#so i figured i should write it down so i can point at it if readers want to know wtf they are talking about

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Yandere destined one... deciding to courtnap his new obsession. I would love to see this!

(I don't write much destined one but I'm really liking his character!)

Two young children sat in the shadow of the apricot trees, fresh and juicy fruits in their hands while they spit away the seeds, playing and laughing. Your childish laugh echoed when you were able to defeat the young one beside you.

Your innocent and naive mind never found trouble in his look, after all, how many kids could have said to be friends with a demon monkey?

"You know," you said, chewing another fruit, "my big sister is going to get married soon, and they promised me to buy me a new dress!"

His eyes narrowed; his sharp canines bit in half the apricot with one strike.

"What does marry mean?"

"It's when two people love each other a lot and they start to live together!"

"Oh…we do the same! But without new dresses…" He looked at you, his tail swirled around. "Say, would you marry me when we get older?"

You inclined your head, confused by this question.

"But you're a monkey!"

"I know! So? Do you want to?'

"…ummm…"

You bit into the apricot again, clearly questioning if you wanted to get married in the first place.

///

The open window allowed a soft breeze to enter your room. Your small figure held the doll that your father gifted you for your birthday to help you sleep, especially since, for some reason, your sleep seemed quite disturbed and erratic.

Strange noises came from your room, alarming both of your parents and the servants.

Sometime you woke up, feeling a pair of eyes watching you. Sometimes you actually saw a figure, and every time your screams woke everyone, alerting them and making them come to you in fear.

During the day, when you were able to meet him, you told him about those nightmares, fearing what was happening in the security of your own house.

"I'm sure those are just nightmares! Who could even think to hurt you?"

And you wanted to believe him, but the truth was beyond everyone's imagination.

Your parents always told you to beware of yaoguais, especially the monkey ones.

"As simile and harmless as they look, they can be conniving and prone to lying! They have an eye for treasures and beauty, and they're ready to steal!"

But a child doesn't know better, and you thought of him as a friend. You played with him, shared snacks with him, never knew that he had a treasure in his mind all of this time, and, despite the age, he had already enough courage to try and steal it.

You wanted to be brave, a brave little girl, and, instead of screaming, that night you pointed the light of your candle closer to whatever was roaming in your room.

Your eyes met the one of your friends, occupied in preparing a bag, with your staff.

When you screamed, your parents finally met who was trying to steal you. He ran away, betrayed and in fear.

You never saw him again.

///

"And what did the fortune teller say about the date?"

"The ending of the month is a good date!"

The voices of your mother and your grandmother were just background noises in your head. Looking out of the window, your eyes fall on the old apricot orchard, with the white petals falling down like snowflakes. An inch of nostalgia and fear came back to you, remembering what memories held that place. Sitting on your chair, the breeze outside the window didn't give you the chance to be part of the discussion between your family, even if you were at the center of it.

"My child is getting married! Her father acts all grumpy about the expenses, but he's just so sad to see his princess become a bride!"

It wasn't like you didn't want to get married; to be fair, it wasn't in your mind at all, and you were mostly acceptable of the event.

Your spouse, the man who insisted with all his soul to marry you, was the child that came to you after the rumor started to spread.

The girl of the monkey, a girl that had almost been taken away from her house by a demon monkey.

The child came to you, curious about why a demon should want to take away such an ugly girl like you. You didn't know if you were ugly, but you knew that you didn't want to take that offense, and so you punched him. You two became friends; he started to play with you, allowing you to finally come out from the fear of meeting the monkey again, the fear of being captured.

You forgot about that fear…Maybe it was because you wanted it to be as far away as possible that you decided to accept marrying your childhood friend, even if, more than love, you felt for him a connection like with a brother.

Well, it wasn't like you had any friends or suitors since your background…Better accept it, you thought.

While looking at the orchard, something caught your eye, a glint, something shining between the flowers and the leaves. Strange, it wasn't the right time to tend to the trees… You tried to look better, your eyes glued on the plants, when the cranky voice of your grandmother called you back.

"Child, are you listening? "

"Uh?" You looked at her, completely spaced out. She sighed, massaging her face.

"Dear Y/N, how are you planning to be a good wife if you can't even listen to your old baba?" She smiled again, caressing your face gently. "We were talking about the decorations!"

And, by being dragged back in the discussion, you failed to notice a tail moving like a snake in the trees and the glint of a sword.

///

The smell of the powder and the incense was almost intoxicating; you had to plead with your mother to let the maiden open a window to allow some fresh air to clean the room. You were in a remote area of the house; no one could ever be able to trespass there, so why bother fearing being seen?

The red silks adorned your skin like the petals of a peony, the blue gems in your hair to symbolize the ever-l'astinenza phoenix, the crystal flowers decorating your neck and ears…

You needed to look better, the gentle ray of sun illuminating your face like no candle could even. You never were someone that proud or arrogant, but this time you had to admit it to yourself: you were standing.

You gasped; the makeup on your skin gave you an aura of elegance and refinement. It was like a princess was sitting in front of that mirror.

Your mother must have noticed that a sense of pride took over her.

"Oh…oh, my baby," her voice starting to crack, holding a handkerchief to stop the tears from ruining her makeup.

"Mom, please!"You tried to calm her down, "Don't cry!'

"Forgive me, my dear," she sighed, "it's just so much for me…"

You smiled; a sigh escaped from you. She's been crying since the news of your engagement, so overwhelmed by the fact that her little girl was now becoming the bride of a fine young man. The child that was marked as the chosen by the demon was finally getting free…

You caressed her shoulder, hugging her with fondness, looking at the maid that even she couldn't contain the happiness.

"Please," you said, trying to calm your mother, "can you take Mother to take some fresh air? I can take it from here…"

She nodded, helping your mother to stand up and leading her out of the room, closing the door behind her to give you some privacy.

You turned your face back to the mirror, smiling again at your reflection on the surface.

You were getting merry; soon you would leave the house of your parents to live with the man that promised to protect you from an old nightmare…

You felt a little bad, but you cared for him, and you knew you were holding nothing but affection towards him.

He could have asked someone else, and yet he chose you. He properly courted you… Yes, it was better like this…

You yawned a little, feeling a wave of exhaustion crashing on you all of a sudden. How strange…Well, you had woken up quite early for the preparations, and you had no time to take a pause from your big day. Sitting down in silence, the sweet smell of the incense was making you quite dizzy and sleepy.

Without even acknowledging your action, you allowed your head to repose on your arm, sustained by the wood of the vanity. You didn't plan to fall asleep, only to rest your eyes a little. You promised yourself to not ruin the dress or your makeup.

Why were you so sleepy? Was always the incense of this smell? You didn't know; you felt so tired right now.

How funny, three people in a room and no one noticed a hand from the window, pouring a strange powder in the incense burner.

You were so tired; the figure slipping in your room was probably a dream.

///

"Oh my, she looks like a goddess!"

"Is she a princess, Mama?"

"Not for us for sure!"

The giggling from the monkeys was whispers in the cavern, echoing through the walls alongside the sound of water drops and the small cascades that were born from the main stream and found passages in the mountain.

The small taunts and remarks were silenced in the ears of the now-grown monkey, far too occupied in admiring your beauty, now sleeping peacefully. Not anymore the small cub that tried several times to take you away once, too small and frail to actually do it. Now he was older, stronger, and bolder; he had found no problem in holding you in his arms, like he had found no problem in slicing the throat of the young maiden and bursting like an old pumpkin the head of your own mother.

Killing the maiden? It was precociousness; he needed no one to set an alarm when he was taking you with him on the mountain cave behind the waterfall of his homeland, but with your mother…that was personal.

He had such a hate towards your parents that he swore nothing could compare to it.

He could have accepted the fact that for some mortals, taking away their own mate could be seen in not such a good light, but he was a kid! Who could blame the ignorance of the youth?!

He was able to understand that, but it was when he had come back with his father, to discussing the proposition of letting you two get marry once you were both old enough. He was even able to accept the idea of just doing it in the mortal way, acting as a human; that was nothing if the price was having you at his side forever.

"Our daughter will never be the spouse of that monster."

Since he was a child, those words were like fire branded in his mind. It was at that time that he decided that no matter the cost, having you was his real mission. No matter what the Elder said, bringing back the old Sage was just another way to prove how your parents were wrong.

He had trained a lot, you see? He had become stronger, just to protect you. He hated the fact that your parents put so many guards near your house; he even suspected that they forced you to not set a foot in your sacred haven, the apricot orchard! Where you two met, when he had proposed the first time to marry you.

You were silent that day, but you were just shy, right?

His hands caressed your rosy cheeks, your sleeping form on the mattress of thousands of flowers to help you sleep, until at least he had done what was needed to be done.

He could have stayed there for days, admiring your innocent, relaxed face, your chest rising and falling alongside your breath, in those beautiful garments made for a bride, his bride.

But he still had some jobs to do, he told himself, sighing, holding his sword to his side and his staff in his hand.

He needed to take care of your father and to that…boy.

Since the day he started pestering, how much he wanted to rip his fingernails one by one, to pluck his eyes and tongue to make him eat them, to rip his guts from his body and strangle him with them, to make him suffer in every possible way, to try to take his beloved Y/N away from. Marry him? The thought made him sick, like he could have been even at your level! Your parents were fools to accept his proposals; they did so only to keep you two apart, of course!

But that was over; today your life as newlyweds was beginning. Kissing your forehead, he saw your sleeping body move a little. He hoped you were dreaming of him because he had dreamed of you for such a long time.

And so, after another loving glance, he started marching out of the cave, ready to make some more blood spill.

@thepoweroffiction @angryvampire @the-little-devils-chaos

@nerium-lil

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau @miifu666 @sleepingdramaqueen @whitefox2k18 @ladydoe8 @jeminiikrystal @theactualgir @birdioarts

@jssy96 @silenthopper @nezukos-number1fan

@blackknight-kai

[o-batll3]

Please write part 2 of truths or just something really cute and sweet with lena oberdorf!

truths pt2 - l. oberdorf

warnings - make out

a/n - sorry i have been SLACKING in posting i’ve had a humongous break due to school work but hopefully i’m back!!

you don’t know when it started feeling different.

maybe it was the way she started looking at you—not like a friend, not like a teammate, but like you were something more. or maybe it was the way your heart started skipping when she did something as simple as slinging an arm around your shoulder, or flashing that stupid, cocky grin after beating you in a sprint.

whatever it was, it’s been building for a long time. and now, stuck in the same room for a week at camp, it’s getting unbearable.

—

by the third day, it’s ridiculous.

she’s everywhere. in your space, in your head, in your skin.

when you sit down at meals, she sits next to you without thinking, your knees bumping together under the table. when you finish a drill and reach for your water bottle, she already has it in her hand, passing it to you with a smirk like she knew you’d need it.

you train together like you’re connected, like you’ve been playing side by side forever. passes are effortless, movement instinctive, and she feels it too—you can tell by the way she grins when you pull off something perfect, by the way she watches you when she thinks you won’t notice.

but you always notice.

and it’s killing you.

—

by the fifth day, you’re losing your mind.

because it’s not just training anymore. it’s the little things. the way she leans against you when she’s tired, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the way she lingers in the doorway when you’re alone in your room, like she’s waiting for you to do something. the way her gaze flickers to your lips when you talk, for just a second, but long enough to make you dizzy.

just tell her.

you repeat it to yourself every night before falling asleep, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe in the bed next to yours.

but you don’t.

—

the last night is the breaking point.

you’re the last two on the field after training, the floodlights buzzing overhead, the air thick and warm from the summer heat. you’re both exhausted, sweaty, sore, but neither of you moves. neither of you wants to move.

“you keep looking at me like you want to say something,” she murmurs, kicking the ball between her feet.

your stomach twists. you force a smirk. “so do you.”

she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “god, you’re impossible.”

“so are you.”

the ball rolls to a stop between you.

she looks up at you then, and it’s different this time. heavier. like she knows—like she’s finally, finally figured it out.

“tell me i’m wrong,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

your heart pounds. “about what?”

“about this,” she murmurs. “about you and me. about what’s been happening this whole time.”

you should say something. you should stop this.

but you don’t.

instead, you take the last step forward, closing the distance between you, until she’s right there, until you can see every freckle, every fleck of gold in her eyes, until you can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

her breath hitches. her fingers twitch at her sides.

“tell me to stop,” she whispers.

but you don’t.

because you’ve spent years wanting this, years pretending you didn’t, years thinking you could ignore it.

and now she’s here, right in front of you, waiting.

so you grab her by the collar of her jersey, yank her forward, and kiss her.

and she kisses you back.

it’s not soft. it’s not slow. it’s desperate, reckless, all teeth and heat and years of frustration finally, finally breaking open. her hands are in your hair, her body pressing against yours, and it’s too much but also not enough.

she gasps against your lips, and you swallow the sound, pull her closer, dig your fingers into her waist like you’re terrified she’ll disappear.

she doesn’t.

she won’t.

because she’s wanted this just as much as you have.

and now, there’s no going back.

[newttxt]

hi quip! i really like your one piece comics and i am curious how you do them! i'm not good at comics and want to be better at drawing them! how do you learn how to make comics?

thank you!

uh oh... im afraid u have caught me at the perfect crossroad of "bored at work" and "unrelated task ive been meaning to do but keep putting off."

this is long. i hope you like reading (and grayscale progress pics). and of course!!! disclaimer before we begin that this is just how I, personally draw comics. there is no "right way."

quip's comic-making process!

Switching my typing to make this more legible...

My process can kinda be broken down into 6 steps:

Brainstorming

Thumbnailing

Sketching

Panels & Text

Lines

Tones/Colors

1. Brainstorming

My brain is a leaky sieve on a good day, so I sloppily jot down ideas in my phone notes the moment I have them. This helps me when it's time to draw too, because if I feel art blocked, I can look through old concepts and see what catches my interest.

Otherwise, I love drawing for other people's writing. :) And if worst comes to worst, doing manga/comic page redraws in my style teaches me new things every time.

Once I have my idea, I'll usually make a bulletpoint list of "plot points" or "story beats" I want. Then I plan the comic with this format that I've adapted from a tutorial I read once. I'm going to use my most recent comic (original comic post) as an example.

I start in the third column, writing notes of what I'd want to see in each panel. I also include the dialogue (in this case, I didn't have to write the dialogue! it's from the fanfic linked in the original comic post!). I usually write the whole name like [Luffy:], but at this point I've drawn so much of these guys, just the first letter works.

I like to handwrite these notes to get an idea for how much text I'm putting in a single panel.

After I describe all the panels, I go back and separate them into pages. I can't tell you how to know how many panels to a page. It's whatever works for you. I just kinda know about how big each panel will be, and so I can feel when I'm probably running out of space. (Also. You can change things later. I don't in this example, but I add/drop pages/panels all the time.)

2. Thumbnailing

Thumbnailing—as the name suggests—should be done tiny. Too tiny to accidentally get sucked into details.

This is about marking down blobs where items/characters go, and figuring out the paneling. I'll draw and redraw these a bunch of times too.

This is also the most time-consuming/brain-working part for me. If I were in a zine that did progress percentage, I'd try to finish thumbnailing around the 50% mark (but I'm also a moderately fast artist, so your mileage may vary).

I think the terrible quality makes them charming, actually. I really like how silly they look. :')))

I will add, when you draw your "page" rectangle, make sure it's the same proportions as your actual canvas for the final image. You want an accurate idea of how much space each panel will take up, especially if you have a lot of text.

3. Sketching

This is my most recent change to my usual workflow, and it's saving me a lot of time. I make my thumbnails a bit bigger (each one about half the size of the final canvas), and I sketch these basic body forms right over them.

It just helps give me placement for my actual lines!

I usually draw these in a paleish color so I can lower the opacity and not get distracted by them while lining. The random darker parts are to either help keep two forms separate (like when two characters have their limbs all over) or to better define sections that were too sloppy/poorly proportioned.

I also think this helps my poses stay looser, because I have more dramatic/wriggly shapes that aren't too bogged down by proportions yet.

Sidenote: I CANNOT show this here, but sometimes this is when I take videos. Of myself. I prop my phone camera up and shoot a video of me acting each panel. :/// It looks really dumb, but it also shows me fun body language ideas like hand gestures, expressions, weight distribution, etc. Just pretend you're an overdramatic cartoon character, and try not to worry about your roommates or mother walking in on you doing odd things. (You can also use the video for anatomy reference later, but I usually just capture the vibe and don't try to copy the actual video frame.)

4. Panels & Text

Oh, boy. So, the panels are usually just straight lines (though it's fun to make creative exceptions, like a round panel to mimic looking through a spyglass), but there are some fancy rules that I don't strictly adhere to.

I believe (I have no technical training in this. Take everything I say with a grain of salt) the vertical gaps (between two side-by-side panels) should all be a consistent width and the horizontal gaps (between two panels on top of each other) should be another. The vertical ones? Should be thinner? Because you want the eye to easily glide between them, whereas the horizontal gaps should be a visual barrier to keep you from jumping ahead. Just something I've vaguely noticed.

There are lots of fun "default layouts" you can look up. Or keep it a consistent grid. I think it's fun to sometimes have characters/objects sticking out of panels and overlapping others. This is just a matter of taste, creativity, and inspiration. (Read Witch Hat Atelier... It has some of my favorite paneling...)

You may also notice I have already done the speech bubbles. This is, to me, a crucial step. This helps me catch early if I don't have enough room for all the words. It also lets me plan the art in each panel with the speech bubbles in mind. There's nothing worse than working really hard on a panel, and then you realize there's no room for the bubbles.

I also try to lay them out in a way that guides the eye! Even without art, can people tell where to go next? Better yet, if I want people to look at panels out of order (aka not left to right, in my case), can I use the speech bubble path to make them? Here's just a vague example of what I mean.

As an added bonus, doing speech bubbles early also allows me to be lazy! :) Ignore the comic; I'm not supposed to post it yet oops,, There's a whole lot of drawing to do on each comic page, and I am not wasting my time on stuff that will be covered up. So yes, if I hide my bubbles, there are a lot of unfinished lines trailing off into nothing. (As a bonus, if there's a part of a character you're struggling with—and it won't look weird to do so—you can move speech bubbles to just hide the problem area yayyy)

Making the actual bubbles could be their own whole tutorial, tbh, but there are some general guidelines I use.

Zoom out when you choose your font size. You want to know how it will look to the average reader, so it isn't super teeny tiny or way too big. You generally want to keep the same text size for all your pages/bubbles.

When I draw bubbles, I try to size them about one vertical letter height (and some change) around the words [left side]. This isn't always the case though, because humorously large or funny shaped text bubbles can convey different feelings [right side].

On Procreate, I set my bubble lines to Reference and just drag-and-drop the white fill on a separate layer below the lines. (Remember to turn Reference back off again when you're done, or your fill bucket won't work right when you're drawing.)

To get the white outlines I use to keep the bubbles from cluttering up the art, I literally just Gaussian blur an all-white copy of the lines + fills... and then I copy and merge it 5 times until it's opaque enough. This is a terrible way to do it, but it works for me. :')

5. Lines

This is the part that I can't tell you how to do. I literally just. Draw right over my wacky sketched body forms. Boom. Comic drawn.

I'll make three suggestions:

Don't focus on making every panel perfect. Give a little extra love to big ones or ones you want people to linger on. Otherwise, know that people are typically speeding through the art. It's way more important to focus on storytelling than art technique. In my opinion, a good story that's told well will always be better than a beautiful one told poorly. (Some comics are beautiful AND well-written... Alas, I am just a hobbyist who needs to get the ideas out of my head at top speed.)

Put your background lines on a different layer. Put your foreground lines on a different layer too, if you have those. Basically, I try to keep the main part of each panel (usually a character or object) on my lines layer so I can erase background/foreground/etc lines to ensure clarity/focus.

You can make background lines lighter colors too. I have too many numbers sorry. (1) Background. The stuff that's farthest away. Lightest lines. Few details; more focused on shapes and the suggestion of a background (I'm not good at backgrounds). (2) Midground. Same distance away as the characters are. Lines can be black. (3) Also midground, and also the same distance away. But they're very detailed, so I lighten them so they aren't so distracting. (4) The characters. Black lines for focus. For people who haven't seen the comic, I swear they are just hugging. This is SFW. D:

6. Tones/Colors

Do not. Do NOT ask me. I don't understand colors. I hate working with them, but I try because I want to improve. I hate doing anything beyond the simplest grayscale shading. Please go elsewhere for your coloring/tone advice. This is how my color picker looks 95% of the time. I have pre-set "percentages" of black that I got by lowering the opacity of a black layer and just color picking it. I don't even know the exact percentages I used. Good luck out there. Be better than me.

7. Sharing

This is a bonus step that I didn't mention earlier, but it's actually the most important of all of them.

You need a friend. Or maybe a groupchat or discord. A family member or coworker if you're really close like that. I don't know.

Find SOMEWHERE you can spam wips and be cheered on. Drawing comics takes a while, especially if you're trying to tell longer stories than I'd dare to attempt. If I don't force someone to praise me for every line I draw, I shrivel up and die.

Also if and when you post online, add alt text. I'll admit I'm the first person to complain and drag my feet on this, and I literally use a screenreader myself when my eyes hurt (strong prescription glasses wearer). Comics should be accessible, because stories are fun and everyone should be able to enjoy them.

***

Learning???

And I guess lastly, how do you learn to make comics? Two steps: 1) read them and 2) make them. This is the tragedy of creating things.

1) Reading them: I grew up reading comic strips, western serialized comics, and webcomics. I've always loved graphic novels too. Then in late middle school, I started reading manga (Death Note and Haikyuu were my first two), and now I'm trying to read more webtoons (sorry im so slow bree)!

I also... mass-consume doujinshi, thanks to proxy mailing services and bilingual friends/Google Translate/knowing some Korean. (I have an entire bookshelf of doujin, actually,,)

The thing is, it's not usually enough to just read comics. You also need to be thinking. :/ I notice paneling, comic devices, clever comedic timing, etc. as I go. It's just a lot of studying/learning while also enjoying the story.

2) Making them: You just have to start. :( Even if you think they're "bad." My first comics were actually just drawings placed randomly all over the page, connected by speech bubbles (yay... I was already practicing how to place bubbles to lead the eye around the page...). I was going to post a pic here, but I'm a coward. Backscroll my account and you can find some older ones though.

I also know my art in general improved dramatically when I did ten comics in ten weeks for my friend's fic. Don't do this. It hurt my hands/wrists. But do practice in moderation.

***

If you actually read all that... I hope it made even a modicum of sense. And maybe it was even helpful? Just know at the end of the day, there is literally no right way to draw a comic.

And if you aren't ready to go for it yet, you can start by just adding a couple speech bubbles to your illustrations or doodles! It's a way to add storytelling and dialogue writing to things you may already be making.

Yay. I love comics. :))))

[artstennisracket]

I was listening to "Be Mean" by DNCE and it immediately made me think of Art being submissive and needy having a degradation kink.

Please write Artrick Stanford Era where Patrick comes to visit Art from tour! Patrick is relentlessly teasing Art and it's driving Art crazy but Art is so pathetic and turned on by it that he begs Patrick to be mean to him and fuck his brains out.

this song is actually so good thank you for introducing it to my lifeeeeee. i took a few liberties but I hope you love it anon :)

bonus points if you saw my aave post and can figure out where I wanted to write Art be fucking

cw: nsfw(18+), dom/sub, bdsm overtones, spitting, slapping, all the things

Patrick had visited Art a handful of times during his time at Stanford. Not as much as Art would have liked (considering Patrick split his time between Art and Tashi every visit). The last time Patrick visited he was telling Art his latest sexescapde with Tashi.

“yeah man she wanted me to tie her up and everything. so fucking hot, didn’t know she’d be into bdsm,” Patrick grins, the memory replaying in his head.

Art is always flustered when Patrick talks about sex. Not because Art is a virgin or anything, quite the opposite actually. Maybe it’s because he’s imagining Tashi and Patrick doing those things in his head.

The thought of Patrick tying Tashi up and doing whatever he wanted to her? More realistically, whatever she instructed he could do to her? That was really fucking hot, Art could feel his lower region peak interest. He started thinking about if Patrick could tie him up and actually do whatever he wanted to Art…

Art clears his throat coming back to reality. Patrick is staring at him amused, like he can read Art’s thoughts. “wait what’s bdsm?” Art asks.

“it’s like— you know the rihanna song? S&M? ‘chains and whips excite me’?”

Art nods, he’d heard that song the radio a few times and may have downloaded it on his mp3 player. “yeah i’ve heard it before, so what’s the bd part then?”

“that part means bondage and dominance? bondage and discipline? im not a 100% sure. you seem very curious maybe you should look into it,” Patrick smirks.

Art’s cheeks are red and he opens his mouth to say something but decides not to. Patrick leans in closer so he can whisper in Art’s ear, “I dunno you seem pretty easy to dominate, maybe you’d be into it.”

So Art had been thinking about it ever since. He did look into it and there are parts he’d think he’d be into. Being dominated wasn’t something he got to experience often with girls and Patrick was the only guy he’s ever slept with.

Being tied up to be used at someone’s else’s disposal? Yeah that made his cock very hard. But he’s only slept with Patrick once and they never talked about it again, he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up when Patrick comes to visit him again today.

Later that day once Patrick arrives, they headed to the dining hall to grab some food. They sit at the bar type area with high top chairs. Patrick pulls Art’s chair closer to his right before Art sits down.

“so are you gonna tell me what’s up or are you gonna keep looking at me like that?” Patrick asks turning his head to the side to look directly at Art.

Art furrows his eye brows looking up from his plate of food, “what are you talking about?”

“since I got here you’ve been like on edge, what’s up?” Patrick crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Art rolls his eyes trying his best to not think about Patrick dominating him in the bedroom because it’s all he’s been thinking about all day. But Patrick has always been able to read him, so he has to put on his best acting performance.

He scoffs, “nothing is wrong man, I’m just happy you’re here that’s all.” Art is searching Patrick’s face to see if he believes him.

Patrick studies Art face for a second, his eyes scan across the blond’s face. He notices the super faint pink tint on Art’s cheeks and the way Art is avoiding making eye contact. He also notices the few blond curls poking out of his snapback, which Patrick didn’t realize this before but Art in a snapback is definitely doing it for him.

Suddenly he throws one arm around Art’s neck pulling him to be face to face with Patrick, “you fucking slut, honestly im proud of you. you should be opening up your horizons your in college, id be doing the same thing if I was you.”

Art is so confused right now, mainly by how his cock stirred when Patrick called him a slut. “im not doing anything, what’re you talking about?”

“you slept with someone right? did all your bdsm fantasies? that’s great why didn’t you tell me?” Patrick smiles.

Art is about to deny it but he knows that if he does Patrick might figure out what he’s actually thinking. He nods, “no yeah you’re right. I was nervous to tell you about it.”

Patrick blinks for a second. He realizes that he got it wrong, Art is lying. He’s not sure why though but he’s going to play along until he finds out. He retracts his arm and sits back down in his stool fully. “so what’d you guys do then?”

Fuck Art should’ve been coming up with a story in his head as soon as he said it, now Patrick is going to ask questions he doesn’t know the answer to because they never happened.

“um y-yeah she just like tied me up and—“

Art gets cut off by Patrick saying, “i knew you’d be the one getting tied up, you’re just so submissive man.”

Art scoffs, “okay well why are we even talking about this here in public let’s just go back to my room and watch a movie or something.”

Patrick continues asking question when they get back to Art’s room. “what was her name?” “what did she look like?” “more tits or more ass?” “how’d you meet her?” Art couldn’t fucking keep up, he couldn’t keep his story straight and that when Patrick knew he got him.

“you fucking liar.” Patrick says backing Art against a wall.

“what? im not lying about anything. she was real and she was here and—“

Art is cut off by Patrick again, “bullshit you know what I think?” He asks standing very close to Art their noses almost touching.

“i’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Art says trying to keep his breathing and his cock under control. He’s not doing a great job at either.

Patrick smirks leaning in to whisper right by Art’s ear, “i think you want me to fuck you…again.” He moves his hand down to groping Art’s erection. His grasp is firm when he says, “and i think this time you don’t want me to hold back.”

Art’s eyes slipped closed and he bit his lip trying to stifle the moan on the top of his tongue. He doesn’t do a good job at that either.

“is that what you want?” Patrick asks as he slips his hand inside Art’s shorts and boxers. He cups Art’s tip where all the pre-cum had built up, using it to make his hand glide easily up and down Art’s shaft. “fuck, you’re so wet for me already. but I wanna hear you say it. is that what you want?”

Art nods, “ah fuck,” but the pleasure of Patrick stroking him is on the forefront of his mind. He lets his forehead rest on Patrick’s shoulder.

“can you use your words for me baby? wanna hear you say it. tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Art’s eyes are rolling is the back of head as he whines against Patrick’s shoulder. He has a feeling that not answering the question may result in consequences or even worse, Patrick might stop touching him. He nods before opening his mouth to say, “i— i want you to fuck me, don’t want you hold back, want you to be mean to me.”

Patrick smirks stilling his movements, “guess you’re not as dumb of a slut as I thought. didn’t think you were gonna answer me. and I don’t think you’re gonna need it but we should have a safe word anyway just in case.”

Art had read about this when he was doing his bdsm research, “um I think, maybe pineapple?”

Patrick lets out a laugh, “okay,” he takes his hand out of Art’s shorts before going to his bag. He had packed a few things he wanted to try with Tashi but he’s never been one to waste an opportunity. “I want you to take off all your clothes, lie down on your bed, and I’m gonna use these,” he pulls out two pairs of black fuzzy handcuffs.

Art strips so fast he might’ve gotten whiplash. It was crazy that his dreams were coming true. He’s wanted this for some time now and he was itching with anticipation.

Art lays down on his bed. He’s laying on some pillows so his back is slightly elevated. He’s so hard all he wants to do is touch himself—

“no touching,” Patrick tsks washing over to the bed. He takes each of Art’s wrists, handcuffing one to each side of the headboard.

Art was a vision. He was already so hard, his tip was leaking precum against his tummy. His face was flushed and his eyes were a little glossed over, “wow you look, really fucking pretty like this. all laid out for me. desperate, just waiting for me to use you however I please.” Patrick said as he traced slowly down Art’s torso with his finger.

He moved his gaze back up to Art’s nipples. He pinched one and took the other into his mouth.

“ah—“ Art gasps. No one’s ever touched him there, he didn’t think it’d feel that good.

Patrick does a small little lick to each nipple before kissing his way down Art’s torso. He purposefully skips over Art’s cock.

Patrick takes a step back to pull his shirt and his jeans off, “hm should I suck you off baby?” He questions as he steps out of his boxers and stroked himself a few times.

Art nods. Patrick tsks as he pinches Art’s nipple, “what did I say about using your words?”

“oh fuck oh fuck okay okay i- i- want you to suck me off, please please” Art whines, his body keening towards where Patrick is pinching him.

Patrick lets go, satisfied with Art’s answer, “good boy, but if you don’t answer me when I speak to you again, i won’t be so nice.”

He lays down on his stomach in between Art’s legs. He acts as if he’s going to lick up the side of Art’s shaft but inside bring his tongue to lick a fat stripe up Art’s tightness.

This takes Art by surprise and he moans out, “jesus fuck, Patrick.”

He teases the outside with his tongue before pushing inside. Art is taken aback by how good it feel, attempting to fuck himself back against Patrick’s tongue.

Patrick allows it. He needs Art to loosen up a bit before he can add any fingers. Patrick sits up holding two fingers in front of Art’s mouth, “suck, and this is all the lube you’re getting so make it good.”

Art opens his mouth sucking on Patrick’s fingers like there’s no tomorrow. Licking and sucking, sucking and licking, until he feels like he’s covered Patrick’s fingers in a good amount of spit.

Patrick pulls his fingers out and presses one finger inside Art’s hole. He grabs Art’s curls to pull him in for a kiss, it’s a mess of teeth and tongue. Patrick has now worked Art up to three fingers before he pulls his fingers out.

He wipes his hand on the bed, “now I’m gonna fuck your mouth for a little bit okay? remember there’s no lube so you better make my cock nice and wet so i can fuck you properly okay?”

Art nods biting his lip. He’s never had his mouth fucked, sure he’s sucked Patrick’s dick before but this would be different. He just doesn’t want to die of suffocation, Patrick’s dick is pretty big.

But he nods nonetheless, “oh— okay yeah i will, make it wet.”

“and hey you can just pinch me if you need me to stop at anytime.”

Art nods.

Patrick stands on the bed, Art’s chest is between his legs. He kneels down, moving one leg to be next to Art’s head. He grabs Art’s hair once again as he starts feeding his dick inside Art’s mouth slowly. Inch by inch. Once he hits the back of Art’s throat he lets out a low groan, “fuck baby, you were made to take my cock fuck.

He steadied himself before he starts fucking into Art’s throat, “taking me so fucking well, you’d let me use any of your holes to get off huh? fucking cockslut.”

The gurgling and choking sounds coming from Art are really turning Patrick on. He can hear all the spit building up in Art’s mouth so he pulls out. His dick is nice and wet, “did such a good job baby,” Patrick smiles, “now I can fuck you nice and good.”

Patrick stands up on the bed to move back to his original spot between Art’s legs. This time he lines himself up with Art’s hole before he pushes in.

Now it’s Art’s turn to let out a low groan as Patrick bottoms out, “ah oh fuck—“

“you are so fucking tight jesus, gripping the fuck out of my cock,” Patrick grunts as he grabs Art’s hips and starts picking up the pace.

“this is what you wanted right baby? wanted me to fuck you? and what else?”

Art whines, “yes Patrick fuck, wanted you to fuck me.”

Patrick grabs Art’s face forcing them to make eye contact, “and what the fuck else did you ask me to do you huh? or are you just such a dumb fucking cockslut you can’t remember. as soon as you get some dick in you you can’t think straight anymore?”

Art is so fucking hard, he wants to cum so fucking bad. And Patrick is saying all the right things it’s hard to focus. Fuck. What did he say? Why can’t he remember? Oh. He remembers, “be mean to me,” he chokes out between Patrick’s bruising thrusts.

“there you go, maybe not a dumb slut, but you’re definitely still a slut for my cock,” He smirks, “open your fucking mouth.” Art opens his mouth with no questions asked and Patrick spits in it.

Now alot of people would find that disgusting and Patrick was going out on a limb he had no idea if Art would like it. But judging by Art reacted, Patrick thinks his guess was right.

Art feels very disrespected and degraded and he’s never been more turned on his life. Maybe that’s why the next words that come out of his mouth are, “hit me, fuck, slap me, need it.”

Patrick slows down his thrusts for a second, unsure if he should, but he doesn’t want to ask and ruin what they have going on right now so he does it.

It’s light and short and not hard enough. “harder Patrick please,” Art begs, tears threatening to escape from his eyes.

Patrick didn’t have to be told twice, so he slaps Art again. Keeping his hand firm and following through on his swing. Fuck. Art’s going to cum. He hasn’t even touched himself but between Patrick fucking him, slapping him, and overall degrading him he can’t help it.

“‘m gonna cum, Patrick please, gonna cum, can I cum please?” He finishes all over his tummy.

Patrick already knew Art was close so he wasn’t holding back anymore and he let go, “yes fuck baby, you can cum. gonna cum inside you fuck, gonna fill you up.”

Patrick cleans them both up and uncuffs both of Art’s wrists.

“how do your wrists feel? or better yet how does your face feel?,” Patrick smirks and he’s pretty proud of himself. Making someone cum untouched was always on his bucket list.

Art is half asleep on his bed when he mumbles out, “‘m good, feel good.”

Patrick smiles before he takes Art’s blanket and uses it to tuck Art in. He feels pretty proud of himself for putting Art to sleep as well. He gets dressed to head out and get them some food. He already knows Art will be hungry when he wakes up.

[icedout-pacemaker]

He was the uncle that everyone had written off after he'd gone to jail. I hadn't even been speaking full sentences the last time I saw him, but had decided to reconnect with him after he sent me a card on my 19th birthday.

We started writing each other more often, updating each other on our lives when I realized that the prison he was being held at wasn't even that far and he was due to be released within the next year. So I picked up one day and made the drive to visit him. He was tall and seemed like a big teddy bear, a little nervous to see me. But by my third visit, we were getting along and talking and laughing.

Despite warnings from family, I told him that he would have a place at my small apartment where he could pick himself back up and I would help him however I could. He held my hand in the visiting room and thanked me with the most earnest gaze I had ever seen.

After a year of letters and monthly visits, he is finally released. I go to pick him up and drive him to my apartment, showing him the modest space as well as the couch that I had pulled out for him, a bag of sundries and a new outfit for him to wear. I could tell he was looking at me more and he seemed quieter, but I figured he was just overwhelmed.

He says he wants to cook dinner for me to thank me and suggests we watch a movie together. I agree and dress down for the night, wearing my shorts, tank, and a loose, open robe. He still had his prison sweats on and one of the tank shirts from the bag I had gotten him. He makes spaghetti and he sprinkles a little parmesan on my plate and then his. The parmesan seems a little finer on mine and I ask for more. He happily packs it on until I have to laugh and pull the plate away from him, taking a seat on the couch as we sit and eat while watching some three star movie n Netflix about a secret agent or something.

I know they say that pasta has a way of making you feel sleepy but was that what I was feeling? I mostly felt hot, and a little slower in movement. He tells me I should take my robe off and I do with his help, his big hands on my shoulders as he moved it to the side. He was still leaned into me, whispering something in my ear. I don't know what he's saying and ask him to repeat himself, but I still can't hear him properly, rubbing a hand on my clavicle as I try to cool off. He leans over a bit until his hands on are on either side of me, holding my upper arms to keep me upright.

I can feel his chin on my shoulder, his eyes pointed down at the break between my breasts. He asks me something about how big they are? Or, no, wait. Maybe he was asking me about something else? His hands rub up and down on my arms down, which only makes me feel hotter. I think I need to lie down, and he agrees, accidentally brushing the straps of my tank top off my shoulders as he lays my head in his lap, stroking my hair.

I try to get up but he keeps my head against his lap and tells me to relax, still stroking my hair. It's too hard to fight it, so I stay put, trying to keep my eyes from closing, but eventually let them close too. I can feel him shifting under my head. Probably trying to get comfortable. Something warm presses against my face and I try to blink before something is in my mouth, pulsing and warm. Was he...?

He starts to thrust up, his cock sliding down my throat. He starts slow, like he's trying to gauge how much I can take before he starts to move fast. I turn from my side, trying to brace against his thigh. But I only make it easier to thrust into my mouth and he carefully holds my head down from the back, thrusting up into my throat. I can hear him groan, the wet sound of his cock filling my throat suddenly the only sound in the room I can hear. He pushes my head down more, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. I can feel him twitching against my tongue. I can tell that he's close.

The moment he feels it, he buries his cock down my throat, his hips bucking as he rode out cumming, the warmth sliding down my throat without ever touching my tongue. When he pulls me off, I cough, forced to look up at him as he holds my chin, looking at my pathetic expression. He doesn't look like the man I had been contacting all this time. He looks more sinister, no softness to his eyes. And when he lays me on my back and starts to pull off my shorts, I know it is going to be a long night of hindsight.

[nevertheless-moving]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE DEMON OF YUNMENG

Chapter One/ AU Masterlist — Chapter Ten

Holy FUCK my pants are disgusting. 

It was an unpleasant thought to wake up to. But it was an even more unpleasant sensation.

Setting that aside for the time being, Wei Wuxian forced himself to his hands and knees, arching outward and inward to crack his back into something resembling normal shape. A vision assaulted him — Lan Zhan returning to the tent and catching him in this position. He had to stuff a fist into his mouth to hold back laughter at the following mental image of Hunguang-Jun mounting a clothed man and humping him like a beast until completion. 

Holy shit, he actually would, wouldn’t he? He would for sure be into that.

Wei Wuxian shook his head, refocusing. After a few more stretches, he began the painstaking process of peeling off his pants, wincing where it pulled at sensitive skin and hair. He did his best to scrape himself clean, but fucking hell he needed to bathe. Somewhere that Lan Zhan wouldn’t be tempted to look at his dick and inadvertently learn a secret that would require the Demon of Yunmeng to murder the Lightbearing Lord, something said demon really, really didn’t want to do. 

Ha! Even if I go off on his own, can I trust that Lan Zhan won’t follow to sneak a peek? 

The Honored Second Jade of Lan. Unable to resist peeping. He bit back another round of hysterical giggles. 

He hesitated getting dressed; Lan Zhan's pants looked like a decent enough fit — any minor extra length wouldn’t matter once he had boots on. But dried come was literally flaking off him. Not to mention the sweat. Reluctantly, he searched for one of his soiled pants from last night — just something to get him to the nearest stream. To his confusion, he couldn’t find any of his dirty clothing, just the clean Quinquin pouch. 

Annoyed, he pulled on his second to last clean pants and underrobe — way too nice for his current state and location.

“Oi, Lan Zhan!” he said, clamoring out of the tent. “Did you steal my underwear?”

Lan Wangji was pointedly silent.

It took him a moment longer than it should have to realize that the silence was actually not pointed; Lan Zhan simply wasn’t there.

He looked around more thoroughly, discovering that not only was Lan Zhan gone, but also his tent was missing, so that was a little disturbing. But he figured that Lan Zhan must have stolen it alongside his clothing for some currently inscrutable reason.

There was a bowl with a plate over it, resting on a suspiciously flat tree stump which he was fairly sure hadn’t been there yesterday. Lifting the plate revealed a steaming portion of brilliant red congee, along with what looked like two pheasant’s eggs poached on top. 

“What the fuck,” Wei Wuxian said outloud. Again, no one answered, but he did notice a note tucked into a crack in the wood, which he pulled out eagerly.

“River two Li Northeast.”

Wei Wuxian sank to the ground, resting on his heels and pressing the note to his forehead. He tried to imagine Lan Zhan’s line of thought. Did he consider writing something like “I made breakfast,” before discarding it as a waste of words? Or did communicating so frivolously sincerely never even cross his mind? Obviously, Lan Zhan had made spicy congee. And hunted down an egg and delicately cooked it. Who else would have done such a thing?

Quickly, he checked to make sure he hadn’t woken in an elaborate illusory trap.

Nope. 

Lifting the bowl revealed a warming talisman, which he had expected — what he hadn’t expected was for it to be one of his designs. Jiang Cheng had complained that his book of slightly more academic than practical talisman adjustments had barely sold enough copies to be worth the hassle of distribution, but he had also complained about him publishing too much on gui, so. 

He supposed he knew that Gusu Lan had always diligently purchased copies of his cultivation treatises, if only to decry them as heresy from an informed high horse before ritually burning them or whatever they did with such things. He hadn’t thought that Lan Zhan was particularly interested in talismanic arts, but he was a distinguished young master with a properly well rounded education.

Still, it was a little flattering. Really, the spellwork was objectively not worth the time it took to draw, but the food maintained significantly better texture than “standard” warming charms. 

Lacking any better plans, Wei Wuxian ate breakfast. It was pretty good. Not quite spicy enough, but very close. 

Since Lan Zhan hadn’t returned by the time he finished, he made his way to the river, opting to leave everything in the tent as it was because if the river had another under-informative note beside it he was going the fuck back to sleep.

When he finally found Lan Zhan, the man was meditating by the water’s edge, which was normal enough. What was strange was the washboard beside him and the  fabric strung delicately from lines that Lan Zhan must have been carrying around with him. 

No, wait, the lengths of cord aren’t strange — who the fuck carries a washboard around? Aren’t Lan robes spelled to look like that?

“You didn’t actually have to clean my underwear,” Wei Wuxian said, approaching.

“Taking responsibility,” Lan Zhan said, opening his eyes.

Wei Wuxian snorted. “If you say so.”

Lan Wangji rose, frowning at Wei Wuxian’s legs. “Will fetch this morning’s clothing.”

“Lan Zhan you don’t have to —” But he was already moving. Wei Wuxian just barely managed to grab his arm as he passed. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji stopped, looking at him. This close, the small height difference between them was a bit more noticeable, if only because Wei Wuxain was fairly unused to tilting his head back to talk with anybody.

“Ah —” he said, briefly distracted, before marshaling his exasperation. “If this is because of, you know, the stuff we did — you really don’t have to. Very willing participant and all that.”

Lan Zhan nodded solemnly.

“Washing my clothes isn’t actually your responsibility. That was a joke.”

“Mn.” 

Wei Wuxian let go, and Lan Zhan continued the way he was walking.

“I —” Wei Wuxian grabbed Lan Zhan again, opened his mouth, then gave up; his dick was too itchy for this conversation. Maybe he likes cleaning? And… stealing bird’s eggs? “Fine, whatever, I’m going to go wash, I've got come practically glueing my legs together — you’re, uh, staying in this section of river, right?”

“Mn.”

He hesitated, but felt the need to ask again. “...You’re sure? No wandering up or downstream from here?”

Lan Wangji lowered his head.

“I mean if you say you won’t, I believe you, of course, just…” he trailed off weakly. 

“Will not dishonor Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji swore, looking up with golden eyes that were WAY too intense considering the frivolity of the subject matter. Unfortunately, that actually was the level of intensity he needed Lan Zhan to bring to the table on this particular promise.

“Right.” Wei Wuxian cleared his throat. Lan Zhan’s face was very close.

Very close.

//

 “I really need to bathe,” Wei Wuxian insisted hoarsely, pulling back from Lan Zhan’s mouth.

Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed as he nodded. His fingers released all at once from Wei Wuxian’s ass, then he disappeared back towards camp in a swirl of white.

Wei Wuxian pressed a hand to his face, allowing himself twenty seconds to just stand there breathing heavily before pushing his way downstream. 

Alright, Lan Zhan has to be the one who’s unusual here, not me, he thought mournfully. He came twice last night and once this morning, same as me! How is he hard again? I mean, I’m not not impressed but seriously! Chafing!

Mind gradually warming up to the day, he resolved not to spend overlong mulling over the cutsleeve stuff between him and Lan Zhan. Based on how the last few days had gone, there were even odds everything would dramatically change between them again by tomorrow morning. In any case, he had bigger things to worry about  — namely the trial that had started all this.

Even with an increasingly credible and scandalously appealing alternate story, there were a hundred different ways it still might come to a fight. And he wouldn’t ask Jiang Cheng to spend sect lives and honor defending him.

It was entirely possible that they were approaching the point where Jin sect would give up on subtlety in their quest to seize the Yin Tiger Tally; they might already be there, if it turned out this whole “conference” was just a trap to lure him into prepared killing grounds.

Unless he chose to run and leave behind this mess entirely — something he couldn’t quite bring himself to do while there was still a slim chance of returning home — he was walking into that tower. Into terrain that the Jin would have ample time to prepare against him.

He whistled idly — a few lost spirits perked up in the distance, but nothing strong enough to be worth the effort of hunting down and trapping. What he really needed was a proper unsanctified mass grave, or a powerful ghoul. 

Ooh, maybe if I finish that tracking tool? Where was I with that? Oh yeah, multiple sensitivities… okay, if i give up on distinguishing between types of resentful energy and just amplify power…

By the time he made it back to camp, he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely greeted Lan Zhan, opting instead to immediately spread out paper on the conveniently flat stump, frantically trying to get his thoughts down before he lost their pattern. He definitely meant to say something to him at some point, but then he had an idea for amplification riding off the connection between iron and dragon lines…

It wasn’t until he finished charming a shaved iron needle floating in a cup of tea that he realized he had no idea where the tea had come from.

Blinking, he looked around. Another crude yet level table had appeared to his right, already covered with paper. Damn, Did I miss Lan Zhan chopping down a tree? Again? He looked around. More tables. Ok, not all stumps — I missed Lan Zhan chopping up a tree. Maybe two. And also carrying the pieces around.

What the actual fuck, he thought, flummoxed. 

Sure, he had gotten into this sort of flow before, but to where he completely ignored his surroundings? Only behind a dozen layers of wards — an actual mo could have walked right up to him and cut his head off for all the attention he had been paying.

He stood, popping his fingers and cracking his back. Lan Zhan wasn’t far, seated on the ground a short walk away. He was doing something with his hands. Grinding ink. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t remember pausing to grind ink. Despite having clearly been writing for hours. And his fingers weren’t peeled open. So he obviously hadn’t absentmindedly started using blood.

His heart did something funny. 

Lan Zhan looked up.

“...I’m finished,” Wei Wuxian said, not sure where to begin with the tea and the tables and the ink  and the pants and the egg. “At least for now. I’ll need to pick up some decent copper for a casing. I guess I could use wood, but it wouldn’t maintain… anyway.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan put down the inkstone. His fingers were stained black. Wei Wuxian looked down — his own hands were a lot worse, though the black of his robe did a lot to hide mess beyond that.

If we started making out right now it would be incredibly obvious where we grabbed each other, he thought.

“If we started making out right now it would be incredibly obvious where we grabbed each other,” he said.

The whites of Lan Wangji’s eyes ran red even as gold was edged out by black. 

“Wait, you can hold me up with no effort?” Wei Wuxian asked a minute or so later, heels wrapped around Lan Zhan’s back, Lan Zhan’s hands forming a seat with no apparent strain, and apparently enough extra energy to do a fair amount of pinching. 

“Mn,” Lan Wangji confirmed, switching to one hand to show off, which incidentally settled more of Wei Wuxian’s weight onto a few spread out points across his ass.

“Ngh,” Wei Wuxian said, as Lan Zhan used his now free hand to work at a somewhat tangled red hair ribbon. “Wait, I had a point — so tha — aa — at means you didn’t even nEED to pin me against things! You just did it because you wanted to!” 

“Frees my hands,” Lan Zhan argued reasonably.

“Yeah but think about it —” Wei Wuxian said, as Lan Zhan walked them towards the tent. “You didn’t even have to wait until I was up in that tree to tackle me, back at the hunt! You could have just grabbed me and held me up in the air like this.”

Lan Zhan froze. “Shameless!” he hissed through clenched teeth. Down below his cock jumped, nudging at Wei Wuxian’s ass somewhat left of center.

Wei Wuxian cackled. “Oh man! Does that always happen when you call me shameless?! If I had sat in your lap back when I was studying at cloud recesses would we have figured this out a lot sooner?”

Lan Zhan finished pulling the ribbon free, and Wei Wuxian felt his hair fall down on his shoulders.

“Not…always.” 

Wei Wuxian cackled some more.

Did Lan Zhan’s eyes soften? Wait, was that an honest, intentional joke?

“I knew you were funny,” Wei Wuxian crowed, delighted.

//

Yunmeng Zhi Mo sat leaning against a tree, watching with amusement as Hunguang-Jun methodically worked mostly white pants along a washboard. 

“You know you really don’t have to do that.”

“Mn.”

“I mean we’re even on orgasms, aren’t we? I feel like things are pretty fair, as far as that’s concerned.”

“Mn.”

“Lan Zhan, I’m serious,” he said, exasperated. “Grinding my ink — cleaning my clothing— you’ve been acting super weird since we started, you know. Why are you doing all this stuff for me?”

Lan Zhan dunked the cloth in the water. “Want to,” he finally said, not turning around. The back of his ears were pink.

Wei Wuxian sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

I guess this is what happens when someone that repressed gets to start having orgasms, he thought ruefully. He’ll get over it once the novelty wears off. Probably. 

“Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Did you pack my tent?”

“Mn.”

“Why?”

“...Wanted to be ready to travel.”

“Okay…” he said slowly, eyeing the clothing on the line.

“Dried it first,” Lan Zhan added, misreading the look.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Dried? What, you actually wasted spiritual energy on that?”

“Not waste. Prevents mold.”

“I —” Wei Wuxian laughed. “Alright, thanks I guess?”

“No need.”

“But you strung up clotheslines for our pants, because…”

“More delicate fabric.”

“Right, sure, but why — you know, whatever, it doesn't matter. How do you feel about detouring a bit towards Xi’an? One of the trade towns that direction should have some decent metals.”

“...Not the way to Carp Tower.”

“How long would it take you to fly us to Lanling, if you went fast? At most it would be a few hours from here, right?”

“Mn.”

“So why bother rushing! Worse comes to worse, we can leave the night before. I don’t want to stay in that snakepit any longer than I have to, and I strongly suspect the feeling is mutual."

Wei Wuxian paused, grimacing at the idea of actually showing up early for this thing.

"I’m not saying we shouldn’t generally move that direction," he added quickly. "To be on the safe side, and its probably not a great idea for us to be spotted flying all over the place together — I think the element of surprise will work best to avoid giving the Jin too much time to prepare —  but, anyway, my point is — wouldn’t you rather spend the next couple weeks enjoying ourselves while we prepare for the shitshow?”

Lan Zhan glanced back, eyes raking up and down Wei Wuxian’s body.

“...Mn.”

Prev (Chapter Ten) MDZS AU Masterlist

[etoilesombre]

Hey, do you guys want to hear a story? Let me tell you about the romance between Lancelot and Guinevere, as recounted in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur.

So, I thought I knew the basics. I grew up reading modern versions of Arthurian legend that focused on other aspects, but had a general knowledge of the Arthur-Guinever-Lancelot love triangle. It didn't show up too much, but I assumed it was subtext in some other versions. What I picked up was that it was sort of pure, almost an ot3, and not the cause of a lot of problems. 

My friends. In this version it is NOT SUBTEXT, it DEFINITELY CAUSED PROBLEMS, and it is WILD. It is a true will-they-won't-they drama fest soap opera romance, and I need to share. So please, come on this journey with me.

[I’m looking at you, Black Sails fandom people. I need you to know that Flint canonically would have read this. He would almost certainly have also grown up hearing these stories. I’m not saying he’s Lancelot coded, but I am saying it's interesting that he would have been aware that was something it was possible to be.]

A couple notes, before we dive in. I am very much just summarizing what happened in the book. The thing is, the book is a million pages long and also in Middle English, and this is just one of many plots, which I think is why it's not more widely known. I will show some excerpts so you can get a feel for the text, but you don’t need to read them to understand the story. I'm referring to a version that is as close to the manuscript as I can find, though with spelling regularized. For real fun, see what the original looked like. Malory purports to be translating part of the French Vulgate cycle, which likely is where the character of Lancelot originates, but in fact he is doing much more than translating, and compiles other stories as well. Point being, when he says “so the French book sayeth” etc, that is the “book” to which he is referring. Because of my lack of knowledge about the language and cultural context, this lecture series from Mythgard Academy was absolutely invaluable to my understanding. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Inevitably, some of the opinions of the prof are reflected here. I do not have it in me to compare the scholarship of various medievalists right now, I just want to tell you about this DRAMA. 

Let’s start with a prophecy. When Arthur decides he wishes to marry Guinevere, Merlin advises him to take someone else, because if he takes her, she will betray him with Lancelot and it will destroy his kingdom. All of this is foretold, not only to us, but to Arthur himself. Of course he takes her anyway, and all is doomed from the start.

As we begin the main arc of this story (several books after the prophecy), Lancelot is widely acknowledged to be the best and most renowned knight of Arthur’s court. He is plainly and hopelessly in love with Guinevere, and she loves him in return. Arthur doesn’t have a problem with this - who wouldn’t love Guinevere? This sort of love is socially acceptable, so long as they do not sleep together, which would be treason. Arthur in fact seems to support their love, because it means that Lancelot will be Guinevere’s champion should she need one. This is a role Arthur himself legally cannot fill because he is the king, and so would have to be the judge. Lancelot is indeed a good champion for her, and fights for her when she is wrongly accused of murder. 

Lancelot is deeply chivalrous, in a way that seems sincere. This is a great place for a first excerpt, a conversation with a Random Damsel Lancelot has been helping:

‘Now, damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘will ye any more service of me?’ ‘Nay, sir,’ she said, ‘at this time, but almighty Jesu preserve you wheresoever ye ride or go, for the most courteous knight thou art and meekest unto all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. But one thing, sir knight, me thinks ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman. For I could never hear say that ever ye loved any of no manner of degree, and that is great pity. But it is noised that ye love Queen Guenivere, and that she hath ordained by enchantment that ye shall never love no other but her, nor no other damosel nor lady shall rejoice you; wherefore there be many in this land of high estate and low that make great sorrow.’ ‘Fair damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I may not warn* people to speak of me what it pleaseth them; but for to be a wedded man, I think it not; for then I must couch with her, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures. And as for to say to take my pleasance with paramours, that will I refuse, in principal for dread of God. For knights that be adventurous should not be adulterers nor lecherous, for then they be not happy nor fortunate unto the wars; for either they shall be overcome with a simpler knight than they be themselves, or else they shall slay by unhap and their cursedness better men than they be themselves. And so who that useth paramours shall be unhappy, and all thing unhappy that is about them.’ 

So after doing his Knightly Deeds for this damsel, Lancelot asks if she needs anything else. She says no, but you are lacking one thing, which is the love of a woman. It is rumored that is because Guinevere has through sorcery made you love only her, and that causes all of the women great sorrow. In reply Lancelot makes this speech about how he cannot have a wife or paramour and be a good knight, but everyone thinks it is at least in part because his love is reserved for Guinevere.

Now, throughout the book his chastity DOES notably cause all of the women great sorrow. Everyone wants to sleep with Lancelot. Literally he is kidnapped by the four most beautiful queens other than Guinevere, and they say he has to choose one of them as a lover (not even a wife, a lover) or else die. He says he would rather die, though in the end he escapes. This is just an example, truly it is a recurring problem for him. He is, at one point, tricked into sleeping with a woman with whom he conceives his son Galahad (as was prophesied, it's a long story and the romance is only part of it. It is worth mentioning that something similar happens to Arthur, which is how Mordred is sired.) When Guinevere learns that Lancelot has been with someone else, she is angry and banishes him from the court. They still love each other and eventually reconcile. 

So, Lancelot goes on the quest for the holy grail. But he fails, specifically because while he is outwardly dedicated to God, in his private heart he is still dedicated to Guinevere. And so he makes a vow to renounce his love for her, acknowledging that it is beyond measure (beyond what is right, even if they have not technically done anything wrong.) However when he returns to Camelot, he cannot keep this vow, as we see. 

Then, as the book saith, Sir Lancelot began to resort unto Queen Guenivere again, and forgot the promise and the perfection that he made in the quest. For, as the book saith, had not Sir Lancelot been in his privy thoughts and in his mind so set inwardly to the Queen as he was in seeming outward to God, there had no knight passed him in the quest of the Sangrail, but ever his thoughts were privily on the Queen. And so they loved together more hotter than they did beforehand, and had many such privy draughts together that many in the court spoke of it, and in especial Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain’s brother, for he was ever open-mouthed. So it befell that Sir Lancelot had many resorts of ladies and damosels that daily resorted unto him to be their champion: in all such matters of right Sir Lancelot applied him daily to do for the pleasure of Our Lord Jesu Christ. And ever as much as he might he withdrew him from the company of Queen Guenivere for to eschew the slander and noise, wherefore the Queen waxed wroth with Sir Lancelot.

He and Guinevere start spending a lot of time alone together, and so there are rumors circulating about them in court. In order to put a stop to the rumors, Lancelot starts paying other women attention and doing more good knightly deeds for them. Guinevere is terribly jealous, but he tells her it's for their own good, and also tells her about the vow he made, and his concern that their love is beyond what is appropriate. She is devastated, and weeping banishes him from the court (again). 

Lancelot then rides in a tournament, disguised. (Why? Because this is simply a thing knights do.) To make it an effective disguise he takes the token of a woman, the sleeve of the fair maid of Astolat to wear on his helm. When she discovers that he was only using it for the disguise, and he does not indeed love her, she is so heartbroken that she says if he will not marry her or be her lover, she will die. He refuses, on the grounds that love must not be constrained and should arise from the heart, and offers her a thousand pounds a year instead if she marries anyone else. Properly insulted by this, she does indeed die. She has her body sent in a boat to Camelot, with a letter in her hand, saying that she died of her love for him, that he would not return. 

Seeing this, Guinevere reconciles with Lancelot, presumably reassured by the fact that he would let this very beautiful much younger woman die of her love rather than being with her. She insists that from now on he will not fight in disguise, and will openly bear her token. 

Then Queen Guenivere sent for Sir Lancelot, and said thus: ‘I warn you that ye ride no more in no jousts nor tournaments but that your kinsmen may know you; and at these jousts that shall be ye shall have of me a sleeve of gold. And I pray you for my sake to force* yourself there, that men may speak you worship. But I charge you as ye will have my love, that ye warn your kinsmen that ye will bear that day the sleeve of gold upon your helmet.’ ‘Madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘it shall be done.’ And either made great joy of other.

It is important to keep in mind that, to this point, there is no textual evidence that they were sleeping together, and a great deal of evidence that it was important to Lancelot that they not cross that line. There is much less evidence that this is important to Guinevere.

So then one fateful day in May, Guinevere goes picnicing with an entourage of knights. They are captured by someone else who is in love with Guinevere, and taken back to his castle, but she manages to send a message to Lancelot. At the castle, she insists that her knights sleep in her bedchamber on the grounds that they were wounded in the battle when she was captured and need tending, but truly she wants them there to keep her captor from raping her. 

Lancelot arrives to rescue her, and the person who kidnapped her agrees to give her back in the morning. She tells Lancelot to visit her room in the night. He climbs up to her window, which is barred. They have a heartfelt reunion and she says she wishes he could come in to her. He acquiesces and breaks the bars to get into her room, cutting his hand to the bone to do so. Despite the profusely bleeding wound and the ten other men sleeping in the room, they at last do sleep together, in this passionate blood covered consummation. He sneaks back out and replaces the bars.

In the morning, the man who kidnapped Guinevere comes in and sees blood all over the bed. He accuses her of being unfaithful to the king, saying she lay with one of the knights who had been sleeping in her room. She denies it, but it is very clear that she did sleep with someone who was bleeding. 

Lancelot says he will fight to defend her from this accusation, which is right and proper because he is her champion. In this story people take trial by combat and oaths before God very seriously, especially Lancelot. He really does try. So he swears an oath that he will prove with his life that Guinevere did not sleep with one of the wounded knights who lay in her room. This of course is TRUE, but only on a technicality. Lancelot, having slept with her himself the night before, is also the one who defends her honor after. I love this story so much. 

Instead of fighting him, the kidnapper takes Lancelot captive. In captivity he encounters ANOTHER damsel who insists that sleep with her in order for her to help him. He refuses, still faithful in his heart to Guinevere. Eventually she settles for him holding and kissing her, which is not across the line of appropriateness apparently, giving us some idea of where that line is drawn. Anyway, Lancelot gets out, fights for Guinevere and wins. There are indications that he feels like he barely dodged a devine bullet. 

Guinevere and Lancelot return to Camelot. Finally the rumors about them are true, the deed has been done, but of course nothing appears particularly different as there were already rumors about them. Two knights, Mordred and Agravaine, who have been intriguing against Arthur already, go and tell Arthur that Guinevere is being untrue to him. Here is his response: 

‘If it be so,’ said the King, ‘wit you well, he is none other; but I would be loath to begin such a thing but I might have proofs of it. For Sir Lancelot is a hardy knight, and all ye know that he is the best knight among us all; and but if he be taken with the deed he will fight with him that bringeth up the noise, and I know no knight that is able to match him. Therefore, and it be sooth as ye say, I would that he were taken with the deed.’ For as the French book saith, the King was full loath that such a noise should be upon Sir Lancelot and his queen. For the King had a deeming of it; but he would not hear thereof, for Sir Lancelot had done so much for him and for the Queen so many times that, wit you well, the King loved him passingly well.

Arthur says he will not hear of this without proof, because if Lancelot is accused and allowed to fight he would beat anyone. And, it is said that Arthur had some idea of the affair, but would not credit it because Lancelot had done so much for him and Guinevere, and he loved Lancelot greatly. 

So, one night when the king is away hunting, the two accusers contrive to catch them in the act, with a group of twelve armed knights. They do find Lancelot in Guinevere’s chamber, but the text is notably, pointedly vague about whether they are actually in bed. In any case, Lancelot asks for a trial. The knights say no, they have caught him and so may kill him. He is Lancelot, so he kills all of them instead, save one (Mordred) whom he leaves wounded. Lancelot flees, intending to return to rescue Guinevere and take her to his own castle to protect her from Arthur’s wrath. He maintains her innocence, and still intends that they will all reconcile.

Guinevere is to be burned at the stake (normal in this situation). Lancelot rescues her from the burning at the last moment, killing a number of knights of the round table. Arthur seems to blame the accusers more than Guinevere and Lancelot (for good reason; keep in mind that the romance is a subplot, there is a great deal of political intrigue going on.) Now a war will begin, whether anyone wants it or not, because of the people Lancelot killed. Lancelot takes Guinevere to his own castle. Battle lines are drawn, and Lancelot and Arthur confront each other in the fighting:

And ever was King Arthur about Sir Lancelot to have slain him, and ever Sir Lancelot suffered him and would not strike again. So Sir Bors encountered with King Arthur; and Sir Bors smote him, and so he alit and drew his sword and said to Sir Lancelot, ‘Sir, shall I make an end of this war?’—for he meant to have slain him. ‘Not so hardy,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘upon pain of thy head, that thou touch him no more! For I will never see that most noble king that made me knight neither slain nor shamed.’ And therewith Sir Lancelot alit off his horse and took up the King and horsed him again, and said thus: ‘My lord the king, for God’s love, stint this strife, for ye get here no worship and I would do my utterance. But always I forbear you, and ye nor none of yours forbear not me. And therefore, my lord, I pray you remember what I have done in many places, and now am I evil rewarded.’ So when King Arthur was on horseback he looked on Sir Lancelot; then the tears burst out of his eyes, thinking of the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. And therewith the King rode his way and might no longer behold him, saying to himself, ‘Alas, alas, that yet this war began!’

So Arthur tries to slay Lancelot, but Lancelot, the better fighter, refuses to slay him and indeed when Arthur is unhorsed Lancelot forbids that he be slain, and gives him his own horse. Arthur weeps for the honor that is in Lancelot, and laments that the war began. 

The pope intervenes and tries to negotiate an end. Lancelot confirms that he is willing to return Guinevere to Arthur, and says he has always been willing to do this and will still defend her honor, but that he does not feel he can do so because Arthur has listened to liars and been misled, and he had more reason to take her away than the accusation of adultery - he does not trust she can be safe in that court, with things as they are. 

Eventually they do make a deal, with some assurances, and he surrenders Guinevere to the king. He kisses her openly, says that he will leave, but should she be in danger or ever again accused of being untrue, he will fight for her as he always has. He departs the court forever, to much great sorrow, and returns to his own lands. 

The war continues - eventually Mordred seizes the throne, Arthur kills him in battle but is mortally wounded himself and passes to Avalon. Following the king’s death, although her love would no longer be adulterous, Guinevere retires to a convent rather than reuniting with Lancelot. He seeks her out, and this is her reaction: 

Sir Lancelot was brought before her; then the Queen said to all those ladies, ‘Through this same man and me hath all this war been wrought, and the death of the most noblest knights of the world; for through our love that we have loved together is my most noble lord slain. Therefore, Sir Lancelot, wit thou well I am set in such a plight to get my soul health; and yet I trust through God’s grace and through His Passion of His wounds wide, that after my death I may have a sight of the blessed face of Christ Jesu, and at Doomsday to sit on His right side;* for as sinful as ever I was, now are saints in heaven. And therefore, Sir Lancelot, I require thee and beseech thee heartily, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me no more in the visage. And I command thee, on God’s behalf, that thou forsake my company; and to thy kingdom look thou turn again, and keep well thy realm from war and wrack. For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, my heart will not serve now to see thee, for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed. And therefore go thou to thy realm, and there take ye a wife and live with her with joy and bliss. And I pray thee heartily to pray for me to the everlasting Lord that I may amend my misliving.’ ‘Now, my sweet madam,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘would ye that I should turn again unto my country, and there to wed a lady? Nay, madam, wit you well, that shall I never do, for I shall never be so false unto you of that I have promised. But the self* destiny that ye have taken you to, I will take me to, for the pleasure of Jesu; and ever for you I cast me specially to pray.

Rather than rejoicing in Lancelot’s presence, Guinevere laments that their love brought about the downfall of the Arthurian court, and the deaths of the knights of the round table and King Arthur. She calls upon Lancelot, by all the love that was ever between them to leave her presence, telling him to marry someone else if he wishes and see her no more. Lancelot replies that he wants no one else, and that he will respect her wishes, but will also renounce the world and join a religious order. He asks Guinevere for a final parting kiss, which she denies him. 

When Guinevere lies dying of illness, Lancelot sets out to go to her, having had a vision. She knows of his coming, and prays to die before she sees him, because she cannot bear it. She dies a half hour before he arrives, leaving instruction that he is to tend to her body, and then lay it to rest beside that of her lord King Arthur. Lancelot does this with great sorrow, and after ceases to eat or drink, and within weeks is dead himself. 

And there you have it, the love affair that doomed Camelot.

HUGE DISCLAIMER: Any and all mistakes or misinterpretations are my own. This is what I gathered, but I am not a medievalist. I am barely an interested layperson. I’m just a random fic writer who got obsessed with research for a story, and had to share this tragic mess. 

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up

[ajdrawshq]

on the note of you not getting the best grade at DMing (but a good grade at friend!!!) did you ever get around to reading Kay's zero escape fic I don't even remember when I mentioned it but surely I mentioned it to you right did I :0

... also I have been getting a bad grade in getting back into playing rpgs I'm sory 😭

OH SHIT DID I...... I DONT THINK I HAVE..... i swear i remember u mentioning it to me at some point but i mustve just completely forgot after a while im so sorry;; maybe its somewhere in our dms.. ill check for it there after i wake up (< FOR REAL THIS TIME..) but maybe itd be easier if u sent it again just in case? thank u SO much for reminding me bc i would Not have remembered this myself,,

[emile-hides]

Behold. Son.

[regallibellbright]

Chapter Five should be ready to go sometime between tonight and the next few days, and I'm rereading things and just kicking my heels gleefully because I know what I'm foreshadowing and everyone else doesn't yet.

[medicinemane]

The world is set on prescriptivism and... it doesn't jive with me

[racke7]

So, because of the setback to my "grand idea" that was me accidentally nerfing my own mod. I spent this morning trying to think of a way to make certain classes interesting.

Like, Necromancer can usually be interesting by using teleportation and smacking people with massively damaging AOEs.

(Which is why Spectre, where "physical damage" is almost a side-effect to your true goal of stacking up debuffs that do very little (without game-breaking mods) always comes across as frustrating to me.)

And Rogue can be fun, because there's stuff like positioning yourself for backstabs, and then also having access to lots and lots of CCs.

(Turning people into chickens who will run away, after giving them a debuff that makes them take massive damage if they try to run? Always hilarious.)

Comparatively, Knight is "run up and hit them with your sword", and Ranger is "go to a high-spot and then click-kill on the enemies".

So, trying to make those classes more interesting is... hmm...

In the end, I found something that sounded very promising for a Knight-build, where they basically boost themselves with every skill, until they get access to a very strong attack. It's still very much "hit them with the sword", but it feels like there could be a bit of a dynamic involved.

The same mod-author had also created a Ranger-mod and Rogue-mod, and those looked like they'd stack pretty well with each other (a lot of "cause Bleed" and "if enemy is Bleeding, then" type of skills).

But then I, of course, got distracted.

And created an entire new Necromancer-mod from scratch.

I have no idea if it's even remotely "balanced" or whatever, because I just grabbed a few Hydro-skills and said "you do physical damage now". Which was... a very long and involved process. Especially to switch the skill-animations for other skill-animations.

But the end result was me having a bunch of Necro-skills that are purely damaging, causes bleed/decay/cripple, and doesn't come attached with all of the unnecessary bells-and-whistles of Odinblade that always seems to annoy me.

I'm... probably going to publish it once I've done some actual vague play-testing, and maybe one day I'll even be able to figure out how to get the fuckers to actually sell the damn spells.

(For now, I just craft them by combining "random bits of junk" with "necromancer books", because that usually makes it compatible with everything else.)

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. kaji ren, togame jo, umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, hayato suo, toma hiragi, kiryuu mitsuki, & kyotaro sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 2.6K. oh how i’ve been wanting to write this since i finished the manga! but individual warnings are below <3

KAJI REN. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ comments about your outfit

“My boyfriend’s real scary y’know.” Your voice falters a bit as you take another step back, hands coming up defensively. “And he’ll be here any moment.”

It’s a lie that you hope sounds convincing— because Kaji coming to save you today may be nothing more than a desperate wish of yours. How would he even find you in a place like this? You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed since you’ve started running, but you’re certain that by now, you and Kaji should have already been inside the bakery, finally getting to taste test the new fruit pastries you’d been dying to get your hands on.

It started off as just a loud whistle your direction, then led to an uncomfortable conversation about how you’re not interested— and that you have a boyfriend. One thing led to another, and somehow you’ve ended up here, out of breath from speed walking and completely lost— and to top it off, the only person near you is the one you’ve been running so desperately from.

You wish Kaji was here already.

“Oh yeah?” The man in front of you takes a step towards you, lips contorting into a sick grin when he sees your hands trembling. “I don't see him.”

Your lips tremble a bit when he reaches you, towering over you with ease. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You warn, “My boyfriend will beat your a—” you yelp as you’re suddenly pulled to the side, stumbling into someone’s chest as they pull you flush against their front.

The familiar scent of candy melts away your fear in a split second.

“Kaji!”

You can tell when you glance at him just once that he isn’t happy. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he looks disheveled, chest rising up and down with labored breaths— he must have been running around trying to find you this entire time.

Your boyfriend clicks his tongue in annoyance, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the man in front of him. “Problem?”

He rips off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck as the man feigns an apology, unapologetic eyes looming over your figure again seconds later. “But y’know man, you should be keeping a closer eye on your girl,” he points to you with a smug smile, “she was practically begging for me to say something with the way she’s dressed.”

“I wasn’t!” You protest, face burning as you tug on ren’s coat. You thought your outfit was cute— and definitely not anything crazy— you double checked. You really did. But he’s pointing at you now, rambling on about how you wanted this— and you can’t help the way tears start to blur your vision.

“Huh?” Kaji snarls, head tilting to leer at the man. The arm around your waist pulls you tighter against his chest, and you hear the angry thumping of his heart. “What'd you say?”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” The man chuckles in defeat. “I was just joking. Wasn’t gonna actually do something to your girl.” he waves him off. “You should lighten up—”

He chokes when Kaji grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him off balance before knocking him backwards, your pursuer falling roughly onto the floor as he winces in pain. “Then get outta here already.” Kaji glares, a stark contrast to the gentle way his hand is pressing against your lower back to guide you away.

“And don’t let me catch you looking at my girl again.”

TOGAME JO. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ you wear his jacket

Togame gives you a sleepy smile as he watches you from Miniso’s entrance, excitedly sorting through the newly restocked blind boxes. He was resting his back against the wall behind him when he caught his first glimpse of that guy.

He’s wearing a dark hoodie, head turning back to shamelessly stare your direction as he passes by slowly. It’s enough to get togame back up on his feet immediately, quickly heading your way just as the man reaches to get a feel of your thighs—

“How shameless.” Togame laughs, big hand squeezing painfully into his wrist. “Tryna bother my girl?”

In any other situation, Togame would chuckle at your obliviousness, your headphones cancelling out any noise as your eye catches the cinnamoroll section, letting out an excited gasp as you head that way. You really had no idea.

“M-my bad man.” He stutters, ripping his arm from Togame’s grasp. “Just thought she was my sister— was just gonna tap on her back to grab her attention.”

Togame raises an eyebrow at the lazy excuse, leaning down until the man takes a nervous step back, eyes darting to the side to avoid Togame’s glare. “Sister? That’s my Shishitoren jacket she has on, no?”

The man feels heavy beads of sweat roll down his face when Togame’s hands curl into clenched fists. “You mean to tell me your lil sis is from Shishitoren?”

“I said it was my bad,” he repeats, chuckling nervously. “It won’t happen again okay? I won’t bother her again.”

Togame’s hands return to his pockets. “Won’t let you off so easy next time,” his voice is low as he steps aside to let him off, “so you’d better keep your distance.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. referred to as she/her, ‘your girl’

Umemiya instinctively perks up when he hears two voices behind him, momentarily tuning out your gushing about how cute the little plant kits at barnes and noble are.

“….She's probably taken.”

“Is that her boyfriend behind her? Think she's talking to him.”

There's a chuckle between them. “Doesn’t matter. Go tell her what you just said to me when she's alone.”

“What?” The man laughs. “Ask her if i can grab a handful of that ass?”

More laughter.

Umemiya’s jaw clenches, eyes darting back at you in a flash, and he’s relieved when he sees you’re still gushing about the flower kits— completely oblivious to the two men just beyond this aisle. He’s by your side in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh.” You turn to press a quick kiss against his temple, smiling when he melts into your touch. “Hi, Haji. Did you find a book?”

“Nothing here.” He sighs dramatically, his embrace around your middle tightening just enough for you to barely notice. “But we can grab some of those flower kits.”

“Really?”

“Of course—”

“Hey.” A familiar voice interrupts him with a stifled laugh, followed by a tap on his shoulder. With the roughness, it’s more like a jab— but he lets that slide.

“Ah— your friend, Haji.” Your voice comes off as a mix between a question and a statement.

“Hey, my friend has something to ask your girl.”

Umemiya’s jaw clenches again, and your eyes widen a bit at the sudden change in the atmosphere. The first friend’s hand is swat off of his shoulder in a split second, Umemiya straightening back up to look back at them.

Their first thought is that he’s a lot taller than they had pictured. A lot more muscular too— and they take note of the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “What, you have business with her?”

They flinch at the tone.

“Ah— sorry.” The second friend stutters. “We got the wrong person.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

“Ah— what happened?” Your hands delicately cup Sakura’s face, ignoring the way his cheeks instantly turn into a deep shade of scarlet. “N-nothing happened!” He weakly swats at your hand, a futile attempt to dissipate the heat spreading through the tips of his ears.

“I was only in the bathroom for five minutes.” You laugh. “How’d you manage to get into a fight so fast?”

He stiffens when your arms come to wrap around his bicep, resuming your ramble about some recipe you wanted to try tonight. Macarons…or something. He doesn’t pay much attention, because he knows whatever you end up making will be good anyway.

“—Are you listening, Sakura?”

The clueless look he gives you confirms it. “So you weren’t. I had a feeling— but it’s okay.” You giggle. “But you didn’t answer my question from earlier either. How’d you get into a fight?”

His eyebrows furrow deeply as he decides whether or not he should tell you. “They were….” he clicks his tongue angrily, “they were talking about you when you walked by.”

You can feel his muscles tense as he deepens his scowl, still trying to fight off the blush plastered across his face. “I just gave ‘em what they deserved.”

HAYATO SUO. referred to as she/her, mentions of how you’re dressed

“What a bitch. She was totally asking for it.”

I know— dressed like a whore.”

Suo stands up from the bench outside your local convenience store, hands dusting off the dirt on his pants. You had asked him to wait outside earlier because ‘you wanted to grab him a super delicious snack that he would most definitely love.’

He had a feeling the two dirty men who entered the store minutes later were bad news, so he was already on high alert before listening in.

“That whore— you mean my girlfriend?” Suo’s voice comes out calm, a stark contrast to the sickening anger and pressure he feels building up inside his chest.

“Huh—oh. Yeah.” One of them chuckles, jutting their thumb at the entrance. “That bitch inside your girl? You let her prance around with her tits hanging out for everyone to see?”

He's calm and composed as they size him up, their chins tilting up to look down at him. “She's pretty, isn't she?” and Suo fails to stifle the chuckle that escapes his lips. “Did she reject you too harshly for your liking?”

One of them balls his fists, muttering profanities under his breath as he leans closer to him. “Now how'd you know that? You should really teach that bitch some fucking manners.” He reaches forward to grab Suo by the collar, eyes blinking in confusion when he finds himself spun behind Suo seconds later, feet struggling to find their balance.

“—The fuck did you do?”

“It’s a bad habit of hers,” Suo continues. “I understand it though, not wanting to be around a pathetic thing like you.” The edges of his lips tug into a faint smile.

The other man’s eyebrows twitch, spitting empty threats as he he throws a wide swing, only to find himself reduced to his knees seconds later. “T-the fuck...” he grumbles to himself— he could have sworn he could practically see his fist connect. What happened?

“You'd be better off looking for someone to protect yourself the way I do for her.” His words are mocking as he heads towards the store’s entrance. “And— it'd be really unfortunate if i see something like this happen again.”

TOMA HIRAGI.

“H-Hiragi? What are you doing?”

Your lips are pressed in a nervous line as your hands come to shyly rest on his chest, sucking in a breath when his arms come to roughly cage you against the train’s walls, strong body towering just over yours.

“Do you…need more space?” You whisper, heart racing at the proximity. You can smell his cologne so well at this distance.

Hiragi simply shakes his head, distracted gaze shifting between you and something behind him every few seconds. “It’s okay.”

He swears his stomach isn't churning like this without good reason. It’s not just a coincidence that the same person who he had noticed eyeing you at the boba shop had gotten onto the same train. He could let it go at that, but the same man had been slowly worming his way through the crowd to get closer to the two of you. And while he’s not certain, he thought he saw the man take out his phone and try and angle it beneath you, but not before jolting and dropping his phone onto the floor when Hiragi's hands abruptly slammed against the wall beside you.

The train suddenly rocks, sliding his phone to the other side of the train, and you’re knocked off balance, face slamming against Hiragi's chest. “S-sorry!”

“It’s okay.” He gives you a smile, hand coming to cradle the back of your head and pull you closer. “You okay?”

“I’m okay...” you mumble, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Your chest is hard.”

He responds with a light chuckle. It’ll be okay like this, he thinks. He’ll protect you with his body for now, and figure out what to do with that guy later.

KIRYU MITSUKI. ‘pretty thing’

“It’s no wonder she doesn't like you,” Kiryu sighs. “You're gross.”

Your mouth is ajar as you stare at the state of the man who was harassing you only moments ago, his unconscious body resting neatly against the wall after Kiryu had dragged him there.

“Sorry you had to watch that, pretty thing.” His hand comes to gently interlace with yours. “But he didn't leave me with much of a choice, did he?”

“It’s okay.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “That was so cool of you.”

His eyes widen a bit before his lips curl into a small smile. “Oh? You think so?”

“Mhm. I don't know what would’ve happened to me if you were there...” your voice trails off a bit.

You really don't know what would have happened, because it's not like you know how to fight or anything. Getting hit on is enough to make you nervous, so a pushy guy like that was too much— you froze up as soon as he started spitting threats after you expressed your disinterest.

There’s a light squeeze around your hands, and you’re reminded of this gentle warmth that Kiryu always brings with him. “Don't worry about it.” He gives you a small smile. “I’ll just need to accompany you more often when you go out. It’s no problem.”

KYOTARO SUGISHITA.

“You’re like a bodyguard, Kyo.”

You giggle at the huff beside you. “How’d you even react that fast?”

It all happened within a second. You were walking beside him, stopped for a brief second to bend down and peer at the plushies lining the shop window, not noticing the man approaching you— his grimy fingers coming to take a peek under your skirt. Before you had even registered the feeling of the cloth moving, there was a loud crack, and the man was on the floor, groaning with his hands covering his bloodied face and a very angry Sugishita on top of him.

“He made me angry.”

Of course he would be. And if you weren’t with your boyfriend, it would be an entirely different story. You’d bring along your assortment of self defense items, ranging from pepper sprays to taser lipsticks— and you’d be a thousand times more cautious. Pay extra close attention to everything around you.

With Sugishita, however, it’s different. You think of it as being able to turn off your brain… or something like that. Whatever lets you truly relax and enjoy your time with him, and it’s always okay because your boyfriend is there to protect you. “Well, don’t be so mad, cutie.” You smile, your fingers reaching to interlace with his as he tenses at the nickname.

“Everything is okay— I’m okay. I’ll even get us smoothies to help lighten the mood.”

He lets you drag him to your favorite smoothie shop in silence— still fuming about the incident. He wonders why you’re not shaken up. Ifnhe had been one second later, that piece of shit would have lifted up your skirt. In public. His jaw clenches at the thought, angry eyes darting at any anyone who dares look your direction.

“Why’re…” his voice trails off, remembering what Umemiya said about toning down his choice of words around others. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Hmm? I’m not too worried.” You laugh. “You’re my bodyguard right? Nothing will happen if you’re here.”

part 2

[sos717]

Yes, Im Back

Here it is you guys, this is going to be the clearest and most simple explanation I’ve done so far of manifestation and your identity as conciousness and what that means for experience & the world unfolding. Don’t worry if you’re new to this, this will help!

THIS IS A MASSIVE POST, TAKE YOUR TIME AND GRAB SOME WATER, YOUR ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE 😉🤭🤭

————————————————————

So around 7 years ago I started stepping into the world of what people typically call manifestation. I went down the rabbit hole of Subliminals, Law of Attraction, Law of assumption, NonDuality and finally to where I am now, the unlabeled.

I want to preface by saying, I have been through an unimaginable amount of turmoil, and growth while on my journey to understanding reality and the way the world appears.

I’ve spent all of my time from back to when I first found out about this side of reality, to today while I’m writing this post, constantly looking at a multiplicity of teachings and teachers to figure it out, except until the very end. I really want you to know this because it’s very important to not brush this off as if it’s not possible for you, as if you have to adapt a technique or secret. This isn’t something that’s to be exhausting. With that being said, let’s move forward.

We all want things, we all have ideas of a life we hope to live, we want to fill it with all the experiences and specific details that match our taste. But this is actually, where the problem begins.

The way manifestation is taught is inherently wrong, I’ve fully stopped watching and consuming content that has anything to do with manifesting all together, because no matter what it is, Law of assumption, Law of attraction, all of the other ideologies that promise your desires, they all have a fundamental flaw, identity.

They usually all entail a similarity: methods, techniques, specific things you can do and ways you can act to make an outcome happen. All the while throwing in a random “because you’re the god of your reality”. And instead of focusing on the phrases that relate to the center of all of it, YOU, it’s simply just brushed past.

And not just the typical “your source”, “your operant power”, “you are the manifestation,

We get it but wtf does that actually mean, and why should you care??? Well, let’s get into this, because once you start from point A, everything else makes sense.

What all these teachings of the world get wrong is the idea that you can want things and desire, as source. Fundamentally this is a paradox, you can’t exist in desire and want if you are the source of reality. It’s not to say you aren’t, but it’s to say, you don’t ACTUALLY want and desire, but the illusion of being separate from the world is what makes you want and desire.

Let’s break the illusion.

Ask yourself this for me. “Am I aware”.

The answer will always be yes. Undeniably. And no matter how many times you repeat this, the answer is always yes, no matter a feeling, no matter a pleasant or unpleasant experience in the world, no matter any circumstance, you will always say yes.

Why is this so important to explore?

Because you are able to see from direct experience what source is.

When you asked yourself that question, did you notice something weird that happened? It’s almost like everything paused for a split second and your attention went somewhere to find the answer, and a response came from there. Look closer, ask yourself the question again, and this time try to find where the answer is coming from.

You’ll find that it comes out of nowhere, and if you try to trace it as far back as you can, to even before you answer yes, there this empty space of knowing that the answer conjures in.

This is consciousness. This is you.

Whether you name it consciousness/awarness or knowing, it doesn’t matter, it’s all interchangeable. But the important thing to note is, this thing doesn’t ever go anywhere. That is your true identity, the starting point of all ideas, the starting point to anything that can possibly be known. Every decision is from here, every expression comes from here, everything leads back to knowing. When there is emotion, it is known, when there is idea, it is known.

You being able to know that you are aware comes from this. This is the unseeable, the thing that can’t be perceived in any way, this is origin, its source, and its you. Take a shot at it, try to see what knowing looks like, its weight, its shape, its color, its dimensions, what its favorite color is, what it doesn’t like or does like. You’ll be left with nothing, as in no descriptions, but definitely knowing that there is a presence there that never goes away. Now try finding its name, its age, its skin color, its voice. You cant, and yet, from this very nothingness comes your undeniable answer that you exist and you are aware of your existence.

You don’t need and feelings to know, you dont need sight, sound, and sense of perception, you don’t even need to acknowledge the body in any way, but you know you “are”.

At some point when there were no worlds and universes, there was an unseeable, dimensionless plane from what everything came from, does this sound familiar? Before there were things, there was no-thing, a presence yes, but no objects. And from this, reality was expressed, but source can’t go away, the fundamental key to everything there is today, has to remain, or else everything else would not exist.

Concouisness is what you are. And it IS the origin.

Now how tf do you live you dream life???

By understanding that the world is also just an expression of source, conciousness/you.

I need you to understand something that I thing we can all agree on, if everything has one source, it would only make sense for everything to be the extension of that thing that gives it life. The world is no different, and trust me I know this without a reasonable doubt. I’ve spent closer to a decade trying to figure this out. Everything exists in/on the field of consciousness/you.

I need you to trust me, because no matter how far you have been in your journey and how tiring it might have been like it was for me, I promise you, this is worth it all.

Step away from the ideas of wanting and needing, put on your neutrality glasses and perceive the world as 2 simple things, conciousness and conscious expression. These are the only 2 things that drive experience itself.

Understanding that you are source, more things become clear. Where do all the stories of all the unfavorable problems in your life activate from? Where does the idea of good events activate from? Where is it that any form of knowing come from, you. Whether it’s about struggling with money, or about someone loving you, the story or ideas, conjure from you.

We already know that we are conciousness, but now let’s acknowledge the second mosy important part, reality begins at us, draw yourself into something that you don’t really like, something you’d like to change, now notice where it activates from.

From knowing. Knowing the idea or story is its creation

Now when we see it casually, as just another thougt about something the world is showing us we brush it off and move on with our day, until we have to face that thing, but, what if this was actually in reverse?

Because if everything is an expression of source, doesn’t that mean the world is too? It would have to be. Doesn’t that mean, anything registered by the senses has to abide by its source? And doesn’t that mean, that the world is not truly something of its own will?

The short answer is yes absolutely. And I can tell you, this is it. THIS WILL BE VERY F$&#*NG IMPORTANT.

Admitting to the idea that there is one source for everything is literally acknowledging that everything can only show up IN ACCORDANCE AND RESPECT TO WHATEVER ITS SOURCE IS.

THIS MEANS, the the world is a PROJECTION of source, IT DOES NOT STAND ALONE. It does not OPERATE ON ITS OWN.

The world is the projection of consciousness.

Following me??

Like a hologram, like a school projector QUITE LITERALLY a projection.

From us, an infinite array of stories and ideas come, and they only become activate or exist if we allow them to, if we give permission to this thing to exist.

That story that you’ve had about SP (Specific Person) or Money or Success, has always been activated by you. TELL ME WHERE ELSE IT STARTS. You can literally even prove this to yourself right now. WHERE DOES THE STORY BEGIN.

And because the world is just an expression/extension of its source (YOU) it is ONLY GOING TO BE WHAT SOURCE IS. Because it is source, just with senses and perception. It is coming face to face with what you are aware of.

The way the world shows and all of its details are projections of whatever you decide to activate. How do you activate something? BY KNOWING IT.

How do you know “red apple” ? By knowing it. That is the origin for this idea. And you can run this test for every single story you play on loop, find its source, it will always be you.

Now, for the important steps moving forward. Stop treating this like an on and off switch, truly stop caring about a feeling, stop letting yourself get so swayed out of understanding your identity as the source, do NOT give up this beautiful opprotunity just because it seems or feels different.

You’ve been taught for so long that the world has to be struggle, so that’s all you know, you’ve been told that things don’t always come easy, this is all you know, take the time, take the days and weeks you need to break out of this useless cycle of exhaustion and understand who you are as source

Do not double down on doubts, double down on the truth, regardless of how you feel, take your time to feel, take your time to be, but never allow yourself to slip back into the brainwashing of the world.

Moving forward you need to understand the world objectively, not with the ideas of wants and desire, but for what it is. Source can’t want, you turn it into desire by creating a sense of divide for yourself. You pretend the world is something to change, drop this. You pretend that the body is all you are, drop it, you pretend that there has to be more to this but knowing, DROPKICK this into the damn ground.

This all is very simple. Everything being the expression of source is only projecting what source (You) are. The world is a direct projection of conscious activity. Whatever is know is given permission to exist, it’s given life. It’s created. THIS. IS. IT.

Whether it be blue butterflies, getting a free coffee, or changing your eye color, it all is just knowing. And this isn’t something that turns off. This is reality, this is you. Start noticing the random things the world shows up as when you were just thinking about it the other day or a few hours ago. It is not a coincidence I assure you.

That friend you were thinking about calling you? Yeah.

That song you were thinking about suddenly popping up? Yeah

That “problem” you were thinking about suddenly reappearing? Yeah

It is all the same, yes it will take getting used to, but please understand me when I say this, it took me a painful amount of time and effort to finally see this as the truth, the amount of months I’ve spent isolating from content and other teachings allowed me to take ONLY personal experience, I tested it day in day out and this IS it.

Currently I expand my comfort on how seamless existing is, and I can assure you, if I can come to this conclusion, you 100% can because it has NOT been easy for me, and it almost didn’t want to accept it. But the moment I did, and kept seeing it to be true time and time again, I knew I had to go fully in.

You create the idea of wanting by doing this.

“I really want Sp to text me”

This is what you’ve given permission to exist, this is now activated, it now is conscious activity, and because the world is source projected with senses the world IS this.

You treat it like an absolute, but when it comes to something like this:

“Sp loves texting me”

You treat it as effort, and something to do and wait on. Now tell me, does that make sense? Does the idea of waiting, wanting, desiring, changing, even make sense with the knowledge you have up to this point? Nope.

You need to understand. The world is not a story, it’s projection, and it can only be projecting you. Stop turning to the world as if it can make statements, as if it’s feeding you ideas, when you’re the one activating them. You NEVER actually change the world, it’s you that activates a new idea. THATS IT. It exists because you know it. A feeling cannot stop you from knowing, the world cannot stop you from knowing, ONLY YOU can stop yourself from activating a story. A story can’t exist if it isn’t known.

So, don’t you think it’s about time you see past the illusion of wanting and see for yourself what you are?

Don’t you think it’s time, to wake up.