#this idea has been in my mind ever since i played the recent build

[overlookingviewx]

no worries

(he definitely should be worried)

something i thought would be funny feat. Khalil Abaddi from Infinite Stars by @infinitestarsdev and my Mah'Abeu Vigilo that has one braincell :D

pls read Infinite Stars 🔫

[matchalovertrait]

Me??????

Thank you to everyone who tagged me for the simblr appreciation 💗 That was @bouncytrait, @elderwisp, @catsinmugs, @bloomingkyras, @woohoojuicesimoleons2,

@spotlessssmiind, and @smulie :)

I am so happy you thought of me and I love your blogs too!!

I’d like to tag everyone, but I can’t do that. However, I can acknowledge all of you whose posts I come across every day! I make sure to hit the like button to let you know that there’s someone here waiting for your next post. If I haven’t been liking recent posts, it’s because I’m reading your story from the beginning. I’m an awfully slow reader, so my apologies. I like to take my time and not rush through the stories to ensure I understand everything and take in all the small details.

Also, I know it can be easy to become disillusioned on here but trust me, there are a lot of incredible people. I see them every day on my dash.

I’ll mention some of my friends here who inspire me. Um, it's kinda long:

@changingplumbob: I don’t know how she balances so many projects at once and does it all with love! Each one of her characters is unique and steals the spotlight. When it comes to her posts, I'm either philosophizing or laughing. It's also admirable how much research she puts into the stories she writes. You can definitely tell!

@deardiaryts4: I love people who do extra things for their sims just like me LOL. She doesn’t have to make a music video or album cover CC. Nor does she have to create actual code for us to solve a mystery, but she does it anyway because she's passionate! She gives it 110% every time with her intriguing story and gameplay.

@ruthplaysthesims goes DEEEEPP into the lore! Blink and you'll miss it. She also has an impressive cast of characters. There are many mysteries in her stories that I am itching to have the answers to. I need to see/know!!!

@abbysimsfun OMG I absolutely love her style of writing, which became a recent influence over my own. She's also a fellow fan and user of Chekhov's guns (I know the name of that literary device now because of her hehehe. No, no actual guns here!). I am captivated by the storytelling!

@dreamyyesenia is so incredibly sweet! She also takes her sims' personalities and interests very seriously and creates the perfect homes/wardrobes for them. She's a master at it and I'm taking notes.

@authorspirit: Her builds are absolutely fantastic. Joy is a smart cookie and she does everything with precision. I really like the chic and regal aesthetic in her posts too. Quite demure

@sharona-sims is my slice-of-life queen!!!! She seems apologetic for the "slow pace" of her gameplay, but I don't mind it one bit. I could keep up with Lily and Michael for the rest of my life, idc, I love them.

@teadreamsims is immensely creative and a great storyteller. I always forget they play on console. That just shows how important imagination is. The gameplay with Fern and the rotational gameplay with the townies happened ages ago but they live in my head rentfree.

@aurorangen: Details details details!!!!! I eat it all up and Rory always gives us extra insight and behind-the-scenes stuff. She's talented in both writing and telling her stories through pictures. And her builds are insane.

@cakepoppresent: Nahhhhh cuz the drama and the wholesomeness, omg. I like how we explore different groups of characters at a time and it never seems like too much. And her videos are everything.

@miralure is on hiatus sadly :( But she definitely left her mark, I never forget her. When I came back to Simblr, I had no idea a lot of people saw commenting as an "embarrassing" thing? She was very welcoming and her mindset is the one I've been following ever since. Because of her, I'm often all up in your guys's comments like nothing lmao. Anyway, her lookbooks were perfection as well as her male sims. Amazing.

@windslar also seems to be on hiatus :( I admire the way she composes her dialogue posts through photos and I've been trying to do it as well as she does. The facial expressions, the angles, etc! It's cinematic.

@cinamun: I don't even have to explain, but I will anyway. The drama, the real-life-issues, the gifs, the heartfelt moments, the plot twists, the in-depth characters, the lore, the background, the wardrobes. Phenomenal work!

[employee052]

OKOKOK HERES THE AU IDEA

ive been revisiting Detroit Become Human bc of my partner playing it recently, as well as me reading some connor x readers that gave me this idea directly, plus adding in some other games that i feel like could fit, i had this idea:

(its not refined atm n hella rough draft so please ignore shit that doesnt make sense)

[CW DEATH]

The Narrator is an experimental Android named VA427 "Virgil", made as the ultimate assistant and sent to work at some office building

He follows the boss around, doing tasks given by them and walking around the office helping the boss manage it while they stay in their office

This is how he meets Stanley, an employee who is usually reserved around everyone except for Virgil.

He takes a liking to Virgil, signing to him and having chats whenever he passes by, and Virgil loves it.

The two grow close. Virgil likes Stanley because he treats him with respect and listens to him, Stanley likes Virgil because he's not judgmental and can understand sign language

However, as their friendship grows, the boss begins to assign more work to all his employees, causing most of them to be overworked with a few accidents involving people passing out on the job

Stanley is no exception, he stays late and does every task asked of him, Virgil is worried but keeps doing it since thats his task, however this is when he starts to deviate.

He starts questioning things during his time working, and realises his attatchment to Stanley

Stanley falls over one day at the office after staying overtime for a month straight for 3 additional hours.

Virgil runs in to help him as everyone else walks around him like its not a problem. Stanley dies shortly after in the office.

Virgil goes to call 911 when the boss stops him, telling him that its not neccessary and to dump his body in the basement.

if the police found out about the treatment of their employees, they could be sued, so the boss has elected to hiding the bodies and covering up their deaths.

Virgils furious, mourning the loss of his friend taken too early and the only person who treated him nicely. But the boss doesnt budge

they throw Virgil and Stanley into the basement together. Locking them in with a pile of dead bodies and all items that other dead employees used.

He goes to find a few spare computers and manages to find a way to hook himself and stanley up to it.

Connected to the PC, stanley's body and mind is uploaded. However, its not fully, since stanley was dead for a while before being uploaded, it only retains a few memories. primarily that of being in an office, and having a wife and an apartment, but not having the exact memory of who or what they looked like.

Virgil creates a VR world for stanley to live in. at first he had attempted to create sprawling stories for him just as stanley told him in past conversations, but Virgil hasnt really explored the outside all too much given he lives at the office.

He shifts the VR world so its centered around the office. He cant tell stanley he's dead either, so he acts as though hes simply playing a video game.

the next few years/decades are just the narrator falling deeper into the role of making stories for stanley and getting too into the video game idea. releasing the game offically however with stanleys consciousness only on his PC in the basement of the office.

during these years, is where im combining some aspects from portal blue sky and half life.

while virgil falls into the role of the narrator and is in the basement of this office with stanleys decayed body, the black mesa incident happens.

aliens come in, vorts n shit, and then the combine come in and take over. virgil doesnt ever see this bc hes safe in the basement.

decades pass by, then after a long while, an explorer wanders into the ruins of the old office building

they eventually find the basement and the narrators body hooked up to the computer and stanleys skeleton beside him

this explorer would take the keyboard and begin playing the game, until virgil, now the narrator, realises that its not stanley

however, so much time has passed and so little of stanley was saved that hes simply a dead man walking, an echo of a dead man, a memory

after a long time where the explorer and the narrator talk, the narrator agrees to end the vr simulation, he keeps it in his memory banks, but he agrees to not fully trap himself in the simulation to keep stanley going. hes gonna lay him to rest

getting up, the narrator finds his body to be alien to him, hes forgotten that he even had a physical form, and through the years of being put on sleep mode to allocate all processing power to the vr world, his bodys also decayed a bit

the synthetic hair doesnt grow, but begins to fade in its colour

his eyes dont work as well considering theyve been on standby mode, they still work, but theres a permanent blur to him that means he needs glasses

the synthetic skin on his face and hands only begin to sag and wrinkle

the parts of his body that dont have synthetic skin and are exposed from the rips in his clothing have rusted, the office building's basement being almost like the skip button where a break in the roof causes some water and plants and animals to enter and eat away at his body. making it rusty and making him slower to move

the explorer and the narrator leave the building, and take refuge in a small town of other survivors quite similar to eaden in blue sky, where the explorer lives

during the narrators stay here, he struggles to move past stanley, being focused and obsessed with him for decades before being brought out of it.

and here comes the whole reason why i got this au idea:

the narrator goes back to the vr simulation with stanley and the office, and shifts it.

what was once an office becomes a refurbished memory zone. with a desk for him to write in whenever the explorer sleeps and a place for him to calm down when tough things happen. its the closest he can get to a mind palace

however, hes not alone in here, he makes a small area for stanley to live in, he will never leave him and his mind, but hes moved on, hes past that grief.

he visits stanley in this new mindscape of his from time to time, to give an update, to just remember him, but he moves on.

the rest of the au would just be the narrator learning to take control of his life again, trusting the explorer and becoming more integrated with the townsfolk, managing his rusty body, and re-exploring his old hobbies that he forgot about.

ik i already posted the designs, but with this context, heres virgil and the narrators form before and after the parable

[mistypsych]

ANATOMY OF A CRIMINAL - CHAPTER 7

/ yoongi / suga / agust d

summary: as a doctor you never expected to be dragged into “the criminal life”, nothing and no one seems to be true anymore, your whole world turns upside down after you save him.

pairings: yoongi mob boss x f.reader x non idol bts members.

warnings: smut, guns, knives, stabbings, blood, gore, murders, drugs, criminals, gang life, medical emergency, illness, abuse, swearing, angst, dubcon, gang violence, corruption, manipulation, lies, cheating - 18+ minors dni.

Note: Hi! This is an attempt of writing a fanfic long after not writing anything at all. Please keep in mind English is no longer my first language and it might be a bit rusty at times. Comments and thoughts are well appreciated. Don’t hesitate to ask questions, state your thoughts for me to post up and have me add you to the tag list!

You blinked very fast. Your thoughts were all over the place. Keeping your gaze on the KCIA badge you took a deep breath and mumbled “Yea… it does look like we need to talk���” trying to gather yourself, you turned to face the kind eyed man.

This was the moment he should start explaining, because you sure as hell had no idea what the actual fuck was going on.

He let out a long, quiet sigh, keeping his eyes on the road. “So… I am well aware you normally would not have anything to do with a gang, if it wasn’t for your reckless friend…” he started. “But… our target isn’t really the whole group. I mean yea, they are dangerous, cause some havoc but… they are also a well know danger… they keep the product they sell clean and such… yes it is bad, but how to say it? A evil you know is better than anything unknown and out of control right?”.

You tried to follow his logic, one questing popping into your head - then why was he even there? As if reading your mind he explained “We are fishing for the police… we have known the department has gotten very dirty in the recent years… and we are collecting enough evidence to be sure to take that scum down…” he turned his eyes to the road again waiting for you to slowly take in the information he has dropped on you.

You shake your head a bit and then look up as if asking the universe why the fuck this is all happening. “So… let me guess… my fiancé happens to be on the list…”. Jimin sighed and slowly nodded his head, clicking his tongue he looked at you for a second. “Listen… I know this is all a lot to take in… especially that your fiancé is an absolute dick… but… I assume you’d have nothing against putting his ass behind bars right?”.

You look at the man sitting next to you and try to think of an answer. In all honesty you would gladly have Hobi suffer since you found out not only is he dirty but also a cheater. The fact you slept with Agust-D did not seem like proper justice for the fact that asshole ruined all those years of your life. But having him locked up seemed like some kind of karma.

“Yea… I would not mind that at all…” you paused for a while and then asked “So… let me take a guess. You would love to have a spy in me huh?”. Jimin cleared his throat quietly, clearly not expecting you to be this blunt. “I won’t lie… it would probably make things easier… I believe you could fish out some important intel for us…”

Without much hesitation you say “Ok. Count me in then, as long as me and my friend Jungkook are not dragged into whatever consequences this shitshow brings…” the hazy eyed man slightly looks at you and nods “Of course… you will be my informant so I will make sure your demands are met…” you roll your eyes a bit not enjoying the fact once again you have been put in a peculiar spot.

You asked to be dropped off a couple of blocks before your building. Your neighborhood was safe enough for you to walk back and you sure as hell would not wan’t Hoseok seeing you get dropped off by Jimin.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

You will have to lie, pretend and play games with Hobi. It was not something you ever would see yourself doing but given the circumstances, you did not have many options in order to receive some sort of justice for yourself. The worst part being that you had to pretend you have no idea about what he did and that you are still oh so blindly in love with him, when in reality all you wanted is to beat him into a pulp for wasting all those important years of your life.

Walking in slowly into your apartment you gently closed the doors hoping that if your fiancé was there you would not wake him up. Looking around you saw his jacket and sighed. Luck was not on your side. It seemed that you were gonna have to deal with his company sooner then later.

You made your way passed the opened bedroom doors, making sure to be quiet and to get you the chance to sleep on the couch, but no, you had to be shit outta luck. “Y/N? Hun? That you?” you swore in your head and barely controlled your impulse to punch the wall. Silently clearing your throat you said “Yea… it’s me… I went out with Kookie and some other coworkers… since you said you would be home late again…” you lied threw your teeth.

A sound of the bed covers rustling hit your ears. You knew he was getting up, so you put your best pretend happy tipsy face on. Right then you saw him stand in the door and lean on the frame with a slightly sleepy face. He smiled at you and came up taking your hand in his. “Mmm… I’m sorry I am having to work so much lately babe…” you nodded your head afraid that if you spoke that moment he would pick up your pure rage.

After a second you gathered yourself “It’s fine, we both have jobs that can occupy us at times…” wrapping his arms around you he kissed your shoulder “What did I do to deserve such a woman?” you forced a giggle. “Can I make it up to you Y/N? Hmmm?” he hummed in a low voice pulling at your waistband. You laughed lightly and gave him a peck in the nose saying “we can discuss that after I take a shower and you make breakfast.”

He mumbled slightly disappointed but made his way to the kitchen, you on the other hand got into the bathroom. You stood there looking at your reflection in the big mirror questioning all your life decisions and if you should have ever moved to Korea. You turned on the water for it to warm up. You needed a hot shower to was off all the strain from your muscles.

Suddenly your phone rang causing you to jump up. Looking at the screen you could see a no caller ID show up. Normally you would ignore such a call but something in you gave you a hunch. Picking up the phone you quietly answered. “Hello?” you heard a deep sigh on the other side of the line and then the well know gravely voice “Didn’t take you would be the type to sneak out at dawn?” your heart clenched and then started beating like crazy. You could feel your body getting tense.

“And I wouldn’t think you’d be the type to be bothered by such a thing… I would think you’d appreciate it…” he chuckled, you could almost see him shaking his head in amusement “Nah… I was thinking of round two for breakfast…” you sigh grabbing the tip of your nose. This was all one big mess. “I have a fiancé…” you muttered hoping this would salve it and make him cancel the call, but instead he laughed loudly “Oh… I know you do and I ain’t bothered babe, because I know now when he fucks you, you’ll be thinking of me and all I can do to you”. His words rendered you speechless “Mmm just what I thought. You’ll be coming back for more Y/N and oh I will give it to you…” and at that he ended the call.

Standing there and looking at your cellphone you were trying collect yourself. This fucking cocky bastard was so sure you’d be coming back to him. “You wish… we will see who’s left begging…”

tags: @wobblewobble822 @nansasa @nochook @kootieful @kooslilhoe @yoongisducky @xjiminsthighsx @danielle143 @llallaaa @idkjustlovingbts @darcyw16 @missusally-blog @honsoolgloss @nochuel @kaitieskidmore1 @starrlo0ver @geek-lara-nerd @jwnghyuns @xyahrinx @acquiescence804

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2024 :: Day Nine

Prompt: Lend an Ear Characters: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Lorha Keipah Word Count: 746 Warnings: Heavensward 3.3 spoilers, reference to family death

Master List

Despite everything that had happened recently, the chill in Ishgard still bit deep. Nomin felt the fangs of Ishgard's wind and frost just as keenly as she did when she first arrived. She stood in the stone gazebo, just a few yalms from Fortemps Manor, hands tucked away and clutching fire shards to keep her hands warm. Her gaze wandered across the other walkways spanning the abyss below the railing, issuing a quiet sigh that clouded into steam as she marveled at the sheer stubbornness required to build a city so precariously perched, always seeming a breath away from ruin.

A tug at her aether was felt, and Nomin slowly turned to look back behind her. Approaching was a familiar Keeper, her snow-white hair pulled back into a ponytail behind her to keep it from whipping all over the place. Her feline-like ears were swaddled in fluffy ear covers designed for miqo'te such as herself. A carbuncle, pink as sunrise, followed closely at her heels. When Nomin’s gaze met hers, the Keeper beamed and hurried on to meet her.

“Can never catch you unawares, can I?” Lorha said, chuckling softly.

It was Nomin’s turn to let out a huff of amusement. “You’d certainly have to try a lot harder, I’d think. It’s not like I go out of my way to feel when people are approaching me. Everyone’s feeling some kind of way that I can pick up on. Sometimes, pending how well I know you or am familiar with you, I can tell who it is.”

“But that’s simply the nature of your Echo, isn’t it?” Lorha asked, soon standing shoulder to shoulder with Nomin. Her gaze soon went out toward where Nomin had been staring earlier. Her eyes were more set upon the buildings -- how much more pristine and well kept they were compared to places like the Brume; nary a stone ever out of place. “Not mine, though.”

“I don’t think you ever told me how your Echo affects you,” Nomin commented. With all their battles against Primals thus far, Nomin had always been rather curious about Lorha’s… Hells, even R’ayzel and Ralne’s, too.

“If you’ve a mind to lend an ear, I suppose I could tell you,” Lorha said, her tail slowly curling left, then right.

Nomin brought a finger up to tap the side of her horn. “Not exactly an ear, but I have a horn to spare.”

Again, Lorha chuckled softly. Placing her own hands into her pockets, her ears flattened just a bit. “Whether it's by some cruel joke from Hydaelyn Herself or no because of how I would ignore my own to study… My Echo allows me to know what someone wants the most in the moment.” There was a moment where silence fell, a palpable weight between the two of them. And then, Lorha looked at Nomin, a frown set upon her lips.

“Like…how you want a cup of hot tea while you stand here to keep you warm -- but not just any tea -- tea made in the style you had on the Steppe. Or how you want to leave Ishgard only after knowing if Estinien will make a full recovery so Alphinaud won't have yet another friend to grieve.”

Nomin's lips parted slightly. She and Lorha had only been reunited for a short time since the end of the conflict against Nidhogg. She knew their history -- part of it at any rate. What Lorha had no idea about, however, was that Estinien had been admitted and cared for by the chirurgeons. Only that Nomin and Alphinaud had following the burns they received and were still recovering from themselves.

“... He's…been through a lot…” Nomin finally said. She turned her gaze toward the railing. “I don't understand how someone so fresh out of being considered a boy has the stomach for all of this. But his growth has been…admirable to say the least.”

“True…but there's another reason why you want Estinien to live, don't you…?” Lorha gently prodded.

There was… By the Night, there was.

“... I…” Nomin started. Memories played in her head. Such vivid memories of Esenaij being struck down before her as if she had only lived them yesterday as a girl of eleven summers. How he looked at her, a mix of fear and concern on his face as he choked out at her: “Run!”

Closing her eyes, Nomin shook her head.

“... Alphinaud sees him as a brother… I wouldn't…wish him to go through that…”

[manias-wordcount]

Could I possibly request Ghirahim or even Link with a female reader who acts similar to Fischl I've been playing her again recently and her voice lines are stuck in my head so this came to mind while playing skyward sword again

S/o who acts like Fischl HCs (Ghirahim, Link)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗦 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Ghirahim

The two of you are like a match made in heaven

It’s actually annoying to everyone around you WHAHAHAH

You could say something that makes absolutely no sense at all or use the most overly extravagant language and Ghirahim would just be like 

“I know, right!!!”

Seriously though, the two of you have slightly different dramatic flairs but Ghirahim knows what it’s like to be the best person in a building full of commoners

It’s your confidence and mysterious nature that drew him in after all

You could seriously be a completely normal girl but Ghirahim is so smitten with your attitude, he’s more than ready to believe you’re a goddess reborn or that you’re more powerful than they ever could

In fact, he’ll be so involved with you that he’ll order everyone around you to show you the utmost respect to the point that they can only speak through HIM to get to you

So don’t worry about anyone giving you trouble- it won’t happen on his watch

 You know he’ll gladly cut out the tongue of anyone who dares do anything against you- even mispronounce your name

Link

 He finds you amusing and the whole thing very cute

But bless his heart he has no idea what you’re saying half the time

It’s definitely been the cause of slight frustration between the two of you

But Link is a good boy

He’ll try his best to translate and to play along with you

And naturally, he knows that over half of what you said isn’t true

After all, it’s kind of hard to believe you’re from another world when he has known you since birth, knows your parents, and by a completely different name

Though that won’t stop him from playing along and even taking up the role of a humble knight

Especially because he knows it makes you happy

Now if he could just make a book or find one that translates all the formal and weird language you use…that would be great

[sexy-goddess-girls]

This was on another site but it's perfect so I had to share it:

Anonymous asked:

I have been reading this blog as well as the questions and answers since I recently found this site. Excellent source and informative. . Thankyou. .I also have taken my husbands member out of service as he is small and can't last long. However I have been under the idea that he needed to be unlocked every 4-6 weeks or so for prostate health and he was getting full releases with subsequent down time. However from your blog I have discovered ruined orgasms both uncaged and caged. Releasing him is quite a chore as he has a piercing and it takes a task to re-cage him. I think it best to eventually keep him locked permanently. Do you have any advice as to having him transition from uncaged ruined orgasms to those performed while caged? Thanks again for any of your thoughts.

There is no doubt my “little boy” can orgasm and ejaculate quite easily while remaining caged and fully erection free. I guess all locked boys can too. However, before going down the route of locking a boy full-time (i.e. he is locked at all times apart from very brief periods for medical or hygiene reasons) there are some serious points to consider.

Once locked with no prospect ever of release and erection, a boy may find not being able to ever erect again psychologically difficult to cope with and may even be mentally damaging. On the other hand, if he admits he is never worthy of an erection, for whatever reason, he may very well find becoming permanently locked an enormous relief now he is under no pressure for his erection to perform. Boys who are poor lovemakers, premature ejaculators, are naturally submissive to women or have inadequate erections are prime candidates for being permanently locked and denied the ability to erect.

Erection attempts for permanently locked boys can be painful and will almost certainly wake the boy at night. However, they do lessen as his mind and body slowly accepts his situation and will cease altogether given a few months.

Caged orgasms and ejaculations are not as satisfying for the locked boy compared to being fully and freely erect when cumming. They seem more like a ruined orgasm that dribbles out ejaculate. So, no rush of semen through an erect penis as he ejaculates and spurts, which would have been so pleasurable for him. However, your boy will still feel sexual relief after but maybe not for as long as if he had a free orgasm. To mitigate the lower satisfaction effect of a caged orgasm, you can make him wait longer between them so he is more eager to cum, spending hours or maybe days of arousal to build him up to an orgasm. Or, use an electrical sex device or TENs unit to make his orgasm more powerful.

Long term denial of erections by locking a boy permanently in a small cage has a high chance of eventually making him impotent and not being able to erect even if released. However, the potential for future impotence really is irrelevant for a boy who has willingly volunteered to be locked permanently, because in reality he became impotent the very moment the cage lock clicked shut never to open again. He must understand and accept impotence before he allows himself to agree to being locked forever more.

Given time permanently locked, he will probably lose most of the sexual feeling and sensitivity in his penis. He will increasingly have little or even no interest in it and other of his body parts will most likely become much more sexually sensitive, particularly his nipples, anus, perineum and prostate. Ultimately, the penis of a permanently locked boy may not have any part to play in his sexual relationships and serve only to remind him of his sexual failure and newer role of a subservient penis free giver of sexual pleasure.

All erection free boys, whether permanently locked or not, have to find alternative ways to express their sexuality and satisfy their partners. They can therefore adapt well to being trained in the art of giving sexual service to their partner and this can become their main source of sexual satisfaction.

Please be sure that you both fully understand the potential consequences of whatever is suggested and he willingly wants to go down the path you agree on in this knowledge.

[monsterkissed]

Interview with a Bureaucrat Knight

i haven't written anything in ages on account of, mental breakdown etc., but i did play a solo round of For The Queen, which is basically an incredibly stripped-down rp storytelling game with no character creation, no dice, frankly no Anything except drawing random questions that prompt you to build a narrative out of thin air until you get to the inevitable, final dilemma. it's a pretty fun game if you are chill with something rules-light every now and then, and a pretty neat writing tool.

anyway here's 2500 words of deeply unhealthy royal relations and becoming the monster you always hated/feared/loved

The land has been in turmoil for as long as you have been alive.

The Queen has decided to undertake a long and perilous journey to broker an alliance with a distant power.

The Queen has chosen you to be in her retinue and accompany her on this journey.

She chose you because she knows that you love her. 

What makes you want to abandon the retinue, and who, besides the Queen, makes you stay?

Fear. Ever since the Queen proposed this journey I have had a certainty that we’re walking to our deaths. It’s not the old fear of the war, we’ve all been living with that so long that it feels like an old, heavy coat. This is new. I can hear doom in every step and dread in every voice. The others won’t talk about it, but I know- they must feel it, too. Nobody dares to quake under the Queen’s gaze, of course, but there are little tells. I think. Glances. Sighs. 

I have to stay for them, naturally. There aren’t any other councillors; if I leave it’ll frighten them ten times worse. And the royal guard will never keep the knights in line once they’re spooked, and if they get ideas… Yes, I have to stay. When the nights start leaving- or maybe it will be the nobles first? Someone is going to leave first, or even raise the issue, and then I’ll try to make her see we should turn back. Once someone else… raises it. 

…it’s fear to both, then, isn’t it?

When was the last time the Queen embarrassed you?

Ha. As if everyone here doesn’t already know. The very last council she gathered before we left on this accursed journey, when she told us what she was going to do… What she was going to do, I should have seen that, she wasn’t asking for permission or advice, but I… Perhaps I’d seen her look at me and known she’d want me to come with her, I don’t remember. I remember my mouth moving (oh gods, did I interrupt her?) and I wasn’t mumbling, I didn’t stutter, all my well-trained diction was at hand as I asked if surely, we shouldn’t wait until at least winter has passed, or better yet, for the ambassador to return…

All my diplomacy, like blowing bubbles at a manticore. She gave me that look I’ve seen so many times. That look used to make empires cower, and evidently from our recent troubles it can’t manage that anymore, but it damn near dissolved me. In front of all of those over-bred sycophants, shaking their heads and smirking at me as she reminded us all that we are out of time, that inaction is not a blameless road to ruin. Oh, she had no intention to embarrass, that would be beneath her. She simply reiterated the facts. But they’ll remember. 

How can people tell, just by looking at you, that you serve the Queen? Do you mind it being so obvious?

Looking at me? On a clear day you can hear a councilman coming from two villages away, wrapped up in all this plate and mail. It’s not ceremonial, you know. I wish it was, they can make wonderfully light faux-armour these days. But she won’t have it. She took this throne with no one but a hundred armed and armoured fighters at her side, and she won’t hold it with anything less. A desk job isn’t an excuse for velvet, or worse, silk. 

I never used to mind it, in truth. It makes the wispy little nobles sweat, which is nice, but I did appreciate the… message of it. You really can tell a member of her government, her court, her closest confidants by the clinking of their armour, and for a while, when she was… winning, I suppose, there was this air about her. You knew why a hundred soldiers stood with her against a nation, why they won. And every moment sweating in this armour made me feel like a part of that, even if it was just barely before my time. 

But, well. We’re not winning anymore. 

The Queen has a pet name for you. Do you appreciate it?

No. And no. I mean, not- Next question, please. 

…

Look, it’s not even my pet name, for a start. My father was the “Wolf” of the original hundred, and I wasn’t even a twinkle in his eye at the time. I don’t know why she started calling me that; I barely pass my annual basic combat exams, and that’s with bribes. I’ve never run through a battlefield scattering legions by howling like a madman, or torn out an assassin’s throat with my teeth. I write her letters and speeches and try to explain economics to her, I’m barely a lapdog, frankly. Yes, I have heard the joke.

It’s better than “Little Wolf,” which was what I was before I actually started working on the council, but not much. I don’t know why she does it. Even with the armour on, I can’t possibly remind her of him. We both know that I’m never going to be her mighty, steadfast knight. If I was… I wouldn’t be thinking these things, would I?

When was the last time the Queen hurt you?

I did fail one of those exams, once. They gave me a month to shape up or be demoted. For, oh, two hours I decided I didn’t care, that a court that ran itself like a barracks was a waste of my education, that I would pack my things and head for the border of one of our allies (I miss when we had allies) and perhaps stop in a pub on the way. And then I was knocking on the door to her chambers. 

It’s a good thing father was dead by then. The shock would have killed him. I… explained to her that being part of her council had been my lifelong dream and greatest honour and I would throw myself on my sword if I were forced to leave it, and she said something very generous, I think it was “Oh, don’t lie to me, Wolf, it’s too early in the morning,” and I thought ah, so this is how I am to die, then. 

She told me to come in and sit down and have a drink (which did not improve matters) and over the course of writing my last will and testament in my head I explained… everything, really. Things I had not told anyone, certainly not my father or my poor mother. Some things I hadn’t realised were true until I said them. Many, many things that I had no business saying to a queen. I assume that at some point I must have passed out (from the alcohol or perhaps a sudden attack of common sense) and she, presumably in one of her peculiar moments of kindness, hauled me up and laid my sleeping body on her bed. I assume this because any other possibility is unthinkable. 

Well, regardless, when I awoke she was in her full plate mail, the one she lost during that incursion from the South, telling me to get into my regalia and earn the right to keep it. She spent every blasted day of that month running me through drills. I begged her to kill me more than once. At one point I fumbled a parry and her sword caught me in the hip, a “glancing” wound, I was told, though it felt like more of a furious stare to me. She didn’t apologise, but she stitched me up well enough. 

That was a long time ago. The scar has mostly faded. I find myself missing it, sometimes.

The Queen once expressed a desire you knew you couldn’t fulfil. What have you done about it?

Well. Back when we were organising the logistics of this… glorified death march (and if truth be told I was doing much of the logistics, she’s never been one for numbers) she suggested… implied, really… 

Skip this one too, please. It’s really not anything of much… Well, it’s a desire I can’t fulfil, isn’t it? What could be more irrelevant? Either this little diplomacy mission goes well, or… that will be the end of it. That’s what I keep trying to make her understand, that if we die here- if she dies here, in some desolate swamp or on the end of some assassin’s knife, that is the end. Nobody else is going to gather up a gaggle of knights and seize a throne overnight, least of all some… little bureaucrat in armour that barely fits. The time of fairytales has gone, these are the days of trade embargoes and blockades. No wolves, only lapdogs. 

When was the last time you had the Queen’s undivided attention? Do you hope to have it again?

I’m not sure I can even remember. When was the last time any of us could give anything our full attention? I don’t think I can remember a day when a part of my mind hasn’t been consumed with news from the borders, or the treasury. Praying every season that the crops don’t fail. Spending every ball or coronation wondering which of our neighbours will be next to crumble, or attack. I walk down the city streets and see people muttering to each other, glowering at me, are they planning to rebel? I see people laughing, drinking with their friends or playing with their children, if we fail to stay above water how many of them will die for our incompetence? 

I used to think she was above those kinds of anxieties. Now I wonder if she hears them louder than any of us. Loud enough to drive her to take any risk if it’ll make them stop. More than loud enough to drown out my voice. 

The Queen thinks more highly of you than you do of yourself. How do you know this?

The Queen… thinks more highly of a lot of us than we deserve, I think. She thinks that the world still bows to strong wills, and times of strife only sharpen those wills, instead of crushing them. She has never believed that this journey is doomed, I know that, because she refuses to live in a world where we would allow this mission to fail. When things go awry, and even she must know that they will… she will expect me at her side, baring teeth. 

You sometimes think you might be the Queen’s favourite. Why? And why does this worry you?

I… am not entirely lacking in common sense. I can complain, but how many others, even here, have been taught to fight by her, personally? How many would have survived questioning her choice to make this journey, sniggering or no? The nickname grates, but half of the court are nothing but family names or job titles to her, or simply “You.” I have colleagues more experienced with foreign affairs, none of them are here. She has a niece who used to win every tournament in her prime, she isn’t here. Her most decorated general isn’t here, though after that appalling siege debacle it’s a wonder anyone lets him out of the house anymore. By blood, rank and conquest, there are many better than me that I would gladly trade places with in an instant. But she wanted me here. 

She’s no fool. She watches the edges of the woods as much as any of us. I’ve seen her counting each cloud of breath in the frosty air, making sure we’re no more or less than we should be. Paying more attention to my inventory reports than she ever did the harvests. But always the same orders, no matter how dire the news: keep marching. Is it favouritism to be doomed to death? Is it favouritism to be asked to face the inevitable, and do the impossible? 

The Queen made you feel something you’d never felt before. Do you want it to happen again?

Two generations of my family died for this woman. Not that my grandfather had much choice, or any of the others who were found themselves on the wrong end of a revolution, and I doubt my father envisioned his own end would be as… ignoble as it was. For as long as I can remember, she was there. My first memory is of seeing her, being brought up towards her throne and looking up into that proud, fierce, beautiful face… Her eyes meeting mine. 

I was terrified of her. Ten years later studying our history in school I would understand why nobles and generals with armies that dwarfed hers would cower and surrender when she met them on the battlefield. They call it her grandeur or her righteousness or even her divinity. At the time the only word I knew for it was “monster,” and I screamed it. I owe a lot to my father’s war wounds; if they hadn’t slowed him down I think he would have proven he could still chew out a traitor’s throat that day. I think I would have let him, if it meant getting away from her. God’s, but even now I have never felt a terror like it since. 

…where is that terror when I need it now? When she looks at me with those eyes now, why don’t I run? I tell myself that this is madness, I want to scream it out, but the sound dies in my throat. She is leading me to my death, so why don’t I flinch when she takes my hand to readjust the grip on my sword, or lays hers on my shoulder so heavy I can feel it through layers of cold steel? If I beg her, will she cut me open again and this time let it bleed until my senses return to me and I can flee like the prey animal I am? 

Or will I only wake up again in a bed that is not mine? A fate I am not permitted to escape, only earn?

The Queen is under attack. Do you defend her?

Didn’t I say it? From the very start, didn’t I say that this journey would get us all killed? 

I don’t recognise their banner. We’re still too far out for it to be our would-be hosts, I think? But any number of the other kingdoms could have been informed. Perhaps these are even fellow countrymen, writing their own chapter in the story of a band of soldiers deposing a monarch at swordpoint. It’s too dark to tell anything, except that they must outnumber us almost ten to one. We had enough warning to throw together a barricade. Not even she can believe it’ll hold. 

Our line is ragged. Any moment now someone is going to bolt. I keep glancing at their faces, whatever I can make out through their helmets and hoods, trying to guess who it’ll be first. We’re so outnumbered that it won’t take many fleeing to leave our line in tatters. That’ll be all that it takes for the rest to scatter, while we still have time. I can see the fear on their faces. They all know that this is no story, no glorious miracle victory will save us. 

Hers is the only gaze I don’t meet. I know what I’ll see. But I see a few of them glance past me. Come on, all of you, any of you, one of you must want to live! That’s all it will take, just one to start running. I’ll be right behind you! 

Some of them are looking at me now. What do they want? They must know it can’t be me. They must see how she’s looking at me; I can see the way the fear deepens when they turn this way. The more often I scan the line, the fewer of them will meet my gaze. Cowards, every one. 

I can feel her hand on my shoulder, sliding down to check my grip. I wonder, when a man goes mad, running across the battlefield, howling and tearing apart anything in his way, does anyone stop to ask whether he was running to, or from? 

Any moment now. One of them will run. But they’re running out of time, I’m willing them to hurry, hilt digging into my hand as I glare at each timid face. Hurry, you fools, run! Don’t you know there’s a wolf at your heels?

[ominous-feychild]

✦ Writerly Questionnaire ✦

Thank you so much for tagging me, @the-golden-comet!! This looks fun, and a lot of these are questions I love answering and wanted to share here eventually, anyway! 😊

About Me

When did you first start writing?

It depends on how you define that, and then what you consider "writing", haha. 😅😭 I started this one garbage self-insert fic when I was 8, but didn't get far into it, haha. Then I wrote at least 100 pages of a horrible novel in a notebook at age 11. I consider the time I "officially" started writing to be when I started consistently doing so in 2014... when I started roleplaying on Google+. Before long, I'd formed my own stories from ideas I'd come up with in those rps and eventually settled on working on writing with a single writing partner for 5 years. We have since parted ways as of almost 3 years now.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Yes and no? Here's the thing: I absolutely adore my niche genre of "high fantasy and Used To Magic So Barely Questions It, but placed in a world that resembles modern besides a variable lack of technology. Oh, and we focus more on the characters than anything else!" But, uh... at least as far as I've found, that really isn't common. Especially not stories that also play faeries for horror, which is one of my favorite things, haha. I'm very firm and comfy in my writing genre. I've dipped elsewhere, but they're a lot harder for me to write and nowhere near as fulfilling, haha. However! I do love reading other genres, too! I love superhero and superhero-esque stories, I like a good amount of those "video game stuff popped up in real life" things, and yeah! Lots more. So it's less of a thing of "not liking the genre I write" or even "not being able to find it" and more of a "I like writing something very specific, but still enjoy other stuff". 😊

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Ohhh this is kinda a difficult question? Nobody's ever told me specifically whether or not I resemble any other writers, and I only want to "emulate" other writers very loosely? I compare my worldbuilding to Tolkein's because I've been working on it for almost 6 years, have steadily been building out individual cultures and half-creating languages, have literally done weeks' worth of research on Earth Sciences to be able to build out a planet that Works... and then half threw it all out when I came up with the Faewildes and realized I can bullshit it. 😂😅😭 (Note: I still do not fully bullshit it though. Just don't stress as much as I used to.)

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Confession: I've moved around way too much and been way too poor to have any "solid" writing space that I'd like. I used to like going to cafes, getting some tea, and sitting by a window I could stare outside (and dissociate to) while hallucinating scenes before writing them. But for a long while, I've been too poor to be able to do that. It's actually probably one of the reasons I've struggled a lot to write recently now that I think about it... but oh, well. Since then, I tend to prop myself up in my bed with my stuffed animals and squishmallows forming a throne of sorts as I write. (Helps prevent back/neck pain, or at least push its onset back.)

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Editing my old writing and listening to The Story's Music! It helps me get back into the headspace of the relevant character(s) and it brings my mind back into the "prose writing" state. (Clarification: 99% of the music I listen to is associated with an entire story, one of my characters, a specific scene, or some combination of the above. It's both fun and one of my oldest ways of tricking my AuDHD brain into writing!)

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Ha... the trauma sure did!

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Trauma, discrimination, and poverty. No, they do not surprise me, because they've all been a huge part of my life. SaS is a rare exception because (as I was initially creating it for a writing contest) I specifically created it to be very mainstream... but also mixed in a lot of my personal interests to get me through it. However, I think those themes (minus poverty in the MCs) still shine through, they're just a lot more subtle.

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Technically, dare I say, a LOT of my characters are "among my favorite characters". However, as I've gone on record saying, it's probably Gene, one of the MCs of the Arcane Rifts, haha. However! Since I already have an Ask in my inbox about him (I'll get to those eventually, I swear 🙏) I'll go elsewhere! I think among my top favorite characters would probably be Carmin, Basil, Caron, Xao (pronounced "How", and yes he never hears the end of it), Tobin, Sammy, and Quinn! Tbh I definitely could've listed more, as I said, I love most of them-- Quinn, though! Is the son of the Existence of Fate, one of the "oldest gods" of my stories. He's forced to see all of time, always. That mistake he made 300 years ago? Almost literally burned into his brain. That mistake you made five seconds ago? Also there. Something happening on the complete other side of the world? Yep. And actions people will commit 500 years from now? You betcha. Except, the "future" events can change, and more drastically so the further they are in the future. Butterfly effect and all. He and his mother, Fate, are constantly doing things in pursuit of... what? Well, they have a plan... but I obviously can't say, haha. Dude's horribly traumatized, though--he's constantly witnessing every single atrocity ever committed and has even watched others that would've been committed played on repeat in his mind until he found a Timeline that prevented it. He's long-since grown used to it, but also consider... his own life is in there. Nothing that happens to him will ever be a surprise. Not except for when he creates a new timeline by changing events that should've otherwise happened. That's why he's constantly telling jokes and being obnoxious to people he doesn't like--to humor himself for the small moments they're new to him. Kid's (he's frozen at a young age because powerful magic + ageless-immortality) depressed af... but it's okay. He's working towards something he believes in. So why are Quinn and Fate actively doing horrible things if they want to make things better? Guess you'll have to find out! In ten-thousand years when I finally write the reveal. (I love Quinn so much istg--)

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Oh, that's hard. Probably Gene! Maybe Freya, but definitely Daleira and Faer! Here, let me just-- Probably: Gene, Mislav, Faer, Liesel, Maritza, Grimnir, Caron Definitely: Daleira, Damaris, Ludmila, Rada, Carmin, Cricket Possibly: Freya, Crow (but I'd possibly find them irritating / overwhelming), Adilzhan, Caspar, Soren, Zarina, Basil (Half of the "probably/possibly"s is because I'm not sure if they'd like me. Especially Zarina. Omfg I love her so much but idk if she'd like me at all.)

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Oh, dear. This is a difficult question. I'll start with characters you guys know--Tazin and Valyarus. Hands down. Tazin because he's way too loud/crude and he would both overstimulate me and piss me off to no end. Valyarus, well... because he's an egotistical, rich prick. Enough said? But actually? Half of the Existentials. Order especially, Fire, and Storm. Perhaps not so coincidentally, all of the "top gods" besides Fate herself...

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

So it depends on the character and why I'm creating them! There's a few different ways one of my characters can come to be, but uh... we'll start with explaining Oska's creation! So, from the beginning, Oska was created to just be the leader of the khonitva (a gang). Originally, he was going to have a rather small role in the story--the khonitva and the reason he was the leader were more important. His main role in the first draft was showing up at a REALLY bad time, capturing the relevant MC(s), and killing another character. So all I worked on was his personality (it related to how/why he was the leader) and his motives. He became an angy man out for vengeance and basically nothing else. Then I expanded on tAR, turning it from a duology to... well it'll be 5 or 6 books now. 😅 The first two books would spend more time in Kavo (the town Gene lives in), and so Oska's character expanded. A MASSIVE part of his character was tied to the death of his brother, so I did a little expanding on his brother, and he had a "sidekick" in Rieka, the khonitva's healer who (even from early drafts) had romantic feelings for him (but at the time they weren't mutual; Oska had too much anger for his brother's death). Oska's character has perpetually been focused on his brother's death and his role as the leader of the khonitva, so I simply expanded it so that--rather than just being the leader--he cared for the khonitva like a family because it was the only bit of "family" he had left. So uh... I guess I focus on the most important part(s) of the characters relative to the story, then expand on them? That's the "role in the story" method I flesh out a character, at least, haha. Otherwise, if I'm just trying to create something with a very VAGUE role/idea, I'll often look at writing prompts, artwork, the literal superpower wiki, and fandoms I'm not part of for something to make me start to think. Y'know, have ideas. I'd get into an example, but this section is already pretty long, haha!

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

COUGH the social Others or socially-othered COUGH impoverished and/or exploited COUGH abused by a parental figure COUGH abused in general COUGH neurodivergent and/or gay COUGH, WHEEZE, HACK-- Ugh, sorry, idk what just happened there. Probably the fact that a lot of them are socially awkward, have anxiety, have a "different" way of communicating, and/or are emotionally withdrawn? And I accidentally give my autism to a lot of them. 😎😭

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

Through Pinterest boards! I have aphantasia and can't really see things in my head very well (if at all), so I'll use Pinterest boards to collect images that have the Vibe™ or characteristics of my individual characters... which is incredibly difficult for my inhuman or even more ordinarily diverse characters. Like, I'd get into a tangent about "why is 90% of art on the internet of white and/or conventionally attractive people" but uh... I don't think I have to here. Anyway! Yeah, a lot of my characters, I'll have vague ideas/impressions of what they look like and seek things out along those lines. Freya, for example, I basically immediately knew to have poofy red hair like Brave's Merida. Some characters are a lot harder, because I think I know a certain thing is a fact... when apparently I saw them as a completely different race without realizing??? (RIP White Rada for example. I was actively TRYING to make a majority of tAR's characters white because they're so xenophobic but no. 😅)

My Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I used to space out and "hallucinate" scenes of my writing while going about my day. It was my way of coping with the rest of my life, which really wasn't great. (I mean it still isn't now but, y'know. It's much better!) Since I started working on novels, my goal has shifted. I mean--I still write for myself and my own enjoyment first and foremost. But I don't just want to write for myself--I also want to write for others. Here, let me just share a majority of my bio from Tapas--

I'm an autistic woman who's lived through a variety of experiences and places, and like to include things reflecting that. Diverse characters, cultures, environments, and politics (different within each in-story location!) appear in my writing. I like weaving life lessons--through the experiences of relatable characters--into the stories I tell. Many people see themselves or the people around them reflected in the characters they see in books, so I think it's helpful for people to be able to see those same kinds of people within fiction so they can reflect on the relationships within their own lives.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

THEORIES!!!

I absolutely love it when people theorize because:

I put oh-so many mysteries and hints toward Truths

it shows they're paying attention

it shows they care enough to try to pick out the pieces and put them together!

I can see how well I'm doing with the seeding of hints if people are noticing them... even/especially if they realize they're important but don't know how/in what way!

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

Oh dear, you're trying to out me as an egotist now, aren't you?

WELL CONGRATS, I'M FALLING FOR IT--

I'd like to think of myself as a writer who does amazing worldbuilding and makes realistic characters, so... obviously it'd be awesome if others thought of me the same way, haha. I mean, otherwise, I'd really just prefer people enjoy my writing in general? Tbh I don't have any other goals besides enjoying it myself and making others happy with it.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I would say realistic and diverse characters. I'm a huge fan of psychology, love learning about other cultures, and listen to the stories of people from a lot of various backgrounds. I like to think those things allow me to write characters with a variety of backgrounds, worldviews, and personalities.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Nobody's necessarily said it's my "greatest" strength, but the most common compliment I receive about my writing is that it's very easy to read and picture what I'm describing!

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

Uhm... this is a difficult question to answer. I like my stories, but I struggle with prose. I overthink a lot and sometimes have a very hard time describing things in good part because of my aphantasia, but it can be very validating to hear when I do a good job with it.

I have a lot more fun creating the ideas and maybe even making outlines than I do actually writing them--but I'm pretty sure that's kinda normal, haha?

My writing today is very different from what it was 3 years ago, back when I was still writing with my old RP partner (we'd planned to publish together). It was a lot more grimdark before, and tbh I never liked that and only came to terms with that after we parted ways. Then, I put my time and effort into working on tAR (solely my own work even then), clearing out a lot of the grimdark-ness, and building it out to what it is today. I'd temporarily abandoned our old projects because I needed to cut her stuff out, but didn't know how to, and it was painful to try.

it was only a handful of months ago that I revisited my old works with her and found that it's no longer painful. So I've finally been bringing together my old worldbuilding with the kind of writing I want to make today--which still requires a lot of changes and updating.

In short: I love writing, though it can be very emotionally-loaded. I have a lot of insecurities relating to the quality thereof, but I'm pretty sure that's universal, haha.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Of course! Though it'd likely be more outlines than actual prose, haha. After all, I primarily write for myself first and foremost.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

Yes and no; so it's a mix of the two. The priority, of course, is what I enjoy writing. However, I do want to become a published author and (hopefully) live primarily off of it one day. That goal means I also have to cater somewhat to what I know other people will like/what makes sense to them.

However, I don't particularly think that's a problem in my case! In application to tAR, I refuse to change it in a lot of its core ways--aka the multiple plots going on at once, the MCs starting as children, the mixture of invented words from their native language, and the fact that it doesn't cleanly fit into any genre--so figuring out how to make it otherwise palatable for others to read is more of a fun challenge for me actually!

SaS is different, however. I purposely made it very mainstream due to initially starting it for a contest (which has since ended), and I think those clichés make it much less enjoyable for me than it otherwise would be. But that can still be changed! I'm working on building out SaS as you read this--that's part of why I focus on it with Asks--so hopefully I'll come to love it half as much as I do tAR!

(And, I mean, to be fair, SaS has been growing on me lately! So it seems to be working at least a little! I think SaS was also very unique for my stories in that I made it to be a story rather than picking out events that I already saw happening in the world I've made, so it's been harder to get into it in general.)

Looks like I've rambled more than I should again, haha. 😅😭 Hope it was still worth reading and/or that you guys enjoyed it anyway??

Tagging (with no pressure): @honeybewrites @yourpenpaldee @the-letterbox-archives @darkandstormydolls

Divider by @cafekitsune

[aotopmha]

Dawntrail lvl 95 MSQ spoilers!

I ended today's session a little bit after the solo duty.

It's another zone I adore as just a location to go around in!

Dawntrail will be the first expansion on my list to max the Shared FATEs in just for this reason, I think.

And as I expected Bakool Ja Ja ended up being much more interesting than I thought he would ever be.

(I want to specify from my other post that he is indeed not one of the siblings. He's the only non-sibling claimant, in fact.)

In my previous post I went into how we're finally getting more nuanced thematic and character writing, but we're still firmly in A Realm Reborn cheese territory when it comes to the spirit.

Every single story with the different peoples we have met so far has been pretty simple at its core. And so is Bakool Ja Ja's little redemption arc and Koana's moment of reflection.

I keep ping-ponging between this being A Realm Reborn 2 and Stormblood 2 because it is both incredibly straight-forward and has some neat nuances at play, but really it is just a mix of the two, but without the massive focus, stake and pacing issues.

Instead of going to 10 places before reaching your goal you have one complete story in one place and move on to another one.

Instead of 5 or 8 characters or locations, you have to talk to 3 characters or go to 1 place. Most I've done is, I think click shinies in 5 different locations.

And instead of getting lost in side distractions while a location is under attack by a giant monster or desparately fighting for their freedom, the adventure through the land and learning about its people is the main point.

Dawntrail has both A Realm Reborn's and Stormblood's massive love for cheese, but also their love for building the world you travel.

If you really disliked A Realm Reborn or Stormblood, you might have similar issues with Dawntrail or if you hated the trust and friendship cheese in the Endwalker patch content, you most likely will hate the peace and cooperation cheese in Dawntrail.

We're absolutely back to pretty blunt core writing here. But it's neat blunt writing with at least some substance backing it to me.

Another aspect of Dawntrail I have not commented on are the many more cutscenes, with what feels like fewer of them voiced. I'd be interested in the statistics.

Which I don't mind, but I can see it to be jarring after it got so much more common with the past few expansions.

Each time I think there might be a break, I get another cutscene. So I think they might have overcorrected on trying streamline the questing experience.

And as much I think they've been solid, all of the solo duties so far kind of have been "the same" down to two of them being against the same character, so that's another area I feel where they are cutting corners this expansion.

It works out because all three duties involve two-headed Mamool Ja, but it is something that stood out to me. And I also don't mind it.

Shadowbringers and Endwalker really stood out for some of their solo duties for me, but if they must save their budget, I'd rather it be voice acting and solo duties than skipping out some content.

I do not get why Square Enix just won't give more money to what is still probably their biggest cash cow.

We recently straight-up got news we got the most concurrent players since A Realm Reborn.

Corporations gotta corporation, I guess.

(To specify, I have no idea how the budget for the game has or hasn't changed, but it *feels* like it has roughly been the same.)

[dev-fiction]

Hi! I love your fanfic Echoes and would be more than willing to be a beta reader if you ever need! I recently saw on your feed that Victoria is not your only OC-insert, do you mind sharing who your others are?

I'll definitely keep that in mind if I ever desire a beta reader <3 Thank you so much for the offer!

Of course I don't mind sharing the others - the more I get to talk about my oc's and my complete obsession with them, the happier I'll be ♥ I've actually been slowly putting together little character templates that I might post later, if anyone is interested :)

This is going to get a bit long-winded, so apologies in advance!

Of course, you know Victoria so we'll just skip right on by her starting with characters that currently have public fics, starting with-

Shippo Inuzuka, from Bare my Fangs Fandom: Naruto Current Word-Count: 34k Rewrite Word-Count: 20k Twin sister of Kiba Inuzuka, Shippo is currently an Academy Student in training within Konohagakure. Alongside her ninja pups Aomaru and Momomaru, Shippo dedicates her days to studious training and play as she gets to know her fellow classmates. I have a lot of feelings about this fic. I started it before Naruto came to an end which always made it a little more difficult for me to write. I love the Inuzuka Clan a LOT and was very disappointed at the lack of oc-inserts more focused around them - so, I decided to write my own! It's been a very long time since I've updated this fic or even really thought about it and a large part of that is now that Naruto has come to an end, I'd really like to re-write it.

It's an old story with a lot of themes I no longer like, going in a direction I'm no longer sure about. However, because of this I'm excited to work on the project again! I have a lot more writing experience compared to when I first started it and I'd like to apply that to this story the proper way it deserves ♥

As it is, for any BMF readers here you can consider the current iteration of the story abandoned as I undergo this. Some major themes will stay the same, but a lot won't.

Shippo as a character is someone I've thought about a lot and have really come to love - the Shippo I envision now is someone a little unhinged; feral, in a sense, someone who plays off the wild nature of Kiba Inuzuka and the clan as a whole effortlessly. I don't really want to spoil too much about her and what I currently have written of the rewrite, so I'll leave it at that.

Her pups will absolutely be staying the same - I love Aomaru and Momomaru so so so much. I have very big plans for them.

Monkey D. Lucy, from Abyssal Fandom: One Piece Current Word-Count: 32k Rewrite Word-Count: 0k, Under Plot and Character-Building Twin sister of Monkey D. Luffy, Lucy is a young girl residing with the mountain bandits - and her brothers - on Dawn Island. She spends her days training in preparation for her eventual departure to sea with her twin and her overall terror of the ocean.

Abyssal has always been one of my backburner fics; One Piece was nowhere near its final arc when I first started it and I had been desperately hoping for more information on Luffy's background as a whole before delving in too deep into the story - it's a fic I didn't focus on too much and worked on when the mood struck.

One Piece is still my favorite anime/manga, so of course I plan on continuing with it eventually - most likely after the series has reached its conclusion.

Monkey D. Lucy will retain her terror of the ocean, only she now comes with a brand spanking new personality.

I have a general idea of where I want to go with her - someone who's passionate, reckless, violent, and beautiful. I have a character outline page written and a lot of rough sketches :)

Yuta Amelia Heartfilia, from Soulbound Fandom: Fairy Tail Current Word-Count: 10k Rewrite Word-Count: 45k This fic as it is has been completely abandoned. I've been working on a rewrite from the ground up for a while now - starting with the awful name, which is now Amelia.

I haven't talked about this fic anywhere or approached Soulbound in a long time - but I have been working on a rewrite for a few months now.

I adore Fairy Tail a lot - and now that it's come to a close I feel like I have a lot of freedom with this fic. There really isn't a lot of world-building and the general makeup of magic is very fluid to work with. I think Fairy Tail's strongest asset is its characters, which are honestly so so much fun to write.

As a result of this, I think Amelia is one of my more rounded-out characters.

Amelia is the younger sister of Lucy Heartfilia - and by younger, that is to say at the start of her story she is 11 years old, which makes her 6 years younger than Lucy.

Amelia is a quiet kid with no filter when she does speak - which makes her, rather unintentionally, a bit of an asshole. She's not good at reading people and has no real desire to engage with them - she leaves all of that charisma bullshit to her sister. Growing up on the streets after running away from home at a young age has made her street savvy; she's small, but lithe and very agile when she expends the effort towards it.

She spent most of her young life in cheap rooms in dodgey areas situated above taverns or whore houses while Lucy picked up odd jobs and magic requests to keep them afloat. This has encouraged a crass nature and a proclivity towards swearing that exasperates her sister greatly.

She's incredibly co-dependent on Lucy, who has acted as both parental roles for the majority of her life. She can't imagine life without her and is willing to do anything to keep her safe.

She holds no memories of any previous lives she may or may not have lived.

She was blessed with a rather simple form of Celestial Spacial Magic; the ability to teleport herself and objects a short distance around her. She adores her ability and often uses it for the purpose of being lazy.

I've been having a lot of fun writing this fic. Unlike my other fics this one alternates between the main siblings frequently, to the point that I'd say that they're both the main protagonists.

As a general result of leaving home so much earlier than canon, Lucy has changed a lot as well, but well - I'll leave that for the readers to find out when I do finally start posting chapters.

As for the fics I've kept almost completely on the down-low; these are fics I don't plan on posting for a very long time, but have been working on.

Anna Weasley, from Untitled Project Fandom: Harry Potter Current Word-Count: 60k Anna Weasley is a starry-eyed child - she sees the world through dream-hued glasses tainted at the edges by nightmares brought on by her rather bad habit of dying. Sometimes she sees things that others can't and that's okay - she has her twin, Ron, to help her sort out the muddled mess that is her mind.

She's bright in a simple kind of way, and a bit odd, but eternally optimistic and loyal to those she loves.

As much as I would love love love to talk endlessly about Anna, this is where I'm going to leave it. I have a lot planned for this fic and writing it between Echoes has been fun. I love the Weasley's, if you couldn't tell, and I feel like passing up the chance to jump into a story with a Weasley-centric OC would be a travesty.

Also Anna is like, in my top 3 OC's to doodle when I feel up to it ♥

Umeko Haruno, from Untitled Project Fandom: Naruto Current Word-Count: 70k Umeko Haruno has had her nose stuck to the grindstone studying and training for her future career as a shinobi for as long as she can remember. Growing up with a training companion in the form of her brilliant twin has pushed her into a diligent pursuit to surpass her own limits.

This mentality was largely influenced by the passing of her shinobi mother when she was still very young. A casualty of a mission gone wrong, her loss was felt deeply by the family with ripples that never quite ceased. Umeko's desire to live up to her mothers legacy, become strong enough to protect those she has left, and push herself to the extreme has resulted in her being a workaholic with an obsession to become a more efficient shinobi.

She's very book-smart and clinical, but she doesn't let that overshadow her kindness. She has a low tolerance for incompetence and values training above all else - there is almost no form of training she isn't willing to try, no matter the blow it might deal to her dignity or the respect others have for her.

I'm really really excited for this fic. It's a lot more fast paced than my other ones and writing it has been a lot of fun - Umeko is just a lot of fun. I've kept this fic completely hushed up simply because of Bare my Fangs, but as you can see I've got quite a bit written already.

I have a very strong idea of her story progression and how it will ultimately affect those around her, as well as the plot as a whole. I've got a few twists and turns planned that I can't wait to unveil ♥

What's this? It's A - Bonus Round!

Ↄ̶̵̸̢̰̩̪̠̗̟̪͉̮͈̯͉̹ͤ̈̑ͨͤ͌͊ͪ͛́̈͑̽͘̚͟͞ͅ ḻ̢̛̩͇̥͚̲͉͉̤̆̓̏̀ͮͥͨ͒ͪ̽̀ͤ͑͛̋͒̔̽̎ͭ̀̒̓̚͟͟͠ ἀ̴̡̩̗̫̩̮͕̼̋ͨ́̌ͣͬͨ̈́͛̆ͧ̈́͐ͣ͗̓ͭ̃͊͘̚͜͢͝ я̛̱̘̦̺͍͓̉͡я̛̱̘̦̺̉͡я̛̱̘̦̺̉͡ α̸̴̙͖̯̖̩͈̿́̏̾ͫ̓̀́ͧ͘͟α̸̴̙͖̯̖̩͈̿́̏̾ͫ̓̀́ͧ͘͟_̵̶̵̡̘̯̗̣͓̻̳̼̦̭̅ͣ̇̔̎ͬ͆̃̂ͥ͡ Fandom: ⸮⸮⸮ Current Word-Count: ⸮̷̩͓̙͔̰͎̰̘̲̤́̋̒ͥͦ͌̌͗̉̐͊ͭ̉̋ͨ̋ͬͩ̈ͨ̐ͣ͟⸮̱͈̩̜͎͖̳͚͉̤̰͎̯̞̭̖̂̊̋̀̿͐̀ͮ͘⸮̧̢̼̭͎̦͍̫͉͖̀̏̀̏ͥͦ́ Objective: ⸮⸮⸮ She'd built her life, from the ground up. Through the muck of slurried-trash heaps and the grime of sick rot tearing away at her clothes and her food and her dignity she'd persevered.

And then-

Afterward, nothing much mattered, anymore.

There was a peace in that.

More, than peace, it's like she ascended-

And then, she found, she wasn't alone.

🤫

Thank you for asking about my OC's and sorry if it was a lot more than you bargained for! I really do love them and have been quietly sitting on them for a while now :)

[shade-without-color]

Warmth

Note: So yeah I have been down with Covid, which has not been the best- but I have to make lemonade out of lemons, and recently @serial-doubters-club gave me a plot bunny idea which I am naming this Midokirin AU as 'For the earth crumbles, and where life sprouts by', which is a reverse Hades/Propsherne AU, which I would let you discover that, and I am craving for pregnancy reveal stuff, so enjoy this little plot thingie

In the darkness- Kirinmaru noticed Midoriko being so quiet, like as if a force stole her voice, instead she grumbled about her stomach twisting and turning, quickly covering herself with the sheets to find a small corner to throw out the contents, quickly Kirinmaru ran over, only combing her hair to a bun.

“Are you alright, my flower…”

Midoriko quietly rubbed the remaining vomit out of her mouth, repulsed by the acid building in her stomach. “I do not know, I…I….I….” Kirinmaru’s eyes softened at his beloved. “We will be alright….”, gently he lifted her up- which Midoriko felt ashamed that a powerful force like death came crumbling down like foals unsteady in their feet. He lovingly formed a small band out of his hands to tie her hair up, only rubbing small circles in her back to comfort her. “Do as you must….”

That night was a treacherous one, and Kirinmaru felt helpless at this silence, to see his Death suffered terribly.

And he desired the answers right now.

After Midoriko expel all contents, Kirinmaru quietly tucked her to bed, only giving a soft kiss on the forehead, allowing her to lay down in bed, only seeing her hand trace to her stomach. He quietly closed his eyes, allowing himself to transpire to another land, to see a beautiful palace where spring seems so eternal, and the one sitting on the bench is no other than his friend, Toga who is playing her lyre. “Prince of the Underworld, you finally came- sick of the darkness from Midoriko’s caves? It is nice that you remain so ever cheerful….”

“Well my cousin Mayonaka, I am afraid to ask him questions about gestating bodies, for he is conservative but instead I shall ask you…..”

Toga raised his eyebrows. “Go on….”, dropping his lyre, allowing Kirinmaru to sit down at his side. “I worry about my wife, Midoriko, my death- I noticed she has been irritable, all of her souls tremble and at nights, she tend to expel the contents of her stomach…Like she is conflicted…..I….I…”

“Since you descend down to the Underworld, o Prince, did you know….” Toga made a lewd gesture of a middle finger. Kirinmaru quietly thought of the passionate nights they have- without them speaking a word of missing each other’s presence, The only memory that burned in his brain, is that she screamed her name over and again.

“Yes….”

Toga gave a smug grin. “Perhaps, you express that carnal passions which is a worthy sacrifice to the goddess of love- that you manifest…you know….”

Kirinmaru thought to himself, he is used to see animals procreating secretly as a child, curious how they birth life- though he was sent away by his mother and father for seeing lewd matters. And by next spring, he watched the baby animals followed their parents. Then a thought came in mind, as he recalled that reasoning to his cousin Mayonaka that someday the fruit of their love soon bloom.

“And that result is….”

Without Toga finishing his word, Kirinmaru slowly allow the vines to wrap him and rot came over his body. The last thing Toga could glimpse of his friend was a curious gaze, and determination to find its truth. 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸 Kirinmaru ran over the long winding caves to see Midoriko sobbing miserably, covering her face in shame, her hair in disarray and her clothes stained with sweat.

‘DAMN IT KIRINMARU! DAMNIT KIRINMARU, DAMN IT”

“My flower….” He gently cupped her face gently, only giving her forehead kisses. “I…” He tried to touch her shoulders to see her wincing in pain. “DAMN IT YOU KNOW I HATE TO BE….”

“It…it…..” Kirinmaru allow Midoriko to cry over her shoulder, allowing her tears to stain his clothes. “Sh…sh….sh…I…” Kirinmaru felt a force that grown within her, a warmth that comfort both.

“One moment, let’s go to the spring to wash away those tears, my flower, it should calm you down….”

Quietly he held Midoriko, bridal style to see the souls of the dead frolic in their lands, unaware that Kirinmaru’s feet has grown little flowers in his path. He knew a secret spring that the dead grew unaware of, which he allow his death to strip her clothes to only dip in the cold waters, which she heaved a sigh of relief. He quietly observed her bathing in the springs, noticing her continuously wincing at her sore breasts. “I….I….do not know why, I feel so tired….and my…..”

“Yes, my flower…”

Midoriko smiled sheepishly. “My bleeds, they cease since you…came back…and….” Quietly that advice clicked with Kirinmaru. “I…..I…. Felt something grew within me, it feels like you…” Quietly she cupped her stomach, trying to feel that warmth of that…

That….

Midoriko found herself crying at that spot.

Kirinmaru smiled quietly. “We are indeed blessed…”

[risingsouls]

[This post may get taken the wrong way, but, as a multi with mostly Saiyan muses (by accident rip me), I feel the need to clear the air of some potential misconceptions about my view and how I play these guys.

I'll put it under a cut (not for anything particularly problematic) but just for the sake of it.]

[I want to begin by saying that, if anything I have said recently or ever said gave off the impression that I'm "defending" or "supportive" of the Saiyans and their prior occupation of planet busting for the Colds or on their own, that was not my intention. It was a part of their lifestyle so, yes, it's going to come up here. I'm going to talk about how they interacted with that lifestyle and seemed to enjoy it among other facets that could be misconstrued. This is not me advocating for it. I think most people understand that this is never what I'm doing, but you know. Just in case.

That said, what I was recently trying to get across is that I am of the opinion that Saiyan culture/their lifestyle isn't A Single Thing re: wiping entire planets of their inhabitants. I get that, outside of Gine and random retcons tossed out in Legends or something, that's about all we really get in canon/canon-adjacent, but, as an rper and writer, I'm not going to let that narrow my perspective in portraying and building my characters into more than just murder-happy assholes as people seem to expect of me. Since the beginning of this blog, I've been trying to flesh out the Saiyans more, speak more to their OWN culture and explore how it was changed/suppressed under the influence of the Colds, and fill in the HUGE gaps canon has left us with. Plus, I do take issue with the idea that ALL Saiyans enjoyed this lifestyle, that all of them AGREED with it, and I don't want that to be the thing here either.

So, tl;dr: Saiyan culture/lifestyle will not be boxed in as One Singular Thing based on their planet-busting history here. I don't like that narrative, I think it's narrow-minded, and I simply feel it's unrealistic to say that this is all they were. Did it come to revolve around these things, especially (if not exclusively) after the Colds took over? Yes. Is it all a Saiyan is or should be portrayed as? In my opinion? No (but that also depends on the Saiyan, too).]

[thehat-taheht]

Listening to Insanity in the Center of the Universe

From the Land of Enchantment: 

Listening to Insanity in the Center of the Universe (Adapted from a speech)

=============

I have been telling people about how crazy living in Albuquerque was for a really long time.  Most people didn’t give my stories much thought until ‘Breaking Bad’ debuted.  It has only gotten better since then with ‘Better Call Saul’ and ‘In Plain Sight’ et cetera.  Now people put a little more faith in my stories from New Mexico. One of my favorites is about crazy people. 

In the early 2000’s I was a freshly minted high school graduate, chip on my shoulder, rucksack on my back, $2 in my pocket, and big ideas in my head.  My best friend and I had moved to New Mexico on a whim after spending 5 minutes there over the previous summer.  I wanted to study Psychology after being obsessed with the ‘X Files’ and reading “Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious” in high school.  C.G. Jung was a hero of mine, but so was the Joker, so go figure.  I wanted to be a criminal profiler, but figured that I would more likely be a family counselor. 

Having quite an extensive history of drug use already by age 18 I had few illusions about how the world works and had already experienced a significant amount of abnormal psychology first hand.  I had found an affinity with people of altered mental states and that I could understand them in a way that I felt was meaningful.  There was one guy in my old neighborhood that would always refer to himself as King Arthur and eventually he came to call me Merlin.  I felt that this bond had been positive and after a while Merlin was able to advise Arthur to get back on his meds.

Now before I get into the story I need to set the scene a little.  I was about 19 and since 1995 I had taken to wearing a black long coat of some type (even during summer), a top hat, and round sunglasses.  I had waist length brown wavy hair, and was usually covered in buttons and pins with funny or ironic phrases, like ‘Got Beans?’.  In that particular coat I carried a small bag of pinto beans that I could present to anyone that asked about the button.  Those are all other stories that you may or may not want to hear so I will avoid them for now.

It was shortly after I had enrolled at UNM that I was walking around campus, probably ignoring a math class, that I discovered a strange looking building with no doors in the middle of the quad.  After closer inspection I found that it was a large sculpture/engineering project called ‘The Center of the Universe’. The structure had an opening in every cardinal direction and 2 more for up and down.  As I walked through the Center of the Universe for the first time I looked out of the top, neck craned to look at the puffy white clouds rolling by, I was hit by the sudden urge to lay down.

Setting down my backpack I spread my coat out over the metal grating that covers the ‘down’ direction and propped up my head on my backpack.  I had recently begun meditation so I tried to empty my mind and just let the world roll around me.  My concentration was broken by a raspy ancient voice.  

“Hey Merlin, get up.” 

I still had my eyes closed and just assumed that it was a trick of the meditation or maybe a flashback to my conversations with King Arthur back home.

“You’re Merlin right?” the voice said.

I opened my eyes to see what I assumed was a homeless man of about 50 or so, dreadlocked hair, tattered clothes, and very very pungent.

“Get up.”  he says to me. I obeyed and gathered my things.

“Sir, do you know me?” I ask him using the honorific not because I was playing into his delusion, but because I was taught to respect my elders.

“Of course, you’re Merlin.”

This of course struck me as odd. My skin crawled a bit.  

“Why do you think that?” I asked with more genuine curiosity than I had ever felt before in my life.

“It’s you.  I know you.”

I want to stress to you that I had no idea who this guy was.  Never seen or smelled anyone like him.  This was at the time the singular strangest event that I had experienced, but I learned, in that moment I think, to roll with whatever the Universe throws at me and try to enjoy the ride

“Yes it’s me.”  

I don’t know what I expected to happen at that moment.  Maybe the Halls of Knowledge would burst open and Truth would flow like a river from the Doors of Perception, maybe I would become changed and realize my True self: an inner deity sleeping soundly as the world drifted by. Perhaps the very nature of the universe itself would change and I would receive an owner’s manual to reality and be able to unlock the 'Developer’s Mode'.  

Instead all he said was “Yes I know… I just told you that.”

I was lying down at the Center of the Universe starring Insanity in the face and somehow felt disappointed. 

“You are needed at Denny’s.”  Which is a sentence that no one should ever have to hear.

“What is waiting for me there?” I asked, somewhat dreading the answer.

The man said nothing and walked away, muttering to himself.  I thought about chasing after him, but didn’t want to destroy the illusion just yet.  He seemed very cogent when talking to me and then seemed to revert back to some less aware state.  This made my whole body shiver a bit.

I remember recounting my story to my roommates, this received the expected amount of laughter and head shaking.  Due to our shared drug-use history this story seemed much more likely that I had experienced some flashback or had a dream or some such.  Honestly, I hadn’t expected much, but wanted to make sure that someone else was aware of the story in case it became relevant later.  For you see, I have seen a lot of movies, and there is always a point in the film of some fantastic tale, where you feel like yelling at the main character for not sharing information and I didn’t want to be ‘that guy’.

Nothing happened for months, aside from normal life stuff.  I found my first job as a Kitchen Steward in the Albuquerque Convention Center Kitchen where I was hired for my ability to count to 100 in Spanish, English, and French.  I learned a lot in those months about life and consequently quit that job to try to make more money at Denny’s.

Big Mistake.  Not the biggest of my life, but it was up there.

I honestly had forgotten about the homeless man I met in the Center of the Universe so working at the Albuquerque Central Avenue Denny’s may have been some type of subconscious thing to indulge my curiosity.  My tenure at Denny’s was short but intense. 6 months that aged me 6 years.  During this time, I met a new roommate who would become the father of my nieces, dated a former model with a knife scar on her throat, rediscovered my love of poetry, stayed awake for 11 days, learned how to donate plasma, was on the TV show ‘Cops’ twice, faked my way into a Master’s level psychology class, saw the movie ‘Fight Club’, read ‘Food of the Gods’ by Terence McKenna, and decided I was never going to work another food service job in my life.

In my last week working at the Central Denny’s (now famous for the show Breaking Bad) I was asked to deal with a crazy person in the smoking area.  I was the only non-smoker working there, but as the only person studying psychology, management felt I was uniquely qualified to handle the situation.  More likely they probably thought I was crazy enough to be able to talk to the guy, and after having been on ‘Cops’ and telling the camera guy he had to stay outside, they knew I had no problem telling people to leave.  

I walked over to the smoking area and there was a very large man dressed completely in denim, my mother used to refer to this as a Canadian Tuxedo.  There were lots of pins on his jacket, studs on his lapels, a dark thick beard hid his face and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.  He looked a bit like a biker, but more of a nomad.  Arrayed on the table in front of him were about 20 coffee cups and 10 ashtrays all of them had coffee and cigarettes in them.  I was told by another staff member that he had been taking them from other tables whether or not the table was finished with them.  He would then sit back down and smoke and ask the waitstaff for ridiculous things like 40 eggs or to turn off the sound on the TV, which we didn’t have.  Eventually the other guests had left the smoking section and he was now alone.

Ever the consummate professional, I approached the man to determine if he was just high or actually crazy.  He didn’t seem violent yet, so there was no immediate reason to call the police.  My goal was to keep him calm and get him out of the store, so I could go on making 2.15 per hour with no tips, you know like usual.

“Hello sir, I am sorry but our waiter was called away and I have been asked to help assist you.  Is there anything I can help you with?”  

He muttered something about silverware and ashtrays and ‘where are my eggs?’, but most of it was unintelligible.  For those who know me they will tell you I have a hard time hearing, and I tend to read lips a bit to aid my comprehension.  So I leaned in closer to make out what he was saying.  

This very very large man grabbed my shoulder with a hand that belonged on a monster in a fantasy movie.  His massive mit engulfed my entire shoulder and its weight felt far too heavy to be real.  He brought my good ear close to his beard and whispered “Hello Merlin.”

My mind exploded a bit, with the memory of the homeless man and my friend in my hometown, and the message about being ‘Needed’ at Denny’s.  The world faded a bit as my attention was focused on this man’s gruff road-hardened voice wafting through his unkept, unwashed beard, into my unprepared mind.

“Merlin, I have a quest for you.  You are needed in Espanola.”

“What do I need to do?”

“You must walk into town and meet a wise man.”

“How will I know him?”

“He thinks he will know you, but he will not recognize who you truly are.  You will know what needs to be done.”

My mind reeled from this exchange.  So many questions, but they wouldn’t come.  Instead I shut my mouth as he released my shoulder.  I stood up straight and backed away.  The man stood up bumping the table a bit and causing several cups and ashtrays to spill onto the floor. The man’s face seemed to get angry although I was never sure because of the beard. He lumbered for the door making a low humming noise, knocking over a table as he ran out of the door.

This is where my story gets weird.  

--------

Months pass.  I quit Denny’s and found work at a Circle K, became a manager inside a few weeks when my store manager decided to steal $5000 worth of money orders and leave the state.  My district supervisor comes to the store and says ‘I guess you’re it.’  I get into a weird rhythm of working and quitting.  I don’t know if you’ve ever worked in the C-Store world but the unwritten rule in the early 2000’s was that you can always request vacation, but it wouldn’t come ever.  If you really needed time off, then you had to quit.  They would hire you back if you were a good employee, because it was cheaper than hiring and training someone new.  

So the cycle would go, work for 2 months with no breaks as there was infinite overtime available.  Save enough money for 2 months of rent and then quit.  Coast for a month, selling plasma, doing odd jobs for walking around money, do ‘other things’, and then get rehired.  Easy-peasy. On these furloughs I would focus on school, study metaphysics and other pseudosciences, and read every religious text I could find.  I devoured entire bookstores.  Searching, researching, studying, learning, theorizing, and finally feeling that I was ready to make decisions about my life.  I felt that I had learned something in the hodgepodge of religious soup that I had ingested for so long.

A certainty that every world religion has a nugget of Truth, a small piece that they got right.  It was only after trying to see it all through the lens of Science and Understanding that my personal beliefs began to take shape.  I felt that I had touched the Aether and it had changed me in the process.  The world was brighter, more deliberate.  My studies in psychology had reached a climax.  I was too poor to afford more schooling, didn’t qualify for grants or loans, so I lied.  I signed up to audit course after course using my knowledge of the subject matter to social engineer my way into higher level courses.   

I journaled during this period and continued working and coasting.  During one such coasting period, I scheduled a trip to the remote town of Espanola as I felt the time was right.  A few years had passed, I had given up all drugs including caffeine and pledged to remain this way for 6 years.  My friends could barely stand the sober version of me.  Apparently I was an insufferable ass, that would constantly deride anything that others thought or felt and was consumed with reading and learning so much that I would ignore important parts of my life, like family and relationships.  I tried sobriety and it honestly isn’t for me.

The trip was well planned and orchestrated.  I had written out several scenarios for emergencies and eventualities.  I hired a co-worker to drive me to the outskirts of the city and drop me off so I could walk into town.  I was to play a character that I had devised to hide my intentions in the town.  My name was Bill, I wore an old army jacket, tattered jeans, a wide brim military surplus outback style hat, and 10 year old chuck taylors (which were less shoes and more moccasins by this point).  The Army jacket had a lot of holes in it that didn’t go through the lining so they made good hidey spots.  I stashed about $500, an emergency phone, an extremely dented WWII canteen, 3 tin whistles of varying keys and an old battered wooden recorder.  

In my rucksack I had several books, a change of clothes in a ziplock tucked away at the bottom, a journal and few pens, a summer sausage, a box of crackers, hank of rope, a mess kit, some dryer lint covered in candle wax inside a ziplock, utility knife and a firestriker. My hair was long and I had made sure not to shower for a few days before the trip.  

After being dropped off in the desert about 5 miles from town, I rolled around in the dirt and dust and made sure to wear my jacket as long as I could stand in the sun on the walk in to get all sweaty to complete the ambiance of Bill the wayfarer.  As I made my way down the mountain into town, I was greeted by the Welcome to Espanola sign with the message ‘LowRider Capital of the World’.  If you are from California and want to dispute that, take it up with Espanola, that is their claim not mine. 

My plan was to make a small splash when I entered town to announce myself, but not so big that it seemed planned.  Just enough to let others know I am there.  I entered town through the Santa Clara Pueblo heading toward the Rio Grande and came to the first restaurant I saw called La Cocina, which means the Kitchen if you don’t speak any Spanish.  I don’t really speak it either, I spoke New Mexican which is fundamentally English with a lot of Spanish nouns and random verbs and curse words.  Like Spanglish but with less Adam Sandler and more Carlos Mencia. 

I picked a nice spot in the shade so that cars and people walking into the restaurant could see me, but the staff could not.  I dropped my pack and used it as a seat, took off my coat and laid out all of my instruments on it. Then turned my hat upside down in front of me and started to play.  I only knew about 10-15 songs, but could improvise a bit on the whistles and the recorder.  I would alternate songs and even tried to play two whistles at once, poorly.  Did everything I could to attract attention and eventually picked up a few dollars from passersby. 

Took me about 45 minutes to make enough for 2 enchiladas with green chili and Spanish rice.  Management demanded that I get it to go as ‘there was no seating available’. Big air quotes.  I was then less politely told not to eat on the premises or continue to panhandle lest the authorities be notified. I picked up my stuff and tipped my hat to them and left.  Choosing to cross the Rio Grande and head down a street called Riverside eating my enchiladas on the walk.  

On my way down Riverside, I saw some Low Riders and some Police cars.  I tried my best to be ignored by both groups, but a long haired 20-something dirty white kid playing a flute was bound to attract someone’s attention.  When approached by police I played my flute and danced, whenever they weren’t looking I switched flutes.  I made a game out of it.  Try to make myself seem too weird or crazy to be dealt with.

When approached by anyone else, I tried to engage them as directly as possible.  Attempting to match their speech patterns as closely as I could.  If I was unable to do that then I would simply play the role that I would assume they see in me.  If they were nice I was needy. If they were mean, I was crazy.  If they were curious, I was a fountain of information and dialogue.  I tried hard not to outright lie about anything including my name.  I of course allowed them to think my name was Bill, because every time it looked like the conversation was headed toward my name, I would stare off into space and say ‘Just Bill…’ occasionally followed by a hand motion as though it was written on a Movie Theatre marquee. 

I made my way to the end of town, which at this stage of Espanola’s development was just past the brand new Walmart supercenter.  There was a bar in the parking lot in front of the Walmart and just past that on the road that stretched out into the open desert was an old 50’s style motel that I had assumed was condemned.  I noticed that in the window was an old school orange Vacancy sign with the ‘No’ part off.  After walking in I figured that it was likely less than a few days away from a health inspector walking in and shuttering the place for good.  I haggled with the manager over an hourly rate room that I wanted to stay in for several days and he finally agreed to give me the one room that isn’t regularly used for hourly entertainment. 

He almost lost his shit when I told him I would be right back once we decided on $25 per night.  I explained that I needed to go make that money by playing my flutes and I would return before sundown for the room.  He reluctantly agreed and I headed to the Walmart parking lot.  It was hot and I was tired. I played outside the Walmart Super Center for about an hour and made a few dollars, but not enough to pay for the motel room. I noticed a few other vagrants trying to sponge the Walmart patrons for a few bucks.  When a security guard in his little go-kart came around to roust them out, I felt that it was time to blend.  Picked up my sack and shuffled after them.  They all hid behind the walled dumpster area of a western bar that shared a parking lot with Walmart.  I followed them in.

One of them spotted me and looked me up and down and then pushed aside a crate that was blocking a broken utility panel and stepped aside, waving his arms to usher everyone through.  He yelled something, that I would later learn was the Hopi word for ‘inside’ or ‘indoors’ or some such, but I couldn’t pronounce it then and can’t repeat it now.  We all rushed through the small opening, I had to drag my sack behind me.  The native man that had helped everyone escape pulled the hatch closed and pulled a rope through a hole that was attached to the crate.  Once completely taught it had hidden our escape route entirely.  I heard the go-kart pull up with its sickly electric whine and heard the angry shuffling of security guard shoes grinding away at the heated asphalt in the desert sun outside. 

Looking around in the space, once my eyes adjusted to the dim light that emanated from the emergency lighting and cracks in the ceiling and walls, I seemed to be in a seldom used storage area with a lot of empty beer cans and bottles, unwashed bedding, and piles of aluminum signs and lighting for the bar.  Spiders and moths seemed to be fighting an unending battle in the rafters and there was the telltale small black lumps of chocolate that told of mice in the area.  Standing up straight the Native man towered over me, by about a foot and a half, but it felt like 12.  He looked down on me, face stern, but with a smile in his eyes.  He extended his pizza-pan sized mitt and said, “Name’s John, people call me War Machine.”

Trying my best not to be intimidated by this huge man that I now found myself in a closed area with, I allowed my seemingly tiny, feeble hands be swallowed by his, looked to where I assumed his eyes were and said with a completely straight face, “My name is Bill, people usually call me ‘dumb kid’ or ‘hey you’.”  I could hear the silence pounding in my ears, all of the oxygen ripped away from the planet and I was left falling into nothingness.  I expected War Machine to rip my arm off and beat me to death with it. I imagined my death in a thousand different ways, but I remained calm and relaxed.

His grip tightened.  He jerked suddenly, throwing his head back and a deep low rumbling like from the bowels of a volcano shook me.  As the blood rushed into my ears the roaring sound was replaced by a raucous throaty laugh that left me dumbfounded.  His enormous hand clapped me on the shoulder and he kept chuckling.  “You’re funny Bill. Welcome to Espanola, did you just get here?”  He let go of my hand and motioned for me to walk toward the back of the building. 

“Yeah got in this morning.” I found that the rest of the escaping vagrants had moved to the back of the room behind the aluminum signs.   Above the door in permanent marker was a hand-drawn symbol that I had seen before.  It looked like a block M where the middle line was facing up instead of down, or rather like a rectangle where the bottom line was removed and placed standing straight up from the middle of the top line.  I was later told by War Machine that this was a sign that meant ‘good place’ or something similar.  To this day I am not sure if it was a New Mexico, Native, or hobo thing, but I have seen the same symbol in other places.

When we got into the room and my eyes adjusted, I saw that there were makeshift beds, an old discarded couch, several crates and even a few chairs.  A familiar hissing and popping sound was emanating from a large crack in the wall that was in darkness.  The only light source in the room was some cracks in the wall from the outside and an emergency light that someone had rigged up to an electrical socket.  One of the other guys in the room picked up the emergency light box and hung it on a hook above the crack in the wall.   

Inside the crack were exposed compressed gas beverage lines each with a tourniquet of some kind around it and a label next to it on the wall.  Most were indecipherable from this distance, but I recognized one at the top that said “Miller Light”.  Almost everyone in the room produced some kind of mess kit cup or canteen or plastic bottle and passed it down the line.  I took the last swallow of water out of my canteen and passed it down the line along with War Machine’s Aquafina bottle.  Both of our receptacles came back filled to the brim with chilled Miller Light. 

Now I despise Miller Light and light beers in general, in fact I don’t even like drinking much, but when you are tired, sore, hungry, and a little sunburned that Miller Light tasted like sweet Ambrosia.  It was Manna from Heaven, sent to us hungry world-weary travelers to save us from the ravages of the waiting desert.  I don’t remember much of the rest of the night except from a few tidbits here and there.  The group of us played a game that involved some kind of nonsense words and repeated phrases that always ended in laughter.  

Pretty sure that I paid for my room. I remember getting propositioned by an older hispanic lady repeatedly.  I believe that she even snuck into my room somehow and I may have scared her away with the business end of a summer sausage that I swore to her was a knife.   That could all be some kind of alcohol delusion, but it seems dumb enough to be true.  I slept off the booze and tried to make a fresh start of it in the morning.

==================

The next day I continued my completely undefined quest, relatively sure that these vagabonds in the city didn’t need my help.  As far as they went they were pretty set.  They had places to be, food, and fun of a sort.  So if the universe didn’t mean for me to help them, what was I needed for?

To try to sort this out I had an idea that the answer would hit me dead center in the face if I looked hard enough.  I planned to continue to dodge cops, pretend to panhandle, and toot my flutes.  For breakfast I had what was left of the cheese, crackers, and summer sausage with some water from my canteen.  I filled up the canteen with some questionable water from the motel bathroom sink and strapped my knife to my boot.  I took all of my possessions with me and set out.  

It was hot again. The town danced in front of my eyes in the heat if I looked at it directly.  There wasn’t much to the town on the main drag, but there were some chain restaurants like McDonald’s and SubWay.  Now I know that you are thinking that going to MickeyD’s would be the right choice to try to panhandle and get some food if you were impersonating a homeless person, but I had a different take.  

After spending so much time with real homeless folk in Dallas and in Albuquerque, I felt that SubWay was the better choice.  At McDonald’s most of the folk who go there order from the dollar menu if they have to or from the regular menu if they can.  Most patrons don’t spend time there unless they have kids, and people are not likely to give change in a drive through.  McDonald’s is cheap, ergo people who eat there generally don’t have much to spare.  If they do, they have kids and they don’t want homeless folk around their kids.  Combine that with the fact that they are almost always on a separate lot and you are just asking for cops to harass you. 

This made SubWay a much better choice.  People actually spend time inside because of the lack of drive through, the culture in the restaurant promotes tipping, so money is more readily available, and people who eat there are usually sans family.  Plus they are usually in strip mall box storefronts so it is easier to avoid police. 

I popped a squat on the pavement outside the subway within earshot of the tables inside, but not in direct eyesight, as this tends to draw the ire of the employees quickly.  I took out a D penny whistle and a plastic recorder and flipped my hat upside down on the pavement.  I practiced both the rhythm and harmony parts of the theme song of Buckaroo Banzai.  The rhythm part was my left hand on the recorder and the right hand played the penny whistle on the melody.  

Once I was satisfied I knew both parts well, I tried my best to play both parts at once.  Honestly I am sure it was horrible at first and most people just ignored me.  Eventually I changed the rhythm section a bit to match the breaths of the melody and that worked better as I wasn’t running out of breath constantly.  So I wasn’t playing the real song, but some new rendition of it. To my surprise someone actually put in some money while walking by, a dark skinned fellow in a white suit and white shoes.  As his clothes reflected too much light I couldn’t tell much more about him at the time.  

I switched to When the Saints Go Marching In on the recorder and dropped the penny whistle back into a hole in the lapel.  When I assumed the guy went inside, I stopped playing and I dropped some more of my own money in the hat.  To make sure that not too much attention was paid to my money, I kept playing until at least two more patrons passed by me, pretending to thank them for their generous donations.

After I felt enough time had passed I went inside the Subway after stowing my instruments and donning my hat.  I ordered completely prepared to pay for my six inch Italian and chips, but I was told that my meal had been paid for and I could get a drink as well.  Accepting a bottled water from the cashier, I was informed that the gentleman that tipped me earlier had paid for my meal.  I approached him, not sure how to handle speaking to him.  He seemed to be of Indian descent and was dressed in a nice looking white suit with no tie.  He had friendly eyes and the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.  

He gave off a certain confidence despite the strange situation that made me think that he had done this before.  He offered me a seat across from him at the table and I cautiously accepted and decided to stop the crazy act I had put on for the police. 

I feel it bears a reminder at this point to set the scene.  The Subway, despite being brightly lit, has heavy tint on the windows to keep out some of the heat.  I haven’t showered or changed clothes for over a week to make sure that my disguise is as accurate as possible.  I rolled around in the sand and dirt on the outskirts of the town to give my vintage moth-eaten army surplus coat a fresh coating of earth.  I have long hair that is matted and dreaded up and I am sure my breath smells terrible.  People are staring at us as we sit there talking about food and desperation.  

He offers to buy me another sandwich and I accept and tie it up and put it into my pack.  He laughs at this and then starts to talk about himself.  He indicates that he works with youths and would like to offer me a place to start over.  He knows that being homeless is hard and that I seem intelligent but desperate.  “All most people need is a place to get cleaned up and stability so they can get a job and re-enter society.”  He explained. “I work at a place of worship and the people there could help you get back on your feet.”

“I would be very grateful for any help I get sir.”  I felt that I wanted to appear very desperate and pliant.  I had never heard of a guy like this randomly picking up homeless people so I had a hunch that this is why I was here.  It was possible that he was just some kind of pervert, but I didn’t get that feeling with how he was speaking.

“That is good to hear.”

We packed up my kit and we headed out of the SubWay to his Lexus which was also white of course.  I guarded my answers and responses closely to not let out too much of my real personality.  Per my assumed identity I told him that my name was Rene Carter as a modification of my favorite philosopher René Descartes. Let’s call the man Raj, I will keep his real name to myself for this story. 

We arrived at their compound at the edge of town in the early evening and he showed me to his house on the lot.  It was a nice two story adobe filled with southwestern kitsch and Native American blankets.  After getting a short tour we ended in a room filled with hundreds of crystals and candles.  I honestly almost laughed when we walked in that room, but I stifled it.  Raj told me that he was something called a ‘Light Giver’, which he explained was a form of shamanic healer that uses light focused through crystals or that emanates from his hands to “heal the body and uncloud the mind” as he put it.

He offered to let me use the shower and he gave me some donated clothes.  Still not knowing what to expect, I briefly inspected the lavish bathroom for cameras and then showered off my finely cultivated layer of earth.  My long hair was still matted, but I soaped it and tied it back again with a length of gaffer’s cord.  The clothes fit well enough, they were plain and all tan.  I insisted on keeping my jacket, and Raj offered me some scented oils to make my hair and jacket smell better.  Honestly I just didn’t want anyone discovering the $500 I had hidden away in one of my flutes.  

   After I was a little more presentable, Raj took me outside and into the compound proper.  For our purposes we can call it ‘la Hacienda’.

Albino peacocks and white people in bright Sikh clothing everywhere.  It was kind of strange to look at like a bad episode of a scifi show where you are more worried about the actors getting heat stroke than following the plot. Not knowing they were Sikhs yet, I just assumed it was some sort of cult.  In the end I guess I was right.

Now I had studied with some Sikhs in University and my favorite Indian restaurant “Kebab’N’Kurry” in Dallas is run by the nicest Sikh and his family you may ever meet.  I knew Sikhs as a super friendly and approachable religious group that would never try to prosthelytize and despite having roots in the rougher times in India, it was all about the equality of men and women and a celebration of life and its mysteries. I knew that they rejected the Caste system of old and were all about working as a community to elevate everyone.  

Armed with this information already I was agog at what I saw on the Hacienda.  Not all men wore the Turban and few had beards, but the obviously traditionally garbed men let me know what was up.  Raj looked more like a modern reformed Sikh that had that super suave beardiness still but kept his hair short, he wore white, but not the full dress like some of the others.  Something else stood out that I didn’t quite catch at first.  

There were no adult women present outside, just men and children.  Red flags should have gone up at this point, but I was still in observation mode at this point.  After walking the grounds a bit, Raj invited me to come eat supper with him and I followed.   We ate and I tried to keep up my character, by being a bit cagey and fingering my flutes.   Mostly he just wanted to sell the lifestyle to me it seemed.  He talked about how there was always food, friendly people, stable housing, and community.  I was told I was welcome as long as I wanted to stay.   After the meal I was taken to a small single room house that had a lot of pillows and blankets with a thin plank built into the wall.  I slept there that night and didn’t want to disturb any of the cult members by asking where the bathroom was so I just pissed in the nearby brush.  

The next day I was taken to breakfast and was introduced to several random folk in the group that were doing menial chores.  It seemed to be Raj’s intent to introduce me to people that were genuinely happy doing simple chores, thereby making me more likely to want to achieve the same level of happiness.  Most of the day was spent going around la Hacienda with breaks for meals.  Eventually we came back to his house and talked to me again about ‘Light Therapy’ and being a ‘Giver of the Holy Light’.  At several points he seemed very serious and almost scientific, at others I was sure that ‘Giving someone the Holy Light’ was a euphemism for sex.

He offered me a ‘Light Healing’ session and asked me to take off my shirt and lie down on a massage table face down.  After hesitating I obliged and he lit candles and incense, then turned off the light and began chanting.  He selected a large crystal from the wall with his eyes closed and proceeded to wave it about, while chanting rhythmically.  He touched the crystal to my back and rolled it up and down my spine.  It was an interesting sensation as one side of the crystal was warm and the other cold.  He abruptly stopped chanting and produced a bottle of some kind and began to put baby oil on my back.  I instinctively leapt off the table and took out a few crystals on my way and grabbed my shirt and told him in what I thought at the time was a polite tone, that the session was over.

Raj took this in stride and announced that it was time to go out with the youth group anyways.  I followed him outside where he met with some other adult leaders as a group of 15-19 year olds walked up the hill in jeans and t-shirts.  Raj informed me that as soon as the adults changed into their ‘city clothes’ we would be heading into Santa Fe to see a new movie as a group.  The situation was very strange as I was absolutely mobbed by most of the younger kids asking me lots of questions about the outside world.  I did my best to remain in character as my new cult friends took me to go see X-Men which had only recently been released.  

Going to the movies with a lot of anglo Sikhs in Sante Fe to see X-Men was one of the most surreal non-drug related experiences.  I am sure that we looked very normal from the outside, but me knowing I was likely surrounded by a real bunch of cult members was super strange for me and hard to deal with.  Consequently I had a hard time paying attention to the movie, and honestly they were really chatty.  Rewatching the movie later, I realized how bad it was and felt less bad about missing the movie.  

Normally during a social outing like this at this age I would honestly be looking to hookup with one of the girls that were with the group, but I was way too distracted to even think about anything other than maintaining my false identity.  It didn’t even occur to me at the time that most of the girls that were with us were all sitting next to me, or that all of the boys were either trying hard not to look at me or were shooting me disapproving looks.   It also didn’t occur to me that the social interaction may have been an exercise orchestrated by Raj to find out which girls I had chemistry with.  I was so oblivious in fact that when the movie was over and we were on our way back to the compound that I didn’t pick up on the fact that Raj decided on the seating on the way back and surrounded me with girls that wanted to touch my hair and talk to me about where I was from.  

As always I did my best not to lie too much and laid out half truths with other half truths making little misunderstandable truth sandwiches that those girls ate up with gusto.  Meanwhile I tried to get some information about their little group from the talkative girls.  They were not surprisingly pretty tight-lipped about the compound, but did talk to me enough about their religion for me to understand that it wasn’t entirely a pure Sikh ethos.  There was a certain sense of misogyny in their words, a subtle hint that women weren’t being treated as equals.  I found no outward obvious signs of abuse, but there was definitely some mental conditioning.  At the time I just chalked it up to them being in a religious cult.  After all even non-cult religions have their conditioning in some ways.  

We got back to la Hacienda and the girls I had been sitting with insisted on washing my hair.  As it was done in a public place I saw no problem with it and just did my best to enjoy the pampering.  I had chest length thick brown hair, that despite my earlier shower was still pretty matted and they got all of the dirt out and I was very relaxed.  They used some kind of homemade shampoo that smelled like hibiscus and honey and was like no product I have ever used before or since.  The girls were extremely fit and very pretty and I remember letting my guard down around them a bit. They told me a bit more about the group.  I learned that their highest guru was in la Hacienda and that his 70th birthday was in a few days, there was going to be a big ceremony and he would address the entire congregation.   

===================

I think I passed out before dinner because I don’t remember much else that night and woke up to Raj telling me to get dressed so I could help with breakfast.  The group was very much a ‘nobility in work’ group and they paid people that did the job around them in high esteem.  With the pampering from last night, my hair was light and bouncy and I must’ve looked like a Penecostal white Jesus with sandals and white loose fitting white clothes and a scruffy beard, hair all flowing in the wind.  The illusion was immediately dispelled when I got to the kitchen and they gave me a hairnet.  I tucked in my hair and started cutting vegetables and fruit.  Eventually I was asked to help make something called ‘prashad’, my job was to keep stirring a pot like a madman until someone told me to stop and then pour it out into a bowl, which was then blessed with some kind of knife or dagger.  

It was actually interesting and I enjoyed helping these folks in the kitchen.  It dawned on me again that no younger women were in the kitchen area or anywhere I could see.  Breakfast was vegetarian again.  Two days in and I was already missing bacon.  I had eaten my remaining provisions on the first night and was now completely dependent on their food, which was excellent especially for vegan food.  

I finally spotted some of the younger girls that I had seen at the movies coming out of the large building toward the front of la Hacienda.  Most of them were wearing loose flowing white pants and bright cotton tops, very different from before.  They walked away from where I was and into another building that looked more like a dorm. 

The next morning I was practically pulled out of bed by a few of the younger girls who helped me dress and then pushed me into the large building I had seen them come out of before.  There were lots of small thin mats on the floor and I was confused about the room’s purpose.   The girls all helped me to go through some of the first poses in what had become my first yoga class.  I had relaxed a lot by this time and constantly being on my game about my false identity was less on my mind.  Consequently my hormones took over a bit and I started noticing exactly how fit some of these girls were.  

So much so that I had some physical manifestations of my desire for intimacy. Naturally I felt that like everything else with the group, as a natural function it shouldn’t be hidden so I didn’t leave the room or try to cover up any more and just tried to keep going with the lesson.  I tell you what though, it really did make some of the poses very difficult.  I heard a few giggles from the class about my inappropriate situation.  Between the young girls sweating and bending over into compromising positions and my head swimming with early 20’s hormones I am sure I was about to make some really dumb decisions.  

We will ignore the details of what happened next as this is not that kind of story, but the facts you need to know are that I was beset upon by a group of girls that wanted to talk to me.  Eventually there were very few girls, nature took its course and I was instructed in my first lesson in Neo-Trantic Yoga.  

I was too inebriated on hormones to even think about what the consequences for this action would be.  So I had little control over what started to happen after this.  Luckily for me this wasn’t something that was going to get me killed or anything.  No one even appeared angry and there didn’t seem to be any immediate attachment between me and the yoga girls.  I suspected that the situation was likely intentionally manufactured to convince me to stay in the group as a sort of honeypot trap. 

The rest of the day was spent with me learning various parts about the ceremony that was to occur the next day and my duties in the kitchen.

That evening I was again accosted by a group of the young girls and we talked about life in la Hacienda.  I questioned them vigorously, completely ignoring my facade at this point. 

So it turns out one or more of the girls were spoken for by other men in the compound, but many of the girls there were either runaways or homeless and had not always been with this group.  I asked about how they were recruited and they all recounted similar stories to my own.  Found wandering, a well-dressed man bought them food and convinced them to come live at la Hacienda, where they were shown care, comfort, and kindness.  Then they were each shown the value of community and hard work, but also given rewards like going to the movies.  From their stories the place was sounding less and less ominous.  That was until of course one of the girls started crying.  

The other girls in the group hugged and patted her until she could speak again and she explained that this is what they are supposed to say.  That some of them had been required to marry against their will and that the elders in the group would sometimes touch them in intimate ways without permission.  It was explained that the elders would test them to see if they were ready to bear children and marry.  A few other girls admitted this was true and one even described some forms of sexual and emotional abuse.  I pressed for details on the identities of the elders responsible, but they were very tight-lipped about it. 

Needless to say but I was appalled and the illusion of civility that permeated this place was shattered.  I felt my burden growing.  I know this started as a lark, that it was a way to have an ‘interesting experience’ in the desert and to face the unknown, but now things were becoming serious.  As a former Boy Scout who served the community in a variety of ways, I felt compelled to right this wrong.  I had heard of this kind of thing happening in cults and other positions of authority, but this was my only experience with it directly.  If I were to simply call the police the cult would likely shut down the investigation with well rehearsed stories and solidarity. I struggled with what to do the whole next day until it was time for the ceremony.  

Turns out the ceremony was like hand-fasting.  It was a marriage of sorts, but given the nature of the cult, it was likely not a marriage in a legal sense.  Everyone walked down this low hill to a mostly dried riverbed just before dusk.  It was quite a scene with everyone wearing white and carrying wrought iron lanterns, while walking through the desert landscape and drums by the riverbed played a driving beat.  I noticed that many of the women had henna tattoos on their hands and feet while we were all walking together.

At the riverbed an ancient looking man was kneeling on a pillow that was on a raised platform.  He had a long white beard, a gray mustache, and piercing eyes that looked like they knew the secrets of the universe.   As the ceremony began, a couple knelt on some decorative pillows and the Guru started speaking about how this wasn’t just a marriage but a joining of souls to make a singular person.  He talked for what felt like a long time as the sun washed across the landscape and bathed the entire ceremony in a soft pink light.  Seriously pink.  If you have never experienced a New Mexico desert sunset, you owe it to yourself to experience it at least once.

I zoned out through part of his sermon to inspect the couple.  The bride was one of the girls I had met before who had talked about inappropriate touching.  The groom was at least 10 years older than her, but I figured that she was at least 19 so it wasn’t an illegal kind of bad, but didn’t make me any more comfortable with what I was witnessing.   In my head I was trying to figure out which of the elders they could have been referring to.  I know that Raj had made me feel super uncomfortable and wanted to put his hands on me, but I suspected that it was less innocent than that based on their stories.  

I started to listen to the sermon again and started to hear some of the most sexist, misogynistic, and outright old fashioned ways of thinking about women and their duties to their husbands.  The Guru was telling this girl of 19 that she had no control over her body as it now belonged to the groom.  He was dressing it up in flowery language and sprinkling it with spiritual mumbo jumbo, but he was still describing sexual slavery.  Anger overcame me.  

I don’t remember much of the rest of that night, but the next day was the guru’s birthday and there was to be a celebration in the temple at noon.  I screwed up all of my courage and asked Raj if I could have a word with the Yogi.  He said I would have to wait in line to give him his birthday wishes.  So I did.  Waiting in line I imagined what I would say, but couldn’t think of anything.  I knew I needed to say something.  

When I got to the front of the line I blanked out.  Mind went completely blank and the world started to move in slow motion.  I could hear my breath and feel sweat rolling slowly down my back under the white rough cloth shirt.  Something happened to my mouth, and I saw the all-knowing look of the aged Yogi suddenly turn to anger.  I realized I was speaking extremely fast and pointing at him.  Suddenly I could hear my voice again.  

“…this type of thinking went out with universal women’s suffrage.  Their bodies belong to them and not to you or any member of your so-called religion.  If you do not change your ways and teachings then you are leading all of your followers to destruction.  This will not end well.” I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room staring at me.  Inspecting me, judging and hating me.  I was being dissected by their vision.  Not knowing what else to do, I said “Happy Birthday.” and turned to leave the room.  Raj and a few other men practically tackled me on the way out of the room and I was force-marched to the front gates and handed my already packed bag with all of my possessions.  They had been cleaned and smelled like sandalwood. 

Getting my bearings I walked the few miles back into town. Getting a fresh coating of dirt and dust on the way. When I reached the edge of town I spotted a Motel 6.  I pulled my emergency cash from inside on of my flutes and rented a room.  Then I took the longest shower of my life.  I called my ride and he came to pick me up the next morning.  

I don’t know what it all meant, but while writing this piece and researching it for accuracy, I found that the Yogi I had berated in public had died the next year and it was discovered that he did indeed have sexual relations with many of the members of his sect.

I strongly feel that some external force was working through me that day.  Call it what you want, but I do feel as though I was meant to do something that day and it was done.  I struggled with writing this as I now know what happened after I left and it is a strange set of events.  Not the strangest of my life, but that is another story. 

[aquamonstra]

OK so, long post, but... Spot the cat has become my Pepe Silvia.

This cat makes me so insane. SO. FULLY. INSANE.

I only realized recently that they OUT OF NOWHERE change the cat's gender, referring to it as male for 3 wholeass seasons and then suddenly start referring to it as female in season 7.

Now like, my rational brain understands that's just a continuity issue. 90s TV played fast and loose. And according to Memory Alpha, that change was purely to use Spot having kittens as a plot device in Genesis.

Genesis. The episode that made me go fucking insane about this cat in the first place.

THE EPISODE THAT MADE ME BUILD A WHOLE HEADCANON ABOUT A STARFLEET-COMMISSIONED FERAL CAT COLONY ABOARD THE ENTERPRISE AND WRITE THIS FIC.

A FIC I WROTE A MONTH AGO, AND I ONLY JUST SAW THIS FUN FUCKING LITTLE FACT TONIGHT

i swear to god this cat is torturing me more than it ever did Brent...

Anyway the reason I saw this is, because my brain has to JUSTIFY EVERY CONTINUITY ISSUE IN-UNIVERSE, I started wondering if the reason Spot switched genders could be explained by...

PARALLELS

In the end of the ep Worf seemingly returns to his original timeline... BUT HE DOESNT. There are differences that imply this is still a divergent timeline: big ones like they no longer throw him a surprise party, and small ones like the shield Deanna moves to hang Data's painting has already moved. So I was like.... WHAT IF ONE OF THE DIVERGENT TIMELINE DIFFERENCES IS SPOT IS NOW A GIRL???

WOULDNT THAT HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA??? WOULDN'T THAT HAVE EXPLAINED THE CAT SUDDENLY CHANGING GENDER SO NICELY???? ESPECIALLY SINCE PARALLELS IS JUST 7 EPISODES BEFORE GENESIS????

So I go looking to find out exactly what episode they switched from referring to Spot as male to female. Because if it was 7x11 or later, then my explanation would fit!

But guess what...

GUESS WHAT FUCKING EPISODE THEY FIRST REFER TO SPOT AS FEMALE IN.

FUCKING 7X09, FORCE OF NATURE. JUST TWO GODDAMN EPISODES TOO EARLY FOR THE MOST PERFECT FUCKING EXPLANATION FOR A DUMBASS ARBITRARY PLOT DECISION TO WORK.

I AM SO ANGRY I WANT TO CALL UP THE WRITERS ON THE PHONE TO YELL AT THEM, AND I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE. I WILL BREAK INTO THE PARAMOUNT DATABASES AND REORDER THE EPISODES IN SEASON 7 TO MAKE THIS WORK.

IT WAS SO CLOSE. SO GODAMN CLOSE. IM SO MAD. IT WAS THE PERFECT IDEA. IT WOULD HAVE HEALED ME.

im so tired i just want this cat to stop making me lose my mind i want to find peace please

[benevolentgodloki]

Mun Tag Game

name/nickname(s): Pirate here. Some other internet monikers are Kit, Vyxy, and Cappy.

pronouns: She/her, but I don't mind being called he/him when I'm playing a character (I've been known to be a total hypocrite about this on games if I encounter some dudebro where my brain decides it necessary to make it known that women exist)

active blogs: Mostly this boy, but @killmebutneverinsultme is tentatively available to my mutuals (he has an immortal verse he can use in Marvel amongst other ideas), oh and @ask-xi is also available to meet mutuals

watching and/or reading: Currently reading Against A Dark Background by Iain M Banks. Currently watching Only Murders In The Building (current season), The Wheel Of Time (current season), and Sex Education (most recent season). Oh, and I'm doing a rewatch of MCU, too, so I'm currently into about 25% of Ant-Man. I can see your dirty mind, shush.

ideal superpower: Shapeshifting (painlessly)

animal you want to be turned into: Cat if I can't be a dragon

fictional character you would most like to meet irl: Oh, man. I think most of the characters I like would have no interest in me or treat me like crap XD I guess Thor??? He's a sweetheart, no.1 Loki fan, and likes to have fun :U

book/show/movie you loved as a kid and still love today: Labyrinth

book/show/movie you think is underappreciated: Farscape. Best show that ever existed, change my mind 😂

favorite thing to do on a rainy day: Doze in with the cats chilling nearby. Write or read. Have a warm drink.

favorite season: Spring. Not too hot or cold.

favorite holiday: Can't decide between Halloween or Yule. Maybe a smidge toward Yule.

star wars or star trek: See I always think Star Wars but I've actually watched a LOT more Star Trek than I think I have. Ack, idk if I can even choose. Probably leaning Star Trek. They've both got some amazing content and some terrible content. But then, the Mandalorian. No, they're a tie. Both, please.

marvel or DC: Marvel. DC haven't had my interest since the 90's.

parks and rec or the office: Parks and Rec but I haven't seen either version of the Office yet. Pretty sure I'll still pick P&R though because it was fantastic.

favorite disney princess: LOKI

favorite superhero(es, marvel edition): (not necessarily in order) Loki (shh he can count), Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Thor

stole it from: @antvnger and @brooklynbred

tagging: anyone who hasn't been tagged yet and wants to!