other lets go of your hand to slowly make its way up to your face. At first, he gently grazes your jaw, before moving up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You feel a slight tug on your mask before he whispers, finally breaking the silence. 

“May I?” 

Your breath hitches—words rendered useless as they catch in your throat—and you nod, suddenly feeling shy. 

His movements remain slow as he takes your mask off, finally able to fully see your face fully under the soft and warm ballroom lighting. If you weren’t so close, you might have missed the way his own breathing hitched. Fingers flexed at your waist, for a single fleeting moment, before he relaxed the grip as if to compose himself. You almost forgot how to breathe entirely when he next spoke.

“Beautiful… just as I thought.” 

Before you could say anything, the hand on your waist moves to your hand and he brings it to his lips, placing a delicate, lingering kiss on your knuckles. You smile softly, but a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. People begin to disperse, the evening winding down as the last strains of music fade away. It’s time to leave, it seems. He steps back, but only just. He’s reluctant, you can tell, but there’s something else—something unspoken between you. It’s clear he’s not ready to say goodbye.

“Shall I see you off?” He asks, his voice now taking on a more formal tone, though the playful undercurrent still lingers. 

He offers you his arm, a silent invitation to return to the entrance, but this time it feels different—like you’re both stepping back into reality, the night’s magic slowly dissipating with each step you take away from the dance floor. The two of you walk toward the grand entrance, where the final guests are beginning to trickle out. His presence feels like an invisible weight at your side, one that you can’t quite place but are oddly drawn to. When you reach the large front doors, he pauses. For a long moment, you simply stand there, both unsure of what to say next, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts. He turns to you, his eyes searching yours, and for a fleeting moment, something passes between you—a recognition, maybe, or just the promise of something that could be. He smiles softly, though there's a tinge of sadness in it.

This time, you speak up first, hoping to lighten the mood a little. “I hope next time I can see what’s under your mask.” 

“You’re saying you’d like there to be a next time?” His sad smile briefly twitches into a smirk, the glint of playfulness returning to his otherwise dark eyes. 

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?” You quip. 

He decides to step closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek, before whispering in your ear. “Until next time, princess.”

With that, he steps back and disappears into the manor. You’re left standing there with your own thoughts, a whirlwind in your mind. You barely register the rest of the night as you climb into the back of the taxi you called, almost tripping on your dress, and not even caring you had forgotten your mask somewhere. You barely remember the drive back to your small apartment in the middle of town. Nor can you remember hastily tugging the dress off and dumping it on the floor, finally collapsing into bed and falling into a surprisingly dreamless sleep. 

The next morning, you curse yourself for not asking the man for any details about himself. You didn’t even have a name. Times like this really made you question how you ended up becoming a journalist in the first place. Ignoring the wave of texts from your boss and colleagues alike, you went about your morning, thankful it was your day off. 

You tried to take your mind off everything when a knock at your front door startled you straight out of your thoughts. What the hell is it now? 

Wanting to get whatever it was over and done with, you practically marched over to the door and swung it open— 

Only to find a single box on the doormat. It was old and wooden, clearly worn down by nothing other than time itself. You looked around, down both sides of the corridor assuming it was some sort of odd prank, but nobody was there. Of course. You decided to pick it up. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a name—your real name, this time—freshly carved into the lid. Curious to a fault, you took it inside and opened it. Wrapped in ancient fabric, there it was…

A lilac corset. Adorned with white lace.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 @allthoughtsmindfull 

[headspace-hotel]

current progress in theories of ecological succession!!!!!! This paper lists 19 different ecological succession theories and their perspectives and limitations

Before I knew its name, I knew succession....I still remember the exact moment of realizing the endless flow of change moving through the ecosystem around me. Looking at weeds, shrubby woods, gardens, and fields, I was seeing this unfolding and expanding web of trajectories and possibilities, and it was like peering into the secrets of the universe.

And ever since I've paid attention to it. Constantly observing the movement in ecosystems and its patterns.

All of these theories are partially correct but incomplete. How could we ever come up with a complete theory of succession? It's like studying the convergence of order and chaos itself. Some of the important tensions of succession brought up in this paper are:

Does the environment determine which plants survive, or do the plants that survive determine the environment? (both)

Does the plant community before disturbance determine post-disturbance regeneration, or does dispersal of new plants determine it? (both)

Are communities at different successional stages formed by whatever random assemblage of plants happens to exist at that stage, or are plant communities adapted to form certain stages of succession? (both)

Is succession a process of maturity of one big thing, or cycles of death and life of a bunch of smaller things? (both)

Do plants exclude other plants from niches as succession progresses or do they open up new niches? (both)

Is succession cyclical or linear? (both)

and like ok. this topic will get me sounding like some kind of deeply unscientific weirdo because I will be like Yes, The Weeds Taught Me The Secrets of Order and Chaos. but also this is a topic in science where all the literature written for non-layperson specialist audience makes Sense.

I was really excited reading this paper because this is like, the stuff I think about randomly all the time. like the other day I just basically blacked out and wrote like 2000 words about The Nature of Disturbance and Temporal and Spatial Dimensions of Ecosystem Change not even thinking about how I was writing about succession, and almost made my brain blow up.

like each successional theory developed so far has highlighted part of the big picture but there are several pieces of the puzzle that have barely been articulated yet. my questions:

Disturbance: What Does It Mean. When talking about something alive and changing, there is no stable state of being, so what does it mean to "disturb" an ecosystem? Every ecosystem is maintained by disturbance, like in an old-growth forest animals will graze and trample and trees will occasionally die and fall and there will be storms and fires and that is part of what a forest is. So like...where is the line between a disturbance that maintains an ecosystem at "climax," and a disturbance that makes the ecosystem no longer "climax."

disturbance, even the most severe and devastating disturbance with near 100% mortality of all plants, does not fully erase the previous plant community. so like, early-successional communities aren't a blank slate, but there is a such thing as an "early-successional community" in the sense that weed species not visible in the pre-disturbance community will pop up. Now, a lot of the theories assume that long-distance seed dispersal (and the availability of seed sources and dispersers) influences the arrival of weeds, but I think the soil seed bank is just as important if not MORE important. Do all soil seed banks have plenty of weeds? Do they have different weeds or the same weeds? Do those weeds match what was there the last time there was a weed community on that site?

disturbance is usually distributed over the land SUPER unevenly except in cases of lawns, logging and industrialized farming. at what spatial scale do edge effects irretrievably muddle the concept of discrete early-successional or late-successional communities. Like if you go into the forest and bulldoze a patch of forest down to bare dirt, that patch is fundamentally different from the bare dirt in a huge housing development, just because of being directly adjacent to a forest. Even completely disregarding seed dispersal- it's shaded, it is affected by the leaf litter and fine woody debris, etc.

I would tentatively state that linear processes of change occur in most man-made environments that are disturbed cyclically, for example, lawns- intensively managed monoculture lawns seem to persist in a lush state for a short time before the grass starts to die. most tilled agricultural fields are losing topsoil and fertility in a linear fashion. so like, the land has an accumulative legacy of tens or hundreds of disturbance cycles. Isn't this likely to be true on a much larger temporal scale? Like, is a forest ecosystem now affected by the fact that it was a prairie 1,500 years ago?

likewise, might this accumulative legacy be necessary for certain ecosystems to reach a "climax" state? e.g. prairie will overgrow into woodland in a few decades absent any disturbance, but cyclic disturbance by fire allows the cumulative progression of a larger successional process

[yanderestarangel]

Will there possibly be any more Tio Miguel O’Hara au???

𝐌𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ┆ 𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀��𝐀 - 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘

꒰∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ ── Hi guys, I remembered I have a blog, hehe:3

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ "Before you, silence and emptiness for me were like an open, painful wound that stained my clothes a calloused, uncomfortable red. But with you, silence became just a space to be filled with your laughter and ethereal presence. My thoughts turn to you, my sweet nephew, loose and deliberate... I really shouldn't feel this way, but you don't know how much it affects me just by you being you." - 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝓽𝓲𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵.

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

➜ This AU will probably become a fic with non-linear chapters, that is, I will post in non-chronological order of the canonical events that happened. [ There will be several alt. routes and you can suggest more ideas about this AU. ]

˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅

★☆ Notes: This is a work of dark romance/content, please do not read if you are a sensitive person, I am not romanticizing abuse or abusive relationships, this is just fiction.

♡ ┆ TW: written in the form of a poem, corruption, step!incest, dark romance, ftm reader, abusive relationship, mourning, dumbfication, manipulation, age gap, eat out, creampie, sex without a condom, dub con, afab anatomy

You weren't so naive as to not notice your Tio's lascivious gaze on your body ─ especially when you wore short, white dresses on hot days, your skin shone with a thin layer of sweat while your curves were otherwise hidden by thicker fabrics and dense spaces were exposed to the world and the cowboy's dark eyes.

The same lips that kissed you so innocently one day, held the hot tongue that would bring your ruin filled with lust. He had a negligent look, a harsh air, he was the same man who had made you taste the fruit of forbidden desire ─ far from everything and everyone, you two did not share the innocent courtship of being just a nephew and uncle... But before for you to stop like a whore, with your legs open for someone you swore would never feel anything... It hadn't started like that.

Desire, like all things in the world, had to have an origin, guidance and explanation ── everything could have started with the cruel grief of losing the wife that Miguel loved so much, the woman's name was not even uttered by his mouth, the same painful memory of lost nights of empty promises cut by the tragic and sharp scythe of death and destiny. The tanned-skinned man spent nights questioning the direction of his life and the classic question: "why me?".

Without an answer however, he sank even deeper into his own mind, the emptiness of his home now without a wife and the future children that were idealized by both of them had not come to fruition.

A foolish, lost and purposeless man was what he was.

So, just as the devil tries to make sin, he had finally found something that filled the void that was once held in his hard and dirty soul ── you. He tried to repress these feelings, it wasn't love, it wasn't a pure and polished love, it was a corrupted feeling of possession and obsession ─ he wanted to control your life, control you and make you his forever, trap you somewhere where you would stay safe from the dangers of the dirty world where they lived; but he himself was this dirt.

Then, slowly he began to enter your life even more like a parasite implanting the dirty thoughts you would later have about him. Taking you away from your family and manipulating everything and everyone into believing that he was the best person to take care of you ─ after all, he was just a concerned Tio... Or not?

Like a waltz with the devil, it all began that hot summer night with a dance ─ without protests and murmurs of complaints you followed him to an isolated place where your family's celebration was taking place that night, the warm orange light coming from the old tile ceiling warmed your cheeks and made you blush even more under the brunette's deep gaze.

Miguel watched as you moved to the music, his gaze mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight before him- the youthful vigor and elegance you possessed. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you, even if it sometimes stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

He wasn't just your tio, was he? No more, if he ever was to begin. His large hand caressed his waist, gently but firmly gripping the fabric of your blouse soft under his touch. His thumb brushed against his back, effortlessly guiding you through the dance.

"My precious angel", he murmured, his voice practically low. "You look like a dream, like a celestial being that has somehow landed among us mortals. It makes me want to take that dream and hold on to it forever."

He brought you closer, as if he was going to devour you ─ He moved like a predator, he looked at you like a predator... He was a predator.

Tio Miguel's lips traced a burning path along the sensitive skin of your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of heat as his hands slid down and squeezed your ass possessively. His breath was hot against your skin, a mix of whiskey and desire that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were hoarse, filled with a primal hunger.

He pulled back slightly, dark eyes ablaze with lust, his gaze falling to your chest, where your breasts strained against the fabric of your blouse. The hunger in his eyes was almost palpable, tacit and obscure, there was no point in running and maybe you didn't even want to escape, it was like a tempting trap that would hurt you deliciously.

"Mi prince," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "You're so beautiful. So fuckin' beautiful."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and predatory, as he grabbed your waist with one hand and pressed you against him. His hardness nudging between your legs, making you aware of his desire for you.

"Let's go somewhere more private, mi vida. It's time to show you just how much I want you." His lips crushed against yours, the intensity of your kiss staggering. His tongue thrust into your mouth, tangling with yours, the taste of whiskey and raw desire overwhelming. His hands moved with purpose, tugging at your clothes, urgently trying to rid you of any barriers between you both. He nibbled gently at your lips, pulling back to whisper against your mouth.

"Don't fight me, mi chico guapo. We both know you want this." With a low growl, he pulled you close once more, your lips crushing against his as your hands moved with purpose. His fingers expertly explored your soft body, teasing and coaxing you to the edge of pleasure. As his thumb brushed your clit, he swallowed your moans, his own desire heightened by the sacred taboo of his actions.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, my life. But I can't promise I will." Miguel said, but you both had the idea that that wasn't what was going to happen, especially when his tongue licked your pink flesh so well and made your legs tremble around his head ── his calloused and warm hands separated the flesh again softness of your thighs, making your breasts bounce and you tremble and whimper slyly for more.

Sin was good, so you two were condemned to a hell of unlimited pleasure and lust, without judgmental looks from others. Just you and your dear Tio Miguel. You moaned dirty, incoherent sentences, just looking for more friction with the other man's mouth, you were both moaning with need ─ you were both a mess of repressed desire and unthought-out consequences.

Your tio's hot tongue left your entrance, but before any scream of protest you saw him take off his pants quickly and lower them to his knees, exposing his muscular thighs and his thick cock with veins pulsing strongly, the smell of musk filled your nose as you felt the heat radiate from the older man’s member.

Uncle Miguel's cock pulsed as it passed your entrance, the swollen head teasing your clit before entering your comfortable, warm pussy. Every inch of their sensitive flesh reveled in the forbidden embrace, eagerly awaiting the moment they would finally become one. He growled softly, muscles tensing as he thrust inside, filling you with his thick erection.

Miguel's grip enveloped you like a vice, the sensation overwhelming you both-- his eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the connection incendiary, as he slowly advanced. His size made him feel huge, stretching you despite the ample lubrication. His moan of pleasure joined his groan of pain, a symphony of raw desire and urgency. His hands shook slightly as he thrust into you, the animalistic sounds of your union echoing in the small space.

Each thrust was deliberate, calculated to maximize his pleasure and his own desire. "Mi rei, are you okay?" he panted, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he continued to move. "Tell me if you need me to stop..."

Despite the agony of his position and his size, your nod was slow and deliberate. Your eyes never left his, each thrust bringing with it pleasure and submission. You could count how many thrusts there were by the weight of his balls that hit your soft ass, leaving a red, painful mark on your sensitive flesh.

"Good boy... Taking everything in that cute pussy..." He growled as the veins in his neck bulged with each effort of his hips to not stick it all in and feel the tip of his dick tirelessly kiss your uterus ── but he didn't I could scare you now, despite wanting to take out all the frustration and excitement accumulated in your cunt. Your breasts bounced as you cried with fat tears coming down from your orbs, pleasure, guilt and undefined feelings in your mind made you bite your lip and just enjoy the moment.

"Fuck, mi angelito," he groaned, his eyes locked on yours. "F-Fuck, I can't control myself... Mierda-"

His movements became erratic, his need overpowering him as he drove into you, chasing the peak of his release. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he thrust deeper, harder, his desire fueling the intensity of your coupling.

"Just like this, mi carinõ," he cried out, his voice hoarse with lust. "Just like this, with you..." His words are the catalyst for your own release, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, wracking your body with pleasurable contractions that milk him of his release.

Miguel follows suit, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you with his warm, pearly essence, marking you as his once again. He collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding, both spent from the intensity.

"I don't deserve you, boy, but I need you."

[blueskittlesart]

did u not like totk?

i LOVED totk. i think it was well-written and did its job as a sequel to botw very well. HOWEVER. i do think it suffered slightly from the commercial success of botw. as i mentioned in my last post, nintendo does this. thing. when one of their games gets popular where every game after it has to be Exactly The Same so they can make all the money in the world via comparison marketing. (and this is a problem with the wider game industry in general but also a very observable pattern in loz specifically.) I know it's been a pretty long time since botw came out, but before (and immediately following) its release there was some pushback from longtime fans who worried that the open-world and lack of traditional dungeons meant that the game had strayed too far from the classic formula that makes a game a "zelda game." this is to say, botw was EXPERIMENTAL. and the devs had no idea if what they were doing was going to be successful or not. the open-world of botw wasn't a gimmick, and it wasn't the devs jumping on the open-world bandwagon. it was what CREATED that bandwagon. the open-world was a deliberate choice made specifically for botw because it reinforced the story that botw was designed to tell. the game is about exploring a desolate world, about making connections, and rebuilding both the broken kingdom and the player character's shattered sense of self by traveling and learning and building relationships. a large open-world map with only minor quest guidelines and lots of collectibles and side quests lends itself perfectly to this specific story, which is specifically about exploration and rebirth.

the problem is, botw was. almost TOO good. it was so good that every other game company on the planet started scrambling to build giant open-world maps into their next release, regardless of how much sense that actually made narratively. and because of that, when it came time to release a sequel to botw, the devs had a lot to think about. they had HUGE shoes to fill in terms of fan reception, but they were ALSO being asked to follow up one of the best-performing games of all time, commercially. totk needed to SELL as well as botw. And, likely because nintendo was worried about that potential commercial value, totk needed to keep people comfortable. I don't know for certain, but I definitely get the feeling playing totk that the devs were specifically told not to stray too far from what made botw marketable and successful--that being the open world and the versatility of gameplay. so in order to follow that up, they made... 2 more huge open maps, and new gimmick gameplay which was explicitly super-versatile.

do i think that the extra maps and ultrahand were BAD choices? no. however, i don't think they necessarily ADDED anything to the game as a narrative whole. one of my favorite things about botw was how everything seemed to be designed AROUND the narrative, with gameplay elements slotting neatly into the story thematically. totk just. didn't really have that, imo. there wasn't a huge narrative benefit to the gigantic, completely unpopulated depths and sky maps. ultrahand was cool, but within the context of the story it meant basically nothing. in some ways, i almost think totk could have benefitted from a much more linear approach to its storytelling, a la skyward sword, because there are a lot of story beats that have to be found in chronological order in order to have the right emotional impact, but because of the nonlinear open-world it kind of became a struggle to hit all the important story points in the right order. an easy example of this is the dragon's tears in comparison to the memories--the dragon tears have a very specific set order in which they happen, and finding them out of order can make the story you're seeing in them feel confusing and disjointed. the order in which they should be found is technically displayed on the temple wall, but most players aren't going to pick up on that or follow it--more likely, they're just going to explore the geoglyphs as they come across them organically, and therefore will likely witness the story in a completely disjointed way. compare this to the botw memories, which ALSO technically have a set order--the order in which they're displayed on the sheikah slate. however, because they're largely just small moments in time, and not one continuous story, finding them out of order has a lot less of an impact on how you as the player experience the narrative, and it's not hugely detrimental to your experience of the story if you find them naturally as you explore rather than explicitly seeking them out in order. If TOTK had been allowed to deviate from the botw formula a bit, i think we may have ended up with a more cohesive game in terms of narrative beats like that. as it is, i just think the game is torn slightly between wanting to be its own new game with new gameplay and needing to be botw, if that makes sense.

[moriwood]

Just Like We Used To — j.jh

jeong jaehyun x male reader angst 3k words

Waking up after a party, you find yourself alone with Jaehyun, stirring unresolved feelings from a drunken kiss a year ago that shifted your once-extremely close friendship. As you deal with the aftermath of meeting him again, you remember this cycle of yearning and his inability to fully reciprocate.

includes: flashbacks (non-linear narrative?), dialogue heavy, strong implied internalized homophobia, jaehyun is a dumb and dense asshole (ngl mc here is kinda on the same boat)

A wet sensation on your eyebrow rouses you, blurry vision stirred by sunlight streaming through tacky velvet curtains. You blink your eyes open, meeting Jaehyun’s concerned gaze, a cold water bottle pressed against your forehead.

“You alright?” he gently asks, in a voice that felt too familiar and too comfortable. You nod, realizing that you were sprawled on a couch in Johnny’s living room, clothes disheveled from last night’s party. The room smells of stale alcohol and dried sweat; lucky there was no stench of vomit. Memories dart in and out your head, unlabeled images that you know would linger in your head for the following weeks.

Jaehyun settles beside you, air hanging heavy with things left untold. The warmth of his body immediately tugs you, and you can’t exactly pin if the shivers you’re suddenly having are of longing or discomfort.

“I’m talking to you,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” you mumble, voice scratchy. “Thank you.”

You sit up a little, taking the water bottle from Jaehyun’s hand and downing it in one go. You grimace at its awful taste, plasticky from being left out in the sun too long.

“Where’s Johnny?” you ask, glancing around for the missing homeowner as you gauge the post-party wreckage.

“Brought the kids back home,” Jaehyun sighs, leaning back against the couch, a hand brushing close to your thigh. “Just you and I at the moment to clean the rest of this.” He pulls the hand away, using it to gesture around the scattered garbage in Johnny’s living room.

“What even happened?” you mutter, reveling in what only looked like the aftermath of a cyclone. Crushed cans, empty bottles, discarded plastic cups, and mysterious stains litter the carpeted floor. You chuckle. “A hurricane struck last night or something?”

“That’s what happens when friends meet again after a long while,” Jaehyun mutters. He looks at you, expression unreadable. He seems to seek some kind of intimacy, like he’s begging you to agree.

You avoid his gaze, focusing on a crushed cup near your feet. “Really?” you tease, but it comes out half-hearted.

Jaehyun shifts closer and the weight of his presence becomes heavier. There was a time when you craved moments like this, when having him by your side could burn you alive. But now, it reminds you of a dying flame, a friendship fading because you were so brave to start wanting more. The silence stretches, suffocating. You want to fill it, to say something, but what can you say at this moment?

“I miss this,” Jaehyun says, voice low but steady. He confesses, echoing a sentiment that you have begun to forget amid your own struggle. “I miss you,” he adds.

His hand finally settles on your thigh, a gesture that feels too intimate now, something you want and dread all at once. “I miss you the most,” he says, voice soft to a whisper.

A biting reply sits on the tip of your tongue, but all you could do was swallow an audible gulp. Jaehyun had a soft expression on his face, a faint smile touching his lips. The delusional part of you begs that this be a glimmer of hope, thinking that maybe, just maybe, your relationship with him could start anew, that you could go back to seeing him as just a friend and nothing more.

“I miss you too,” you admit, in a context that probably differs from Jaehyun’s. You don’t know if you mean it the way he wants you to, or the way you once wanted to. The words feel hollow.

He studies you, brows furrowing. “Yeah?”

“We’re about to graduate, Jaehyun-ah,” you reason, grasping for logic in a circumstance driven purely by emotion. “Things change. People drift apart. We can’t do dumb shit just like we used to.”

Jaehyun’s hand withdraws, just slightly, and he retreats into himself, expression still frustratingly unreadable.

“Is that really it?” he asks, stance guarded and hesitant. “We’re just… graduating? Growing up? That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Of course, it’s not just that. It’s you. It’s you who was always sober enough to remember the drunken antics of your friends. It’s how Jaehyun always ended up by your side, how everyone else faded into the background as the two of you laid your hearts bare. It’s how in one drunken stupor almost a year ago, he kissed you senseless, then forgot it like the rest of his drunk confessions. And it shouldn’t have meant anything, but it meant everything to you, and it’s a downward spiral that could no longer be stopped.

—

You’ve been leaning against the kitchen counter in Taeyong’s apartment for the better part of an hour, a half-empty cup in hand, your surroundings starting to blur into techno music and shadows of bodies. Across the space was Jaehyun, sprawled on a couch, head tipped back as he laughed at something the pretty woman beside him said. He looks so beautiful—hair tousled, eyes half-lidded, one of the reasons you were so willing to be a wallflower in these parties.

You’ve known him for years, seen him grow from a lanky nerd with too-big clothes to the handsome man he’s become, sharp jawline and all that. You’d been inseparable then. He’d show up to your classes out of nowhere, leaning against the doorframe with such confidence, then whisk you away to whatever adventure he had in mind—desolate food stalls in Dongdaemun where he’d pay for everything even if he only had crumpled bills and small coins, midnight walks along the Han River with you wearing his jacket as you were always more sensitive to cold weather—every bullet point that you’d find in a list of must-dos for couples in Seoul. 

Taeyong once said that Jaehyun was yours in “every way but the words” and you have long mulled over whether there was any point in finding those words. In the end, you’ve decided it’s much better to keep things the way they are—some feet away from him, watching him from a distance, and letting him draw the line himself if it ever came to that.

His eyes meet yours from across the room and his smile softens. He excuses himself and slowly strides to the opposite side of the counter. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re doing that thing again. People-watching.”

“It’s fun seeing everyone transform under the influence of alcohol,” you reason, tilting your cup towards Doyoung, draped over Johnny’s shoulder and giggling into his neck. “Like Doyoung turning into a clingy mess.” Then you point to Mark, who is staring at Haechan with such affection it’s almost blinding. “Or Mark here who can’t look at anyone else but Haechan.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, staring at you with curiosity, then takes your hand. “Come with me,” he says, coaxing, tugging you toward the balcony, splitting the party’s cacophony like a tide.

The air outside is less humid, cool and crisp to clear someone’s head so quickly. He doesn’t let go of your hand, pulling your hand over the railing with his. You glance at Jaehyun, waiting for him to speak first like you always do.

“How do you see me when I’m drunk, then?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles on your knuckles.

You smile, looking out at the night skyline to buy yourself some time. “Not much changes,” you admit. “Less reserved, more outgoing. You talk with a lot of people, but you always end up next to me.”

A lot of things change, more than that. It’s the way he’d stumble to you in a crowded room, him slurring your name like it was the only word he knew; the way he’d rest his head against yours as if you were his only constant. It’s the way he suddenly becomes vulnerable like this, only to forget everything he has said as the sun rises.

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating through the cold air. “You’re always the one I look for, drunk or not,” he says, a confession you’re scared to measure.

Your chest tightens. “Yeah, well,” you mumble, deflecting, “I have to keep you from doing stupid shit.”

His hand, still holding yours, lifts to rest against his chest, your knuckles feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. “Do you know how I see you when I’m drunk?”

“How?” you reply, already cautious of the direction he’s taking you to.

“You’re like… everything.”

You sigh. “Stop,” you warn him.

He’s said it before and you’ve seen it before. To him, you’re everything he wants and it’s devastating, because you imagine it too; but one thing never changes: it’s not you he’s after.

“You’re so pretty and so strong yet so delicate, Jaehyun spills. “I don’t want to lose you. The drunker I get, the more I realize that you’re everything I want...”

In a woman. You wanted to add.

You slip your hand away from his chest, staring at the ground instead of entertaining Jaehyun further. “You’re drunk, we should go.”

You step back, intending to go back inside, but a hand grasps on your wrist. “Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he whispers, almost a plea.

“Look,” you reply, “you can keep this up forever, but I’m a guy, Jaehyun-ah.”

He lets go, voice cracking. “So what?” he replies weakly, a response that seems more like a straining attempt to prove himself wrong rather than to convince you.

“Fine, I’ll bite,” you mutter, stepping closer. You close the distance, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket so you could hold onto him. “So what if I’m everything? Do something about it,” you taunt, eyebrow raised.

Jaehyun shatters the tender tension with a kiss—rough and urgent. His lips are warm and soft, tasting faintly of whiskey, but the unbridled want eclipses everything else. It’s as if he’s distilled all his unresolved confessions into this one fragile moment. His hand cradles your jaw, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, arms looping around his neck, desperate to hold onto this before it burns out. It’s real now, and you both know it’ll end in wreckage.

He reluctantly pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. “Best friends don’t usually do this, right? What are we then?”

You don’t know how to answer, because you’ve never wanted to find one. “We’re us,” you say, a non-answer, because it’s all you can give, really. You’ve been Jaehyun’s shadow, his anchor, and his everything—as he has always said. The reins are his.

He exhales, a shaky, broken sound, and his lips curve into an anguished half-smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “us.”

Then the balcony door slides open, Doyoung’s voice piercing like a shard of glass. “There you two are! Let me sing the two of you a song!” he laughs, oblivious.

Jaehyun stiffens, arms loosening around you. There’s the sobering expression that flickers on his face—pain, regret, a quiet resignation. “We got carried away,” he says.

You nod, stepping back, turning to follow Doyoung back inside. The kiss lingers like a bruise, and you never liked the blemishes on your skin.

—

You take a hard swallow, admitting, “I don’t know.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says firmly. It’s not a question.

“I’ve been busy,” you lie, the excuse sounding weak even to your own ears. You beg that Jaehyun lets it slide without digging any deeper. But of course, he doesn’t.

“Busy? Bullshit,” he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. “For a whole year? Come on, I know you better than that. You still go partying, for fuck’s sake. Just without me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you mumble. “I just… needed space.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, frustration across his face. “That’s not it,” he grunts sharply. “You’ve been different ever since that night. The party at Taeyong’s place.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. You try to come up with anything sensible, but you end up stunned into shameful silence. Jaehyun’s not leaving without a concrete answer. 

“Was that why? Because of the kiss?”

“It’s complicated—”

Jaehyun scoffs. “If it’s the kiss, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. I thought…” He falters, and for a moment, he looks as lost as how you feel. “I thought it didn’t mean anything.”

The truth. There’s no point in prolonging this suffocating pretense of still being close friends. Whether this breaks everything or not should no longer matter to you—it already broke long ago. Nobody knows what the fuck your relationship is.

“That’s the thing. It meant everything to me.”

He exhales, a shaky breath that carries the weight of a thousand unspoken things. A belated confession, and a sober one at that. “You like me.”

“I liked you,” you clarify, a poor attempt at dampening the wounds that you’re reopening. “But it felt wrong exploiting our friendship like that.”

Jaehyun’s eyes soften, and for a split second, you think he might say the right thing to pull you back in. But he shakes his head, looking more lost than ever. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I was drunk, I—I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

You try your hardest not to bitterly laugh. “You’re stupid if you really think that one fucking kiss ruined it.”

“If it hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have hurt you this much.”

“It’s been hurting for a while,” your voice trembles. “You do it every time. Get drunk, make me feel like we’re the only people in the world, like you could love me as a lover even if I’m not a woman, then go back to pretending we’re just friends who are just a little bit too intimate.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen in surprise, hands reaching out for yours. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“It’d be unfair for both of us, no matter how I looked at it.”

—

You sip your beer, the bitterness sharp on your tongue as you chug it all down. A year ago, Mark had been hovering near Haechan, timid and hesitating; now, they’re tangled together in the corner of the room, an official couple making out without a hint of shame giggling against each other’s lips. Doyoung’s still as clingy as ever, singing some new song directly to Johnny’s face, a grin splitting his features as he still manages to sound lke the great singer that he is. You feel Jaehyun’s presence in your peripheral vision, but he stays where he is, locked in conversation with someone else. And yet, you feel his scrutinizing gaze from far away, a gravitation that pulls you closer with each passing second. 

Like every last time, Jaehyun somehow slips past everything and ends up right beside you. It’s not as seamless as it once was, no casual arm around the back, no brushing shoulders. His steps are now measured, hesitant.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, a far cry from the casual intimacy that you used to have with him.

“Hey,” you echo, grip tightening on your bottle of beer.

“You’re still doing that thing,” Jaehyun chuckles. “People-watching,” he says, nodding toward the room.

“Yeah. Mark and Haechan finally figured their shit out,” you say, voice thinner than you mean it to be. “While others…” You trail off, the implications of your thought dawning on you.

Like us.

Jaehyun’s eyes narrow, then he steps closer, a hand hovering near yours. “Dance with me?” he asks, the traces of his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

You should say no, should walk away and spare yourself from repeating the same mistake. But you can’t. You nod, setting your bottle on the counter with a clink that feels too loud and urgent, and follow him to the edge of Johnny’s makeshift dance floor. His hands settle on your waist, and you rest yours on his shoulders, keeping a careful distance. But he pulls you closer, erasing that gap, and you catch the strong stench of alcohol mixed in with his usual perfume, dizzying.

You swear you’re indulging yourself for the last time. It’s the same desperation, the grip on your waist a little too tight. You sway together but the rhythm is off, it’s clumsy, strained.

“You’ve been gone,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. His eyes, half-lidded, lock onto yours, and there’s that same longing from a year ago—from years before that, in the quiet moments between you two.

“I’ve been around,” you sigh. 

He scoffs. “You used to be my everything and now you’re just gone.”

You flinch, because he’s right. His eyes search yours, glassy and raw, and then he kisses you. It’s so slow and so gentle, begging to hold on for a little bit longer. You let him, for a moment, your hands finding their way to his hair, because you’ve missed Jaehyun too.

“I need air,” you mutter, stepping away. He doesn’t follow, like he always does—because what happened tonight will not survive tomorrow.

Johnny doesn’t question you when you come to him asking for stronger liquor.

—

Jaehyun lets his hands fall. There’s nothing left to say that could change the course of things. “I’m sorry… for everything.” 

“I’m sorry,” you echo. “I couldn’t be what you want me to be.”

Because neither of you can reconcile with the truth. He looked at you like you were his future, only to be reminded that you’d never fit the shape of his dreams; likewise, you were reaching for something you’d never get from him, and the weight of it could only get so heavy before you seek some temporary relief.

A distant sound breaks the tension, the roar of an engine rumbling as Johnny pulls up the driveway. His timing couldn’t be more perfect. You take this as your cue to leave.

“I should go,” you say, getting to your feet. The disappointment in Jaehyun’s face could not be more obvious, but he masks it with a casual nod.

“Wait,” Jaehyun commands, a hand grabbing your arm to stop you from leaving yet. He stares at your arm, fingers tightening briefly. “Will I still see you around?” he asks, desperation seeping into his words.

You don’t answer anymore. Not when you can’t commit to an answer. Once you see him again, broken and reaching, you won’t be able to stop yourself from settling with whatever he gives you, just like you always used to.

author's note: this story has been sitting in my drafts since my first fic and it’s kinda sad i only got to finish it when y’know… that one dude rn :// i was hesitating whether or not i should still post this but i decided to keep it as there’s not much going on in the fic (and so it could stop being an unfinished draft asdpvas) lightly inspired by peach pit - tommy's party

— moriwood.

[nickssidewitch]

✨♌️ Sturniolo Triplets 2025 Predictions ☄️✨

First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR! Thanks to you all for such a glorious welcome to the Sturniolo Tumblr Fandom! 🤍 I've had such a great time here so far, and I'm so thankful for literally every person I've met so far on this app. I do hope (and know) there will be newer accounts who are new additions to this fandom made this 2025, and to them, I say welcome, and they are welcome on my account with open arms! 🥹🤍✨

Here are the predictions I have for the Sturniolos! Be warned that some may not even happen this 2025 and I might be getting messages of things that may occur in 2025, or things that are still occuring that have existed since the last 3 months since 2024. Tarot and energy reading is like that sometimes since time is not linear and energy can shift and be read differently as time progresses.

With that all being said, here are some predictions I have for the boys individually, as well as group-wise as brothers and as a brand.

🍀✨ The Sturniolo Triplets' Predictions as a whole entity ✨🍀

New group projects. This includes new video ideas, new ways of producing and creating content, and even doing trials of new ways to present their content.

Tour prep or even the start of a tour. This tour will be different from the rest, with newer ideas and fun activities for them and the fans to enjoy! They may even expand to newer countries and areas.

Travelling. The boys will experience new cultures and have agreat time in other countries together. Seeing Nick venture off into these new places in a different hemisphere allowed them to pull off that bandage of being more open to travelling further than just different states in the U.S.

More fan involvement in content, less fan involvement in personal lives. There will definitely more of a connect with their fandom when it comes to creating newer ideas and videos. However, they don't want to allow the fans into their personal lives as much anymore due to obsessive fan behavior that occurred to them both privately and publicly over the past few years (specifically 2023 and 2024). Less of them posting with friends and family except for just a few that they may collab with or those who feel a bit more comfortable with backlash or any hate they may receive.

More collabs with different YouTube and Twitch creators, even those that you all are probably not expecting.

Music involvement. I can't say too much on this, however I see them being involved in the music world, especially behind the scenes. This may be involvement in videography of music videos, promo for music, being sponsored, and just having more fun with their music friends and newer people as well.

Will the triplets themselves release music? Y'all will have to see...

New ways to do and film car videos, probably will film them a bit less? The car video visions and energies always fluctuate. On one hand, the boys love the comfy feel of them and would love to continue. On the other hand, from a profession perspective, sometimes they feel bored of them and feel as if they repeat the same content. So, to be honest, in terms of a prediction I feel content in, I don't really even have a clue with what they'll do. I want to say that they'll try new forms of car videos and then ditch the idea the following year or just do it every now and then within other forms of content. We'll have to see. This seems more of a late 2025/early 2026 thing. Idk.

🦋🍃 Matt Sturniolo Predictions 🍃🦋

Reading a lot more. He will definitely pick up more books, and even feel inspired to write his own one day.

More quiet on socials. If you think he was quiet now, just wait. He'll go ghost even more, especially just due to staying away from toxicity and the internet. It fucks with his brain.

A romantic relationship. I think he'll have a relationship or two. Seems fair to say. But I wanna give you all advice on this: From his spirit guides, they want you all to CHILL and BUTT OUT of his personal romantic endeavors. They know there will be bad apples, but if you can do your part, please oh please do not post about them a lot or be super negative. I personally wanna say there will be a girlfriend who is not a fan favorite and you all don't have to guess which girlfriend this will be... Y'all can say whatever you want about her honestly. She's kinda... hm. Anyway, you all will know when the time comes. You'll feel her intentions in your guts. The other girl I'm seeing is an absolute sweetheart omg protect her.

New friends. He'll step out of his comfort zone a lot more and make new friends. This is kinda along the same timeline of having a new romantic relationship.

More confident in certain aspects of himself. This is due to new inspirations, new motivations, and new endeavors he will have.

Personal YouTube videos. Yes. That is the post.

A lot personable in terms of conversations of mental health. He'll be having heart to hearts with people about his mental health both in the past and in the future. He definitely wants to be more of an advocate and champion of mental health rights and conversations.

Fashion ventures. Not saying much about this. But be prepared. New clothes, new appearances, new poses, new models!

🧡✨ Chris Sturniolo Predictions ✨🧡

New collaborations, sponsors, partnerships, etc. He will be making his own personal coin with these sorts of deals. They seem to be sports related, music related, fashion related, pop culture related.

New music things. New friends in music, new deals in music, new favorite artists, bigger artists, new concerts, bigger concerts and venues. He will be flown out to new things (by himself and alongside his brothers).

New clothes! Definitely a lot more and very different stylistic choices. He wants to experiment with newer aesthetics, colors, jewelry, textures, designs, etc. A lot more IG pics of him stunting in new fits to say the least. Also includes New Fresh Love clothes and accessories with new models!

More of a social media grind. Or at least he'll want to. There will be a point where he won't post and everyone will be like ??? But don't worry, it's for great reasons!

Dating. There's not much else to say about this. Y'all get the idea.

New friends. Kinda said all this before. And this applies to all three triplets tbh.

New interests! He definitely will be exploring new things a lot more this year. TBH I feel like he does every year, as this is sort of a resolution for him.

Less fear in social situations on his own? I think all of the newer ventures will make him feel a bit more comfortable on his own. I wouldn't say he'll be fully independent, just that he'll be more open to independence.

More flexing. Just sighed while typing this, but in more of a "Oh brother, here he goes again..." joking way.

Some scandal going on either involving him or involving someone who he is associated with that people will try to group him with. It will set him off course a bit, but he'll manage.

He will also curse and call people out when necessary.

🪁🪩 Nick Sturniolo Predictions 🪩🪁

Sooo many more ideas, soooo many more things to do, people to meet, deals to make, etc. In short, he will be grinding.

New friends! He's going to meet new people who fulfill him a lot more. The fans will definitely see him branch out more and hanging out with familiar as well as shocking new faces.

More independence. He will be doing more things on his own (just as his brothers will be). He'll just be flying like a bird (literally and figuratively).

Dating/Exploring. That's it.

Exploring his photography and videography a lot more. You all will definitely be seeing his name in some places you all wouldn't believe!

Collaborations. Whether it's other creators, other brands, etc., y'all will see it and have to blink twice.

New Space Camp products/ventures. Some seem more limited and more of like "trial runs", while others seem like things he'll definitely be keeping in stock. Also new lip flavors. I sense things that are fruity, fun, and definitely even more flavorful than the last packs. He will be working with newer people in his Space Camp brand.

Heartbreaks and a bit of down times. I hate bringing this up, but these are things I sense, especially with certain friends and people in his life. He will feel a bit down about these disconnections. But he'll live through them!

You all can ask me questions in my ask about other predictions and questions about things I didn't bring up. There are things I probably missed out on or just forgot to add, and so when you all ask me about them, I will post the links to the answers of those asks on this post so you all can go back to them!

Remember, some of these may not even be this year. They can be things that bleed out to 2026, or later if the guides were just super hype and wanted me to say them earlier! 😭🤍

And this also isn't about me trying to prove something. I hardly ever go back and checkmark things that are accurate in my other posts, so I don't really plan on doing it with these predictions (unless I'm super proud of it!). I'm not an egotistical reader who loves to prove how accurate she is (not saying all readers who do this are like this).

You are all amazing! Spread love and kindness! Have a Happy 2025! 🎆🤍🥹

[milkfordragons]

How To Be Eaten.

A post-fall fic exploring Will's past, weaving through time to find Hannibal, love, cannibalism and other drugs. TW. The mind perceives existence as a thread unspooling, one event birthing the next, past sculpting present, present carving the future. Yet in dreams, the mind dissolves, slipping between moments, untethered by time, stripped of causality. There, in that formless drift, we glimpse a hidden truth: that life, which appears so linear, is but the rippling echo of a primordial force, a breath from the vast and originless void, where only the great nothing hums.

Here, we are not architects of our future, nor sculptors of our fate. We are first-degree witnesses, adrift on an endless ocean, where waves do not rise from some distant beginning but have always been—moving, colliding, unfolding everywhere at once. And yet, to touch each moment, the mind slows, weaving the illusion of time, a trick of perception that lets us believe in sequence, in order, in a story being written rather than simply revealed.

So Will couldn’t bring himself to blame his mother for everything that had happened in his life. Even when she had plunged his head beneath the water, her trembling hands gripping his small shoulders, he couldn’t find it in himself to resent her. She had whispered fevered prayers, calling upon God to cast out the darkness she believed had taken root inside him. If anything, he wished no one had come to save him. If anything, his mother had been right.

“What a precious little thing, with those big blue eyes,” an old woman cooed, leaning over the stroller where baby Will lay swaddled in blankets.

Elizabeth Graham forced a smile, the corners of her lips twitching as though the muscles had long forgotten how to hold such an expression.

She didn’t think her son was precious. She didn’t think anything of him at all, really. Her body had been hollowed out into a graveyard, and Will was nothing more than another tombstone. Another punishment from God. Another child of the devil sent straight into her womb, a creature she had to purge from this world before he could curse it. But no one believed her. They called her sick. Delusional. Hospitals and medications, white rooms with no edges, bitter liquids forced between clenched teeth.

So she learned to pretend. To be quiet. To smile, to nod. Because if she didn’t, they would take her away again. They would lock her up, and the demon child would be left to wreak his havoc on another family.

So she remained quiet about Will.

Will didn’t think he remembered being a baby. But the sensation of boiling water flooding his nose, blurring his vision, pressing against his skin like a second, searing body…that never left him. Sometimes, even now, he could feel it. Unaware of where the memory came from, only that it lived inside him, dormant until sleep pried open the locked doors of his mind and the truth came spilling through the cracks.

“LIZZIE, NO!” A man’s voice, half-swallowed by the water.

“Let me go! We have to do this!” she yelled, thrashing against his grip, her wet hair plastered to her face in wild strands. She clawed at his arms, but he shoved her back, sending her stumbling against the tile as he lunged toward the water. He pulled baby Will out, cradling the soaked bundle against his chest, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, brushing dripping strands of hair from Will’s forehead. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.”

“My God, no wonder you’re such a weird little thing,” Margaret Thatcher scoffed, exhaling a plume of cigarette smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. She tilted her head, her yellowed, brittle hair cascading over her shoulder in stiff strands. Her long red nails tapped against the armrest as she studied Will with blue-shadowed eyes, lined heavily with kohl.

“I mean, with a mother like that,” she added, taking another slow drag. “Who wouldn’t turn out a little strange?”

Will sat silently beside her, small hands clasped in his lap. Outside the smudged car window, fluorescent gas station lights buzzed faintly in the night. They were waiting for his father, who had gone inside to buy cigarettes. A few years had passed since his mother had been institutionalized, and in that time, Robert had met Margaret in some roadside bar. She had been around ever since—rude, sharp-edged, wrapped in the stale scent of nicotine and whiskey.

“You’ll have a big brother to look after you,” Robert had told him when they loaded their things into the truck, bound for Margaret’s trailer park. “It’ll be good for you.”

Jason was fifteen when Will was five, and he did not look after Will.

Jason thought Will was stupid. A silent, strange little boy who never talked, never fought back. They shared a room, and Jason wasn’t bothered by Will’s presence there, no matter what type of activities he was engaging with. And after a while, he decided Will should participate in his activities, whether he wanted to or not. And so, whenever Will felt the crushing weight of something pressing down on his back, the scent of sweat and old pillowcases thick in the air, he remembered Jason.

Robert and Margaret were heavy drinkers. They would come home in the early hours of the morning, fumbling at the door, voices slurring into incoherence before one of them collapsed in a heap on the couch. Sometimes, they didn’t make it that far. Will had stepped over them more times than he could count, their bodies sprawled on the stained carpet, their breath thick with liquor.

Jason took those moments alone with Will as opportunities to experiment with the human body. Maybe he wanted to be a doctor, who knows? He definitely liked to see what he could fit inside Will, no matter what it was. It was a fun game for Jason, who had a crazed smile on his face throughout the entire time.

This went on for two years, until one night, Will woke to screaming.

He followed the sound, his small feet padding hesitantly across the cold floor. When he reached the kitchen, he froze.

Margaret was clawing at Robert’s arms, her fingers scrabbling for purchase as his hands tightened around her throat. Her face, once flushed with fury, was draining of color, her lips parting soundlessly.

As if something had snapped, her body crumpled, falling heavy against the floor with a dull thud.

Robert turned, chest heaving, eyes dark and unreadable as they landed on Will’s small, rigid form in the doorway.

“You listen to me,” he said, voice steady, almost gentle. He crouched to Will’s level, his large hands bracing against his knees. “If you ever tell anyone about this, you’ll be out on the streets. And you know what happens to little boys out there, don’t you?”

Will’s breath hitched. He said nothing.

Robert nodded as though he had expected the silence. He reached out, resting a heavy hand on Will’s shoulder.

“I did this for you, son.”

Will was young, but he knew his dad hadn’t done it for him. Margaret wasn’t kind, that much was true. She gave him smaller portions at dinner, let his clothes sit unwashed, ignored him when he needed help. She threw away anything that reminded him of his mother—photos, trinkets, even the blanket he had clung to as a child. She forced him to sit through adult movies he was too young to understand and asked him strange questions afterward.

No wonder Jason was sick.

But Robert hadn’t killed her to save Will. He had done it because that was the way they were, him and Margaret. They fought constantly. This time, it had gone too far. And Will believed his father when he told him he’d end up on the streets if he said anything. So he stayed quiet.

He stayed quiet as his father made him stand there while he cut Margaret into pieces, muttering under his breath as he worked, as if she was still arguing with him. Will stayed quiet as he watched Robert fit those pieces into a wooden box like a grotesque puzzle. He stayed quiet when they drove out to an empty stretch of land and buried it beneath the cold dirt. Margaret had been a drunk, a mean and bitter woman. People expected her to disappear. When Robert went around, red-eyed and slurring about how she had left him, no one asked questions. He sent Jason to live with his grandparents. That was that. No one came looking for her. Or if they did, Will never heard about it.

"You got a lighter?"

Will looked up from the dock where he sat, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the boatyard. A boy stood in front of him, dirty blond hair sticking up in places, green eyes catching the light.

Will pulled out his lighter—a cheap gas station one, red and blue—and handed it over. The boy flicked it a couple of times, then lit his cigarette, inhaling deep before flashing a grin. Will didn’t know it then, but he would keep that lighter for years.

They were sixteen when they met, two kids killing time in a place where time stood still. Will’s father worked on boats, fixing motors, and so did Dean’s. But Dean’s dad wasn’t around much. When he was, he was the kind of man people avoided.

Empty afternoons filled with smoke, grease, and books became something else with Dean around. Will had never had friends before—he didn’t like how people looked at him, the way they filled silence with empty words. But Dean was different. Like Will, he carried an invisible weight, the kind only wounded boys could recognize in each other. Will saw it in the way Dean deflected with humor, in the glint of his eyes that only those who fought demons had. But they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to.

Instead, they would drive around in Dean’s old car, wind tearing through the open windows, Nirvana blaring from the radio. They climbed onto the roof, lay back, and smoked while staring at the stars. Will didn’t understand, then, the strange tightness in his chest when Dean laughed or the way his skin prickled when Dean’s arm brushed against his own. He only knew he wanted it more.

When Will dozed off in Dean’s car, he would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat. Dean’s hands would find his shoulders, grounding him.

"My brother gets those, too," Dean had said once, voice low.

Will didn’t know much about Dean’s brother. They went to the same school, but Dean never talked about his family. All Will knew was that the nightmares ran in their blood, that his brother was quiet and strange, and that he liked dogs. Like Will.

At home, things got worse. Robert had learned after Margaret that it was easy for a man like him to get away with things. And so he started collecting bones.

Women from bars, the ones no one missed. He’d bring them home, slit their throats, make Will mop the floors. Cut them up. Take a marrow. Dispose of them.

Will learned to shut down. His body moved through the motions like a machine, a vessel emptied of anything human.

Dean talked about running away all the time.

"We can make money easy. I know a few tricks, and we don’t need much," he’d say, lighting a cigarette, the glow illuminating his sun-kissed skin. "We’ll take my car. Sleep in it if we have to."

One evening, Dean picked Will up from the boatyard. Will’s hands were trembling. His father had hidden a body earlier that day—the first one that year, in that town—and he couldn't shake the cold weight of it. He wasn’t hiding it well. Dean noticed.

"We leave tonight," he said. "I can’t take this anymore either, you know? My dad—he…" He shook his head. "Doesn’t matter. We’ll get rid of them tonight."

So they left. They drove until the world stretched out wide, until they were nothing but two boys parked in the middle of a canyon, the night vast and open above them. They stayed there, one night, then another.

One morning Will woke to soft, broken sobs in the driver’s seat.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, voice groggy.

Dean wiped at his face, shook his head like he could brush off the feeling. But he couldn’t.

"I have to go back," he whispered. "I can’t leave my brother alone."

And so they turned around.

When Will walked back into the house, Robert didn’t say a word. Just looked at him, long and heavy.

Dean never showed up again. Not at the boatyard. Not at school. Not ever again. All that was left was the blue and red lighter.

[mandalhoerian]

Gosh I wish you made such big analize about Xavier and Sylus, sometimes I feel so dumb that I can't read so good behind the lines. 😭😭😭

HEY NO CMON NOW NO NEED TO DISCREDIT YOURSELF LIKE THAT!!!! First of all, this is an ongoing game and story, think of it like an incomplete ao3 fic you have theories for. There are HUUGE gaps in there that will be filled later and until then, they are left to the interpretation of the player. It's only natural, there's SO MUCH stuff and lore out there to be consumed, which are often non-linear that it makes things confusing on purpose. It's all about feeding us crumbs about what's coming, of course we get lost!!

Secondly, I made the rafayel analysis because it confused the lights out of me with the constant nagging feeling that I was missing something and that's why I didn't understand most things and wanted to get my thoughts straight. Like the ebb day theories floating out there as to why he was Like That, why he said the things he did out of nowhere and randomly like "what if i take from you will you leave me?" after the topic was JUST about sceneries and the love and art burns me talk after YET AGAIN another art talk about inspiration in pain. I had whiplash over whiplash and felt the need to dive deep into intertidal zone.

It's not like that with Sylus and Xavier (and Zayne's) cards. At least for me. All of them are fairly self-contained compared to his, I feel like. And I'm sure other people have discussed this already, much better than I can as well -- especially Sylus, but I'll put my two cents in for a general review of both their memorias!

Xavier is experiencing negative emotions such as jealousy FOR THE FIRST TIME with MC. He doesn't know how to process these feelings which are allowed to be nurtured in a safe environment when that wasn't the case before in his life. They manifest in temper bursts that stem from a life of being forced to be emotionally blank. He wasn't allowed to be a child or freedom for himself and his thoughts and feelings and wants, so he starts behaving in a childish way -- it's something he's surprised about as well. This happens when you feel safe with a person that those repressed parts begin to open up and you start being yourself more with them. It's sad when you think about it, as cute as it is coming from Xavier. MC is so understanding of him and finding him being "expressive" more as a really positive thing. She's an amazing partner -- because let's face it, if this behavior came from a man in real life, it would be so annoying. Xavier isn't like those other men though, his jealousy doesn't come from a need to control or possess, a place of distrust, projection or disregard of personal boundaries. It's cute because it's followed by healthy communication to allow Xavier to process and grow and open up more, it doesn't threaten the relationship. This is just my interpretation, aside from the context of their previous lives together (the desire to monopolize now that he finally is with her) and this being Xavier's possibly last year on earth that gives a "i've got so little time left and i don't want to waste it" stuff.

And Sylus is. Well. There's a lot in there. The theme here is "their first time", and it's not limited to sleeping together, in my opinon. Theirs is a burgeoning relationship compared to the other "established" relationships. They're new to each other. We even see domesticity from them in MC's house for the first time, though it is a result of Sylus's Onychinus life making an introduction in their relationship as something that has to be legitimately talked about eventually. MC wants to come along with him and know more but Sylus hides a lot from her to keep her safe and separate from him, and yes it's his business and MC doesn't push (the mutual respect is insane here), but it's affecting their time together. Not that MC sees this as a problem because she's always ready to throw down (AND does lock in and gets one step ahead of him).

I read this as MC's first time finally letting him in and her desires/feelings for him that she asked him to stay and kept making the moves when it had all been him before. Her feelings are growing. And you can see how much it pleases him and makes him happy, he was waiting for this -- for MC to voluntarily want him and be honest with him. That's all Sylus wants. He can see into what she wants, and sure yeah he knows, but her outwardly voicing them to him is a different story altogether. It shows she trusts him, and that's important to Sylus.

She was mostly closed off and withdrawn from him emotionally because they have this dynamic that started off hostile that turned into teasing and provoking where she sees being vulnerable with him as a weakness that would be embarrassing. It's a budding relationship, remember? No couple is all in & open with each other right from the beginning, it comes later. And Sylus is a dominant man (not domineering, that's a different word) and I think MC doesn't like being weak next to someone like him, and she perceives a power imbalance there unconsciously even though Sylus wants her to be open so bad and rely on him more and give her everything she wants and needs.

So it's HUUUUUGE that they showed Sylus intertwine their hands together when he had to FORCE IT before. MC is finally receiving him with open arms and you can see he's delighted. It's so romantic first of all, but mans is hungry, BUT HE'S ALSO SO TENDER AND LOVING !!! GOOD FOR YOU SYLUS GET IT. I love this for him and that he felt safe enough to sleep even though he's nocturnal. Or she sucked the soul right out of his dick and knocked him out cold 😭 the sex was so astronomically soul ascending i guess LMFAO

Again, I'm sorry if I got anything wrong. These are just my thoughts, and they are surface level!

[yinyuedijun]

since it is on the brain tonight. have one of my favourite (very very long) scenes of desire path backstory (happened in both versions of the fic, og and current)

(tw implied child abuse and incest)

background: you've just been adopted into the itoshi household and have had a really hard time opening up. sae hears you crying in your bedroom every night. here, he finally decides to try and help you. you're about 6 here, sae is 8.

___

Still, you had your bad nights. Progress has never been linear with you, not now and not back then. Sae recalls one midnight where you had a crying fit that disintegrated into a violent string of coughs, each one so powerful that it made him wince.

He wondered how the whole house wasn't awake, listening to your pain. Rin always slept like a rock—Sae could see him snoring away in the other bed, so it made sense that he wasn't bothered—but surely their parents were hearing this? But then he decided not to linger on it for too long.

It didn't matter since he was going to help you anyway.

He ended up knocking on your door with a glass of water. Almost immediately, all the shifting in your room stopped, almost like you were trying to silence yourself. But Sae could hear the coughs being torn violently from your throat, even though they now sounded strained and muffled.

"Hey," he called out softly. "It's me. Are you awake?"

Silence. Sae knew to give it a moment before he tried again.

"Can I come in?"

If it had been anyone other than you, you told Sae years later, your fingers running lazily through his hair, lifting the bangs out of his face, I wouldn't have said anything. I'd have pretended to be sleeping. But I let you in because it was you. You squeezed his hand, then, and your eyes were close—so close, heavy on his own and weighed down by the vulpine flick of your eyeliner, by the mascara sooty and thick on neatly curled lashes, by your childhood shadows. Your strawberry gloss shone next to his lips, and your heated and tender words kissed them: Do you understand what I'm saying, Nii-chan? If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have been—

"...okay."

When Sae crept into your room, found an empty bed. You were hiding underneath it, curled up in the tiny space between the floor and the mattress, hugging the quilt he'd handed to you weeks ago. He crouched down, showed you the glass of water. Sae wasn't sure if the offering would be enough to draw you out from under the bed, but another coughing fit—this one strong enough to make you teary-eyed—had you crawling out. You mumbled a little thank you as you took the glass from him and drank.

"You haven't cried like that in a while," Sae commented, and you gave him a stricken look. After a long moment of unadultered panic in your eyes, he heard you string more than two words for the first time:

"...s-sorry. I'm really sorry." You were looking down at the floor, and it was like all the progress Sae had made over the past several weeks had gone up in smoke—you looked petrified, small, a cornered animal with nowhere to run. "I didn't know you could hear me."

"Don't apologize. I don't mind it."

"...you're not mad?"

Sae thought it was a funny question. "No. Who'd get mad at something like that?"

You didn't reply, just looking away, and Sae felt a little frustrated, then. He'd been working so hard to make you feel comfortable and thought he'd finally made some progress—but now he was seeing you regress in real time. Back into the fragile little thing that his parents had decided to adopt out of the blue, looking like you couldn't trust anything around you. Like you couldn't trust him. Sae couldn't help but think—

"You don't like it here, do you."

Even at that age, you had a distinctly doe-eyed look when you were confused, and he remembers staring at it.

"No," you said. "I do."

"Then how come you don't wanna talk to any of us?"

Maybe his voice was a little too harsh. Or a little too blunt. You flinched, your body retreating into the turquoise shell of your quilt.

"Sorry."

"That's—" Sae paused, chewing his lip. Tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, because he knew his usual tone would scare you. "...you don't need to be sorry. I'm not mad. I just wanna know what's been making you so upset. Like—how come you always cry at night?"

You got that nervous, uncertain look in your eye again, and Sae got the distinct feeling that you were wondering if this whole conversation was some kind of trick. He added, "I just wanna know how to cheer you up. I don't like seeing you so sad all the time."

You blinked, gave him a surprised look, but it was fleeting, quickly making way for another gloomy expression. "You don't need to worry about me… I don't think I'm going to stay here for very long."

Sae's brow furrowed. His mom had made it sound like you were going to be his little sister just like how Rin was his brother—that is, permanently. "Why not?"

The face you made was so miserable that it startled Sae. He hadn't had a lot of experience with sadness as a kid—most of what he'd witnessed revolved around soccer, when the opposing team lost, and Sae never felt very sorry for them. Sometimes Rin would throw tantrums or cry over silly things, but those were easy to handle. Sae supposed that the worst sadness he'd ever seen was in his mother, who tried her best to hide it—

—but not even her saddest expressions could compare to how shattered you looked in that moment.

"...your dad doesn't actually want me here, Sae-san."

Sae's brow creased. You have a new sister, he recalled. You need to take care of her, OK? It's your job as the eldest.

"That can't be right," Sae replied. "Dad said he wanted you to be part of this family. He even said I should look after you."

Instead of responding, you looked long and hard at Sae, and for the first time, he experienced the strange feeling of being dissected by you. He felt translucent and naked under your eyes—keen for such an innocent age, seeing everything in the dark.

"We have the same father, but different moms. You know that, right?" you asked quietly.

He hadn't.

"Your dad didn't like my mom very much, and that's why he didn't want me. He's only being forced to take me now 'cause my mom decided she didn't want me either." Your eyes started to shimmer, and you hid them in your blanket. "My stepdad and my brother also left 'cause they didn't want me. And I don't think your mom likes me very much, either. So"—you breathed in deep and whispered, and Sae felt like he was watching a vase tip over the edge, a sandcastle crumbling into dirt, his mother crying as she fumbled for her cigarettes when she thought no one was watching—"it's not gonna be very long 'til your parents throw me away too."

Sae went silent. If his heart ached for you when he first laid eyes on you, then it was being crushed right now. He didn't think very hard about it when he placed a hand over one of yours.

"They wouldn't do something like that," he said.

Your fingers twitched under his, like you wanted to pull away.

"They want to. I can tell."

You're just imagining things, Sae nearly replied, but then he remembered that he'd never once heard his parents come here at night to check on your crying, and then he went quiet.

"...it doesn't matter," he eventually decided. "I won't let them."

A little sniff. "No?"

"No. I'll make sure you stay with us."

You blinked the saltwater away from your lashes, then gave him a curious look. "Why?"

"Because I'm your brother, and it's my job to take care of you."

"Really?" you asked, voice watery.

His eyes softened, his usual impassivity crumbling for you.

"Really. I would never let anyone throw you away," he said, and the words felt so ugly in his mouth that he couldn't fathom how anyone had done that to you. How anyone could have done anything to you. You were so sweet, and so kind, and so vulnerable, and it left him feeling sick when he imagined you being hurt in any way. "I'll keep you safe. Promise."

Sae nearly jumped when he felt something move in his hand. He looked down, saw your little fingers prodding at his own, and he offered you his open palm. You took it readily, Sae found himself transfixed by the latticework of your entwined fingers.

"Thank you, Sae-san."

"It's nothing," he wrote off. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand, gentle in a way that his voice wasn't. "But I'm your brother now, remember? You should address me properly."

You smiled a little, studying your interlocked fingers, and Sae felt a peculiar warmth in his chest, an uptick in his pulse.

"Okay, Nii-chan."

Nii-chan. Sae's always loved hearing that title in your mouth. Not out of a demand for respect the way Rin obsesses over it, but because you've always seemed so happy to say it, the syllables sweetened by your adoring tongue. Okay, Nii-chan, you've always said. I'll listen to you, Nii-chan. I trust you, Nii-chan. I love you, Nii-chan. I love you, I love you, I love you.

So please don't leave us again.

Please don't throw me away.