#writing puts things in order

[front-facing-pokemon]

[samwinchesterpregnant]

quintessential sambortion fic under the cut

“Do you have a ride home, honey? I can’t release you without a ride home.” 

Sam’s head is still swimming, lolling unpleasantly against the crinkling butcher paper covering the gurney. It made everything so loud, even the sound of her hair was amplified against her ears. She could hardly think. 

“Honey,” The woman knelt down to Sam’s eye level and Sam caught a whiff of coffee and altoids. The look in her eyes was kind, but mildly concerned, “Do you have a ride home from your appointment? If you don’t have one, I’ll have to get you an escort and that could take a few hours. You weren’t supposed to make an appointment without a ride home, it’s in the paperwork.” 

Sam cleared her throat, blearily wiping her eyes. The woman’s mascara was coming into focus, clumped onto each individual eyelash. Her scrubs were plain and sterile looking, but the lanyard holding her ID had Minnie Mouse stamped all over it. Her name was Carol. Coffee-breath-Carol, Sam christened her. Well that wasn’t fair, really. Carol was nice. Carol was fine. 

“I have a ride.” Sam said finally, voice slightly thick from the valium. 

“Do you need the phone?” Carol supplied, “It’s okay if he didn’t show, don’t be shy. It happens.” 

Sam furrowed her eyebrows, glowering from under her heavy bangs, “I have a ride.”

“Okay, okay.”

Sam’s good at taking it until she isn’t. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? She keeps her head down at school, raises her hand when she has the right answer (she always does). She doesn’t make small talk with any of the girls in her class that ask her where she’s from. She eats lunch by herself in the stairwell and runs the mile in phys Ed, doesn’t even drag her feet. Dad’s ran them harder than that, it’s nothing. Her time is good, six minutes. She nods away her teacher’s encouragement. When she gets home and Dean says that dad wants them on a job she doesn’t fucking complain, not even when that means shes’s got no time to work on her book report due on Friday. She’ll stay late and do it in the library the next day. She doesn't complain when she spends the next four hours tromping around in the mud and cow shit at some abandoned farmhouse, looking for god knows what and coming up empty handed. She doesn’t fucking complain when they don’t get back until dark, and dad asks her to make dinner. She doesn’t complain when Dean uses all the hot water and her shower is tepid. She doesn’t complain when she crawls into bed and Dean sidles up behind her and grabs her tit with no preamble or sweet talk or what have you, just grabs her and breathes deep into her clean hair and shoves his fingers into her mouth. She doesn’t complain because she’s getting the fuck out of here.

It was the natural conclusion to ill-timed rutting in the backseat while dad was stuck in a creaky old farmhouse with an elderly woman who swore her dead husband was making the walls bleed. 

He’d been in there a good twenty minutes, barely visible from the window before they came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t coming out anytime soon. They’d seen the old lady, still in her night dress, hobble into the kitchen and return with a pitcher of sweet tea. Dad was pretending to work for some insurance company, surveying the house, and had told them to wait in the car and not come out till he got back. 

Dean was the one who cracked first, sliding his hand down the back of Sammy’s shorts which gaped at the back of her waist. They were Dean’s pants that she’d cut to her thighs to escape the Florida heat. Even now, parked in the shade with the back windows down to catch just the slightest breeze, it was sweltering, and her face was pink and damp under her heavy bangs, the rest of her thick hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. 

“‘S too hot,” she murmured, weakly swatting away Dean’s hand, but he kept on lazily, pinching her side where she was still soft, puppy fat that nobly persisted despite her recent growth spurt that thinned out her arms and legs. 

“C’mon Sammy,” He tugged at her belt loop, drawing her closer. She didn’t pull away, allowing herself to be maneuvered, falling against her brother gracelessly, “Dad’s going to be forever.”

She peered out the car window. She could only see the top of his head from here, and his eyes, that seemed to be squinted slightly in concentration. He was listening to what seemed like a long, long story. Dean was probably right, for once. 

They congregated on the floor as best as they could, Sam’s long legs tucked up awkwardly so they could both fit, her sweaty back sticking to the back of the seat, her hair mussing up against the interior and sticking to her forehead. They kept most of their clothes on for brevity's sake, except for her shirt which Dean rucked up over her breasts, palming them hurriedly. Dean got her off with his thumb, rubbing her through her panties, which she’d shoved to the side, her overly large shorts dangling from her left ankle. She bit him hard on the shoulder when she came, and he let out a sharp gasp, burying his head in her neck so he wouldn’t cry out. 

Clean up was quick: shorts back on, Sammy’s hair righted, Dean’s shirt tugged over the teeth marks. 

“You didn’t pull out?” She hissed, knocking him hard with her elbow. He shoved her in response, “What else did you want me to do? Mess up the seats? Dad would kill me.” 

“He’d kill you anyway.” 

He laughed hoarsely, until John turned them both white as a sheet by throwing open the front door. 

“It’s a bust. She’s just senile. We’ll have to head up to Athens instead– sorry, kiddos.” His shoulders sagged until he turned and saw them, both flushed down to their necks and breathless. 

“Jesus, what is it out there, a-hundred-and-ten? I’ll leave her running next time.” He cranked on the AC, putting the car in reverse and starting down the driveway, making it all the way to the turn before stopping, eyes falling to his only son. Dean stared, meeting his gaze unblinking. 

“Shirts on inside-out, kid.” He laughed dryly, and then kicked it into drive. 

So, when Sam’s knocked up for sure six weeks later with a test to prove it in a Casey’s bathroom, it’s less of a surprise and more of a grim reminder of the way life takes its course no matter who you fucked raw in Chipley, Florida. It is just another punishment in a series of punishments that had been occurring to Sam Winchester since the moment she was born, the only girl-child to a band of hungry, hungry wolves: motherless and unfortunate. 

[jemmo]

Making sense of love for love's sake: the game

Despite all the things i absolutely adore about how the plot unravels and expands in love by love's sake, upon first watch, there's some things i couldn't piece together, which @lurkingshan echoes in their post:

'The way the author was messing with Myungha and forcing cruel choices on him really does not track with a desire to help him find happiness.'

And to preface, this is not something i fully get yet either. I think i'll need a good month and a sizeable reading list of relevant resources to understand just what/who this author/sunbae is and what his role is and how he is associated with myungha. But as always with the best shows for meta (aka bad buddy), as a plot unfolds, you can always find a better understanding by looking backwards and re-contextualising what you've already seen. so i watched ep 1, specifically the scene between myungha and his sunbae at the bar. And i will talk about how everything said in this scene has a whole new meaning now we know the full story, but for now i wanna focus on that question that they keep coming back to; "Then... will you change it for him?".

When you watch the show for the first time, your brain follows the simplest, most obvious version of the story you're being told, one where myungha has been pulled into the world of his sunbae's novel that's being turned into a game and given the opportunity to fix the thing he didn't like about it; making yeowoon happy, and thus you just think the rules of the game are imposed by the author, and so when these cruel choices first come up, you see them as the difficult roadblocks that are nevertheless necessary to any kind of game, forcing the player to make an impossible choice so that the game can continue in a certain direction and its only after that you learn whether it was the right choice or not, or there is no right choice, it simply changes the game you are playing.

And when its revealed what this game actually is, at first i tried to interpret these cruel choices, namely the choice between yeonwoon and myungha's grandma, and at best i could come up with the concept of this being a choice between staying stuck to the past aka choosing his grandma, even though he knows that choice doesn't mean she's safe bc he knows the future where he loses here, its an inevitability, but thats the small happiness he knew before it was taken away and thus that happiness is known and safe, theres no risk, versus choosing to pursue a new happiness, a love of yeowoon and thus himself, which he doesn't know, he hasn't experienced yet, and could be risky. Its a happiness that isn't guaranteed like his grandma, but its a happiness that looks to the future and has hope in it that he can find a new happiness to pursue despite what has happened in his past.

And that fits nice, okayish. But then i watched ep 1 and heard that question "Then... will you change it for him?" And watching through the rest of the eps, we come back to this scene at the bar and each time we get a new run up to the author asking this question, either new dialogue is added or we hear a different piece of the conversation entirely. It starts at the beginning of ep 1 as:

"Because Cha Yeowoon is the only one who's miserable." "It can't be helped that some people's lives are like that" "The fact that some people are destined to live that kind of life is what's vile."

Then a bit later in ep 1 we go back and its expanded.

"It can't be helped that some people's lives are like that" "The fact that some people are destined to live that kind of life is what's vile." "Why? Do you think you'd write it differently?" "Yes, definately. Someone like Cha Yeowoon, or someone like me with an awful life, can also be happy."

And then all the way on in ep 6, we get this new dialogue.

"I don't like talking about destiny." "Why?" "Because it means everything is predestined." "Then do you not believe in fate?" "Fate and destiny are the same. My grandma likes to say that. She said life is like a written book, and how you'll live and die are written in it. (...)I don't like things like this. Even if fate is already destined, I think it can still be changed. Otherwise, there's no point in trying." "Really? Then Myungha..."

And while we don't hear the author ask the same question, I feel like him getting cut off like that insinuates that the conversation leads to that same ending point. All that is to say, every time we hear this question being asked, its like we learn more and more about what this whole thing is, what the game is, what myungha is saying he will do by agreeing to do what the author asks. And every time, we see myungha being more defiant against the idea of yeowoon being resigned to his miserable ending. He starts off thinking that kind of life is destined, and while it's miserable, its not something he can fight. Then he says he'd want to write the story differently, bc yeowoon, or even him, could be happy. He challenges the idea that yeowoon, and thus himself, is fated to be miserable, and opens up the possibility for happiness for them both, but doesn't yet have the means or resolve to do it, its like he knows its possible on a fundamental level, but doesn't see it as something he can actually achieve. But then we circle back to the idea of destiny and books, both of which came up in the previous quote, and seems incredibly pertinent seen as this whole thing is about a novel this author has written. Myungha talks about how he hates the idea that life is a book where everything written is predestined to happen, from the moment you live to the moment you die. He says "Even if fate is already destined, I think it can still be changed. Otherwise, there's no point in trying." That vile way of life he described before that he said was destined, he is now saying it can be changed, and that possibility is now something he's holding onto, its what he sees hope in so that he can keep trying, bc now he finally is trying, he has the resolve, he's trying to realise this thing, this impossibility of rewriting the life he thought was destined through the way he loves yeowoon.

And coming back to those cruel choices, given this fresh context, it made me think. bc this isn't actually a game that myungha has been put into where the rules are dictated by an author completely separate from him. He said himself, he'd rewrite it, he'd change things for yeowoon. And when you start to think of it less as him fighting against a rigid, removed system and more like him being a character in a story he is trying to rewrite himself, that has both the author and his own limitations, or just his own if you're in the school of thought that the author is some figment or part of myungha himself or his conciousness, then you can start to see where these cruel choices might come from. They could be myungha, the author making edits to this new story, imposing his own doubts and limitations on himself. When he says he has to pick between Yeowoon and his grandma, what if that's the new author myungha seeing this story unfold and thinking no this isn't right, he can't have it all, i'm not deserving of this much happiness.

And what makes me like this idea even more is that when we get that second choice between ending after 14 days or getting 100 days back at the cost of resetting Yeowoon's affection to 0, that whole conversation happens in what I think the bar actually is which is this frozen moment in time where myungha is in the water with this extension of a voice in his head that is talking through these things. That conversation in itself needs its own post, but when you look at it both as a decision to break up or not or a decision to hold onto life or not, you can see how the author is just this soundboard relaying the decisions myungha is going through in his head. The author's voice is his own, weighing up his decisions. And if he is the author here, it only reinforces that the person making the rules of this game is him. You can even extend it further to the idea of the debuffs, where he puts in place this thing that makes it so he causes harm to yeowoon when he's around, and its only by garnering affection that he can prevent it. He gives himself a reason from the get go to stay away from yeowoon and reason it as him doing it for yeowoon's safety, when in fact the only way to make yeowoon safe is to increase his affection, which he can only do by being near him. Its a system that at first gives myungha a reason to stay away aka not like himself, but ultimately says the only way you're going to make yeowoon like you, or the only way you can like yourself, is if you accept risk. And that in itself screams to me of a myungha writing in these game systems that are trying to encourage his own-self love while falling at the hurdle of his own lack of self-worth.

The idea is still messy in my head even for me, but i just really like the idea that myungha could be trying to fix this thing both as a character and game master, and that both these versions of him have these flaws that manifest in their different ways to cause the events we see. It kinda is the definition of being your own worst enemy, the idea that in order to work towards loving yourself, the biggest obstacle you have to encounter is yourself, bc we are the ones holding ourselves back, making all these rules that make it harder to like ourselves and pursue our own happiness. The voices in our head telling us that we aren't good enough and aren't deserving are our own, and while the things that happen to us can inform what they say, we're the one's reinforcing those words. And what this show teaches us is that, if we're the one holding that pen all along, we can choose to change what those words are. If we make the rules, you don't have to create a game with concrete ultimatums, you can create a game where rules don't control you. Instead, you make the decisions, and you can make the ones that make you happy.

[fictionadventurer]

I'm fascinated by the ways in which the things a creator is good at making don't necessarily line up with the kind of art that they respect or even enjoy.

This has haunted me ever since I saw a Youtube video about the downfall of The Band Perry, a country band that I had liked until their music got weird and they kind of fell off the face of the earth. Well, it turns out that they tried to reinvent their image and their style of music several times before the band finally fell apart. When they started, they had this weird Southern Gothic homeschooler style that really worked for them and was reasonably popular, but then they tried to switch to a cooler type of pop music--a style they supposedly admired and enjoyed--and it just did not work at all. They failed because they chased what they wanted to make instead of sticking with the style that they were good at.

It's a tension that's present in all creative work. At one point does "going outside the box" go too far? Can one be happy making good work even if it's not the kind of stuff they like or admire? Are the techniques and styles that are most appealing to us appealing because they're things that we can't create ourselves? As in, our minds don't work that way, so seeing these things from other creators is exciting, but the fact that our minds don't work that way is exactly why we can't imitate those things. Where's the line between creative integrity--pushing yourself to make better things--and pride--wanting to make something more prestigious and impressive instead of humbly making the type of art you're best suited to make? Can one even clearly see what they're best at making, and appreciate the good that's there rather than chasing after styles and techniques that seem better? There are no solid answers, which is why I'm going to be endlessly thinking about this.

[rustedleopard]

I feel like if Chujin was still alive during the events of Undertale Yellow, his and Clover's relationship would be incredibly rocky. Pacifist!Clover could bring him around to tolerating them (after all, they have that sort of effect on everyone), but it would be more in a "this human is the only 'good' human" manner than a "maybe I should reevaluate my opinions on humans overall because you can't judge an entire group based off (very biased) stories and one bad experience." Even then, that opinion would be subject to change should Clover ever get frustrated or behave "too aggressively" or act in any manner that isn't perfectly docile. If Clover ends up attacking a monster then it's "humans are just as horrible as they were in the war stories, I should've known better" regardless of the circumstances that could've pushed Clover to fight. Suffocating expectations and endless demands for patience when he wouldn't ask the same of a fellow monster.

And heaven forbid he ever meet Clover on a No Mercy Run...

[summertimemusician]

Linktober 2024, Day 1, Mirror (Self)

Alright here we go again.

Technically a sneak peak of a bigger thing to come in the future that I'm repurposing, and the result of my final playthrough and readthrough before EoW dropped being Four Swords Adventures and that made me sad about Shadow Link again.

Note that this is for the Four Swords Adventures iteration of Shadow Link that might evolve into an LU Shadow, not Dark Link in either LOZ or LU, I have other plans for him.

This one shot was brought to you by Scars by The Crane Wives, Ribs by The Crane Wives, Ruin by The Amazing Devil and Two Minutes by The Amazing Devil because the author's playlist decided to be incredibly cheeky when they blacked out to write this like an ancient seers being cursed with visions and then called mad and hearing they've been put up for execution.

As always the nature of the relationship can be romantic or platonic, mostly due to the author's time constraints and further plans.

Anyway enjoy the reading!

It was cold.

The sort of cold after a wildfire, when everything's turned back to ash, the sort that left burned your vision white after the flames licked through your veins and left an ache in your bones. He shuddered, coughed black onto the stone floor, shaking with a muffled whimper.

It never got any easier, being dragged from the Dark World and into the Realm of Light, the goddesses' world itself revolting against an intruder, wanting the wound torn asunder into their oh so precious realm cauterized. To purge the intrusion and smite it where it stands.

Too bad for them (and for him), his master didn't particularly care about what the world wanted. Didn't particularly care that he hadn't grow accustomed to the pain or the cold, he had to stand up. There was work to be done.

(Shadow gritted his teeth, willed himself not to think about the prophecy of a golden haired princess- because whether he liked it or not, it was prophecy. As those with divinity running through their veins are wont to spill from their throats so carelessly- of violet eyes and a smile a third moonlight and hands holding a hammer.

It always hurt more, after one of the heroes liberated one of the maidens, or the jewels, the pain lingering for days afterwards and carving a home in his metaphorical bones. But just this once he'd take the cold bite of the Four Swords over the pain in the hole in his chest that Vio's betrayal had left, something that felt so much worse than every other time before.

Just this once he wished that maybe, just maybe, the hurt would be too much to bear, that he wouldn't wake up again-

Why? Why does it hurt so much but he's still here? He already knew the Light was uncompromising and unforgiving, but he thought them at least above curses.)

His ears twitched as soft, almost silent footsteps came up to his side. Someone crouching by his fallen form, setting a cautious hand over his own that Shadow couldn't help but draw away from with a hiss, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the world again, to your face, carefully blank as you guided him to lean against your side, a silver choker with a crimson gem winked mockingly at him, the shade closing his eyes and going boneless against your side.

Shadow was so, so tired.

He heard you quietly sigh, plucking his cap from his head and running your fingers through dark amethyst, smoke and mist made hair. "I told you so."

"Shut up." He grumbled, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. One clawed hand curling against your free wrist, digging into the skin. Absentmindedly noting there were new scratches just above the metal.

It was routine by now, the warmth of your existence against his own a welcome balm, not quite of the Realm of Light where it's unpleasant, not too close to the Dark World where he felt like melting back into the embrace of the darkness, only to howl in agony at being dragged out.

Memories not quite his own bled into his mind all the time. How you'd shape ice into flowers for the princess in winter with nary a though, of blinking and from one second to the next you'd have whatever sword he had hostage if you though it was time for a break with a smile brighter than the sun.

His master had changed that though. It took months for you to stop trying to claw the collar out and to stop trying to fight Vaati.

(Funny how holding a mage's dragon as a bargaining chip is just as effective as kidnapping a ruler.)

Your gaze flicked to the polished obsidian of the Dark Mirror, to the gold, ornate frame. "The offer is still open, you know. Let me take the suffering from you."

"No." He scowled, leaning back to glare into your eyes, a hint of fangs poking out from a maw struggling to keep the shape of a human jaw, "You helped him. Helped them." Shadow spat, there is that hurt again.

You shrugged, a movement that's just slightly awkward as you flinch, "That I did." You confirmed simply, it almost made Shadow see red as he leaned away, knocking your hand from his head in the process, but if there's anything him and the heroes shared, was a lack of a desire to hurt you. It was a little grating to be honest, "Vio even offered to take me with him, to be honest."

"Then why didn't you leave?" He demanded.

Why did you stick around?

Your eyes shuttered, a hint of conflict in your pursed lips. Before you found your words, they come out softly, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. You'll just have to find out yourself."

You tug your wrist from his grasp, and Shadow lets you go.

(Stubbornly pushing down on memories and emotions that arearen'tarenotanymore quite his.)

You stand and turn away, pushing the curtains away from your sight, you turn your tired eyes to Shadow with an emotion he can't put a name to. "Just keep it in mind that there's more than one way to end this. Nothing is truly inevitable."

Shadow watches you go. 'There's nothing that can be done. He tells himself, hand hesitating above the Dark Mirror, briefly, it curls into a fist. The hero's original self stares back at him.

'… Does he really believe that?'

He shakes his head, and focuses on willing the Dark Mirror to show him his counterpart.

His chest still hurts.

[wantonlywindswept]

so all of the fic where the GAR and Coruscant Guard don't get along because the GAR thinks Coruscant is a cushy gig and the Guard are in Literal Hell are 

so fucking chefkiss

like it is a trope i will DEVOUR, i will unhinge my jaw and swallow that shit whole

but 

what about an inverse?

what about a Guard that's the protecting soldier meme except real?

troopers on leave on Coruscant finally feel like they can relax from the war because they know the Guard has their back, and everyone knows that if you need a hand or an ear or a hug you can ask any Guard* and they are always the most patient helpful big brother types ever, they will listen and they will help and they will protecc

(*sole exception: fox**, who shoulders all of the pain and rage and condenses it into a tiny supernova of fury in his chest that he shoves down into a locked box of emotions, and one day he'll die

**except also very much including fox, who rages and rails and might throttle you for being an idiot but he'll also absolutely gut any aggressive natborn that even breathes in your direction)

so they still might think that Coruscant's a cakewalk compared to the frontlines but they're glad that they have brothers protecting the homefront too, they're glad that at least SOME of them can stay gentle and kind and at peace

of course then palpatine and the sith and all the corruption in the senate are exposed

(because TCW canon is for COWARDS and people who like being SAD)

and the GAR realizes all the shit that the Corries went through, all the ostracization and threats and abuse and pain

and it just

made them kind

[domokunrainbowkinz]

shipping yhk not in a romantic or platonic way but a secret third way (⬛️⬛️)

[fortheloveofexy]

in my head lives a fic about catlaila running a magic coffee shop

[spark-hearts2]

So Goose said that Caine would fall for stuff like the "what is 'updog'?" joke

Makes me think Jax would use that obliviousness to trick Caine into saying a swear word

That's a good point! Caine would fall for the "Mike Hawk" and the "Sofa king" bit. I bet that you could only get him to fall for the first few before he figured out how to prevent that, but it would be fun while it lasted.

I imagine he would say it, get hit with the censor, think 'oh no, was that a false positive?' only to realize what happened. The little guy would be mortified after that lmao

Although, it does make me wonder if the humans have come up with any swear substitutes. Caine clearly doesn't care about swearing as in an exclamatory, just the bad words themselves. I wonder if making little adjustments to the swears so that they aren't immediately identifiable as a swear word would work. Catch me spelling out F U C K very slowly in order to get around the censor.

[loppiopio]

anatomy of a heart // open up

cardiogram.carrd.co

[serendipnpipity]

The Prophecy

fandom: Wicked

pairings: Glinda Upland & Elphaba Thropp, Glinda Upland/Elphaba Thropp, Elphaba Thropp/Fiyero Tigelaar

rating: general

warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings

tags: dreams, universe jumping, grief/mourning, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, additional tags to be added, SPOILERS for Act 2

word count: ~2k

chapters (1.31.2025): 2/5

summary:

“Getting your dreams, it's strange, but it seems a little, well, complicated.” *** The Witch of the West is dead. Glinda Upland can’t accept that.

notes:

inspired by (when you gonna realize) it was just that the time was wrong by @leblonde and I try to picture me without you but I can’t by solarpower21 on AO3.

dedicated to misty @bewareofthenewphannie and manda @proudsnackeezowner. thank you for being my cheerleaders on this story!

read on ao3

[iridiss]

just noticed a plot hole in my mcd rewrite fic, cycles of love

gonna have to go back through all the chapters to rewrite whatever snippets have it

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the witch.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[evie-doesnt-write]

It is SO funny to me when people try to justify their top-or-bottom preferences in canon like girl I promise you can just read whatever makes your dick hard<33

[lord-squiggletits]

Honestly it annoys me that pride, ambition, and generally having a big ego are always villainous/evil-coded personality traits because personally I think if you genuinely are a prodigy at what you do you are 100% within your rights, perhaps even deserving, of flaunting your skills and being proud of the fact you can do something that only a small fraction of other people can do. Is it even ego at that point if you genuinely are as good at your field/skill as you say you are? Are people not aware that becoming a prodigy at something is something that takes lifelong sacrifice and practice sometimes to the point of giving up on having a normal life, relationships, etc even potentially destroying your own health???? God I fucking hate how pride in your own skills and ambition are so villain coded all the time. As if it's evil to want to be good at something and be recognized for what you rightfully earned