#stress = output for me it seems

[heytherecentaurs]

What a masterclass of D&D combat from the players and the DM.

Brennan did such a good job of making the combat engaging and dynamic. He juggled so many plates and kept his cards close to his chest regarding aspects no one was aware of until near the end.

The Bad Kids maximized their effectiveness and importantly, they stayed on top of their HP better than they ever have before.

Adaine did some really great spellcasting plus the exploding mephits. Her Bigby’s Hand (or whatever it’s called) dealt solid damage and using it as a bonus action after casting is great. Really helped whittle down the purple worm’s massive HP.

Gorgug took all the punishment from a CR 15 purple worm and beat it after already fighting other monsters. Zac was in crit city this episode and he needed to me to beat that fucker.

Fig got to smite and used Booming Blade and spirit guardians to fuck up enemies basically doubling (sometimes more) her damage output every round (Really effective against the swarms.) and she 1v1ed a Wyvern, which is only a CR 6 but she also had other monsters after her because was disguised as Gaven. Really the mix of hexblade, paladin and bard stuff she did was cool. (Bonus action heals were good.)

Fabian as sort of a floating fighter, getting into the mix and fighting monsters wherever needed was so helpful and his flourishes and using his spell slots for his magical sword were great. He didn’t necessarily get the biggest moments this fight but he was integral and they’d have sorely missed him because he killed a lot of creatures. Not to mention the Hangman’s breath and bite attacks.

Riz doing peak rogue shit with haste and coming in clutch sniping monsters. Saving Gavin’s life, being able to ready an action to shoot from hiding and just all the sneak attack goodness. Plus Murph was so good about the test parts. He and Riz both seem to really thrive in stressful situations.

And Kristen who took her role as the primary healer so seriously it kept everyone up and banished a monster for good. Ally has been far more diligent about using Kristen’s abilities this season and it’s been such a big help. Plus truesight wrecked Killerpally’s plot to fuck them.

And they did all of this while answering timed test questions. This is the best they’ve ever played from a technical standpoint. Bill Seacaster would be proud they took his afterschool lessons to heart.

[mongoosingisme]

Hullo. Got a little fill for you here. For this ask.

Title: Herding Cats

Pairing: Shane/Elliott/fem!farmer

Word Count: 3903

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, if you would be so kind.

Notes: Elliott says "honey" like Hozier does. Also I have like 20 more ideas for these three, so let me know if you'd like to see more.

Tags and fic under the cut!

Tags: kissing, dirty talk, praise, dommy Elliott, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, cream pie, weird pizza combinations

You could trace where you were right now back to a drunken night a year and a half ago.

That night had been all hands and mouths and eyes focused exclusively on you.

And today? Right now? 

You were herding cats. Two incredibly, incredibly distractible cats.

“Can you smell that?” The three of you were out in the field. Harvest time. Potatoes. Elliott was holding a garden fork laden with soil and, ostensibly, Yukon golds. “The soil is so aromatic when freshly turned. Years of life and decay coming together to create a scent unique to this place and this time. It’s inspiring!”

“You know it’s full of shit, right?” Shane was coming up with a wheelbarrow. “Worms eat the soil and shit it out, and then you put cow shit on it to make things grow. You’re spouting poetry about literal shit.”

Elliott considered the fork for a moment, brow furrowed. Then he brightened. “There’s beauty in all things, no? I don’t see why waste should be any different.” 

“That should be your next book.” Shane set the wheelbarrow down to discuss it. “Poetry about shit.”

“Yes!” Elliott set the fork tines-down into the soil and looked off into the distance. “'Meditations on Excrement: Shifting Through What is Left Behind'.”

Shane snorted. “More like ‘Shiting Through.‘“

Elliott laughed, the sound bright in the rapidly warming morning air. “I’ll list you as a co-author.”

“I want fifty percent of the royalties.”

“Guys,” you groaned from two rows over, elbows deep in a pile of pulled plants. “Could we please focus on making these potatoes be not in the ground?”

Two sets of eyes focused on you. 

It still gave you a bit of a thrill.

“Yes boss,” Shane said dryly.

“Sorry darling.” Elliott dumped his potatoes in the wheelbarrow. You rolled your eyes with a fond shake of your head and got back to your task.

You weren’t stressed about the harvest, exactly, but managing your disparate schedules could be difficult. Elliott had a book tour coming up. Shane had good days and bad, so his output could be hard to predict. You had to take advantage of any time the three of you had together in the field.

And take advantage you did, working through the harvest with as much speed and focus as you could manage. You didn’t set your last load down until the sun was dipping behind the trees and Elliott and Shane had already headed towards the shower.

“Took you long enough,” Shane said from the kitchen as you clomped inside. You flipped him off gamely. 

“What would you like on your pizza?” Elliott was helping him roll out dough. Pizza was an easy choice on busy farm days - even easier when your live-in farm hands made it for you. It’d taken some time to bring Elliott around, and he never seemed overly enthused by Shane’s increasingly odd flavor combinations, but it worked well enough for the three of you. 

“I’ll have a little of what you both are having,” you said, too tired to make a choice.

“Banana curry it is!” You grimaced and stumbled off to the bathroom as Elliott made an appalled gasp behind you.

After a shower in Elliott’s bathroom (at least, that’s what you called it in your head - you’d had to add it on after he moved in because he was monopolizing the tub every morning), a fresh set of pajamas, and a couple slices of pizza (you turned down the banana curry in favor of Elliott’s margherita), you were feeling only a little exhausted. Not quite “head to bed at 7:30” tired, but definitely at a “flop onto the table with your head in your arms” level.

At least, you would if the fellas hadn’t cooked for you. You gathered up the dishes and tried not to wince at the pile waiting in the sink.

“The fuck are you doing?” Shane had come up behind you and was attempting to remove the dishes from your hands.

You tilted your head towards the sink, eyebrows raised in a way that said “duh,” but Shane was doing that thing he did sometimes. The thing where he just kind of decided what your body was doing. You weren’t standing in the kitchen holding a pile of dirty plates. You were sitting up on the counter, deposited by strong arms, cradled for a moment by calloused hands that felt warm and promising on the backs of your thighs.

“You worked hard today, love. Let us take care of things.” Elliott now, joining you at the counter, his hip leaning next to your knee, turning in towards you, amber eyes locked on yours with an intensity that suggested he wasn’t talking about housework.

“Take care of things, huh?” You managed to keep your tone mostly dry.

“Mmmm,” Elliott agreed. “We worked out a plan while you were in the shower.”

“Oh did you?” Those two and their planning. It was fun to watch, sometimes, the way their minds would circle around each other before inexplicably meeting in the middle. 

“Elliott worked out a plan,” Shane grumped. “Which is why I’m washing dishes and he’s feeling you up.”

Feeling you up indeed. One of Elliott’s long-fingered hands was running over your thigh now, excruciatingly gentle, light and teasing, drawing your attention in a way a firmer grip wouldn’t.

“Your time is coming.” He said it to Shane, but his eyes were locked on you.

At least, you thought he said it to Shane. The way his fingers were nudging up the loose legs of your shorts had you wondering.

Elliott liked to move slow. Draw things out. Let his fingers play on a generally neutral part of you (say, your thigh). Let his nose ghost against your skin. It was trailing over your neck right now, and you got the distinct impression he was smelling you.

This was a little worrying. You’d stolen some of his (very nice, very expensive, very off-limits) conditioner during your shower.

But if he noticed the scent of pomegranates he didn't say anything. Instead, he just made a low sound of satisfaction, a “hmmmm” that made something reverberate inside you, and the way your stomach clenched made it clear you weren’t going to be giving in to your exhaustion any time soon.

You pressed your fingers to his face, tried to move him up to kiss you, but he just batted you away with a laugh. "So eager," he murmured, cupping your chin. "Seems you didn't leave all your energy out there in the field after all."

“I find myself rejuvenated,” you said, a teasing edge in your serious tone.

“Astonishing how one can find themselves refreshed with the right motivations.” Elliott’s thumb brushed against your lower lip, and you felt it in your stomach. He leaned in closer, and you angled your head up, suddenly desperate for the touch of his lips, light at first like he always was, then deepening into slicking tongues and sighs and wandering hands and -

"Move please." Shane needed to get into the cabinet you and Elliott were blocking. Elliott huffed and shifted to the side so Shane could stow a clean baking sheet beneath you. Then, before Elliott had a chance to move back in, Shane's hand was on your jaw, his lips were on yours, and his tongue was pressing in for a hot, hurried kiss.

That absolutely worked too.

Elliott made a sound of annoyance. "I thought the plan was to go slow," he said.

"New plan." Shane had broken away from your mouth long enough to say it, then he was back on you, mouth on yours, hand running up your torso, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your pajamas, squeezing, pinching, drawing a strangled gasp from your throat. You matched his energy, throwing your arms around his neck, letting your knees come up to bracket his hips, pulling him in close.

"The vision, Shane." Elliott was sighing. "Stick to the vision." 

"Go wash the dishes," Shane mumbled back. His hand anchored into your hair, pulled, opened your neck up to a series of quick, biting kisses.

"Dishes can wait," you managed to gasp. 

“Mmmmmm,” Elliott hummed, not quite conceding, but the way his hand was back on your thigh - moving a little faster now, fingers pressing in with a little more force - made you think he was willing to let go of his plans.

For a moment it was all warm hands (Shane’s hard and rough, Elliott’s softer, with small calluses on the fingertips), open mouths (Shane’s continuing to work on your neck [that man and his hickeys], Elliott’s exploring one of your wrists, loose lips tracing over your palm, teeth nipping gentle and persistent at your fingertips), and gasps (yours, mostly, as your tired senses quickly found themselves overwhelmed).

“Alright.” Shane pulled away from you as abruptly as he’d arrived. “Gotta finish those dishes.”

“Seriously?” You weren’t really as annoyed as you sounded, especially as Elliott was taking Shane’s place, slotting in between your spread legs, pulling you in by the hips, raising his hand to cup your cheek. He pressed his pelvis into yours, eyes locked in and intense, and you couldn’t help a small whimper.

When Elliott focused, he focused.

“Alright, honey,” he murmured. You could barely hear it over the sound of Shane banging around in the sink, but the length pressing against your core had your full attention. “Let’s get back on track. I’m going to touch you now, yes?”

“Mmmhmm.” You knew from experience he wouldn’t go on unless you acknowledged him.

“That's ‘yes,’ darling. Try again.”

Oh Yoba. It was going to be one of those nights. 

“Yes, I understand.” It was hard to keep a small whine out of your voice. It did something to you, when Elliott demanded you speak. 

“Good, good.” His eyes never left yours, but his hand was starting to move. Fingers brushing higher on your leg, straying over the inner seam of your shorts. “I’m going to make you come, and you’re not going to hold back on your moans. We want to hear you, darling.”

“Elliott wants to hear you,” Shane interrupted from the sink. “If it were up to me you’d have a couple cocks in you by now.”

Elliott’s smooth affect dropped, replaced by pure exasperation. “For Yoba’s… Shane. Please.” You’d laugh, but his fingers were pressing in harder now, running up and down over your core, really starting to make an impression, and even over your shorts the sensation was occupying all of your available headspace. 

“Dishes are done.” Shane dropped the last cup into the drying rack with a clatter. “You haven’t even gotten her pants off yet?”

“I am building anticipation, as we discussed.” Elliott’s fingers kept moving, and you were starting to get caught up in it. That little bit of tension started building. 

“I thought we discussed that she’d come already by the time I finished the dishes.” Shane’s arms were folded across his chest, a look on his face that suggested he was more interested in attention than a squabble.

“She would have if we hadn’t been interrupted.” Elliott’s fingers, which had been keeping a steady rhythm up to now, faltered as he turned to look at Shane.

“Just make her fucking come, then!”

The two stared at each other for a beat.

Elliott’s fingers stopped moving. 

Then they were kissing, Elliott bracing Shane back against the sink, Shane’s hand fisting in Elliott’s hair, mouths open and slick and scrabbling in a way that would have been incredibly enjoyable to watch if you hadn’t been just on the verge of coming.

Herding. Fucking. Cats.

“Welp,” you said, hopping off the counter. “I’m just gonna go lay down I guess.”

The two broke apart enough to glare at you.

It was always a thrill, that combination of green and amber. Always ratcheted up whatever you were feeling. Tightened the curl in your stomach, hastened the beating of your heart.

“No you fucking won’t,” said Shane.

“Stay exactly as you are,” said Elliott.

Like you could have done anything else anyway, with the way they both moved on you at once. Shane grabbing your hips, spinning you, kneeling down in front of the cabinet, pulling your shorts and underwear down and off your ankles with one quick tug. Elliott plastering himself behind you, pushing you down to lean over, leaning over you in turn, one hand bracing on the counter, the other palming your ass with a speed and vigor that suggested a greater need than his “vision” would imply.

“Back on track,” Shane snickered, and then his mouth was on you.

“Arch your back, love.” Elliott’s fingers stroked you from behind.

Cats. Herded. 

Fuck

Shane lived for eating you out, and the way his tongue moved proved it. Long, lingering licks at first, getting a taste of you, then settling into a quick, flicking rhythm by your clit. His hands grasped the backs of your thighs, fingers curling in, pulling you closer. You anchored your hand in his hair, and the way he moaned into you made you tighten. This was inconvenient, because Elliott’s fingers were brushing against your entrance, seeking entry but denied by the way Shane’s mouth had you squirming and clenching.

“Relax for me, darling.” Elliott’s breath puffed over your ear.

“I’m trying,” you said, though it came out more like a garbled “nnnnnnnggghh.”

Elliott shifted. His hand came up around your throat, thumb and forefinger pressing in on either side of your jaw. “Tell me you’re going to relax for me, love.” His tone was deceptively soft. 

Shane, of course, was absolutely no help at all, increasing his speed and pressure in a way that made your mind flatten and your walls pulse, made you feel tight and liquid at the same time. You couldn’t see it, but you knew exactly what kind of smile he had on his face while he was doing it.

“I’m…” you tried. You sounded a little frantic. “I’m going to relax for you, Elliott.”

“There’s a good girl.” 

You took a breath, shuddered, and tried to let go. Tried not to focus on how Shane’s tongue was swirling, how you could feel his stubble on your thighs. It worked, because Elliott’s finger was in you now, just one, pressing slow and gentle and persistent.

“Oh honey,” Elliott sighed. “You’re tightening so beautifully. You’re going to feel incredible around my cock. Shane’s doing a wonderful job, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” you gasped. The combination of Shane’s mouth, fast and hot and groaning, and Elliott’s finger, just enough to push against, to grip, had you stiff and shuddering.

“Tell him.” Elliott’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. “Tell him what wonderful job he’s doing.”

“Fuck,” you gasped. “Shane, you’re… fuck.” Shane was pressing in harder now, the way he always seemed to when you said his name. “You’re doing such… such a good job.”

Elliott’s finger pulsed gently in you. “Good, love. Now tell him that he’s going to make you come.”

You groaned. “Shane… you’re gonna… gonna make me come.” 

Shane’s fingers were tighter on the backs of your thighs, and you were tugging on his hair harder than could have been comfortable, but Elliott remained unchanged, finger moving as slow and steady as ever. “Well done. Now don’t make a liar of yourself.”

Easy. You were there already, curling in on Shane, who kept working against you as you tightened and shuddered. For a moment you strained, knees trembling, thighs shaking, bracing against the counter before finally breaking apart with a breathless groan.

“Beautiful,” Elliott breathed. His finger had left you, his hand rubbing slow circles on the small of your back. Your body was humming, more relaxed than tired at this point. Shane’s mouth was still moving, and you could feel Elliott’s cock pressing against you, lightly at first, then harder, more controlled as he grasped it. He drew the tip back and forth over your folds, and for a moment Shane’s rhythm changed, tongue broadening to include Elliott in his ministrations. Elliott sighed, murmured an endearment, and then he was inside of you.

Shane and Elliott spent the majority of their time squabbling, pushing against each other in a half-joking way that you simply were not a part of. But when they worked together, when Elliott’s bottomless imagination and Shane’s stubborn determination combined?

Well. There was a reason you put up with their bickering.

Elliott moved in you with rhythm, thrusting in with a quick jolt of his hips, then moving out slowly. He ground into you every time he bottomed out, hit you just right, sending shivery waves through your stomach and core. Shane was beginning to flag a little, but he was still there, fingers still gripping, mouth still open and working, spreading his tongue against you, muffled vocalizations encouraging you to grind, to rub your clit on his tongue any way you needed to, to keep pulling him in, keep him right there, right where he wanted to be, right where he knew he could be useful.

For someone who was usually so talkative, Elliott often quieted when he was inside you or Shane. You could picture how his face would look behind you - eyes closed, forehead relaxed and unwrinkled, lips loose and slightly parted, lost in the sensation. And that rhythm, that hard thrust, that grind, that slow retreat. You fought through the haze of pleasure, freed a hand from Shane’s hand, reached behind you to anchor it against Elliott’s scalp. Elliott moaned, soft and hitching, and his pace quickened almost imperceptibly. 

Shane was moving too, maneuvering a hand up between your legs, rough fingers stroking, tracing the place where Elliott breached you. And then moving back, beyond where you could feel his fingers, but the back of his wrist bumped into you each time Elliott thrust in. Faster now, with less finesse, less of a pace, losing that grind but leaving a snap in its place, and fuck, okay, yeah, you were gonna come again, weren’t you? With Shane’s tongue on your clit, his wrist beneath you, cupping Elliott as he moved, filling you, arching over you, lips on your neck, quieter still as he neared his climax, each thrust accompanied by a soft “hah” until finally even that was gone and you were both coming at the same time, dazzling and sweet and you were softening, drooping, letting your knees buckle as Shane shifted and shuffled and guided you down onto his lap.

You leaned against his chest, nestled into his warm arms for a minute, gathering yourself. Elliott had found his way to the floor as well, leaning back against the refrigerator, head tipped back, eyes closed. He looked loose and sated, just like you felt.

Exactly unlike Shane, whose cock was currently rubbing against your folds, gliding slick and easy through what Elliott had left behind. You groaned at the sensation, shuddered despite yourself. 

Shane laughed at your reaction. “Still got something left in the tank?”

”Guess so,” you muttered, your hips starting to move back against him all on their own. 

“Good.” Shane’s hands were suddenly tight on your hips. “Because I’m gonna fuck another load right up in you.”

You whined at his words, let him lift you up on your knees, position himself, pull you right back down. He slid in easily. “Fuck, you’re sloppy,” he groaned, wrapping an arm around your hip, your back, pressing his face into your shoulder, pressing you down and holding you there for a moment. 

“Always the poet.” Elliott was back in the mix, sidling up next to Shane, a hand on your thigh, his mouth near Shane’s ear. You don’t know what he whispered to him, but whatever it was made Shane’s flushed cheeks turn a deeper shade of red, and all of a sudden he was moving.

Farmwork may be tiring, but it was also great for stamina. Thank Yoba, because the pace Shane was setting, the way he was pressing you, grabbing you, compelling you to rise and fall, to rock, to ride… well. You doubted you could have kept up if you were still at your desk job. As it was your legs were starting to tremble, your head bowing to rest on Shane’s shoulder. Elliott’s fingers were there, stroking across your face, a gentle counterpoint to Shane’s unrelenting movements. 

“You look beautiful like this.” You knew Elliott was talking to both of you. “Your bodies look so perfect together, entangled and entwined. The way your back is curving in around her. The way your legs are shaking. The sounds you’re making. Breathtaking.”

Normally Shane would have some dry retort when Elliott was waxing poetic, but at this point he was too far gone. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, felt him groan into you. His pace was frantic now, fingers digging into you hard enough to bruise. He'd been patient all evening, and you loved to see how eager he was now that it was finally his turn.

The way he felt in you, all big and insistent, stretching you, filling you, making you clench and gasp and whine and shiver… well. That was pretty nice too.

“You gonna fill her up?” You could hear Elliott’s whisper that time. “All nice and deep so she’s feeling it for days? Give her what she needs?”

“Fuck.” Shane froze, pulled you down, shaking, groaning, shuddering as he released. He kept you there as he relaxed and leaned back against the cabinet. 

“Well done.” Elliott’s voice was as gentle and warm as the hand he ran up and down your back, as the kiss he pressed to Shane’s temple.

Shane gave him a sidelong look. “How’d that match your vision?”

"You know the answer to that." Elliott sounded equal parts affectionate and huffy.

You sighed, snuggled your face into Shane's neck. Felt the way he softened in you. Felt a wetness trickle between your thighs. "What was the vision?" you murmured, enjoying how soft Shane's skin was above his thrumming pulse.

Elliott's hand stilled on your back. "We'd discussed Shane finishing in your mouth. There's a certain balance to it, don't you think? Releasing towards each other, you between us? A symmetry?"

"I like my vision better." Shane pulled your head back with a gentle hand on your jaw, pressed a kiss to your mouth.

"What, the one where I'm a mess for days?"

He grinned at you. "Exactly."

"Lucky me." You couldn't help but smile as you said it.

"Perhaps that should be included in my book as well." Elliott was looking thoughtful. 

"What, cum?" Shane was looking incredulous.

"Certainly. It fits the definition of 'what is left behind,' don't you think?"

Shane snorted. "You want to write poetry about cum?" 

"You think I can't pull it off?" 

And they were off on a tangent again, discussing and debating, pushing and pulling, derisive and distractible and perfect, so perfect. You laid your head back on Shane's shoulder, felt him press his hand on the small of your back, smiled at the way Elliott's fingertips traced a line on your thigh as he spoke. They were about as easy to herd as a couple of cats, those two, but never once did you feel the effort to do so was wasted.

Masterlist

[itsbensart]

Burnt Out but Not Alone

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Male Reader | Part 2

Summary: Y/N feels overwhelmed by his demanding workload and the pressure of looming deadlines. Despite his exhaustion, he refuses to take a break, even as concern grows from friends like Elphaba—and even the Winkie Prince. When Fiyero sees just how much Y/N is struggling, he offers unexpected help, proving that sometimes, even the most carefree people can provide the support needed during times of stress.

Warnings: Excessive teasing and playful banter, Subtle romantic tension, Themes of academic pressure and burnout, Light physical touches (e.g., arm grabs), Vulnerability in moments of exhaustion, and Heartwarming support from an unexpected ally.

A/N: Y/N is an Architecture Student specializing in Ozian Architecture at Shiz University, known for its demanding curriculum.

Word Count: 1,743 words

The lecture hall buzzed with the soft hum of conversations, the rhythmic tapping of pens against desks, and the occasional shuffle of papers. Y/N sat in the middle row, staring at his open notebook but not truly seeing it. His thoughts were elsewhere, replaying Fiyero’s smug grin and that low, teasing voice that seemed to follow him even now.

“You know what to do if you want to shut me up, doll.”

The memory sent an involuntary flush to his cheeks. He quickly ducked his head, hoping no one noticed. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the distraction. This was no time to get flustered. An endless list of tasks awaited, and Professor Solennia was already notorious for her high standards.

Y/N’s chosen course, Ozian Architecture, wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was one of the most demanding programs at Shiz University, known for its rigorous workload and the precision it required. Students delved deep into the rich architectural history of Oz—an eclectic mix of styles balancing the grandeur of Emerald City’s gleaming towers with the rustic charm of Munchkinland’s cottages and the imposing, fortress-like structures of Winkie Country.

Today’s lecture focused on the integration of natural and magical elements in building design, a cornerstone of Ozian architecture. The topic would have been fascinating under other circumstances, but Y/N found himself struggling to concentrate. Between looming deadlines and the lingering echoes of Fiyero’s remarks, his mind was a chaotic mess.

Professor Solennia’s voice cut through his thoughts. “As you can see, the inclusion of enchantments in structural integrity was not merely aesthetic but practical. Now, who can tell me how the dragon clock influenced the design of Emerald City’s central spire?”

Y/N froze as the professor’s gaze swept across the room. He usually prided himself on being prepared for questions like this, but today, his mind was blank. He prayed someone else would answer, his heart pounding as he stared down at his notes—frustratingly empty.

By the end of class, as students filed out, Y/N realized just how little he had retained. The weight of his responsibilities crashed back down on him, amplified by the realization that he was now further behind than before.

He decided to head to the university’s library to tackle his pending tasks—especially the scale model due next week. Though he was exhausted, he had no choice. The output would determine whether he passed this semester.

As he walked through the hallway, he almost bumped into Elphaba, who had been waiting for him to catch up. She noticed his drooping posture and the dark circles under his eyes immediately.

"Y/N," she said, her voice softer than usual, "You look like you haven’t slept in days."

Y/N gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush her off. "I’m fine, Elphaba. Just... busy, you know? I have a lot to do."

She narrowed her eyes, not buying his response. "It’s more than just being busy. You’re running yourself ragged. You need rest."

"I don’t have time for rest," Y/N replied, his tone more tired than he meant it to be. "There’s too much to do."

Elphaba hesitated for a moment, clearly concerned. "I get it, but this—" she gestured to him, her eyes lingering on his fatigued form, "—isn't sustainable. You’re only going to burn out."

Y/N gave a small, dismissive smile. "I’ll be fine. I just need to get through this week."

Elphaba didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the matter further. "Alright, just don’t overdo it. Take care of yourself, Y/N."

He nodded quickly, not meeting her eyes, and made his way toward the library, eager to escape the conversation.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Fiyero Tigelaar had been wandering the campus, casually searching for his favorite “doll” to tease. His natural charm and carefree demeanor had earned him a reputation for showing up wherever and whenever he pleased, and today was no different.

As he strolled into the library, his piercing eyes immediately spotted Y/N in his corner.

Fiyero smirked. This was too perfect. He sauntered over, his footsteps deliberately light. “There you are. Hiding in the library, huh? Didn’t think this was your kind of hangout spot.” As he slid into a seat beside Y/N, he leaned closer, his voice low enough to only reach him. “Still thinking about me, doll?”

Y/N clenched his jaw, his ears burning as he hissed, “You wish.”

Fiyero chuckled, clearly pleased with the reaction, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re awfully red for someone who’s not thinking about me.”

Y/N barely looked up, his pencil pausing briefly before resuming its work. “Not now, Fiyero. I’m busy.”

The lack of reaction made Fiyero blink in surprise. Usually, his remarks earned him a flushed face or an exasperated retort. Instead, Y/N’s tone was flat, his focus unbroken.

“Busy?” Fiyero peered down at Y/N’s sketches. “What’s got you so tied up? Another one of those fancy projects?”

“Yes,” Y/N responded curtly. “So please, not now, Fiyero.”

Fiyero, however, seemed unbothered. “So, what’s next, doll? More lectures? Or maybe some of that architectural magic you lot are so obsessed with?”

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh, his patience worn thin. “I have too many tasks to finish. Does that answer your question?”

Fiyero tilted his head, studying Y/N’s face with uncharacteristic seriousness. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Y/N muttered, packing up his materials before leaving the library, hoping the prince wouldn’t follow him.

At first, Fiyero assumed it was just another one of Y/N’s quirks—being too serious about academics and all—but as the hours turned into days, he couldn’t ignore the change. The playful teasing he usually dished out with ease seemed to fall flat, met with a tired smile or a quiet nod instead of Y/N’s usual fiery retorts. Fiyero had tried to brush it off, but the concern gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, while they were in the cafeteria, Fiyero noticed Y/N in line. With a tray in hand, Y/N seemed oblivious to his surroundings, swaying slightly from exhaustion. Just as it seemed Y/N might stumble, Fiyero reacted quickly, grabbing him to prevent a fall.

"Alright, doll," he began, keeping his tone light, though concern lingered beneath the surface. "You’ve been looking like you’re one step away from collapsing. What’s going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Y/N glanced at him briefly, then lowered his gaze to the ground. "Just… school stuff. You wouldn’t understand."

Fiyero frowned, his usual teasing grin replaced with a concerned expression. "Try me."

Y/N sighed long and heavy, adjusting the strap of his overburdened bag. "There’s just too much. Drafts, models, presentations… I can’t keep up. And Ozian Architecture isn’t an easy course. It feels like I’m drowning, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my head above water."

Fiyero came to a stop, gently grabbing Y/N’s arm and halting him in his tracks. "Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Y/N shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "What good would it do? It’s not like anyone can help. This is my workload. My responsibility."

Fiyero didn’t respond immediately, instead narrowing his eyes at Y/N’s exhausted face. "How much have you slept? Or even rested?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Fiyero’s usual smirk softened into something more like genuine concern. "Alright, doll. Time to take a break."

"I don’t have time for a break," Y/N snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

Fiyero stood firm, the command in his voice unmistakable. "Then you don’t have a choice. Let’s go," he said, pulling Y/N toward the courtyard with surprising insistence.

"I’m serious, Fiyero. I have so much to—"

"And I’m serious too," Fiyero interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You’re running yourself into the ground, and you know it. If you collapse, you’re not going to finish anything."

Y/N frowned, but the warmth of Fiyero’s hand on his arm and the determination in his eyes made resistance feel futile.

They walked in silence, the noise of the cafeteria fading as they headed for the quieter courtyard. Once there, Fiyero led Y/N to a bench, underneath an oak tree. "Sit," he ordered, dropping his own bag onto the ground.

Too tired to argue, Y/N complied.

For once, Fiyero didn’t joke or tease; instead, he looked thoughtful. After a moment, his gaze sharpened. "Alright, here’s what we’re going to do."

Y/N blinked up at him, still a bit disoriented. "What?"

"I’m going to help you."

Y/N let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You? Help? No offense, Fiyero, but this isn’t exactly your area of expertise."

Fiyero smirked, though it was softer than usual. "Maybe not. But I can still do something. I’ll carry your books, keep you company during late nights, or even distract you when you’re on the verge of a breakdown."

Sitting beside him, Fiyero leaned back, as if the weight of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. "Look, I might not understand all your architectural mumbo jumbo, but I can help in other ways. You don’t have to do this alone, doll."

Y/N opened his mouth to respond but paused. The sincerity in Fiyero’s eyes caught him off guard. For the first time in days, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Fiyero replied, his grin widening. "Starting now. So, what’s first on the agenda, Mr. Burnt-Out Architect?"

Y/N hesitated, then admitted, "I have to finish a scale model for tomorrow, and I still need to draft the base plans."

"Easy," Fiyero said, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. "You draft, I’ll cut and glue. I’m not completely useless, you know."

"You’re really going to help me?" Y/N asked, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten just a little.

Fiyero chuckled. "What can I say? You’re growing on me. And besides, I can’t have you walking around looking like a zombie. It ruins my fun."

Though exhaustion still pulled at him, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Alright, Tigelaar. Let’s see if you can keep up."

As they made their way toward the studio, Y/N felt a strange warmth spreading through his chest. Maybe, he wouldn’t have to face the chaos alone after all.

And maybe, just maybe, Fiyero Tigelaar was more than just a cocky prince of charm.

To be Continued.....

A/N: Hello! Here’s the second chapter of my series, (I don't have a title yet, so..... yeah). I’m so happy you’re sticking around to see where this story goes—it means a lot!

There’s definitely more drama, love, and emotions coming your way, so keep an eye out for the next chapters. I’d love to hear what you think, feel free to leave a comment. Thanks for reading, and see you in the next one! 😊

[moonlightwritingf1]

Reposting this for the anon who is clearly too obsessed and doesn't have a life outside of Tumblr. + Added a new statement too.

I deleted this post because I was under the impression the anon had already seen it—since they love to stalk my blog very in-depth. Luckily, I had written it on Google Docs, like I do with everything I post here, before posting it the first time. And now I’m posting it again because apparently, they didn’t get the memo and love to create fake accounts:

For the anon who’s too coward to use their real account and clearly doesn’t have a life:

I was going to ignore the first ask, but then you had the time, energy, and weird obsession to create a fake account just to send me another ask—and then a private message. So let me be clear

This is the first and last time I address this. Any further messages or asks about this will be deleted and blocked immediately. Tumblr is my safe space—stress and drama free—and I will block anyone who disturbs that for me. You really came onto my blog and did what—threatened me? You ran my writing through an unreliable AI checker and then had the audacity to message me about it? Do you really feel like it's your place to question how people write fanfiction? Why do you feel so entitled to an explanation from someone you don’t even know? To quote you: “DM me and explain why” — WHO are you? And where is this entitlement coming from?

Let me ask you this: Do you not have a life outside of Tumblr? Who takes time out of their day to check if what a stranger posted is “AI” or not? I saw another account getting the same kind of asks recently—was that you too? Are you going blog to blog checking F1 fics like a fanfic detective? If so: get a life, get a job, get a hobby, or better yet—touch grass.

And the audacity to make a fake account just to send another message? Coward behavior. I’ve blocked the first anon ask and now your little fake blog too. I’ll keep blocking every single one if you continue harassing me.

Don’t like what I post? Scroll past it. Block me. Ignore me. I truly do not care. I use Google Docs for all my fics—outline ideas, drafts, requests order. Since that seems hard to believe, here’s one example straight from my docs.

And since you clearly have free time, here are actual credible sources that prove AI checkers are not reliable and should never be used as evidence of anything:

Source

Source

Source

Source

This is especially relevant to me personally, because English is not my native language. I've studied it for over 15 years, l'm currently studying English at university, and I don't live in an English-speaking country. I didn't grow up in an English-speaking country, and I've worked hard to develop my vocabulary, grammar, and writing style. So if my writing sounds "too repetitive" or "too perfect to be written by a human" and gets flagged by some Al detector—that's not proof I used Al. It means I've worked hard to get to this level, even though my English might not always be perfect.

Source

Al that claims to create undetectable Al content or "human Al"

Or maybe you want to read more on Google Scholar:

There are so many sources to inform yourself—you just need to know how to use them.

And this is what really gets me: someone could use Al, lightly edit the output, or run it through one of those "humanize Al" generators and pass every detector with flying colors. Meanwhile, people like me get flagged and questioned for no reason.

Also, if I were actually using Al, I would've used one of those humanizing tools too—so people like you wouldn't harass me over what I post.

These days, it seems you don't even need facts—just a fake account and a superiority complex.

That's all I had to say. Goodbye, and good luck finding a personality.

April 7

A few days after I posted the above post, you went on someone’s blog — someone who had sent me an ask without using the anon option — and sent them an ask about me, as if I had committed a crime. Less than 24 hours ago, you created yet another fake account just to message me (as seen below) and tell me about one of your other accounts (also fake), despite my explicit statement that I would no longer entertain this obsessive behavior.

Let me be extremely clear: I do not owe strangers on the internet an explanation for my writing process — especially not those who appoint themselves as investigators and issue condescending ultimatums. I will not “contact you privately.” I will not “own up” to a false narrative you've built around flawed tools and obsessive pattern-tracking. You do not get to demand private confessions like you're running a tribunal.

I already said everything I had to say when I made that original post, but clearly it didn’t register, and you continue to target me. I looked at the account you mentioned in your message. To quote: “Some members of the group of us working on this project have gone through PhD programs or work in education and understand the inaccuracies and limitations of AI detection tools.”

So you're adults — or so you claim — with PhDs, yet you seem to be unemployed based on the amount of free time you have to analyze what strangers are posting on the internet. Especially posts that are over 2k words long.

Seriously, who has time to do this much? Because I highly doubt someone with an actual job and a life has this much time on their hands.

And as I said in my first post: block me if you don’t like my blog or what I post. It is really that simple.

LEAVE. ME. ALONE.

[tanadrin]

I think what stress me out about AI currently is that the companies pushing it are not being honest about its limitations and a lot of people using it are not thinking critically about its output and taking everything it says at face value.

Rolling stone recently had a really good article about AI feeding into psychosis and i think that is the tip of the iceberg.

AI hit the general population very quickly and very uncritically for capitalism reasons and i think we will eventually work out the problems and it will provide great benefit but it rolled out in about the worst way it could have.

I can’t say i have used a representative sample of all gen AI. I’ve only used ChatGPT a bit and now Claude; Anthropic’s interface for the latter seems to stress quite clearly what kind of queries tend to be useful and what not, though, and to emphasize that Claude is fallible.

AI psychosis, deepfake porn of real people, CSAM, and similar problems are very real. People not understanding the limits of technology is a problem. But people have used the internet to harass people and distribute revenge porn; people have fallen for bullshit on television because it was presented in an authoritative format. We should be concerned about these problems but not panic more so than we might about similar problems with other technologies, i guess is my point. And i think these are problems inherent to easing costs of information creation and distribution generally. You would get them in one form or another even in the absence of capitalism. Indeed, the evil capitalists mostly try very hard to lock down their AI behind restrictive usage policies; afaict it’s the open source and freely distributed models you usually have to turn to if you want to easily generate (say) porn using the faces of real people.

[theambitiouswoman]

how do you stay motivated when feeling down? you seem to have a ridig routine and im wondering how you do it so effortlessly it seems

To be frank, I’m not always motivated. I just know what I need to do to accomplish whatever goal. The goal itself is what keeps me focused & motivated.

Even with that some days I just don’t want to. So I listen to my body. There is no sense in being infront of and computer for 8 and not being productive. Often times, what I will do in that case, is do something outside of my routine that I enjoy and helps me shift my energy. Then I come back, inspired & whatever I need to do gets done a lot faster and often times better.

Busy doesn’t necessarily equal productive. People tend to feel guilty if they’re not doing “something”. But your input (what you do for yourself) determines your output (what you accomplish). So it’s important to listen to your body.

Obviously, you have to learn to fight your “I don’t want to feelings” that’s a completely different story. Unless you are going through something and are an emotional wreck, in which case, disconnect for a couple of days, then talk yourself through the process of picking yourself back up.

In truth, especially in situations where I may be down because of another persons actions— it tends to have the adverse reaction on me. It makes me angry. I always tell myself that the people who hurt me are out there doing what they want while I’m bed rotting crying— and that picks me back up and helps me refocus.

So, yes, I always do what I have to do. I have no choice lol. I don’t stress it (anything really) and it seems effortless because I already have the mindset that I can do anything and don’t have a mind that sees anything as an obstacle. I don’t believe in limitations, nor have negative mindset in general—coupled with everything I mentioned above. All I care about is my goals and higher good— so that’s what I focus on and probably why it all just flows effortlessly :)

[redslug]

NEUROSLUG NEUROSLUG NEUROSLUG

Ahem. So, I spent the last day force-feeding Stable Diffusion my art to teach it the concept of an anthropomorphic insect. As a result, I have a working LoRA that imitates my coloring style fairly decently and it can kinda do bug anthros. Emphasis on "kinda", it still needs a lot of iterations to be able to maintain proportions on it's own. However, it does quite great when provided with a simple line drawing as a quideline. Here are some examples I whipped up in like 2 hours. Input image:

AI's pure output:

After touchup:

There was quite a bit of touchup on this first attempt with the generation serving mostly as a rough under drawing, but then again I didn't stress the network with details too much. Then I tried squeezing more definition out of it. Attempt 2:

It can be quite competent when I supplement it with styles it knows well. I only used 30 of my own images to teach it, so it might be a little starved for examples at the moment. Adding "Bob Eggleton" seems to knock some sense into it for now. Okay, still images are working, now let's bash Neuroslug against some animation.

For something named Stable Diffusion it's not the most stable, huh. I'm still pleased with the result though, it's pretty cute. And while trying to make it cute I learned a little thing. AI art isn't art. It's a mixture of alchemy, gambling, detective work and demon summoning it seems. And a bit of just art. What I mean by that is that it can attach very unexpected meanings to words. Since I trained the AI on just anthro insects, it follows their defined anatomy quite closely. Specifically, they do not have breasts. As a result, adding "with big boobs" to the prompt changed the shading style and colors but not the actual anatomy. And so, most of my prompts have this lovely phrase just to improve the colors. 'Kay, time for the freak show. At some point during testing the machine decided that my moth isn't decent enough and put panties on her suddenly.

Now that's a booty

Look at those eyes

They have seen things As you can probably tell these have no sketch to guide the result.

It's still bad but it's got the right spirit.

THICC

Surprisingly cute even if janky.

Looks better than it has any right to Now I'll crawl back into my hole to play with settings for an indeterminate amount of time. I'll publish my mini-me for you all to mess with once I deem it stable enough.

[frankendykes-monster]

James Gunn has stressed from the minute he took over DC Studios that no superhero movie under his watch would go into production without a completed script. Now, in a new interview with Rolling Stone, the filmmaker attributed the so-called dying film industry to Hollywood’s fatal mistake of always making blockbusters before their scripts are officially completed.

“I do believe that the reason why the movie industry is dying is not because of people not wanting to see movies,” Gunn said. “It’s not because of home screens getting so good. The number-one reason is because people are making movies without a finished screenplay.”

Gunn noted that DC Studios recently “killed a project” because the script just couldn’t get to the right place, explaining: “Everybody wanted to make the movie. It was greenlit, ready to go. The screenplay wasn’t ready. And I couldn’t do a movie where the screenplay’s not good. And we’ve been really lucky so far, because ‘Supergirl’s’ script was so fucking good off the bat. And then ‘Lanterns’ came in, and the script was so fucking good. ‘Clayface,’ same thing. So fucking good. So we have these scripts that we’ve been really lucky with or wise in our choices or whatever the combination is.” Another thing Gunn said that is working in his favor is that there is no corporate mandate from Warner Bros. to churn out a certain number of film and television projects at DC Studios. Gunn is an alum of Marvel Studios, having directed three “Guardians of the Galaxy” movies and a Christmas special, and he noted that Disney’s mandate to increase Marvel’s output amid the launch of Disney+ had a negative impact on the larger universe. Disney CEO Bob Iger has openly admitted to making this mistake.

[...]

“Batman’s my biggest issue in all of DC right now, personally,” Gunn told Rolling Stone. “And it’s not — I’m not writing Batman, but I am working with the writer of Batman and trying to get it right, because he’s incredibly important to DC, as is Wonder Woman. So outside of the stuff that I’m doing in the projects that are actively going, our two priorities are finishing our Wonder Woman and our Batman scripts.” “Batman has to have a reason for existing, right?” he continued. “So Batman can’t just be ‘Oh, we’re making a Batman movie because Batman’s the biggest character in all of Warner Bros.,’ which he is. But because there’s a need for him in the DCU and a need that he’s not exactly the same as Matt [Reeves’] Batman. But yet he’s not a campy Batman. I’m not interested in that. I’m not interested in a funny, campy Batman, really. So we’re dealing with that. I think I have a way in, by the way. I think I really know what it’s — I just am dealing with the writer to make sure that we can make it a reality.” Gunn said developing a Wonder Woman movie is “actually easier for me, because there haven’t been so many infinite portrayals of Wonder Woman — definitely not in movies, but really anywhere — that there have been of Batman.” “Every single Batman story has been told,” Gunn concluded. “It seems like half the comics that have come out of DC over the past 30 years have Batman in them. He’s the most famous superhero in the world. And people love him because he’s interesting, but also having so much of him out there can also make him boring. So how do you create that property that’s fun to watch?”

[lilacxquartz]

Don't Make Me Feel Alive I Chapter 4

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

chapter summary: your bond with him thickens but there’s still a lot to uncover. meanwhile, kenjaku plots something a bit different than what you agreed to.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

4. Bonding

You tried to understand why he was so beaming despite how he treated you the day before, but with little avail.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you warily asked.

“Oh,” he seemed to be caught off guard that you caught him but recovered nearly instantly, “I decided on something.”

“On what?” you asked.

He glanced down at you with his expression suddenly cold, before returning to an unreadable smile, “You’ll see.”

After that strangely cold interaction with him last night and after such a strange morning, such behaviour seemed to never repeat ever again. Even when the continued practice of the technique seemed to wreck its toll on the energy output and even when such drainage sent you off to an early night—he never once repeated such coldness with you again.

As a result, you decided that it was best to not dwell on it again because it didn’t make sense for you to be upset over such trivial things. The agreement was to help him out as he figured a way out to help you live, that was it, so as long as he remained conditional to his promise, you decided that how he treated you in the end didn’t really matter.

However, as the days continued to pass you by and you invested more time into researching ways into improving both energy input and output, you couldn’t help but feel more and more curious about what your involvement actually was here.

“No seriously, what am I helping you with?” You asked once more, having done so just a moment ago. You felt frustrated, finding that you didn’t quite like how he ignored you the first time.

Kenjaku in the meanwhile resisted spilling you the full truth, biting onto his tongue as he held back a smile, “As I already told you, you’re going to fight.”

Oh, how he wanted to spill it all, but he knew better than to tell you the full truth. It was already a miracle that you were fighting someone from your side; rather, that you switched sides immediately in exchange for life.

Mortality was so easy to play around with.

“Who?” you persisted.

“That’ll depend when the time finally comes,” he replied, leaving more questions than answers.

You sighed in response, finding yourself growing increasingly frustrated as he purposefully kept you in the dark, “What time, though?”

“You’ll know when I tell you,” he simply replied as his eyes squeezed with his smile, pointing straight down at you.

“But-”

“—Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed, leaving you utterly frustrated.

Despite finding your frustrations amusing, he did have his reasons for keeping you in the dark about his plans that went beyond just losing your willing participation, even if he could force your hand. There was the experiment he was running on the cursed tool for one and he didn’t want to feed into unnecessary stress that could likely deal more strain for the battery.

At least for now, he wanted to keep the drainage minimal which is why he excluded you from strenuous activities while assisting you with the tedious ones; such practice that he dubbed training, even if it was just helping your body to relearn eating independently, to utilise cutlery efficiently again, to aiding you in walking and even to helping strengthen your mind through reading and puzzles.

Even if you didn’t realise it, all of these tasks helped you gradually decrease energy consumption. Just like he planned initially.

As he noted earlier on before too, the company that you offered him wasn’t half bad, so he didn’t actually mind assisting you during such tasks, no matter how pointless or boring they seemed to either of you. Moreover, he introduced you to the concept of helping him with his own work, such as aiding him with the more tedious aspects of his planning.

However, despite giving you such independence, he still kept you relatively closeby, just in case another hiccup resurfaced.

“Hold still for a moment,” he instructed, taking the pendant slightly away from your chest but within reasonable reach so that you wouldn’t drop dead, tinkering around with it as you patiently waited. Cursed tool manipulation wasn’t an easy task, but his intentions were to maximise the efficiency of the item so that’s what he did.

However, as he placed the amulet back against your chest, something then went strangely wrong. He did his best to observe your reaction carefully, understanding that perhaps too much energy cast upon a body unused to it was overwhelming on your being.

As a result, your body began to feel off and suddenly you felt terribly dizzy. Again. In a different way though.

It was beginning to get a little tiring, he thought.

Standing up to try and determine what was going wrong, you accidentally ended up plummeting more energy, causing your body to take a heavy hit. Something about it made you feel similar to how you felt on the deathbed just before you met him; something sinister lurking within your instincts and pulling—dragging you off to a place you shouldn’t explore.

You gulped as the pendant waned and the glow subsided as though there was nothing left to keep it fired up and running anymore.

It was then that you felt stiff as your body fell, a dull thud drumming against the floorboards—the wood failing to echo the hit. You felt strangely cold as the feeling persisted; a sensation of pure dread enveloping your senses, anchoring you down into an early demise.

Kenjaku initially reacted slowly, incorrectly thinking that you would recover just like the previous times before. However, as you remained limp and your body grew colder, he froze in place as he realised you were on the verge of something irreversible.

His project had been going so well yet suddenly, it showed signs of failure.

“Hey, wait,” he backtracked, feeling caught off guard due to its sudden failure, unable to mask it so well this time. He was simply just surprised though, not panicked. He mostly just didn’t understand what went wrong.

He didn’t want for something that he had already invested so much time into dying off so early on, especially before your full potential could shine.

Thinking quickly, he transfused some of his own energy into the pendant while extracting the excess energy from your body. It was a slow, intricate and daunting process, however it seemed to be working as your body soon stabilised—your breathing returning back to normal and your flesh once again saturated to its usual complexion.

You later woke up feeling much worse from before though, wondering exactly what had just happened as soon as you sat back up.

“What was that…?” you groaned, your mind begging for answers.

As usual, Kenjaku continued to keep you in the dark yet again as he withheld answers.

He smiled, pushing you gently back down into bed, “don’t worry your pretty little head, I won’t try it again,” his fingertips stifling your lips, “get some rest instead.”

“But-” you let slip.

“—You’re alive, aren’t you?” he stifled, his eyes once again devoid of any emotion, he wasn’t going to answer a single thing.

Too tired to protest, you hesitantly nodded off as your body continued to nod off into a deeper sleep, your body feeling oddly heavy as you succumbed to a weary state.

Kenjaku then sighed a deep breath the second that you did so, continuing to remain locked in place as you slept, slowly inching closer to keep a watchful eye as you did so. Just like always, it was just in case something went wrong.

He sighed again as the familiar emotion resurfaced from before but in a different form, finding that he didn’t like how it made him feel. Eventually though, he too grew tired as his eyelids drooped, unintentionally leaning against the bed as his body yearned for some shut eye. It was then that he decided that it didn’t hurt to even share the same bed, just to monitor you and your sleeping habits if so.

But in doing just that, he secretly felt some form of relief as your safety was now secured, however finding that this might have been too just a little too close for him to be.

Something troubled him as he considered it all, determining that he had to be more careful with his experiments, hoping for some reason in particular that this couldn’t happen again.

That’s why he considered something new—something he wouldn’t usually do.

His mind internally conflicted, trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t risk it.

After all, you weren’t that special to begin with.

(Or were you?)

~~~

Your recovery was slower this time as it took a couple of days to get you going again.

As you figured out how to get back to right where you were before, you adopted a streak of independence in doing so and usually when dabbling in technique mastery, Kenjaku would often detach from someone who was getting the hang of it, letting them find their own way—but he couldn’t quite do so with you.

Finding that in fact, he didn’t like it at all.

And as he watched you slowly recover and train yourself without him, he didn’t feel a single shred of relief or pride for any longer, as it turned out.

Instead, deciding that since you were his project, that he didn’t trust you to seldom practise anymore. Finding that while it must have seemed irrational, that he preferred it when you were much more dependent on him instead—enjoying your company much more when you seemed to be unable to even function without him.

For some reason finding that it actually made him feel more attached to you.

Not that he could fathom why.

And as he continued to tinker around with the pendant yet again, you didn’t suspect a single thing when he changed something rather drastic in its function. Nor as his tone of voice grew slightly unstable.

“The battery is on standby unless I activate it with a condition now,” Kenjaku said as he offered an unsettling grin, the direction of his change feeling off as though he wasn’t actually addressing you.

“Why though…?” you asked, confused by the sudden change.

He then redirected his sights to meet with yours, leaning in a little closer with his smile falling flat as he did so, “Do you really think I’d trust you to do things like that alone?” He asked, his stare intensifying, “You’re already a lot to work with, you know.”

“But, I really don’t like that,” you chose to protest instead.

However, he didn’t really care about what you liked, only about what he preferred. Yet rather than arguing with you back and forth and getting nowhere, he instead tried to manipulate you that this change was for your own good—your freedom be damned as long as you remained docile and dependent on him, a feeling he unashamedly wanted more of.

“Just think,” he said as he leaned closer, “I can keep you safe from yourself forever,” his breath hot against your temples as he leaned in, “isn’t that so much better?”

Feeling cornered and distressed, you didn’t want to continue this strained dynamic, realising that you were no longer content with helping him out if all he was going to do was to keep you so restricted.

You knew that you were getting into something weird, but you didn’t quite realise the extent of his true intentions until now when he kept pushing nonsensical change after change upon someone he seemed willing.

As a result, you then pushed him aside.

He let you do so though as his lips formed into slightly curved lines—slowly rising to his feet and following you closely behind as you tried to leave the room. Just as you tried to take your chances with leaving through the front door however, he deactivated the pendant to minimal output, prompting you to be hit with a wave of exhaustion instead.

He then grabbed your wrist as you succumbed to the sudden hit of tiredness, leading you back into the room and locking both the door and the window on his way out, leaving you alone for the remainder of the night.

The energetic feeling from before returned.

Perhaps he would talk you into a binding vow, after all.

Maybe you were that special to keep around.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Hello Hazel! Hope you've been doing alright! I'm here for the thaumaturgy event, so I'll get to request; i wish to have a divination with alhaitham, with some frankincense, lavender, and a yellow candle too. Thank you in advance, and hope you have a great weekend ahead! (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)✨

Frankincense (confidence), Lavender (comfort, calm), Yellow Candle (success, creativity) Alhaitham x gn reader | Divination Ritual warning: slight anxiety about research paper

You tried to minimize your fidgeting but the ticking clock, the shuffling of books and focused feet, and the subtle rattle of Althaitham's clothes were trying your patience. You cracked your knuckles for the tenth time and turned to the window.

Below, people went on about their days. You could see them, small and uncaring to the quiet stress you swore seeped from the halls of the Akademiya. In a way you were jealous. Jealous of how frivolous and free their days were while you were stuck in this glass dome, surrounded by books and students all competing to outshine each other.

You thought a little friendly competition was fine. A good rivalry did wonders to boost output and progress, but what you found wrapped in the guise of innovation and discovery was more like a war where both sides liked to break the rules.

Alhaitham hummed quietly to himself. You glanced his way just in time to see him mark something in the margins of your work. "Were my calculations incorrect?"

"Those are fine," he replied and turned the page. It felt like several hours passed before he returned the sheets of paper to the small folder and slid the whole packet across the table.

"What did you think?" you asked, almost too eagerly as you snatched the file and fell into the chair opposite him. Without waiting, you scanned the papers inch by painstaking inch.

"I found the overall composition adequate. To draft a thesis on the Composition of Elemental Reactions is not necessarily a creative one."

You nodded and scanned his notes on page two. "I know, trust me. But none of the articles I read explored the mental and physical toll on the body of a vision user so I figured this might be worthwhile. Oh, what did you think about the section on the Degradation of Synapsis? Were my charts detailed?"

"They leaned toward your point, however -"

"I know. My sample size is way too small. It's kinda hard to convince people to let me poke around in their minds, ya know. But, if they make me a Dastur I'll be able to get more funding. Huh. You didn't like this?" You slid the paper across the table to Alhaitham. He glanced at it for less than a second.

"The points are contradictory."

"What? How?"

Alhaitham pointed to the document and you leaned forward to get a better view. It was hilarious how obvious it became when he explained it. Though you spent almost an entire year on this project, he seemed to understand it in ways you could never. It was frustrating but also inspiring. One day you hoped to be of equal standing.

That's why you fought so hard. So you could be seen by him, noticed. He felt little for social engagements, and rarely participated in group activities but when it came to study, research, and the unknown, his attention opened up and drew you in like falling sand through widening cracks.

"I see," you said but you were distracted. Distracted by his eyelashes, the way his hair fell over them when he looked down, the elegance of his lips when he spoke. You were transfixed and absolutely not focused on what he was saying.

"You're doing that thing again," he commented and slid the paper back to you.

"What thing?"

"Staring at me."

Your cheeks erupted in heat. "I was listening to you, I swear."

"Of course you were," he said, the slightest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. "Do you have what you need then?" he asked.

"I think I do, yeah." But you really weren't sure. This was the culmination of all your work, the chance to prove to everyone here you were worthy. To prove to those who doubted you, your parents, the scholars, to Alhaitham. To yourself. You wanted this.

"When is your presentation?"

"Two days from now. I want to throw up," you joked, reordering your papers and trying to keep your hands from shaking. "Thanks for looking it over. I'll take some time tonight to review them and make changes."

"Best to you then." Alhaitham rose. Normally you would have felt sad at the sudden parting but this was his way. When duty was done, so was he. You pinched the edge of the papers so they sat neatly in their folder when something warm and looming drew your eyes upward. Alhaitham stood beside you, his palm flush against the table, his hair dangling just within view. It took everything in you to fall off the other side of your chair. "When you first approached me, I had my concerns about your tenacity. Kindheartedness paves the way for little advancement in the Akademiya. Yet, in that time I have witnessed your resolve, and seen the beliefs you hold from beginning to end. And though I have and will continue to caution you, it seems I can put worry to rest as it's reasonable to assume you will not be led astray."

You gazed at him, surprised and moved by his words. "That's like, the nicest thing you've ever said to me." You chuckled and hoped he didn't notice the rim of tears threatening to spill over.

"Thank you," he said, holding little reaction to the sound of your laughter as it filled your little corner of the library. "You have more work to do."

"Aha, yes. I do. Thank you again."

He nodded and lifted off the table. "Should you require a space to practice, you are welcome to find me in my office. I will be sure to leave my day undisturbed so you may come when you wish."

You froze, blinked. "Oh, okay. T-thanks."

He stared at you for a moment before reaching out to touch your Akasha. A soft ping filled your head followed by a message: a series of numbers. "What is -?"

"The code to my office. It will be locked when you arrive." You stared at the numbers, your heart thudding in your chest. Alhaitham moved but stopped a few strides away and looked over his shoulder. "This may be obvious but do not share that with anyone."

"Of course," you said before watching him walk through the open, sun-filled library while your hand hovered above your ear unable to focus on anything other than the lingering sensation of his fingers against it.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

Master Anthology

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[garymerlow]

Fic WIP under the cut. If RPF and mpreg aren’t your thing I understand. Also these aren’t in order cause I’m just writing on the fly as things come to me. This is about 1.1k of stuff. Also probably the only preview y’all are gonna get for a while cause I want to have most or all of my vision written before I start posting anywhere.

It’s the moments where he’s left alone —when his mum and Margeaux aren’t hovering around him— and he has the chance to sit at the piano in the front room of his house and just play. It’s those moments where he’s felt the most at peace with his place in life since he was first aware of the baby growing in his belly.

It probably helps that his baby seems quite taken by music generally —which further proves in his heart that it’s going to be truly both his and Robbie’s child— to the point that while it moves around in his womb while he plays, it’s never in a way that’s immediately uncomfortable, unlike how it moves and kicks at his organs and especially his bladder when he’s tried to sleep at night.

The baby’s quite finicky and it’s not even out of him yet, though he’s sure it’ll be any day now.

But right now, it’s gently kicking him as he plucks out the notes to a song he’s been working on for a while now, still searching for the words but knowing it’ll go on the album he’s due to release next year, baby or not.

Gary doesn’t want to think too hard about what promoting that is going to look like, while caring for a very young child almost by himself. It was already hard enough promoting Open Road the last couple years, on top of everything that happened with the end of Take That before even then. It’s been a long…a long eight years.

He supposes it’s a type of karma that Robbie knocking him up when he did is more or less sidelining him for a while, especially while the younger man gets to enjoy the spoils of his success.

The label wants the next album to be even better than Open Road had been, and wants said album to really compete with Robbie’s output, to really make money. Gary wants that too, of course, he always does. Even if sometimes, deep in his soul he’d rather his music just go to likeminded people who’ll appreciate his vision more than anything.

But something tells him that his label won’t get what they want, and if he wasn’t already terrified up to the gills about carrying his baby and everything that’s to come, he’s sure he’d be putting on chocolate and whiskey weight over the whole thing.

For now, though, he sits at the piano and plays. Shifts the darker thoughts to the back of his mind and focuses on the notes and the sounds they make, and the way his baby reacts to them too. He already can’t wait to teach the baby everything he knows about music.

———

Gary’s thought he’d finally just starting succumbing to working almost nonstop for years on end, it would’ve made sense in a way. His body acting in ways he’d never noticed before, the lethargy, the throwing up, the cramping in his back. Surely it was all signs of stress, or at least that was what he was leading himself to believe.

But then the getting sick had caught the attention of his mum on the one weekend he’d been able to go home between tour obligations, and suddenly he’s being dragged to the doctor’s office instead of spending time with his family and Dawn. It’s disconcerting at first, he’s too tired to really say much to the kindly older lady who’s his doctor for the appointment, and he lets his mum take the reins like he’s a child again though he adds his occasional two cents when he feels the need to.

Then, suddenly, he’s being ushered into the tiny bathroom in the office with a clear plastic cup and being told to piss in it, and if he knew for fact that he hadn’t done any illicit drugs lately he’d be offended by the whole thing.

But he does as he’s told, pisses in the cup and fills it almost completely, and the thought of something being wrong still doesn’t cross his mind.

Before the knowledge that he’s pregnant — as a male — is brought forth to him and more testing is done to see how far along he is —around eight weeks— he hadn’t considered that he might’ve been born with the right genetic markup to be a Mutt, or a male whose body is somehow capable of carrying human babies to term or close enough to it just like women are.

It’s a thing that could’ve been resolved with a simple blood test at any point after his fifth birthday, and maybe if he’d considered that he would ever sleep with another man prior to the age of 21, he might have gotten it done.

As he sits numbly with his mum in the small and sterile doctor’s office waiting for his results, he half wonders why Nigel never bothered to get the whole group tested before they started doing shows all those years ago. Perhaps Nige had heard that Mark’d gotten tested and was a Mutt and just assumed they’d all gotten it done at some point and didn’t ask.

Again, Gary hadn’t considered himself anything but straight as they came, still carried within himself a giant ball of denial even as he ended up in bed first with Howard, and then with Mark, and eventually with everyone else in some fashion or another. But they’d all been careful about cumming, and making sure not to do it inside one another unless it was orally. It was a messy business, but it seemed to have been more for Mark’s benefit —and ultimately all of them as a band— than anything else.

It would’ve been beyond humiliating if any of them had fallen pregnant when Take That had still been together. For that, Gary’s at least glad that if he is in fact, pregnant, he’s not in the wheels of the band anymore.

Doesn’t mean that the next months wouldn’t present their own challenges. Doesn’t mean that his life wasn’t about to just get absolutely flipped on its head. That Dawn would leave him the moment she realized he wasn’t going to abort the baby and that he intended to raise it once it was born. That he was going to have to tap dance around the hot question of who the father was once it became obvious that he was with child, and that he’d have to hide himself away the moment his touring obligations were done because of invasive press.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He’d always heard from the women in his life that having a baby would change everything, and he was able to experience that firsthand.

[mrsterlingeverything]

Nothing post

I truly think i could be 100x more productive if i got like an adhd script but i have negative interest in any new diagnoses and im like well this is probably more of a symptom of society than it is for me but also i have huge goals and think my output could be insane but also im unsure about how you even go about going to the doctor about something like this... ive had like "executive dysfunction" like my whole life, i had to trick myself into being good at school by making it a competition in my head and it took too long... ive had 5 part time jobs over the past year because i get restless and bored and i think it would be really nice to focus on something but i also have had pretty bad experiences with psychiatrists and therapists in the past so im like 😐 like 😐 like 😐 like this 😐 but my friend sold me some adderall early last year and ive done it hmm twice and last time i did was like a month ago and i got so much done and was like oh no i feel normal. kind of really want to take more but im also nervous about getting addicted to it or whatever like i have an addictive personality and also what if i end up getting a prescription and they dont have any at like cvs or whatever the fuck. When people post about not being able to get it and panicking it seems very stressful and i think it would make me function worse without it. hi

[contemplatingoutlander]

The Wonderful Trump Headline Machine

Everything makes sense now.

Once again satirist Alexandra Petri nails it regarding the mainstream media's penchant for using headlines to make Trump's unhinged, rambling rants seem like they are standard political speeches. This is a gift🎁link, so anyone can read the entire post. Below are some excerpts. Enjoy! 😂

I found it! The machine! The wonderful machine that they have at all news production headquarters. Its input is Donald Trump’s remarks; its output is headlines. Everything makes sense now. It functions somewhat like a juicer. You insert Trump’s remarks at one end, turn a crank (you have to turn it pretty hard; the machine does a lot of heavy lifting and twisting) and then — Presto! — out comes the headline or chyron produced by those remarks. I had long been wondering where we were getting these headlines and chyrons. You glance up idly at a muted television and see “DONALD TRUMP DELIVERS REMARKS ON ECONOMY,” and you think, “Ah, presidential at last!” And as long as you do not make the mistake of unmuting your television, the machine’s work is complete. If you are silly enough to unmute your television, you find yourself thinking, “I don’t know what those are, but I would not describe them as remarks about the economy.” A similar process occurs in print. If it were not for the machine, we would have headlines every day like: * “Would-Be President Rambles Unintelligibly For Eighty Minutes After Promising He Would Speak About The Economy. * "At Intervals We Glimpsed Something In The Torrent Of Words That If Pulled Out And Dried Off Might Become A Policy Idea, So We Sent Several Guys In After It, But None Of Them Returned Alive, Except For One Guy Who Just Said ‘The Horror, The Horror’ After We Retrieved Him And He’s Now Staring Off Silently Into The Void. * "Is Donald Trump Entirely Well? * "Harris Also Delivered Remarks But Not As Many As We Wanted.” Maybe we should have those headlines, but, thanks to the machine, we don’t. Just for fun, I started putting other strange, incoherent things into the machine — bits of old horror movies, certain reader emails — to see what headlines it would spit out. “The Silence of the Lambs” gave me “In Impromptu Remarks, Buffalo Bill Stresses Importance of Moisturizing.” [color emphasis and bullet point punctuation added; formatting & punctuation changed in bullet-point section]

Read the article to see what Alexandra said the "machine" did to turn Trump's "358-word ramble about child care" into headlines for The New York Times and CNN's website.😉😁

[blorger]

Based on the discussion over the last couple of days, I feel like Drarry fandom has become very...dour? It seems people are bothered that not everyone on here wants angsty enemies to lovers stories all the time?

Draco's redemption is an important aspect of his character and has been brilliantly explored in hundreds, probably thousands of fics and I've read and enjoyed many of them. But, my god, sometimes I want to read something light or I don't have the time to invest in reading 50k+ words about how Harry is finally seeing Draco as more than just a Death Eater. Sometimes I want to see them just be together without the author feeling the need to insert a tangent about what a good boy Draco has been since the War and how he's totally changed now. I can infer that from the fact that Harry has chosen to be with him, he can tell the right sort for himself, you know?

It's as if we're not allowed to say we enjoy Draco as a character unless we explicitly put him through emotional and moral hell first. Also, I feel like by focusing so much on Draco's character arc, we tend to forget that Harry also has shit to work through, beyond needing to accept that he wants to bone Malfoy now.

This is not about calling anyone out, it's just a general trend I've been noticing with the fic and commentary that's been coming out lately. We can enjoy Drarry, but there always needs to be an asterisk to it, always. Have you noticed this or is it just me using the wrong filters/being in the wrong bubble/losing my mind?

I'm going to be honest with you here friend, I had no idea this was happening. I generally tend to stay away from, like, confrontational corners of the fandom (on account of I really don't have the constitution for it), but I know that sometimes these things have a way of reaching you even when you're not looking for them. For your peace of mind, I recommend maybe trying to curate your fandom experience to be less stressful to you because at the end of the day this is supposed to be fun. If you already are and it's not working, I'm fresh out of sage advice :(.

I do see the trend you've mentioned, I think it comes from attaching too many IRL things to a fictional world and adding complexities where there aren't, sometimes it enriches the fandom experience and sometimes it causes people to judge individual characters too harshly. I am but a passing ship in the turbulent waters of the marauders era fandom but it's something I especially notice there, with strictly segregated factions who each have very exacting parameters.

The problem with fandom squabbles like these is that no-one is wrong because we all are; we're all seeing things that aren't there in a series of books written by a terrible person; for all that we can share the joy of flipping the script on jkr, the fandom is never going to be totally unified because we're all making shit up as we go.

I also don't enjoy overly angsty fics where Draco has to martyr himself in order to be redeemed, because the Draco in my head doesn't need to do all that. The beauty (and curse) of a ship as big as Drarry is that there's multiple accepted interpretations of Harry, Draco and their relationship; hell, there's some fics where I feel like the author just slapped the names Harry and Draco on two OCs and called it a day but that just means said works weren't meant for me.

Curating our fandom experience as best as possible is really the only thing we as readers can do; one of the best strategies I've adapted is starting to exit out of fics the moment I realise they aren't working for me. I don't know how many fics I had to force myself to slog through because they are beloved classics, hoping I'd also see what everyone else is seeing, only to learn I should have trusted my instincts and abandoned ship. Ultimately I had to learn to stick with what works for me, even if it means there's significantly less fandom output I get to enjoy.

I honestly don't know if any this helped,

xoxo

[therealmofstarwars]

hey! I’ve seen a few posts about your server & it seems like an interesting idea! but I think your expectations/tone may be putting people off.. i know for me, I like a server where I can come and go based on my time & interest, and a lot of servers im in have dozens of members with a much smaller core active group. I can see how that’s frustrating as a mod! but your posts would make me nervous to join the server because it sounds like high expectations for creative output. & ultimately fandom is a hobby, that i do when it’s fun & when inspiration strikes, which sadly i cannot control. I can only speak to my own thoughts & experience of course!! but I wonder if others are feeling similar & so you’re ending up with low engagement :((

I understand perfectly thank for sharing your side of story you need to understand why I am pissed off why my tone and expectations is like that but you need to understand it just really annoying from my side of story just trying to get along with people who change their mind leave last minute without communicating sabotage plans for server which is rude I am doing with same problem for last 8 months one years it fucking annoying I am not putting people off I am just finally venting that all is really I am Aries I am very passionate my personality is like Anakin I have no regrets I can’t take this shit anymore I am fed up . It stressful I am recovering from college burnout my patience is thin I am exhausted I try to patient a good sport I finally had enough in general the mask just slipping

For this summer I just want to relax and write as fun hobby collab with others for fun

That what my server is I am a hothead when I vent I just let it out writing is art form I have no regrets

Sorry my tone come up like that and drive you away just know we are all humans with on and off days

I am finally venting it fucking annoying I am tired with this shit to the point I am thinking of disbanding my server and writing group chat all together just join fandom writing support group

I am done pleasing others fix in box as young adult you have zero fucks to give at this point

I try to be patient it really annoying. 😒

I am pissed off tired had a lack of sleep I finally vent

I am a writer I am tired of being a motherfucking saint. I am over it. I being my true self.

Fanfic is fun hobby I am a only mod in dead server also in a dead SPN writing group

When I try to collab everyone is offline my reaction privately 😒 believe me I am friendly try to communicate others just keep wasting my time

I am trying not to give up it just so annoying

It so annoying. It pissed me off. I am a perfectionist type A so I finally vent because I am writer it catharsis.

I don’t regret finally venting

It really annoying

I don’t care if my posts are passive aggressive I just finally had enough.

No I will not give up. Just understand where I am coming from.

Have a great day.

Aries do not sugarcoat they tell how it is. I am an Aries a passionate and leader sign.

I been patient for a year I am over it. Done being a motherfucking saint. I just want a break and go to spa.

Now I trust the universe go with the flow.

Have a great day.

Thank for being honest Guest I just need to vent.

I am glad we trust each other to be honest.

Just know I am not changing my post tone

I am done pleasing others I am go with my guts trust in the universe

Stay safe guest 💜✨💫

[mweothe11e]

Hello elle!!! 👋🏾 Kumusta??

Finally i join after finishing my chores😪 Kat, Cancer 🦀 ⬆️

I fear the queens devoured so I'm still replaying this banger 🤠 I haven't been sleeping early consistently :( I've been experimenting to see what will click so i will figure things out with time frs!!!🫡

Ahehehe Kamusta Kat~

Thank you so much for participating in my new ask game.

You're one of the few people here that know I'm Filipina~

Igloo is such a fun song to listen to!! Hey unapologetically listen to them dearie, that song's amazing. Oh no, is your circadian rhythm out of sync? Stress maybe?? Maybe, you drank caffeine later at night, hence, struggle to sleep? Insomnia?

I do hope you feel a little bit better nowadays~

You weren't devastated by the earthquakes, right? How's your family? Your cousins? Are they okay?

Here are the following cards pulled for your reading:

10 of Wands, World, Knight of Cups

The first card suggests that you've been burdened and overwhelmed for far too long, not just in work but in life in general. It seems that almost everything in your life stresses you out. You could also be burning out because you might have a tendency to take all the responsibilities on your shoulders. I'm sensing hypervigilance and a lack of trust in other people's capabilities to show up for you accordingly. Also, might have been experiencing some unavoidable expenses, like you literally cannot catch a break.

This card feels more like a call-out than advice. But there is a lesson in this call-out: awareness. Of one's own limits and current situation. And it is in this knowing that you can see the advice buried among the stress indicators and source.

What do you do when you know you put too much on your plate? You reprioritize what you currently have and then you unload the ones that can be done at a later time.

What do you do when you're too overwhelmed to think straight, let alone work? You learn to incorporate daily habits to rest and destress at the end of the day. And stop shaming yourself for admitting that you've reached your limit. You're not useless or weak for needing to rest. You've simply had enough. You needed time to take better care of yourself.

If you think that putting in half-assed effort every day is being productive while you lay miserably anxious at the end of the day, I hate to be a bearer of bad news but you are tying your self-worth into something external as progress output. I'm not telling you to not show up for yourself, what I'm emphasizing is why settle for half-ass yet consistent output while you hate yourself, when you can learn to accept that letting yourself rest and recuperate properly is a productive form of self-care.

What do you do when you take all the responsibilities on your shoulders? You learn how to distribute the tasks, and delegate said tasks to the personnel with the necessary skillset that can properly achieve those assigned goals. Letting other people do what they do best doesn't mean that you can't do those tasks. It's more of a time management and efficiency issue. It's basically working smarter, not just harder.

What do you do when there are unavoidable expenses? Ask for help from someone who can help you financially now so you can promise to pay it back later, plus interest (If you two agree on this condition). If you want to try to get a loan, then hope it gets approved. If it's strictly your money management skills, learn about financial literacy and learning to make money work for you.

Okay, so for the second card, the word "completion" stood out to me the most. Like, if you have any pending tasks, any works in progress, any unfinished projects that are close to completion, please focus on prioritizing to finish those first.

I heard, "for the sake of your dopamine," lol, so it would seem that you giving yourself a chance to finish pending projects would give you healthy doses of dopamine hits that will encourage you to keep showing up for yourself. It's like a really good source of motivation to show up and stay consistent for your future success.

Also, another word that came to my mind for the second card is "harmony". With this one, there's a certain nudge for you to learn how to create a daily routine that's both productive and harmonious to your overall well-being.

It feels more like, if you decide to completely revamp your daily routine, you'll need to approach it in a more sustainable manner. Like, you literally have to include resting and recuperation as necessary parts of your daily routine. Not just the productive tasks, but also ensuring self-care/reset before the day ends is a nonnegotiable part of your routine.

The last card is asking you to get creative with how you can realign back to your goals this 2nd quarter. Feel free to do your own research on different strategies that may work better for your specific circumstances. You don't have to box yourself into stereotypical advices when you have this inner knowing that there are other ways to go about your goals that isn't widely discussed online.

There's this calling for you to view this time of realignment as a moment to experiment and play through your process. Like you don't have to be so strict and harsh with the guidelines you imposed on yourself. Think of it as if you are a beginner in a new topic. You know you are just starting, so you are giving yourself the grace to master the techniques and methods through your previous mistakes.

It's like the last card is asking you to be kinder to yourself when trying to start again. Just because you are a certain age, it doesn't mean that you are condemned to make a mistake. It doesn't mean that if you start something at your age, you're learned too late. You are simply asked to be strategic about it. Plan out the necessary actionable steps to achieve your goals.

This last card is asking you to not be so harsh with yourself. You can also start again, to learn again, to put yourself out there again, to begin anything new, at any age and phase in your life. You are asked to remember that there are no strict periods for new beginnings.

This concludes the end of your reading.

Do let me know in my ask inbox how this reading resonates with your current situation.

If you have follow-up questions or want to a more extended reading, feel free to head into my paid readings and purchase a reading.

Feel free to send some tips in my Buy-Me-a-Coffee account to show some support for my services.

This ask-game reading is simply for entertainment purposes only. Remember, you are free to discern if this reading resonates with you or not.