#so maybe it's better that it doesn't exist

[auroras-void]

*I'm* one of those feminine women who's attracted to this sorta blue collar work.

Have recently been seriously considering making a 180 from CS to working to become a General Contractor. I'm good at desk work, sometimes very good, but the thing is, long term any variation of it just makes me miserable in a way that working with my hands just doesn't. I fucking love working all day on my family's project house.

But the main thing that's stopping me from stepping on up from there and turning it into a career is sexism.

Like CS has it's own problems with it, and there's some crazy shit there, but it's at least getting better. But like, with construction, I haven't even needed to so much as dip my toes in to experience it. 80% men sucks ass, but it's a hell of a lot better than 95%.

My family has a couple of contractors they work with, most of them are friends, but I still see it right away. Like, I'm by no means an expert, I only really know what my dad taught me and what I've taught myself. But I've had them immediately assume I have no experience and try to teach me like I've never held a saw in my life before despite knowing who I am, or I had an electrician ask about the existing wiring and he instantly assumed that my brother knows more than me*.

And those are just these small little things but they piss me off so fucking much, and I can tell how indicative they are of so much more. It's like people see a woman and their eyes just glaze over me. Which on the one hand is very gender affirming but in the other makes my blood fucking boil.

So like if it's that bad just from the briefest of encounters. Being fully immersed in that kinda culture regularly, experiencing the *real* shit out there there, that just sounds like fucking hell.

Particularly given that I'm trans. I would sooner die than tone down my feminity for someone else. And I can pass stealth, even on a worksite, but I *know* there's still gonna be fuckers out there who will just see me as a man who needs to be bullied into conformity, or who think that working in construction somehow invalidates my transition. And, just I swear to god I'ma fucking murder someone if I have to work in that environment.

So... like ... ig... rotting at a desk it is then.

Like, I think I might still take some classes for my own sake and chip away at it. But I don't think I'm going to be looking at any apprenticeships or anything.. I'm.. not ready for that yet...

---

** (I literally got into this shit and got good at it *after* I transitioned ffs, I didn't enjoy it until I realized I could do it for it's own sake, until I didn't feel pressured into liking it to "toughen up" or "act more manly". I am a woman above all else, and no one has the power to overrule me on that.)

*(he's fucking clueless here, he's a poli sci dude who shows up maybe once a month in a fuckin dress shirt, he's your guy for election coverage and statistics, not construction. Meanwhile, I'm literally wearing my toolbelt and a roofing helmet with knee pads and my work outfit. I was literally the person who *did* the little bit of functional wiring repairs in that house).

There was a time when women did these jobs.

Some of them really liked the work and were keen to continue doing it. But society basically told them to collectively "get back in the kitchen" when the men returned home from war.

The tradition of conditioning women, from birth, to have a distaste for these jobs continued. Young girls are discouraged from even taking an interest in the toys representing these occupations. God forbid they put Barbie in the firetruck.

The truth is, most men do not want women doing these jobs. They complain about how dangerous this work is and use that as a metaphorical bludgeon in debates about equality. But when women actually try to be firefighters and combat infantry, they are told they *can't* do these jobs. They are inferior. Those who are hired have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. They are inundated with sexism and misogyny. And many end up quitting, not because they aren't qualified or they don't like the work, but because their male coworkers make the jobs intolerable.

And instead of fighting to make these occupations safer and valued properly, these men just complain that feminists don't know how hard it is and how they don't understand what it's like to risk their lives for no money or benefits. And then rich assholes like Elon stoke these flames because he doesn't want these men to realize this is a class struggle rather than a culture war. And that feminists and "woke activists" would actually be wonderful allies in helping them get better conditions.

Lastly, there are feminists talking about this. There are plenty of non-men interested in these jobs. But I doubt Elon keeps up with very much feminist discourse other than what he invents in his imagination.

Beyond that, feminists can't seem to prioritize stuff like this in the mainstream because they are too busy trying to regain control of their uteruses.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah, fuck Elon and fuck "End Wokeness".

[ccccatttta]

this is a random thought bc i got angsty, so!

walburga, who —in a mad attempt to stop regulus from becoming like sirius after he runs away from home—, obliviates regulus.

not completely, of course, but he makes him believe that he never had a brother in the first place. regulus is now the sole black heir and that's everything he knows; i don't put it past her to erase most of the abuse she caused, but still left enough to make him scared to disobey her.

and, like, it takes everyone too long to realize it.

first, sirius is not surprised his brother doesn't look at him anymore and pretty much pretends he doesn't exist, their bond has been severed completely to him, even if it hurts. and, well, he sort of wanted to get rid of his last name completely, so he pretty much asked everyone to not call him 'sirius black' ever again. so, how could regulus suspect anything.

then, everyone in slytherin knows not to talk about sirius in front of regulus (because he used to jinx them almost to death for that), and, sirius was officially disowned by the black family, so they do speak about regulus as the sole heir, as if sirius wasn't ever in the picture.

it's maybe pandora who finds out first.

barty and evan aren't sirius' biggest fans, and they don't like to confront regulus about how he feels, unless he's the one who wants to vent. they think that his way of coping is pretending like nothing happened, and while that's not healthy at all, regulus looks fine, super fine, even. so why would they want to interrupt his peace.

dorcas has been distancing a bit from them, because of the whole voldemort situation. she's no longer with them enough to realize regulus has been acting strange.

and pandora was a bit like evan and barty, at first. especially because, she knows regulus doesn't keep anything that's really hurting him for long. not to them. they just like to give him enough space to process and cool down. they let him come to them, and they will be waiting.

but then, regulus doesn't.

so, after a while she decides to ask him about sirius.

when regulus just answers "who's sirius?" with the most genuine and confused face on earth. she knows exactly what has happened.

i haven't thought further into it, maybe evan, barty and dora argue about what to do. the right thing would be to help him get back his memories. but regulus looks so much better without the heartbreak sirius has been unintentionally causing him since first year. and sirius seems to love his new life as the potter's ward. maybe that's the right thing.

but also, they know that, even with all the pain that he has caused him, regulus loves his brother more than anything and wouldn't want to just be forced to forget about him.

yeah. that was my random thought of the night. toodles!

[itsgorgug]

I love so much the way that Baron is a reflection of Riz. It's not just a creepy way of introducing the character, it's a portrayal of their dynamic in a way I don't think I've seen anyone talk about yet (perhaps for lack of a search on my end).

Starting pretty obvious, Riz has the entire world to experience. He has friends, he has family, there's locations, there's lives independent of him. The only things he doesn't have, generally speaking, are his father and the presence of a romantic partner. Meanwhile, those two things are all Baron has. The entirety of Baron's existence consists of nothingness save for its romance partner and its stark father (yes, it/its Baron. Sue me).

Then, of course, there is the mirroring of motivations. Not direct goals, maybe passions would be a better word in Riz's case? Regardless, Riz's passion is to be an investigator. He wants to find the hidden truths, the facts buried within layers of falsities and misdirects. And Baron? Baron very directly wants Riz to lie. It's existence is founded on, and expanded by, lies. It directly tells Riz that it wants him to make up information. There's no thrill of discovery, no red herrings to disguise the lies as truth. Riz wants to find hidden truths, and Baron wants to hear direct lies.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

My Hogwarts Castle Design

Some of my notes regarding it can be found here and some of my rambling about the castle's architecture here.

In this post, I'm just going to post the images I came to as an amalgamation of all book quotes regarding the castle's structure merged with the basic structure and some floor plan elements from Hogwarts Legacy (since the castle is gorgeous and similar in aesthetic to the movies versions. I'm saying versions because every movie had a differently designed Hogwarts).

Maybe I can make a post regarding all the book quotes that went into this design like Ron saying the lake is to the south of the school (PoA), the DADA and the Transfiguration office have a view of the Quidditch Pitch (OotP, PoA) and the Quidditch Pitch is near the lake (OotP), the lawn for the flying classes is on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest (PS) and the Whomping Willow is visible from the Herbology Greenhouses (CoS), the moving staircases aren't accessible from the ground floor near the Great Hall (PS), Myrtel's bathroom near the DADA office (CoS), hidden passage with the trick step being near the DADA office on the 2nd floor (location mentioned in HBP, but the passage itself is mentioned in multiple books), etc.

So without further ado, my attempt at a Hogwarts floor plan:

There might be some inaccuracies, becouse this was a crazy puzzle to try and make sense of so I tried my best based on various quotes in the books. Locations we know exist but aren't told anything about where they are, were just placed down where I thought reasonable.

I kept the common rooms/dormitories layout similar to that in Hogwarts Legacy (since it's pretty), but I made sure all of them would have enough dorm rooms and bathrooms (which isn't the case in the game).

(I hope my calligraphy is legible enough. I advice zooming in if you want to read all the details on the images)

Dungeons:

Left - Lower Dungeons, Slytherin's Common Room.

Right - Dungeons, Potions Labs, Snape's office, Detention Chambers, the obstacle course under Fluffy's room.

Basement

Left - Actual Basement - Kitchens, Hufflepuff Common Room.

Right - Half floor between Basement and Ground Floor - Hufflepuff Girls Dorms.

Ground Floor

Entrance Hall, Great Hall, Staff Room, Filch's office, Viaduct Courtyard.

1st Floor

Classrooms 1-15, Hospital Wing, Viaduct, Greenhouses, DADA classroom, History classroom, Muggle Studies classroom.

Classroom 11 is said to be on the ground floor, but I placed it on the 1st floor, which is technically the ground floor of the second building. It just worked better with everything else.

2nd Floor

Classrooms 1B-15B, Transfiguration classroom, Ancient Runes classroom, DADA office, Moaning Myrtle toilet.

3rd Floor

Classrooms 1C-11C, Fluffy's room, Charms Corridor, Charms Classroom, Trophy Room, Armor Gallery, Library.

I tried to make the scene in which they accidentally run into Fluffy's room after the Trophy Room, and I think this sort of works for what Harry describes if you squint. The description just doesn't make much sense when trying to keep the general structure seen in the movies/games.

4th Floor

Classrooms 1D-8D, Restricted Section.

5th Floor

Classrooms 1E-5E, Ravenclaw Common Room entrance, Prefect's bathroom, Arithmancy Classroom.

6th Floor

Classrooms 1F-2F.

7th Floor

Classrooms 1G-2G, Gryffindor Common Room entrance, Divination Classroom, RoR.

Towers

Left - Floor 8 - Headmaster's Office, Owlery

Center - Floor 9

Right - Floor 10 - Astronomy Tower

[fangirl-erdariel]

So I'm not going to comment on which version of the names sounds better, I don't really have an opinion on that or a headcanon on what any given character feels about it. But the comments made above about the Sindarin names sounding harsher or clipped or inelegant are interesting to me, because to my ear it's almost the opposite? The softer/voiced consonants, the dropping of certain vowels or even full syllables in between, it all makes for a smoother, flowing elegant sound that Quenya doesn't have

It's not that I dislike Quenya, mind you, it's just... it's sound has something of the same bluntness and clumsiness and length to me that my own native Finnish has?* All the unvoiced consonant sounds, the avoidance of certain consonant clusters, it just makes it have all those edges and corners you can accidentally hit your elbow on that Sindarin doesn't have.

The repeated vowel sound on each side of r in "Turukáno" and "Arakáno" sounds like you'd asked my grandmother who was from Etelä-Pohjanmaa to say "Turgon" and "Argon". Makalaurë doesn't have specific meaningful elements from Finnish or any dialect or accent I can think of (aside from the fact that the latter part of the name is one vowel sound away from Lauri, a fairly common Finnish man's name), but it still manages to sound blunt and casual, something you'd half-mumble while gesturing vaguely at the person when introducing a couple of your acquaintances or pointing out from a crowd someone you sort of know like joo toi on toi makalaure, se on se joka soittaa kitaraa**. As for Nolofinwë... well that's just inadvertently hilarious in Finnish ("nolo" in Finnish means roughly "embarrassed" or "embarrassing")

So, yeah, idk, to my ear if one language here is elegant and one is blunt and harsh, it's Sindarin that's the elegant one. But then, maybe all of us here are finding the elegance in the exotic, in the thing that seems further from our own native language?

(Of course not all the sounds in that exist in Quenya are used in Finnish; the w and f aren't, really, except f in some loan words and some accents, and both of them can easily get simplified to v in many speakers' mouths, and d is kind of... well it's there, but it mostly exists as something for t to change into in certain inflections and stuff? And the Silmarillion fandom's favorite controversial th sound doesn't exist in Finnish, and in fact gets simplified into a t in the mouth of a careless speaker, sorry Fëanor :P But nonetheless, the way Quenya looks and sounds is fairly reminiscent of Finnish to me)

* I don't know whether that's on purpose or not; Tolkien had many other inspirations besides Finnish for Quenya, and it could well have come from one of the other ones, I have no way to tell

** rough translation: "yeah so that's makalaure, that's the one that plays the guitar"

I know the quenya names are more confusing to use but man some of these sindarizations are MASSIVE downgrades

Findekáno sounds so pretty and regal and then Fingon just sounds like some guy. Makalaurë sounds gorgeous but Maglor is also just a dude. Turukáno gets one of the worst, no one can make “turg” sound good. Nolofinwë sounds perfectly elven, but Fingolfin just sounds goofy. Arakáno -> Argon is just an element. from the periodic table

[cannebady]

feel the thought of love again

Read on AO3.

Unfortunately, the fallout from that shitshow of a trial isn't limited to Stolas and Blitzø.

Fizz had woken up that morning in love and confident that day; feeling as he usually did existing in the most supportive relationship of his life. Little did he know that Ozzie's actions, or lack thereof, just a scant few hours later would shake some of that confidence to it's core. He's still in love, and Fizz has to believe in the kind of love that can jump hurdles, but he can't ignore that his partner did shit-all when called upon to save Blitzø's life. They're working on it, and he's cautiously optimistic they they'll be fine in the long run, but he knows now that the differences between them run deep.

He remembers being stuck in that cage with Blitzø, listening to him lament about Stolas's ignorance and fuck if he doesn't get it now. While Ozzie has worked through a number of his inherent classist beliefs, there are latent ones that run deep and he showed that on the biggest stage with the highest stakes. The same stage where another royal, Stolas, had shown the exact opposite. Oh how the tables have turned.

He and Blitzø have texted since then, of course they have. As soon as the broadcast ended and Fizz had come back to himself enough to remember he had fingers and a phone, he'd texted Blitzø into the wee hours of the morning, hanging on every response, as few and far between as they'd been, so that he could fall into a fitful sleep. He'd needed proof of life and maybe some facsimile of comfort after nearly having to watch him fucking die. But, it's been weeks since then and he hasn't been able to convince himself to go and actually see Blitzø.

He'd planned to. Fuck the entire night of the trial he'd been fighting the urge to leave and run to Blitzø's side immediately and had only stopped when Blitzø had confirmed that Stolas was alive and with him. Fizz had wanted to give them time to settle in and by the time he woke the next morning he'd had to set aside time to have a screaming fight with Ozzie that left him feeling hollowed out and nearly as lonely as he had when his lungs stilled burned with smoke and he was four limbs down.

Back then, he'd always felt like Blitzø had abandoned him after the fire. He'd mentally railed against him for setting the blaze and leaving Fizz to deal with the consequences himself like a coward, and while there is some truth there, Blitzø had admittedly given up trying after being turned away (thank you Cash Buckzo and your A+ parenting), after this experience, Fizz is starting to understand Blitzø a little better. It's far harder than Fizz would've thought to make yourself face a reality you're not ready for, even if that reality is that your former and also sort-of current best friend is alive and well. Maybe if that were all, it wouldn't be so hard, but Fizz had to come to terms with multiple unfortunate truths that night. The first being that his partner wasn't the fool-proof, knight in shining armor he thought he was. The second is a bit more complicated to align with his reality.

A reality, where, for example, your decades-lapsed crush on your best friend is falling less into the category of lapsed and further into the category of rekindled and primed to fuck up your life.

Who would've thunk that they could make this even more complicated than it was after the fire?

There's Ozzie to consider, who Fizz may be furious with but he still loves so deeply, and fuck, now there's Stolas too. Stolas who gave up fucking everything to save Blitzø in front of every denizen of Hell, the Goetia, and the Sins in a stunt so tragically romantic that it's on par with Ozzie's public declaration of his love and their relationship less than a year ago. That's not even to mention the fact that Blitzø is clearly in love with Stolas too and certainly not hung up on any former jesters he may or may not have blown up in the past.

His head thunks on his pillow and he groans to the air of the room because whoowee does he know how to fuck up a wet dream.

Not having a grueling rehearsal schedule since giving Mammon his middle finger has left him with entirely too much time to think and not nearly enough bullshit to distract himself with on a random Wednesday afternoon. That's when the thought first coalesces.

Maybe today is the day.

Maybe today he'll go and see IMP for the first time and confirm that Blitzø is alive and well.

Maybe Blitzø will be his usual boisterous and borderline insufferable self and it'll be the final nail in the coffin this crush needs.

Yeah, that's it. That's the plan. He's been churning around an idealized Blitzø from when they were kids in his head and letting it take up residence in his heart. As soon as he sees the reality, his crush will recede back to its rightful tomb and he'll be able to move on and he'll have the satisfaction of seeing that his best friend is just fine with his own two eyes. They'll be friends and nothing more. No complicated feelings as far as the eye can see.

It's perfect.

Fizz spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to pick an outfit before ultimately choosing something comfy (because who's he trying to impress, right? He's giving himself side-eye at this point.) and calling one of Ozzie's cars to bring him to Pride. In just under an hour he's sitting in a coffee shop a block down from IMP waiting for his order (a heinously sweet concoction for himself and an iced coffee for Blitzø) and reevaluating all of his life choices.

They call his name for the order, both his and Blitzø's coffee getting a smiley face on the cup (and he understands his, but Blitzø's?), and head's out and face the challenge. The car is waiting outside, and will be nearby until he wants to head back to Lust, but he decides to walk. Take the opportunity to figure out what the fuck he's actually going to say.

For the millionth time in the last hour he thinks that he should've texted Blitzø to make sure it was a good time, but he knew that he'd chicken out the minute he opened the text chat, so he's winging it. They've known each other since they were kids, they've reconnected after the deepest traumas tore them apart, surely dropping in unannounced can be forgiven, right? (And it isn't at all that he'd be heartbroken if he wasn't welcome right now. Not at all.)

The outside of the building, when he arrives, is a bit worse for the wear. It looks like it's been freshly plastered in some places, but overall it looks like it took a beating fairly recently, but he's not entirely sure if that's related to the trial or just one of the many charms of Imp City. It's impossible not to notice, however, that the building (and most around it) are absolutely covered in graffiti of Blitzø's name and it occurs to Fizz, for the first time, that all of Hell saw the trial. There were articles about the employees of IMP, and their fearless leader, being the only imps to ever survive a run-in with the Sins, but it isn't until now that Fizz realizes that Blitzø went from being down on his luck to a veritable people's hero overnight.

Fizz is still famous, but Blitzø has some notoriety in his own right now. Something warm settles in him at that. Blitzø has made mistakes (but they're in Hell, who hasn't?), but he's worked hard for what he has and Fizz is happy for him. Happy that he's getting some positive recognition for once. Happy that perhaps there will be something to fight the self-hatred that's taken root and simmered in his friend since they were children.

He decides he's dilly-dallied enough and pushes through the door into the building. He walks down the hallway and finds the sign for IMP. He immediately recognizes the art as Blitzø's style and, not for the first time since they reconnected, he's impressed by his friend's skill. Maybe clowning wasn't his forte, but he's always been creative in his own way, always been resourceful and powerful. This small bit of art shows that and he feels that same warm feeling settle again. Fizz thinks about knocking, but before he does, he takes a second to peep through the window and what he sees nearly resets his brain chemistry.

The inside of the office looks typical at first glance; just a small office with the typical office accoutrements (nothing like the penthouse he shares with Ozzie, dripping in erotic opulence), but on second look he realizes that the inside seems warm. It radiates a home-y feel, from the mismatched furniture to the fact that it's still decorated for Sinsmas, despite the holiday having passed. It's chaotic in a way that screams Blitzø, but that's not what stops Fizz in his tracks.

Front and center is what he assumes is the reception desk, manned by none other than Stolas, formerly of the Ars Goetia. Gone are his fancy clothes and fuckass hat. He's in a soft looking (admittedly cute as fuck) sweater and a basic set of trousers - regular clothes. Something not amiss on anyone in Imp City.

That, too, is not what sends him reeling.

It's what Blitzø is doing. The former prince looks close to tears as he stares at his phone; the look on his face is sad and nearly despondent. It's the look of someone who has lost everything and is hanging by a thread. But then there's Blitzø; brash, loud, chaotic Blitzø, who was nowhere when Fizz had that look on his face, who is gently rubbing Stolas's back with one hand, pushing a mug that reads "I'm a Hoot" in Blitzø's illegible handwriting towards the owl with the other, all while leaning his head nearly on the bird's shoulder and whispering so low Fizz can't hear. He may not be able to decipher the words, but his friend looking up at the bird like he alone set Blitzø's world spinning. And he just might have.

Fizz hasn't seen that look on Blitzø's face since they were teenagers, and now  has the feeling that he understands something he likely missed when he was young. Blitzø used to look at him like that. And now he knows what it means.

Suddenly, peeping through the window seems like an invasion of privacy, like he's seeing something he shouldn't be. He breaks the tension by opening the door before he can talk himself out of it.

Stolas looks up first, four claret eyes meeting Fizz's across the lobby, and the way he immediately smooths his face into an indifferent mask sets Fizz's teeth on edge. It's partially deserved, considering they've only been in the same room once before and Fizz was publicly roasting Blitzø as Ozzie dragged Stolas through the mud, but he hates it all the same.

Sensing the change in the bird's demeanor, or more likely feeling him tense, Blitzø turns toward him and his jaw drops a little before splitting into a grin that gives Fizz stomach flutters like he's walking a high wire. The fact that Blitzø noticed him because of Stolas's reaction instead of his own entrance only burns him a little.

"Fizz!", Blitzø nearly yells, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

While he seems happy, Fizz also notices that Blitzø's eyes start anxiously darting around the office, and it looks like he's trying to decide if he should be embarrassed or not. That burns Fizz's a little too, that he's so far out of Blitzø's orbit that he feels like he needs to clean his life up to meet Fizz's standards. As if they didn't grow up in the same shitty tent in the same shitty circus under the same shitty circumstances.

Just wanted to see your dumb face, he should say. Just wanted to see how the lower half lives, is what he would've said a year ago.

What he does is so much worse. The whole situation closes in on him, the thought that he was moments from losing any chance at this moment, the fact that he went without Blitzø in his life for over a decade, the fact that he's possibly been in love with this jackass since he was ten and was more than likely loved in return for some part of that, that even after all the animosity Blitzø saved his life and then supported him without the promise of anything at all (and offering Fizz the knowledge that Blitzø blames himself, hates himself even), and it all weighs down on him at once. He feels the begrudging sting of tears and fuck this couldn't happen at a worse time.

He goes to take a breath in but he chokes and ends up wheezing, "I missed you," before looking down at the splotchy carpet and drowning in a maelstrom of emotions only Blitzø could evoke in him. Before he knows it, he feels himself ensconced in familiar, strong, warm arms.

The smell hits him next. There's so much about it that's familiar, cheap detergent and cheaper cologne, but there are newer layers like gunpowder and something that smells an awful lot like lavender preening oil (and doesn't that stir something awful and sweet in Fizz's chest?). In any version, it's like a blanket and Fizz is squeezing the life out of Blitzø before he knows it and gross crying into his shoulder. There's a thunk with a subsequent splash that Fizz registers in his periphery but couldn't be fucked to care about because Blitzø is alive and here and holding him and fuck.

"Fuck Fizz, you okay? You need me to call your big chicken?", and that just makes Fizz cry harder. Because sure, there's a part of him that'd love to bury his face in Ozzie's feathers and let his soothing touch lull him to sleep, but that feels like so much right now and this feels like everything too. Blitzø's voice is soft like he hasn't heard it in years, not since the Before when they were young and unfinished and the soft tone of Blitzø's voice came with the cracks of puberty.

All at once Fizz is relieved and furious. "You almost died you absolute asshole," Fizz's voices gives out into a whine and Blitzø snorts but holds him tighter, stroking his back like he's made of glass. He hates it and loves it and hates that he loves it.

"I didn't though! I'm right here. It's all good," Blitzø reassures, allowing a fucking purr to run beneath the words and the open vulnerability and intimacy makes Fizz want to scream and cry and maybe propose marriage. He hasn't heard that sound since before the fire.

He purrs back best he can, gravelly and uneven, and hears Blitzø breath in sharp, like he didn't expect it. 

Everything is a bit hazy and they're lost in their own world. Vaguely, Fizz hears someone say, "I'll just grab these," before the he feels someone move near them to start to pick up what he dropped. The fucking coffees, he remembers. He'd intended to give Blitzø a coffee before he came here, which seems like a decision he made a thousand years ago for how slowly time is moving. Fizz moves to disengage and help clean up his mess, but he's promptly pulled back into the embrace (not that he minds at all) and realizes that Stolas is taking care of it.

This whole situation is weird and he feels like the bird is giving him major side-eye but he can't even be fucked to care because Blitzø is holding him so tight, holding him together, and he thinks he might've been craving this for fifteen years. It feels like maybe Blitzø was too.

Stolas looms over them for a second, whispers something to Blitzø, to which the imp nods, and then they're both shepherded over to the couch, still embracing, where Fizz promptly entangles himself with as much of Blitzø as possible. Cybernetic limbs wind around flesh and blood and it seems like they can't stop pulling the other closer, reveling in it.

The purring and back stroking is hypnotic, as is the feeling of their tails twisting together (Fizz tries hard not to think about other implications there because it is not the time and this moment is perfect, but the thought lingers), and Blitzø's reassuring whispers that he's here and they're fine start to calm Fizz's racing heartbeat. Time passes like syrup and Fizz has no idea how his eyes have been closed when he finally opens them.

He's wedged in the corner of the couch with Blitzø's back to the room and Fizz has a clear eyeline over Blitzø's shoulder to desk where Stolas is watching them passively. He can read in that gaze the exhaustion, the weariness, and the concern that lives under the surface. It's a familiar look. Fizz should know.

They make eye contact and he gets a terse smile from the owl. He gives one back, trying to convey "I'm sorry I was a dick to you in public" and "thank you for saving this asshole, he means the world to me" and "I'm sorry I might be in love with both your sort-of boyfriend and a deadly sin that would've let him die" with nothing but his eyes and teeth and thinks he might've gotten about 30% of it across before Stolas looks away pointedly.

Blitzø must be exhausted too, because Fizz feels him get heavier in his arms, feels his whispering taper off into tiny snores and sleepy purrs and Fizz realizes in that moment that he'll stay here all night holding him if he needs to. Hell, he's not sure he could leave if he was asked to. At the moment this is right where he wants to be.

There's a metric shit load of nonsense for them to work through, each layer more complicated than the next, but he's realizing that he's ready to do it.

His therapist is going to have a fucking field day when they meet the following week, but for now he'll hold his best friend (and guy he kind of maybe definitely loves) in the office of the business he built himself, in eye and earshot of the former prince who saved his life and sit in the complexity.

It feels good. It feels right.

Blitzø snuffles into Fizz's neck and something in that screams home in a way he's been searching for. Perhaps there's love enough in Hell for all of them. Perhaps there's a touch of redemption, too.

[happy-lemon]

No longer recognize the place that I call home. No longer recognize this face as my own. Somewhere, this fate, I lost control. ~ Rise Against, 2014

Victor went home to his wife and the buzz wore off, leaving me feeling...like dirt. Like a toy to be used, then put away until next time. Something shifted. I don't know. Maybe seeing his wife in person made it impossible to pretend she doesn't exist. Impossible to pretend that what we're doing isn’t wrong. That what I'm doing isn't right.

So, I snorted a line to feel better and hopped the subway to as far as it would take me, to a part of San Myshuno I'd never been. It was late and maybe I should have been afraid, but I don't really care much about myself these days. Don't really like what I've become.

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 3

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability.

Word Count: 3811

Written: 5th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I'm not going to go into every detail of adapting to a prosthetic, there's a lot of stages. For anyone curious, MC uses a multi-grip prosthetic, that relies on electric signals from their residual limb to help communicate movement, using a specialised (fantasy) metal because it's adapted for their job. Also the general adaptive time for one can be up to a year, (even longer depending on how much it needs adjusting and how much active support you have). I'm cutting it down to six months overall (though they continue to learn better ways to use it going forwards). On account of the LADs world having stuff like... AI Robots that can have a conversation with you in the streets, and magic powers. I don't know how long this will be, or how many parts. I have a horrifying number of notes... I guess we'll see how long I can go before my brain shuts down.

Now Playing: The Line, by Twenty One Pilots

Masterlist AO3

<- Previous

You spend the next few days going through the motions.

You exist where you should be striving, and you breathe where you know you're supposed to laugh.

It's empty, but the angry beast in your heart doesn't snap and growl and howl. Demanding blood as recompense for an existence you cannot justify.

Looking in a mirror has become… difficult, so when you brush your teeth, or wash your face, too stubborn to let anyone help when your hand trembles, and you spill your things on the floor. You stare down. At the floor, as you go through motions you know like the back of your scarred hand.

There are moments when life bubbles up, but it is short and it is tired and you only feel it when you have others around you to bring it out. To ease life back into a hand that's become a claw. Smoothing the stretching torn skin, and tending to broken nails.

You go through the motions, because they wait for you on the other side of the door. If you cannot live for you, you will always live for others.

Sometimes it is all you can do, to motivate your broken heart to beat one more day.

Zayne comes with you to the hospital, to check in with your specialist. A warm older woman, who reminds you too much of Gran to not make you feel like you're seeing ghosts. It's a feeling mixed with guilt, and a small amount of fear. Unbidden but lurking. Everytime she, Meredith, touches you, an ache sparks in your heart.

A memory like static hits you, and you have to steady your breath and your heart with a firm hand before you can resume listening.

If you can even be said to be listening.

You're checked over, made sure that your injuries haven't been made worse by your isolation and lack of care. You're lucky, you're told. That someone found you, that they came to you, brought you back to the hospital.

You want to snap back that luck doesn't tear your arm from your shoulder.

That you're not lucky. You're not brave.

You're not anything.

Zayne is commended for his sutures, and his quick care, he barely responds, hand firmly in your one. Squeezing, loosening his grip, squeezing. Self comforting himself as much as he is comforting you. You return the gesture, staring out the window. Trying to take yourself somewhere else. Somewhere without white walls, and terrible motivational posters.

Somewhere where this ghost of your grandma isn't hovering over you. Where you're not hearing talk about next steps.

Somewhere warm maybe.

His hand grounds you, keeps you tethered. Part of you wants to release and let yourself float, the other is scared to disappear into the clouds without him. So you stay, and you hold on. Like you're a balloon he keeps around his wrist.

"Let's check your prosthetic fit. It will need adjustments going forwards as you learn to use it."

Static.

You're somewhere in the room, staring at yourself as you nod, a hand on your shoulder as your shirt buttons are loosened. As straps are pulled and tightened around skin. Even half aware they feel raw. Itching and burning against you.

Unwanted. Unwelcome.

It's a distant pair of eyes that gaze at the limb fitted into place, staring at the metal. You blink finally. Clearing your head to look. Just… look.

"Comfortable?"

You think back to the bathroom with Rafayel. His gentle hands soothing dirt from your skin, and his eyes glowing as they look at you. You think to a gentle hand stroking your head as you fall into sleep, starry blue eyes watching you carefully. You think about a crow bringing you snacks, of red eyes watching you warmly over a bowl. You think about a doctor's hand in yours, easing the scars over, like you've done to his.

You think about the pieces of you twisted and bunched and stuffed under skin that fits too tight. You think about the pain of waking up every morning now. Of avoiding your own gaze in the mirror.

You think of a limb you can still see the metal piercing through.

You aren't sure how to answer her. Too many things bundled up in your head, struggling to filter and file and understand which is which.

Zayne gives a gentle tug, looks down at you, forest eyes glimmering. Absently you think you see fear, like you're going to disappear, if he lets you go. Float away on a weak breeze.

It should shame you. Feeling this weak.

You're just so tired.

When he speaks, he soothes with his thumb, pressing into skin and drawing the infinity sign against you, "Is it rubbing painfully anywhere?" He clarifies the question.

The noise filters back a little, giving you a direct pathway to your answer, "The straps. They hurt."

The doctor nods to herself, she writes notes down and adjusts them. "They'll soften over use, you'll need to clean them weekly at least, leather conditioner can help ease the initial discomfort."

The raw rubbing softens a little, still too hyper aware of the feeling, you twitch away from her when she adjusts where the metal and sheath touches your skin. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Your hands are cold."

Her laugh reminds you of Gran too, and you can feel the walls getting closer. You have to hold it together. You have to keep it together.

You can't break down here. You can't. You have to be stronger than this.

It's like there's a lump in your throat. A feeling like you're going to be sick, maybe cry. Maybe both.

You can't be weak here.

"Can we take a minute, Doctor Rin?" Zayne asks, voice calm but cool. Like he isn't really asking, like it's a formality. Respect for someone who knows how to help you.

She leans back and nods, "Of course." She looks over at you and smiles, and it's too warm and kind to not make you flinch back, "Take a few minutes outside."

You can't respond because the lump in your throat is rising.

Don't cry.

With a steady hand on your back, Zayne leads you away from the room, steering you through the corridors of Akso. Out into the courtyards. Where it's quiet. Where no one can watch as you finally crack.

As you gulp, and cover your mouth. Trying to force it down as you hiccup and gasp.

There's a burning in your shoulder, everytime you feel the brush of metal, the chill through the sheath. You feel the cool straps, refusing to take your body heat. You reach up with your hand to pull them off but a hand takes yours. Holds it, as another releases the buckles. Removes the offending thing.

Gently. Carefully. Reverently.

He places it down on a bench, then pulls you closer. Rubbing warm circles into your shoulder and skin through your shirt. You cling to his, trembling until the feeling eases out. Relieved from your confines.

From the woman who brings ghosts to your door.

From the memories of ice cold pain and scorching blood.

"What do you need?"

You shake your head. Too much. You want this nightmare to be over. You want to wake up and things be easier. You want things you can't have.

You want to feel strong. Brave. Complete.

A hand, cool to the touch but accompanied by a warm gaze, turns your head. Looking up, as he wipes tears that have escaped against your will. "Do you want another doctor?"

Yes. No.

Maybe?

The ghost of Gran scares you as much as she comforts you.

Meredith Rin is top of her field. You know that. Logically it makes no sense, to turn down the woman who can have your back, get you through this.

If you want to move forward, you have to try. You have to.

"No." You choke out, shaking your head in his grasp, leaning into his palm, "No."

He seems relieved, face relaxing a little, "Very well, I've read her recommendations, testimonies from patients. I trust her abilities."

If he trusts her, you think you can too. You trust him right now, more than you can ever hope to trust yourself. Scared of ghosts and monsters lurking in the shadows.

Scared of yourself.

"Do you want to go home?"

Yes. You do. You do. You want to be anywhere but the hospital. You're so very tired of hospitals.

It is the feeling of fatigue. The feeling of knowing the corridors better than you want to. Of knowing the faces of the doctors. Of knowing the other patients who visit frequently.

It is not just Zayne that tethers you to the hospital, it is the heart in your chest, the illness in your life, the injuries from your job, and now the prosthetic on the bench.

"Darling." His thumb eases, soothes, wipes at fresh tears, "I'm here."

You think about hospital appointments that Caleb had joined you for. How he'd written notes and focused so you didn't have to. Keeping you tethered.

Zayne looks at you with warm, beautiful eyes, and offers you his stability and his brain to keep you standing. Where you waver.

So you shake your head, "I can do it." You can. You can do it. You're not alone, you can do it.

"If you need to leave, tap my hand twice, alright?" It's an offer to escape, but it's spoken with pride in his voice, as you stand a little taller.

Your nod is firmer than before, and this time when he picks up the prosthetic, you can look at it a little longer. Maybe soon you'll look at it and look forwards.

—-

Rafayel is trying to focus on his work. He has an exhibition coming up, that he would cancel if he didn't have some degree of guilt for the stress it would cause Thomas. He doesn't mind tormenting the man occasionally, but breaking promises… it's not something he can bring himself to do. He's not a hypocrite.

If he waited every year for you to return to that beach, he'll carry out the promises he's made to finish his art.

He's only half paying attention to his canvas, though. Paint on his brush drying in the air, because he keeps looking over at you.

You're sat with Xavier, as you work through exercises to help with balance. He can see the strain in your back. A loose vest worn so you don't rub at the shoulder. You wince, but push.

Rafayel's paintbrush is set to the side, sketchbook picked up, and he works.

You are a vision in charcoal, when you finish an exercise you exhale in relief, before moving on. Every hurdle cleared no matter how tall, has you stabilise. Visibly relaxing, flinching less when Xavier's hands touch you. The prince is careful, gentle and observant.

There's life to his page again, he isn't sure he'll ever show you the sketches of you like this. Scars on your skin, hurting, but he keeps it in case there is a day you ask. So he can show you that you live and you move. That stumbling and hurting is ok.

Rafayel records you in sketches because he values every version of you, and he hopes one day you see that, and believe it.

As you finish for the day, falling to the floor, lying down. Breathing heavily, and worn out fully. He hears a soft laugh, "I'll get some water." The prince heads off to the kitchen, while Rafayel puts his work down, closing the sketchbook carefully, and approaching you. So that he can look at you, upside down, nose inches from yours.

"Hey cutie. Nice work."

You hesitate before smiling. It's not the smile you've worn before, but it's not a fake one. It's just tired. He might not understand the feeling fully, but he knows how hard struggling is. How it drains you. He also knows that no matter how proud you can be, stubborn and biting at the bit to be strong, that he should commend every action.

Even if you huff that it should be a simple achievement. It is not, not some days. Some days, he watches you give in. Some days, you power through better than others.

Today you almost gave up, before getting fiery and angry at yourself. Growling and forging on.

So he will commend you, because he wants you to value the effort.

"You're cute upside down too."

This time you do exhale a laugh, hand reaching up to poke his forehead. You miss, frown, and try again. "You're silly."

He joins you on the floor, lying with his head at yours, his legs up on your sofa. Face turned to you. Neither of you make a move to sit up, it is comfortable to simply lie, and stare up at the dimmed lights. "You're doing well."

A shaky exhale is his immediate answer, but you nod, "I'm trying."

He wants to say that trying is enough, he doesn't know if that's the right thing to say, but instead he reaches over towards your hand, and takes it in his. He can watch as the furrow in your brow eases, frown easing a little. He thinks you're finally trying to rely on them. To find comfort in their presence.

To not feel alone.

"It's hard," You speak, guilt in your voice, like you're confessing a sin. He squeezes, so you continue, "I feel pathetic, and sometimes I feel angry. So angry." You look at him, eyes glistening and he nods, "I want to give up."

"But you don't." He offers, watching your eyes waver, you can't hold his gaze for long, but he knows you're still keeping focus on him. Grounding yourself. "I'm glad that you're working through it."

Your exercises exhaust you, movement is harder now so he watches you fray. You let them handle things, food, cleaning, so you can focus on recovery. Rafayel is pleased, smug almost, that his presence here allows for that. It's a warm heat in his chest, like he's watching the tides, because if he can help you stand up tall again, he'll do anything for you.

You don't speak for a while, simply breathing through, relaxing and calming yourself. He reaches his other hand over to brush hair from where it sticks to your skin, revelling in the small shudder he gets from the sensitivity.

He will always be too sensitive to everything you do.

Xavier sits then, on your other side, and he looks up as you look at the glass in the prince's hand.

You release Rafayel's hand, pushing yourself up, shaking your head at the offer of help, and lean over a little to take the glass. Xavier's hand stabilising your back.

As he watches you, Rafayel thinks about your impatience, to be useful again. Back in the field. To overcome the hurdles despite the fact you wish to give up, he returns to his sketchbook.

With a quick pen, a dagger takes pride of place in the centre of his page.

—---

"We are not eating fish every night."

"Who made you the boss?"

"Variation is important in a diet."

"Fish is good for you!"

"Except for one big one."

You leave your bedroom after a nap, to find Sylus, Rafayel and Zayne in the kitchen.

Sylus has instructions on his phone, as he chops vegetables, while Rafayel is sat on the counter, trying to… you assume sabotage his efforts.

Zayne has his head in his hands, trying to read what you can tell is your treatment schedule. "Can the both of you act your age?"

"Tell that to the fish."

"I have a name, crow!"

You feel the laugh bubble out of you unbidden. The image is so out of sorts, and so ridiculous. Sylus of the N109 Zone, and Rafayel the lemurian artist. Arguing in your kitchen. That's far smaller than either of them are probably used to.

While your doctor sits and grumbles at them, barely trying to keep them from killing each other.

They turn at the sound, three pairs of stunning eyes, focusing on you as you try to cover your mouth to keep the laugh from escaping.

It doesn't work though. You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh.

It's almost hysteric. Like a collapse, like walls crumbling down, and foundations falling.

It's euphoric. A release of pent up feelings you keep struggling to let out.

It's relieving. Tears flowing with it. Hiccups starting, laughter into sobs, then laughter again.

It's stupid but it throws something off of you. A beast of a burden, clinging to your back. Trying to pull you down.

It settles at your ankles, clinging to you, but you can stand up a little taller.

The monster that lurks, that angers, that demands blood. The creature that tells you to give up. It silences itself, curling up, and slumbers. Not forever. It never leaves forever, but for a little while… it is chased away by the realisation that you have something still to see.

These foolish men, living their lives alongside you.

Sylus' eyes are molten pools of affection as he watches you, lips quirking into that small smile you know intimately. "What do you want, kitten?"

"Cutie will make the right choice!"

As you approach, sitting beside Zayne at the counter who wipes your face as you do so, you smile softly, "I want salmon."

Rafayel lets out a whoop, way too close to Sylus' head, who winces and glares at him.

"You truly are a cat, kitten." He tuts, but moves to the fridge to grab it from the groceries Xavier had picked up earlier before heading off for a mission.

Zayne had given him a strict list of food that are good to eat when you are in recovery… even if some cookies had snuck their way into the list.

You try not to think about how you should be out there with him.

Zayne lets out an exhale next to you, "Finally, that argument is over."

"The doctor was very unhelpful." Sylus inputs, raising a brow at the man.

"As long as it's healthy, I don't mind what you prepare." He pushes the schedule close to you, so you don't have to lean over to watch, "I've been making notes for what we can do at home to help alleviate the time spent in the hospital."

You blink at him, and he pushes his glasses up to smile, "Is that alright?" It's a small nod, you're not sure how to explain to him how seen you feel with them.

It's been a long time since there was security in your life. You wish it had come at a time where you also didn't feel like you're standing over the edge of the abyss… but the safety net you can see below you finally… well… going through the motions is looking less like a chore.

"When do you start your prosthetic training?" Raffy asks, swinging his legs.

You check the documents, because you truly can't remember much of what was said to you verbally, and you'd been avoiding reading them since you received them. "A week."

"I'll send a copy around to everyone, if you're alright with it?"

You nod, it's an easy thing to agree to. You think about them finding you curled up in the blanket. It can't get much worse than that…

"Is your exhibit going well, Raffy?"

The man in question jumps, and you think he looks a little guilty, "I have one more thing to finish, it's giving me trouble, but I'll get there. Promise you'll come see it?"

It's hard to promise anything, caught in jewel eyes, watching them like a shimmering luminescent sea. You don't want to let Rafayel down, if you can't go. If you're too tired. If you're sick. If you just can't bear to be out.

What do you want to do? Plays in a loop in your head. If you can, what do you want?

You think about how Rafayel holds to promises like they mean everything. You think about the feeling you have sometimes like you've broken one without meaning to. You think about how warm his voice is when he forgives you if you can't go out with him because you hurt too much or are too tired, long before now. In a way you can't fake your way through, despite how much you hate letting your body pull you down.

It's easy then. What you want… the picture is clearer.

"I promise Raffy." Because as long as you can, you will. Because he'll understand if you can't. If your body hurts too much, if your fatigue is too great, if you're drowning.

His smile is so relieved, so bright, you almost look away from him.

An artist could try to capture him, and fail a million times over. He is too beautiful, and too kind, to ever be recorded on paper or canvas.

"How come the invite wasn't extended to all of us, fish?" Sylus teases, flicking some water off his hands at Rafayel's face. Who instantly looks like a startled cat in response.

"Why would anyone want you there crow?"

"You doubt my eye for beautiful things?"

"I doubt your taste in anything but cutie."

The man laughs, amused and unbothered by the insult, "Perhaps you should paint them, I'll definitely appreciate the art then."

Despite your nap, as you watch them, as the room is warm, you find yourself leaning into Zayne. Eyes drooping, he adjusts himself to place an arm around your waist, "You should go to bed if you're still tired."

The disgruntled mumble makes him huff a soft laugh, but he allows you to stay leaning into his side, as he turns paper, and reads. "Your specialist's work is very clear." He hums in approval.

"Approval from Doctor Li." You manage to tease, "I'm in good hands."

"You are. Though it took a little while to convince Sylus of that."

The man in question half shrugs as he stirs a pot, "There is no compromise with your health Kitten, I'd drag a doctor from halfway across the world if I had to."

This time Raffy nods, as though it's an obvious thing. To have the money to do that. Or, you think in Sylus' case, the power to do that. You'd be a little worried about the doctor's state of mind though. Kidnapped by a criminal and dragged to Linkon.

"It'll be ok." You manage, though sleep is pulling you under yet again. The net is there, ready to catch you. You feel a kiss pressed against your head, but it is dim and it is far away, and you fall before you can respond.

[sandorsubs]

wiring your brain to control shifting

i was playing a video game but level was extremely hard. i shed blood and sweat, thinking "maybe this game is for pros and i'm not a good gamer" i was this close to give up but i wanted to see rest of the game so badly i kept trying. finally i passed it thinking it's just luck.

years later i played the game again. i hesitated at first but passed the same level in my first try. mind you i didn't become pro gamer or anything in all these years. it was just my brain wiring in the background, collecting data to find out what to do exactly but i've never realized this until i have to do it again.

if you ever said "i have never been able to do this throughout my life" for anything wait for a second and admit this is just a mental block you put between you and your desire. when you are wiring your brain, you don't realize it's happening, looks like nothing is changing or only little changes happening. because you don't see what's happening in background. it actually becomes easier but we don't care because if it's easier we are too focused on moving forward and achieving the desire.

then a random day it feels natural being able to do that. almost like you were born with this.

i've said this in my previous post, shifting isn't a skill/talent/sth related to luck or genetics. if you still think shifting is just one big change happens rarely and miraculously, please try to change that.

because shifting is just like water. it can be a drop or big ass ocean(depending on the changes in the realities). just because you've never seen an ocean, it doesn't mean you can't look at rain and say guess there has to be more.

you won't wire your brain to shift but to control it. if you aren't new to shifting, at least couple months passed since you've started your journey, your wiring has already started.

how wiring works for shifting?

i'll call this wiring path. you either stick to one thing you like or feel comfortable with, even a little interest is more than enough. or find an existing wiring path. the times you felt close to shifting for example. maybe a little voice keeps telling you this is your method. you probably have more than one wiring paths for shifting, but they are like unfinished projects. one of them must be more prominent, like at least 50% finished project.

after you've decided on your wiring path, it's not any different from achieving anything. you are not a monk, you won't be spending eternity if you are actively learning. do you know those clicking moments? you can meditate for thirty hours straight but a feeling or realization in one of your attempts takes wiring process further. and i gotta admit, maybe you needed those thirty hours meditation to realize this. that's what i love about wiring. nothing goes is in vain.

everything you do takes your wiring further.

if it feels like literally nothing is changing, you either work on more than one wiring paths or the process slowed down.

when you are not aware of this wiring, it's like pushing all the buttons and hope for best. that's what they mean by lock in. because trying everything at the same time or having backup methods is working on more than one wiring paths.

it's like learning ten languages at the same time but you are barely a1 in all of them.

like i said you have more than one wiring paths and they are unfinished projects, they all have potential. don't give them powers thinking one of them is better than the other. you make them work better with yourself. you have power to choose.

wiring from loa perspective

before loa folks come and say "so what you are saying is, you have to actually do sth to shift? stop planting assumptions in people's minds! i don't have to do anything to shift!"

baby, i'm gonna hold your hand while saying this, you assumption is also a work. you assumed you don't need 46 step method to shift or you have already shifted, right? good, i'm happy for you but see that's also a work. you still do something. you wire your brain this is how you'll control shifting. seriously, what do you consider as "work"? i'm not telling you to do 30 push-ups everyday. (i'm not being sarcastic btw, i love loa. but some of y'all doesn't like to see anything out of assumption-core. this isn't progressive and if my opinions are shaking the foundation of your assumption, sorry but maybe it's not much of an assumption because it shouldn't matter even the whole world is against you when it comes to loa -sandor goddard). whatever get on the ship loa gang, we are sailing

why "tried it all" shifters couldn't complete their wiring process then?

so i remember a person in my dm saying "i've tried a particular method for long period of time. i've tried it all and gave time."

i picture a student when i see "tried it all" shifters. this student thinks if they study math and score high marks in exams they'll be a perfect student. so they start working hard, ignoring the fact they hate math or find it hard to understand.

maybe they're interested in sports or literature but this student is obsessed with having perfect student image. they are not actively wiring, they are bargaining which only slows down and takes extra effort even to reach a milestone. they'll still have hard time to wire their brain even in subjects they do like. they study for 9 hours straight but the friend of them sniffs the textbook and scores higher.

then we have to let go of desire? it depends, i think there are two kinds of desire: first, a desire that helps you, reminds you of what you want to have and the second, desire that reminds you, what's lack. if your desire feels like a liability or its leeching you it's the second one. atp what your desire is unimportant. it's about how you see this unaccomplished desire.

plus if you are actively wiring your brain, you won't even have time to think about this desire obsessively. because you are too focused on what to do, desire is just a fuel and collectively helping you.

so people whose shifted in first attempt didn't wire any shit?

when you bumped into a "i shifted in my first attempt" person next rime, know that they are not shifting gods or prophets. they just figured out in instant what makes their brain easier to wire for controlling shifts. let's be fr some people are gifted with focusing or visualizing. they have useful existing wiring paths for shifting. plus i want to remind you something:

don't underestimate the power of a blank page. neutrality has higher frequency than courage, do you know why? because you don't have any fears or worries, when you are neutral you don't need a reason be courageous. i know if i erease your shifting attempts from your memory right now, you'd be shifting in your "first" attempt either. because most of the time you deal with your fears and worries instead of actively wiring.

how to actively wire?

people are trembling, throwing up and procrastinating when it comes to "attempt". i don't even want to call it attempt because you are actively learning. and no it's not "dw we learn from every attempt 🌺🌻✨" kinda motivation, it's literally how your brain is getting wired.

let's assume you find your wiring path, it's more prominent than other paths you have. for example its raven method + visualizing and falling asleep. you felt close to shifting with this method before. be aware of your every attempt and observe closely because by the time you'll get better at each part of your method. active wiring is not doing the same thing everyday robotically.

maybe normally you count to 100 but one day you feel you are already focused when you reached 40. or your focusing skills improved so much, you need to discard counting part, because you already wired that part in your brain. or you were visualizing yourself in your dr bed but suddenly you felt like you want to visualize one of your dr memories. your brain will be more invested in something they find interested. in previous student example i gave you, bargaining person misses these moments, they stubbornly do the same thing and rarely progress.

don't be scared of working on your wiring path. if you feel like you are waiting or pending, your wiring only slowed down. it doesn't always mean you need to do something, maybe you need to observe what you are doing and make simple changes. even if it means taking a break.

active wiring is not waiting for the day you'll achieve it. when you are learning a new skill you do your thing and expect it to be successful every single time even if it's your first time. you can almost see yourself achieving it. this expectation doesn't come from bargaining tho, it's your desire, the healthy kind.

in next posts i'll be sharing my way to wire my brain to control shifting and the terms i came up with. this is how i observed and decided to use wiring for myself. please take care and don't consume everything you read if it feels wrong or doesn't sit with you, or you don't even want to accept it true. spit it out. same for this post.

[thecurioustale]

Replying to tags here:

#that's super interesting#but also within that plateau the results are all over the place and there are not very many points until the ramp starts up again#like the height of the plateau itself is almost a factor of 10 (ranging from about 1/2 earth's gravity to about 3x earth's gravity)

I had the same thought when I was originally looking at the paper. There's not nearly enough of exactly the very same data I most want to see: the rocky Super Earths that are only modestly above Earth's mass.

More data required!

But! There is enough here to see that the trendline in the left-hand regime is completely lost above roughly 1 Earth mass. There's definitely something going on, unless our methods for finding exoplanets are relevantly and highly skewed.

A less immediately useful but still relevant takeaway is that there's absolutely no doubt that the left-hand regime and right-hand regime are distinct. Both have strong, independent trendlines, whereas the middle regime—whatever's going on there—is clearly not an intermediate phase. At first blush, I think one may simply write off the right-hand regime as "things that gaseous planets do," which doesn't necessarily need to be governed by the same function that strictly rocky worlds are. But! We do know of a number of exoplanets that are Neptunian in mass but which don't have the "icy" atmospheres (of methane, etc.)—presumably because these atmospheres were destroyed due to proximity to the planets' parent stars, or else perhaps because those lighter volatile ices were not present in the planetary formation (presumably due to prior Violence). And, either way, without the gaseous atmosphere you realize you're still looking at a rocky world.

I'm only speculating as an amateur, but maybe this has something to do with why the three different regimes exist instead of one, continuous, clean one. That could even help explain why the middle regime appears to slightly negatively correlate in its mass to surface gravity relationship. These heavier rocky worlds may fundamentally be "built different."

I don't presume to know for sure, and I would be very wary of assuming any of the above for my own worldbuilding purposes. I always try to find real-world precedents or implied precedents (i.e. somewhere between existing precedents) for the planet-building I do, and all the celestial composition I do—which is why this report was so useful in settling my question about having a rocky planet with "merely" ~25 percent higher surface gravity (because such things are evidentiarily real). But as an astronomy hobbyist it's darn sure I would be very interested in seeing more research on this question, in order to better understand this relationship!

Worldbuilding: Something I Learned About Planetary Surface Gravity

Last year (hehe; it's always fun to say that at the start of a new year; actual time about 4 months ago), I made a strange discovery!

I won't slow-roll you. Here's the bottom line: In reality, i.e. based on observational data, there appears to be a plateau of surface gravity for planets up to about 500 times more massive than Earth. Most planets between 1 Earth mass and ~500 Earth masses have a surface gravity that is close to our own, i.e. 1 g. So if you're worldbuilding, and need a planet with a surface gravity that is more than a few percentage points higher than Earth's, be careful.

All right, on to the story!

I had need of such a planet for Galaxy Federal. About 125% percent or so, i.e. 1.25 g. And it was in the back of my mind that Neptunian planets often have a "surface" gravity similar to that of Earth's. "Okay," I figured, "that's probably because their giant atmospheres reduce the average planetary density. On a rocky world that wouldn't be an issue. But I'd better check to be safe."

Oh, it is always a good idea to check!

I found a paper which was reporting the plateau that I mentioned in the TL;DR. Here's what it looks like:

Gravity vs mass for Solar System bodies and exoplanets. Ballesteros, Fernando & Luque, Bartolo. (2016). Walking on Exoplanets: Is Star Wars Right?. Astrobiology. 16. 10.1089/ast.2016.1475.

What they found is that Super Earths, i.e. rocky planets with a mass greater than Earth's, did not exhibit the increase in surface gravity seen in smaller celestial bodies. There is this "plateau" where increases in planetary mass and radius are such that the surface gravity essentially levels out for a while.

This isn't something I think you could predict from amateur astronomical principles. What you would predict (certainly, what I predicted) would be what we see on the left side of the above figure, where more mass equals more surface gravity. All of the small rocky bodies in our own Solar System fall onto that left side of the graph. The plateau only really begins in the Earth range of planetary mass. You can see how Venus is included in the plateau almost perfectly, but the much less massive Mars is not.

This is a truly remarkable finding about planetary formation, and has serious implications both for fictional worldbuilding and someday for planetary colonization. That is, if these observations are truly representative of the Universe. This is a pretty big "if" that I don't have the knowledge to be able to check, except to say that there may be some bias unaccounted for because of how we detect exoplanets, such that perhaps the ones we detect are not representative of the ones we do not—so take it all with a grain of salt. This paper is 8 years old but I couldn't find anything newer following up on it.

Fully understanding how it would work is still a question mark for me. I mean, it's a question mark for the professional planetary scientists, too, so there's that, but, in addition to the unknowns that curtail their comprehension, there's a lot I don't know about astronomy that further curtails mine. My understanding is that this isn't really about the intrinsic density of the materials (i.e. substances that are more massive or less massive per mole); it would mainly have to be a consequence of how planets form, how the geological processes change in different planetary mass categories; that sort of thing. But I don't really know! I'm out of my depth.

Anyway, you can download a copy of the full paper on its entry page on ResearchGate; look for the button that says "Download full-text." And the website Centauri Dreams has a nice write-up which is where I originally discovered this.

[burningcomputerpersona]

Theres a bird inside your ribcage..... I keep trying to forget...

WELL I DREW A LINE IIIINNN THE SAAANND

WITH THESE WORTHLESS FUCKING HAAAANNDS

I DREW A LINE IIINNNN THE SAAANND

YOU WASHED IT AWAY AGAAAIIIIIINNNNNN

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Talia found Yasmin's hide out only two days after the bomb.

It wasn't easy. Yasmin had hidden herself well - her monthly reports had never mentioned an acquaintanceship with Vladimir Masters, the absolute gall of that girl - in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. She bypassed the few security measures with ease, eventually finding her daughter sitting at a kitchen table, hyperventilating.

"What happened?" Talia's voice was cold and demanding.

"The-" Yasmin gasped before stealing herself. "The Fentons are dead."

"I know the Fentons are dead." Talia circled the girl. "One split navel to throat, the other strangled. What. Happened?"

"The Fentons discovered their son was a Meta. Specifically, they thought he had been replaced with the extradimentional species they study." She took a deep breath. "By the time I had discovered their actions, Daniel was... dissected on a table."

Talia closed her eyes. She knew from Yasmin's reports that she'd been acting as the Fenton child's primary caretaker since her adoption and a fondness had developed. "Yasmin-"

"Don't, Mother." She snapped. "Don't act like this is anything less than a tragedy."

"I know-"

"He was a child-"

"Everything's been taken care of," Talia said. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jasmine Fenton died in that explosion you caused. You need to return now-"

"No!" Yasmin bolted to her feet, glaring at Talia. "He's dead, Mother! An innocent child, the child I raised as my own, is dead because I couldn't protect him! Don't you dare try to sweep this under the rug like... like Danny was something shameful! I'm not leaving! I have to-"

Time Out.

Yasmin shut her mouth mid-sentence, giving Talia time to convince her off her self-destructive path.

"What happened to Daniel is a tragedy, Yasmin. But wallowing in grief and what-ifs only leads to further pain." Talia sighed. "The Fentons and the research you were so fascinated with are gone now. You made sure of that. It's time for you to return home and put that knowledge to use."

Yasmin stared down at her hands. Odd that Talia hadn't noticed, but Yasmin's hands cradled a small, dark blue jewel, polished into a smooth, oblong oval. It glittered under the candlelight, like stars in the sky.

Yasmin swallowed the rock and spoke, refusing to acknowledge what she'd just done. "You are right, Mother. The time of Jasmine Fenton is gone now." She stared straight at Talia, no trace of fear in her gaze. For a moment, Talia wondered where her child had gone. Yasmin never met her eyes unless prompted to when she was growing up. Now she was met with a younger version of herself with cheap dyed-red hair, with the same level of determination that made Talia the Right Hand of the Demon Head. "I will mourn for Danny... on my own time. For now, what is my mission?"

Talia studied her daughter. There was a reason why she'd hidden the girl so far out of the way of her Father and her son. Yasmin was a strong fighter, but had her father's heart, despite her willingness to kill. She'd always reminded Talia of a bodyguard rather than an assassin, but Yasmin wanted to go her own way, wanted to study everything. For years, Talia had indulged her daughter, but now it was time for her to return to the fold.

"For the next month, you will be training to remove any weakness the Fentons may have left in you. After that, you will be guarding an ally for me."

"Which ally?"

"A boy a few years older than you, a son of the Bat." Yasmin didn't react to the mention of her father. Good. "His mind is infirm, but by the time you finish your training, he will be ready to strike a blow against Gotham. You will act as his guard during his training and act as my spy while he's in Gotham. Do you understand?"

For a moment, Yasmin's hand brushed her stomach before she forced her fists to her sides. "Yes, Mother. I will do as you ask."

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[godlygivenanxiety]

look, not to be a hater but the whole ekko/jinx alternate universe situation only proves that jinx was only ever loved entirely and completely by silco, that's kinda the point of how tragic jinx really is as a character,

vi either only sees her little sister out of guilt/sense of duty mixed with a desperate need to come back to something or as consequences to her own actions(taking away agency from jinx in the process);

ekko sees her through the eyes of an idealist which is exactly what he is and that's not bad by itself, but it makes her either A Problem or Someone That Needs Saving, that's what's going on in his head after that AU he transported to. he's comparing jinx to powder and he likes powder much better, so he wants jinx to be powder or to reignite the powder in her - basically, he thinks how vi used to think;

isha is a complicated matter because she did show kindness and affection towards jinx that wasn't equal to anyone else's, it was pure and idolizing, she loved what she knew of jinx.

the people of zaun don't love her, not by a long shot. she became a symbol to some(as we can notice in the reunion by vander's statue) and overall the assumption that she would get involved more after her attack and silco's death is a fair one; that doesn't mean they like her,

sevika maintains a connection to jinx through grief and a sense of helplessness along with familiarity, silco's death affected jinx's psyche but it also affected sevika's dream of zaun, they feel left behind by him;

vander... well, he only got to see powder and warwick quite literally just had the memories,

the ONLY character we see that meets her as powder and stays with her as jinx is silco; yes, he isn't a good guy and he does cause the whole separation, he sharpened her edges to make her into a weapon, he lied to her and manipulated her at times, none of these things exclude the fact he does love her so strongly, with zero conditions.

she fucks up in missions, she does as she pleases around zaun, she kills their people, she stabs him in the eye, has psychotic episodes and breakdowns, she kidnaps him, ties him down, SHOOTS HIM, she doubts him and his love, keeps running after the past when he's done everything to strengthen her and she was, at a point, the only thing keeping him from his dream of an independent zaun - none of these perceived sins and flaws made him wish for anyone other than her, as she is.

all silco wanted was to keep her, while everyone else either wants another version of her or none at all. that's the tragic part, even if she suddenly decided to be good, she would feel like a burden for not being entirely like people want her to be.

[hero-of-the-wolf]

listen hear me out—

what if eow takes place after the original loz?

[dollypopup]

the more I think about it and rewatch his scenes, the more I cannot help but realize that Colin is coded as a neurodivergent character. At least, I can very clearly see how Luke Newton, a neurodivergent actor, is playing Colin as a neurodivergent character

a special interest in Greek mythology? in traveling? neurodivergent

taking people's word at face value without 'reading between the lines'? neurodivergent

not being able to read Penelope's feelings regardless of how 'obvious' they are? neurodivergent

brain constantly bouncing around from one idea to the next (as in the books)? neurodivergent

not saying the 'right thing' and admitting to having to rehearse important conversations? neurodivergent

all that rejection sensitivity and regret he had well over a year after his engagement blew up? neurodivergent

masking in public? the whole 'charming facade'? neurodivergent

the man straight up STIMS, I mean how often do we see him fidgeting or playing with something? he has an oral fixation like no one's business, always eating, rubbing his mouth, licking his lips

I just can't unsee it

and, one day, i hope our fandom is going to be ready to recognize how many of the things we've unjustly called him an 'idiot' or 'stupid' for is actually just him existing with a neurodivergent brain and how hurtful that can come across to us neurodivergent peeps who identify with him