#that lit a fire under my ass

[drowsystarlight]

You’re not even my second Runner Five, y’know that? You’re my fourth.

[sharpedgedfool]

[red-wood-reaper]

How well has Achlys been with adjusting to normal life gain? How do other charr view him and how does he believe they view him?

I feel as of JW He is fairly well adjusted? He's gotten enough time to get used to how he looks, how he sees himself and how other people view him. With the acceptance of the Awakened by other groups I think he's probably seen as fairly 'normal' for those raised from the dead in some fashion. He doesn't view himself as badly as he did when he first regained his own will.

Fresh after the death of Zhaitan however? I can't imagine a lot of other Charr who would have seen him would have been so ready to get friendly with him? He's a lot like those other walking corpses shambling around Orr, but he does have a certain light in his eyes. A lot of them would probably stay away- especially if they have had bad experiences with Risen - though some might be willing to talk to him.

He was picked up by the Priory as one point as he was traveling through Orr, so some of the Charr working there would at view him as an oddity possibly, and be more open to interacting with him to study him more than anything.

Over the years though I think other Charr would just kinda get used to him tbh.

For how he thinks other Charr view him? That's something he was fully panicking on at first. He's catastrophizing, thinking hes got to be some kind of abomination and that he's gonna be attacked by everyone who meets him. That there's no possible way he'd be able to return to Ascalon, or have some semblance of a normal life ever again.

This is actually the perfect excuse to post this scene I've had swimming around in my brain for a while now regarding this:

Overall it's def rough for him at first but with time it gets better and he heals, learning to accept himself.

[wellthatsclever]

When you find out the seed oils stay lodged in your fat so even when you DO lose weight, you will feel shitty while burning it off because it's basically dirty fuel

[shirozora-draws]

The idea of selling prints was a bust for a number of reasons, the main one being the lack of time and energy. I still want to try my hand at doing some merch stuff so I've started looking at stickers and acrylic charms/keychains (mostly because I now need to seriously think about supplementing my income in some way and this would use one of my biggest strengths while being less anxiety-inducing than doing commissions).

I'd love to do a mix of both general Star Wars stuff and the more specific DinLuke stuff, and I'd also love to offer a few things for my homies in the other fandoms I've been in (looking at you, my Tron peeps). Feel free to throw suggestions in my face!

[ask-the-bone-boys]

ok folks in honor of me finally being almost ready with this thing here's a compilation of the Main Reason its taking so damn long

[turtletoads]

[twistedisciple]

Before the Scars

Bishop Mastery drabble: 682

cw: gore

Everyone had to be good at something. Otherwise, you would die. Get thrown out, technically, but in the snowy wilds of Elusia, everyone knew what that meant. Back then, fear had not yet hardened and calcified into a defective, useless organ inside of Griss. It used to pump his blood so full of adrenaline that he’d spend his nights praying that Lord Sombron not abandon him, spend his days with a desperate sleeplessness in his sunken eyes. 

Like the other monks in the monastery, he’d been taught magic under the priests’ whips, and he’d watched the older cohorts split into two groups as the years passed: those that were awarded some modicum of prestige and a minor title within the church, and those that turned into grey monuments in the snow, fingers and toes blackened, eyes frozen wide open, waiting for a spring that would never come for them. Death did not scare him, and indeed the fear of death was counted among a handful of cardinal sins, but the souls of those that had succumbed as the defects had were trapped within the rejected flesh for eternity, never to decay, never to be a vessel for their lord’s power, their existence immortalized in a pillar of shame. Eternity was a long time, Griss knew that, but he saw it hurtling at him faster than he could run.

Each day, angry red welts were added to his arms and back, and each day he had nothing to show for them. Sometimes, he could conjure a little bit of a breeze, enough to sway the scraggly grass under his feet. Sometimes, a spark. But always the whip’s fierce lashing. He lacked focus, one of the priests said. He didn’t know how when he prayed every night. He kept praying, because there was nothing else he could do. The flagellum had even started to lose its edge.

Torn flesh fascinated him. He ripped his own open, stitched it together in pretty red zigzags, dug his fingers into the wounds of others, plucked out splinters and fragments of bone like an archaeologist, and closed them all up again. Curiosity cultivated an uncommon fearlessness which bred an even greater curiosity for all the different ways the body could be bent and broken, the sensations that came with it. How it could be put back together again. His own. Others. It didn’t matter whose, in the end.

No great epiphany had preceded the glow of the Heal staff under his palm one morning in the monastery’s iron-scented infirmary. It’d been abandoned by one of his fellows for just a moment, and Griss had swept in to prod at the swelling around the patient’s mangled elbow, searching for a source like an explorer charting the frontier, ignoring sleepy moans of discomfort even as he pressed his thumb hard against a lump and pitched the cries louder. Then it gave. The cries subsided. The fever heat cooled. The man treating him returned and chased Griss away with a few solid strikes from the staff’s blunt end.

It came with no fanfare, this talent. From that day on, he intuited his way around a variety of staves without picking up a book, driven by a curiosity toward the flesh and a resonant listening gifted to few - a kind of perfect pitch that he would never recognize as a gift until years later, with Zephia’s observation. He could recognize each staff by a series of shapes. Heal was a single, simple triangle. Recover was a red thread, three loops, ringed by seven triangles. And these were inarticulate instructions his body simply knew. A gift he learned to take for granted.

His lessons with the priests and their whips never stopped though, and neither did their criticism. There was nothing special about learning to use a staff, but there was nothing really special about learning to cast spells either. These were givens. The expected minimum to allow one shelter within Lord Sombron’s grace. Everyone had to be good at something, after all. Otherwise, you would die.

Griss did not fear death, and he never would again.

[ghost-proofbaby]

All your TTPD musings have me DESPERATE for new maroon 🥵

it's coming!!! i swear!!

[beachyserasims]

I'm finally happy with where I am in my GIL story that starting tomorrow, I'm going to be working on my haunted house Halloween series!!!!!

[eureka-its-zico]

I literally cant wait for CITB Chapter 8!!!! Like the birthday post was so good and i reread chapter 8 just because i wanted to make sure i woudnt forget anything 🤍💚

My goal is to write today while I’m in here. There aren’t any distractions here, besides the sweet sounds of beeping hospital equipment lol because for some reason I’m vibing and getting all the ideas ?????

It must be the lack of sleep

I think it’s cause the birthday piece made me really want to write more cute soft scenes for them so bad I’m like, yelling at my reflection to get her shit together and finish 8/9 to get to the cute shit.

Now I’m just thinking of flustered doc asking to clean Zoro’s wounds and he purposely removes HIS WHOLE SHIRT making her have a damn aneurism. Like 👀👀👀

[oh-katsuki]

i love reading a good book and feeling rejuvenated going back to my own writing. it's like getting a new perspective on storytelling and the different ways to do it. wonderful feeling.

[cwritesfiction]

brb I’m going to try and marathon-revise this entire scene tonight here we GO

[vampirecatprince]

I think I FINALLY settled what game engine I'm gonna use for the Asmo project and I've decided to go with Game Maker Studio instead of Godot. Godot is great and surprisingly powerful and I'd like to come back to it someday, but the learning curve is just... too steep for me with the quality of tutorial I've been finding and I'm one of those people that needs the why explained to me. Once I'm a bit more familiar with programming logic and how the logic slots together, then I might give it another chance though.

Also- last year was a huge mess for me mentally and I had to take a lot of repeated breaks, so even though I've been working on this project for almost a year and a half now, all together it's probably only been around actually 6-8 months of work. But I feel less annoyed about how long it's been taking bc of that at least, and, if my current plans go according to plan, I'm going to eventually be able to commit more time to this project and have this project eventually support itself a little bit.

And honestly I'm just tired of waffling around and talking about this project and working on it on the side and never having quite enough time to fully commit to trying to make this project work. I WANT to commit more time to it and I'm hoping eventually I can?

I'm certainly not planning on leaving my day job anytime soon, but I am planning on starting streaming regularly in about a month, showing the creation of this thing and showing me researching this game (I really need to replay some stuff so I can figure out game feel) and maybe if that works out enough I can drop down to part time and put even more time into it? But that's a bit of a long term goal and currently I'm just... trying to make all that possible.

[atelierlili]

Okay I will finish A Ballad of Song Birds and Snakes now

[falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand]

just absolutely nuked my spotify profile after realizing my irl friend i sent a playlist to could see the playlists i made when i was 13