#you can probably see the sleep deprivation clear as day in this post

[orcelito]

tfw u sleep like 4 hours but then u wake up to piss and then u try to go back to sleep and just. cant.

so im running on 4 hours of sleep when i tried to get 8. perfect for my exam in a few hours haha

[sistertotheknowitall]

Danny is Some Guy with a not so secret admirer.

Part four? Post #four? I don’t know, none of these are exactly in order. Post one, post two, post three.

——

By the time Tim opened the door, Danny had his coffee made and handed to Mia at the register. He resolutely ignored her smug face and went back to making the other orders.

Tim had been a regular long before Danny had started at the coffee shop but it was three days into Danny’s third week when Tim had stumbled in at eight a.m. and did a double take upon seeing Danny. A very obvious double take followed by intense staring before Mia had cleared her throat. The blush that lit up Tim’s face was only rivaled by the one on Danny’s.

He had never had anyone openly stare at him before.

Mia had been insufferable ever since.

It also didn’t help that shortly after their first meeting Tim had started taking his breaks at the little coffee shop. It’s been three weeks, nearly a month and Wayne Enterprise’s CEO went from a bi-weekly regular to an everyday one. (Danny wondered if he should be concerned for the man’s caffeine intake but he only had the one cup every time so probably not.)

Originally, Danny had no plans to talk to Tim. It seemed obvious the guy had a crush on Danny if the constant looks over his laptop were anything to go by and Danny didn’t want to encourage it. Danny barely had time to make new friends let alone start a relationship.

There was also the added problem of what was quickly becoming his bat stalkers. How do you explain to someone that you were being watched by Gotham’s vigilante’s for no reason? (Or worse because he had made a poorly timed sleep-deprived comment.) Danny didn’t think you could without seeming suspicious.

Incidentally though, Danny’s plan went out the window when on a slow afternoon as he was cleaning tables and passed behind Tim. Once he saw the article the other man was reading he snorted.

Bruce Wayne and The Batman? Could This Be A New Romance For Gothams Most Beloved Billionaire?

It was one of those gossip rags that printed things like: Elvis: alive and well and Superman: a mild mannered farm boy? It was all nonsense.

Danny asked Tim why he bothered with the site and Tim responded that he found it amusing to read and that his family had a group chat where they sent the articles to each other.

“Okay. But Batman? Really? Your dad could do so much better.”

“You don’t like Batman?” Tim asked. Danny had slid into the chair next to him and shrugged. “I respect what he does but for as intimidating as he is, he also seems a little silly.”

Tim had given him an incredulous look and Danny hadn’t given him time to ask for an explanation, “and his kids can be just as rude. Like that flying monkey one.” Tim choked on air and Danny politely waited for him to calm down. “Kids? Wait - flying monkey one? Which one -?”

“The one always doing back flips with the blue bird symbol. He’s also a dick that gives hypocritical lectures about fighting.” Danny wouldn’t say he hated the guy but he wasn’t sure how many more lectures he could endure before going ghost and fighting him.

Tim had turned to Danny completely and was watching him with a look of disbelief, “you mean Nightwing?”

“Is that his name? Imma call him Dickwing.”

Tim had started choking again, this time Danny patted his back hoping to help. Yet it was all for not once he kept talking, “I think I’ve only had positive interactions with the one who looks like a walking red flag.”

“Red flag? Do you men hood-?”

“No, although he is definitely a red flag, I mean the other Red one. I’m sorry, I don’t know all these peoples names yet.”

“Danny!” Mia called.

Danny stood and patted Tim, who looked a little shell-shocked, on the shoulder. “Well work calls, see you later Mr. Drake-Wayne.” As he walked away he heard Tim mutter “it’s just Tim.”

(Tim for his part, placed his head in his hands and thought, well at least I have his name now.)

After that first interaction Tim stopped playing the lurker and started to actually talk to Danny and vise versa. Danny never asked if he still had a crush on him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Unfortunately, their growing friendship had only encoraged Mia as she happily sang “your boyfriend’s here!”

Danny, very maturely, did not stick his tongue out at her. He did however flip her off under the counter like an adult.

[moonsaver]

Sumeru roses, House of Daena, Sticky notes.

-------

Being an asisstant for the scribe isn't so bad. Just ignore the persistent overtimes, the scent of your perfume everywhere, and the new ink bottles that keep running out on his desk. You didn't anticipate red being his favorite ink to work with.

A/n: more than 2.5k words. I didnt bother counting. I hsed google translate for arabic whoops sorry not sorry <3 also its been a while since i wrote.

Warnings/tags: reader is g/n, yandere Alhaitham, Alhaitham x reader, stalking, paranoia, obsessive themes, very very subtle mentions of blood (if you squint), kind of drawn out? Horrible arabic google translate quote. Probably OOC but you can ignore that

------

You admit, being an asisstant isn't so bad.

Of course, at first when you broke the announcement to your parents you wanted to further your studies at the Akademiya, your parents werent approving. They wanted you to get a cushy job and earn as soon as possible; you don't blame them. Having that life sounds peaceful, however, you think delaying it a bit won't hurt. You haven't had the proper chance to really scour the library at your own leisure, at least, not as a student.

So, while job-hunting, (which was wonderfully disrupted by the huge Archon-Overthrow-play-god plan for a good few weeks,) you got an offer as the Asisstant of the Grand Sage; which was suspicious from how good of a title it was. The Akademiya was desperate to get back on it's feet, and who were you to deny the offer?

Of course, it didn't quite occur to you until the first day of your job you'd be working alongside Alhaitham, the scribe of the Akademiya (and perhaps his infamous title as the one who curated a plan to foil Azar's shenanigans).

Which was fine. He was generally alright,if not great to work with. Straightforward, clear, brief, analytical and most of all – he wasn't pushy. Which was a relief, of course. You managed to make small talk from time to time (if you could really call it that,) and came to a consensus with him on many things, mostly that both of you were not pleased with overtime. The moment the clock hit 5:00 PM, both of you were out of your offices and posts. You were mutually respectful, and generally tolerated each other well.

Of course, things at your job got shaken up when your schedule was thrown off balance. Your favorite drink always ran out, your mornings were crowded and somehow you started showing up later than usual, which meant you went home later aswell (much to your dismay).

Another strange series of events started taking place, if you could even call it that. You swear you haven't been watering the plants in front of your home, and the soil is dry enough, so how are they so.. vibrant? And recently, you swear one of the plants is growing a little too much, basically covering one of the windows, threatening to break it. Sticky notes scattered around the front of your house which you originally thought of as littering from those raucous kids your neighbours can't keep in control – you only realised they were for you when you caught a glimpse of your name on it, and you can only agree with the suspicious look on your friends’ faces when you show them the notes – bright Canary yellow and the striking red colour across the notes (although, you've only shown them the more milder ones. You can't imagine the panic you'll be forced to acknowledge if they see some of the other.. strange ones.)

And you suppose your paranoia has caught up to you. Your sleep-deprived mind swears that new red coloured bottle of ink on Alhaitham's desk wasn't there. You swear he never used that bright Canary Yellow colour of post-its. Did he really like that drink he always seemed to get for both of you? It conveniently ran out when you wanted it, and even more so, he conveniently just brought an extra since it was on discount? Of course it all just seems like a coincidence. You're a fool to even think otherwise.

And well, you're fine. Your life has always been a long series of fine, even with the occasional weird mishaps. That's how it's always been, and you don't intend to change it; rather, you really do find change almost repulsive (save for the panic you felt deep down in your stomach at all the things you couldn't control). And that “fine” comes to a halt when you find your door absolutely mauled with sticky notes. There's a bouquet of Sumeru Roses at the bottom, as if to try and apologise sheepishly for the terrifying collage on your door. The terrifying numbness in your fingers, face, your brows furrowed as you can't decide just how to react, the elevated heartbeat – you swear you can feel the blood threaten to burst through your chest. 

You opted to stay with a friend that night. You don't know what you were expecting when you came back in the morning, and all of those notes were gone, except a singular one in the middle, “��لهوس والحب مترادفان، لكنهما لا يقارنان بارتباط روحي بروحك” (which you had to reread almost 30 times with your broken arabic, checked with someone from the Haravatat Darshan, to really confirm – obsession and love are synonyms, but they are nothing compared to the connection of my soul to yours – is what it said, and it's echoed in your head for weeks). You can't remember the last time you wore your rose perfume after that.

Scouring in the House Of Daena didn't seem to alleviate your troubles that well, either. The books you read one day, and opted to continue the next – vanished. Someone else always had the upper hand. And when they returned, they were scribbled and annotated with many pockets of information. Sometimes they overshadow the information on the page itself. And on the rare occasion you put your head on the books as a makeshift pillow for a power nap, you jolted up from just a sniff. Sumeru roses hit your nose.

And of course, when you find notes with all different handwritings on your desk in the office, you think someone's playing a cruel prank on you. But your office was locked. No one saw anyone enter your office. You did your usual check up before you locked it last night, and assorted everything in place. None of these notes were here. And of course, your only clue is the fact they're all Canary Yellow post-its, and that striking scarlet red ink on it. Hasn't the bottle on Alhaitham's desk been running out? He mentioned it off-handedly. You remember saying blue ink was cheaper. He didn't respond.

–

overtime was disdainful, for the lack of a better word. However, that implies only to the masses – it is no problem for him to come up with better synonyms to describe the situation at hand. “Distasteful”, “loathsome”, “detestable”, and so on. However, complaining will not solve the stacks of files on his desk that he wishes to do away with as soon as possible.

If anything pleases him more than his usual combination of abstruse books, isolation from the general public, and extreme individuality, it is that as the Grand Sage's assistant – you are expected to stay back for the extended hours as much as he is, if not more. For once, working overtime (or being forced to) has brought him progress. Will a few more hours of scribbling away and reviewing files change anything huge? He will return to his post again tomorrow as he has today, and the work will continue. Although, this time, it is you who stays working overtime. So for once, if it manages to quiet down the poking and prodding of other nosy scholars, reprimanding him for never working even a minute after the allocated time, he does so for the exchange of working with you.

And he doesn't intend to burden you, but he knows the desperation you work with, trying your best to cram in any minute, second into trying to get ahold of those books at the House Of Daena. So, if at least to make you stay for longer, he assigns you the more dragged out, tedious work. And to make it better – you just got locked out of your office. He has an extra pair, which he diligently uses for his own interest. As for you; perhaps being so frantic and scrambling to gather all books you might have read the day before may have caused you to drop your keys somewhere along the way. Would he know? Of course – he's diligently collected and added it to his inventory. Would he tell you? It would be like stepping on his own tail. The lack of certainty in a schedule makes for more freedom – he thinks. It's for your own good; he almost says. And to have you work in the same proximity as him? It's a bonus. 

Many consider him to be talented and extraordinarily intelligent, so just take his advice as literally as you can. Or maybe he just needs to tell you directly while making small talk between you two more frequent. To his dismay (and your absolute horror), the sticky notes seem to be working counterproductively. Perhaps he should just show up at your house with a bouquet of Sumeru roses and a small journal filled with his advice? He jests, it's only an entertaining idea. The bewildered look on your face makes him adore you – even if only imaginative.

The lift stops at the top floor. He sees your figure standing beside his desk, an expanse of books behind you. The sharp yellow lights contrast your figure to the dim blue light sphere in the middle. He feels the corners of his mouth perk up into a smile,and stops himself.

Another overtime shift for the both of you.

—

Overtime was not easy. You wouldn't have minded it – the job pays you well, and its quite comfortably tucked into the Akademiya, where no one bothers you, and you can easily access the House of Daena. However, the stress and paranoia has absolutely drained you. 

You've visited the matra recently. Frantically scraping together whatever evidence you can, everytime your “admirer” decided to gift you something new, leaving almost no time in your schedule. Daily visits to the library turned into constant visits to the matra, detailing your issues. You would have opted to stay silent, brushing it off as someone who was.. weirdly shy. But shy people don't stalk you, shy people don't leave obsessive notes for you, shy people don't visit your house at unholy hours of the night. And who knows what else this stalker of yours has been up to recently?

Revenge bedtime procrastination turned into sleepless nights, flinching at every sound, hiding under the covers until there was no oxygen and your entire face was covered in sweat. Workload seemed to increase, from how often you kept messing up, many things clouding your mind. Alhaitham's prickly eyes took notice, and he suggested drinking another beverage aside from coffee in the morning, and offered to get you something else – which you generously refused and turned down. (the last thing you would want to be is in someone else's debt at this time. Even if it's just a drink, who knows what else it could add up to in the future?)

So, here you were; irritated, on edge and in the dimly lit office which was viciously devoid of any natural light. You wonder why someone would want such a stuffy office, with books probably growing mold inside. Sure, it's spacious, but it's utter lack of life in it repulses you. It has the comfort level of a hospital waiting room, and it's just enough to add onto the little things that bother you, on top of everything else.

If that wasn't any better – Alhaitham seemed particularly chatty this evening. Perhaps his parasitic roommate (whom he has lovingly mentioned, multiple times,) has been ignoring him as of late? Maybe a commission in the desert, or a commission that requires a huge amount of unnecessary labour? And the (Acting) Grand Scribe has mentioned several times how the blonde architect works himself almost half to death just to get a smile out of his customers. You painstakingly understand him in silence, and don't comment on it.

The rest of the night continues – the benignity of it isn't lost on you. Occasionally perking up from your own scribbling upon Alhaitham's call, searching for a specific book on the vast (dusty, if you may add) shelves, and commenting on a few meeting topics and research projects he grazes, assigning you a few. He doesn't miss the comical dragging of your feet as you walk back over to your desk, befuddled with more work. He wants to tease you, he wants you to ask him for help, for an extra bottle of ink, for an extra post it note, whatever way in which you ask for his help.

He theorises you don't remember much of your and his student days.

—

“shit, I forgot them.”

You searched the familiar pockets and zips of your bag, scrunched eyebrows in frustration.

“Seriously? I'm not lending you any of mine~”

Your friend laughed. You sigh.

“I let you hog all my lunch and this is what I get as a thank you?”

“Too bad. You don't like the blue coloured ones anyway.”

“I'm desperate for a sticky note. Does it look like I'm in a state to be picky?”

Your friend laughs again, and throws their little compact stack of post-its on your book.

“Fine. But you've already annotated so much, what are you gonna write about?”

“Hmm? Wouldn't you like to know?”

You playfully ignore them, as they chitter behind you; carefully sticking it into your textbook and scribbling down the information before you forget. You sigh and look up. You make eye contact.

Right. It's him.

The grey-haired Haravatat boy that rarely showed up. Everyone knew him for his quiet attitude, and his tendency to make your professor's blood boil due to his absence in every lecture. Your friends had a few inside jokes about him. You would dare say this is your first encounter, or really the only one, with him. A stoic look and a judgmental one at the same time, behind curiously multicoloured eyes. 

Nearing the end of the semester – usually the smart ones would avoid the house of Daena, as it would overflow with study groups of caffeine-run seniors and freshman alike. Some of the other clever ones chose spots that weren't easy to find in the first place, and some chose to simply come early.

The thing is, you didn't come early. You were here from midnight. The librarian and all the security checks probably missed you, since you were neatly tucked away into the corner, taking a well-needed nap on one of your reference materials. You only woke up when one of your friends, and that boy poked and prodded you. Your friend laughed until they were out of breath when you looked up – drool slipping down past your chin, eyes swollen from the lack of sleep (and the incessant crying of an academic student), handwriting illegible from just how drowsy you were. The boy only stood quietly, probably judging your.. mannerisms. You weren't sure how, or why, he sat down at the same table as you and your friend. 

—-

Every once in a while - Alhaitham does use the sticky notes.

He didn't buy them. He wanted to borrow them for a short second, but in your hurry, you gave him the compact stack and left, never looking back. After that, you never got them back. Neither of you had the time, and your fate simply intertwined for a brief moment. Things like these happen.

But you keep appearing in the crowd.

He sees you in a flurry of students, or alone at a desolate desk. On a high-up ladder reaching an impossibly reachable book, crouching down to pick up the several you dropped in the process. Passing by the dull lecture halls as he slipped into the library, following the reference materials his father recommended, picked out neatly from private journals and books. The yellow sticky notes never served him much purpose after a single use. He debated simply keeping them on your desk the next time he saw you, but never quite worked up the courage. He swore the sumeru rose scent gave him a headache.

So, when he heard you were continuing your studies at the Akademiya, he was pleased. Working as a Scribe was a simple job, and his chances of seeing you just increased. And he may have been too ambitious, but it worked greatly in his favour – as he opened up another Assistant role for you. 

He hums, content with his decision to keep the sticky notes. Now - how would he utilise them? He wonders if you remember that friend's handwriting. Simple notes turned into obsessive confessions.

Once in a while turned into almost everyday, the more he observed you.

His obsession alone could become the subject of his own studies – but for now you are his sole interest.

And the next overtime, his first after returning to his post as the Scribe – he decides to finally close the chapter.

Has your perfume always been this sweet? That headache's been catching up to you. All that worrying and panic.. when was the last time you slept?

He opens the door to his office. You stand under the warm light, horrified. Piles of sticky notes crowd your feet. The wall barely peeks through behind you from the sticky notes. He closes the door, and a flurry of them fall from the movement. Both of you stare at each other.

“Alhaitham?”

You remember looking at the collection of sticky notes you'd received over a period of time. Is the red ink turning brown? You swore the color changed. Is it supposed to smell? You don't think you want to know.

“Congratulations. You've made it this far. Ive been waiting to talk to you in private."

Your arms go limp, dropping the stack of files onto the floor. The clock ticks silently. You should have gone home. Your bad habit of staying past closing time and evading the security seemed to have not worked in your favour this time.

----

[meowuff]

This is my first actual post on Tumblr ever so pls bear with me. Also, English is not my first language so pls excuse any mistakes I make :)

So, this whole thing here started just as a joke bc I was curious if anyone else was feeling constantly tired all day no matter how long I sleep. But it all somehow escalated a bit and I may have started hyperfixating on it so well, now it actually became a little survey.

I also wanted to mention that I only asked the artist in my little Tumblr bubble, which is mostly tmnt content, so my results are mostly referring to tmnt artists.

In total, I asked 143 people if they could remember the last time they woke up and just felt actually rested for more than half of the day.

I probably could have been more specific with my question but again, I did not actually planned to let it become so big. Personally, for me being rested means, having a clear head, no headache or foggy mind without consuming any caffeine.

So out of 143 people, 100 answered me and I tried my best to sort all of the answers after the criteria “good-sleep-schedule” and “bad-sleep-schedule” and also noted when exactly they last felt actually rested into either the last days, weeks, months, years or “???” when they couldn’t remember or didn’t mention anything specific.

And let’s just say… it does not really look good. Out of 100 people, only 18 have an actual good sleep schedule. Out of these 18 people, 13 felt really rested in the last days, 2 in the last weeks, only one person in the last months and 2 in the last years.

Out of the 82 of people who have a bad sleep schedule, 10% lastly felt rested in the last days, 11% in the last weeks, 11% in the last months, 30% in the last years, and 38% couldn’t remember or didn’t specify it.

While reading all your answers I came to realize being sleep deprived is not just bc any of them thought “Oh it would be really neat to stay up till 4 am!” or smth like that.

A lot of the artists who answered me mentioned that they have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep due to stuff like insomnia, chronic pain, other issues, or children (yeah, ok, there was just one who had a child but still).

While analyzing I mostly referred the situations to my own experience with going to sleep or rather not going to sleep...

I usually don’t have problems falling asleep but trouble actually putting my stuff away and going to bed bc I don’t want to end the day or just don’t want to go to sleep (don’t ask why, I have no idea why I am like this). While having these “episodes” I often doodle smth, binge reading some fanfics, or watch whatever I can find on the internet until I’m just falling asleep or can convince myself that it is 3 am and I really should go to bed now.

So, my personal theory about why sleep deprivation is so common among Tumblr artists is not bc they do art all night. My theory is that a lot of people who have trouble falling asleep due to insomnia, pain, or other issues are filling the time until they hopefully fall asleep with their art, doodles, writings, or whatever their creative minds can bring up, to help the time pass.

In total that would mean that not all artists are sleep deprived but more that a lot of people who have trouble falling asleep do a lot of art or creative stuff in general.

Something I could also imagine is, that if they start doing art while waiting for sleep, they start to concentrate a lot on creating more and start procrastinating sleep even if they actually get tired bc they wanna do art and fuck up their non-existing sleep schedule even more but that could also just be me projecting here.

I know that is probably no kind of big revelation but for me it was kind of surprising to see how many people here are as sleep deprived as me and due to what reasons.

I’m not going to preach to any of you to get that problem solved or smth, I have no right to tell you what to do and would be a major hypocrite so instead I really which everyone to get some kind of good sleep schedule one day and the joy of waking up and feeling completely rested at least thrice per week.

I absolutely love all your art and thank you a thousand times for helping me with this spontaneous survey!

I would love to hear your opinions on my theory and conclusion so pls don’t be shy and feel free to point out any mistakes I may have made or tell me your own theories :D

Also, if my question is still sitting in your inbox, feel free to answer! I’m gonna keep ma big ass excel table so I can edit all the results anytime. And maybe, one day, I'm gonna continue this survey and go into more detail but for now I need to leave it like this.

Ok, that's all I got

BYE!

Thanks to all participants

@abbeyofcyn @angelpuns @beannary @bulbabutt @camilieroart @cementgeek @cheesyescapade @cokowiii @easterartist @frosteaart @gemini-forest @happyfoxx-art @heckitall @hellishgayliath @holy-sweetsour-milk @icepopcider @idiot-mushroom @iscreamkitty @kovalitics @laseralligator @lieutenantbiscute @matchstique @mightyanxiety @miiukkaa @mr-doodles @pezhead @probably-not-a-rutabaga @pumpkster @sad-leon @sassatello @sewercrocodileart @sheep-turtles-and-pizza @signanothername @spectra-bear @stephuart @tangledinink @tapakah0 @tasenwiththerobots @tblsomedoodles @thegunnsara @triona-tribblescore @turrondeluxe @valen-timez @vangh17a @wraenata @zinovi768 @debb987 @dianagj-art @goatedgreen @indieyuugure

[galactic-rhea]

irt your latest midi-chlorian/mitochondria post - what do you think would happen to him??? :0

See, this is why I shouldn't make that type of posts sleep deprived and away from home in a college field trip in which we were in four different states on a single day.

This is the post anon is referring to

Logically (now that my mind is more clear) the answer should be that he would die, if it's severe enough as how the analog fungicide i mentioned worked lol

See, the fungicide I was rambling around forces the rRNA to malfunction and thus the nucleus stops producing certain proteins needed for the cell. And is just deathly, there are certain fungi that can handle that better, if the application of that fungicide isn't consistent and thus they become resistent, but fungi are impressive organism that can multiply faster and live on incredible conditions, given that they have like, at the very least, three different types of spores (there are ascomycetes that have like 6-7 different spores through their cycle).

But allas, back to my favorite deranged blorbo.

That's stright up a death sentence for anyone, really. But especially for Anakin who has only half of human genetic material and the other half is just the force. With me theory about the midi-chlorians being the mithocondria equivalent, Anakin would be on such a perilous spot between dying on the spot and being basically a pseudo-god, because he has so many midichlorians in his cells that his cells are dying at an extre rate, but he needs the midichlorians to be able to live (and handle) that much power flowing through him due the force. This hypothetical scenario would break this balance to the core, and even if a normal person could survive until reaching an hospital and being given a diagnosis, Anakin could probably drop death on the spot, like I said, is cellular death and growth must be on record time, and this could be helpful with other ailments.

But with the midichlorian failling him and not enough energy because the new midichlorian would be failing as well, there's a chance that The Force would kill him, the equivalent of overheating or when a lightning strikes and you get too much electricity on a single lightbulb.

HOWEVER, to make this interesting and because let's be real, this is fricking Star Wars and this is fricking Anakin I-Survived-More-Deathly-Accidents-Than-I-Can-Count-Skywalker, let's pretend this midichlorian killer chemical isn't as effective as the analog fungicide I was talking about, it doesn't affect ALL of the midichlorians, but just a few to get our good-and then evil-and then good again-boy.

Whump makers take note, please:

It would depend, honestly, but generally speaking, it would mean he's out of all that supply of energy he uses the keep going. He would get something akin to chronic fatigue, momentarily he's all righty, and then of all sudden lifting a pencil is too much.

Being so strong in the force, but without the biological resources to handle it, he would like, pass out after using the force. Meditating could be the equivalent to ask him if he wants to go into comma. If he already felt cold, he's about to start shaking just by going out, this boy has not enough glycogen storage.

But that's the best of the diagnosis, the worst ones are if this affects the neuronal and nervous system cells. I mentioned briefly that an excess of ATP was linked to autism, ADHD, ocd, and other neurogivergencies, and even neurodegenerative diseases and dementia.

Well, the lack of ATP can do this as well, so there's that.

To name some few, very general ones:

-Epilepsy and seizures

-Vision loss, audition loss or auditory hallucinations.

-Disorientation

-Muscular pain.

-Headaches.

-Problems with reflexes like swallowing or breathing.

-Vomits.

-Accelerated (even more, in Anakin's case) cellular death.

-Loss of hair and muscular mass.

Given that in this second scenario, the midichlorians-killer hypothetical chemical isn't as effective and wouldn't case an inmediate death, then Anakin's fast healing qualitys would actually be super duper helpful then, it would be great to compare his healthy cells with the sick ones. In this case, I bet a doctor would be more than eager to take a sample of Anakin's stem cells.

He would be a great lab rat for both the hypothetic evil mad scientist, AND for the eager doctors looking for a treatement and cure, and since this is a chemical and we're on a far far away galaxy, I'm pretty sure the cure would be not-too-hard to find.

Oh gosh I didn't expect to write this much, sorry for that anon, but I hope this satisfied you curiosity? ^^;

[blu3-ja3]

Did I plan to write a feral/murderous O'Connor and how she nearly breaks completely... No! Not at all. But the idea of watching my most stable character slowly breaking is interesting to me so enjoy! This will in first person pov not the usual third person limited that I tend to rock. Enjoy!

!TRIGGER WARNING! Graphic Depictions of Torture and Murder, Psychological Break, Guns, Forceful Drug Use, Sleep Deprivation, Starvation, Sexual Harassment, Severe Disassociation

I'm telling y'all this dark. I don't know what's wormed it's way into my brain but it's not leaving till I have this out. Should I probably not post this? Yes! Am I going to anyways also yes!

🕊️!DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!🕊️

Day 1: It's to be a simple week-long mission, my team and I are going into Urzikstan to render aid to civilians. Laswell made it abundantly clear this was just to help where we could, if there's combat we are not to interfere. Farah assured Laswell nothing has occurred and that this is purely to assist with the aftermath. So none of the other 141 came with me. I was a little worried for them as they're being sent on a few low intensity missions also, but I've always enjoyed working with civilians so I took the mission and calmed myself. I'm currently sitting in the large red cross tent updating Price and Laswell. Today was mostly for setting up and preparing nothing too intense.

Day 2: It's been busy, there's plenty of work for me and my team to do. Everything from simple injuries like scratches and to complex burns and stitches. We're mostly treating infections and illnesses but it's been nice talking with the locals and learning of their rebuilding efforts. Alex and Farah help with translation and organization, keeping everything flowing nicely. It's been exhausting but fulfilling, I try to give Laswell an update but I can't seem to get through so I'll try again tomorrow. Probably have to get closer to a long ranged receiver but that's a tomorrow problem.

Day 3: A young man came to my tent asking if I could do a house call, his grandfather was very sick and in no shape to travel. I agree to help before informing my lieutenant of where I'll be and to radio me if something urgent needs my attention. He's a fast kid but I keep pace well enough, my basic medical bag is with me along with my pistol; visible at my side, and my knife; hidden within my clothing. We arrive at a small metal shack with no windows and a small door.

The young man enters before me, holding the door open and waving me in. I have to duck to get through the door. I spotted the old man instantly, he's laying with his back towards us so I can't get a good look at him just yet. I move over to the laying figure and sit on my knees next to him, placing my aid bag down to my right.

I hear rapid shuffling as something hard is pressed to the back of my head. I know that feeling anywhere, this isn't my first time being robbed while on call. Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and raising my hands slowly. When I open my eyes again the figure in front of me rolls over holding a rifle, it's hard for me to make out in the dim lighting.

"There's only mild pain relievers in my bag, I don't carry anything stronger when on a house call." I try to keep my voice calm and even as the barrel of the gun moves a bit lower towards my neck.

"We're not here for the drugs, we're here for you; Captain Maevis O'Connor: Second Commanding Officer of the SAS's 141 squadron and dear friend to one Captain John Price... That is you no?" A man's voice with a thick Russian accent comes from the room to my left. I don't recognize the voice but they know me which is worrying.

"You are going to be very helpful and tell us all we ask... Or you die! Understood?" I nod my head slowly trying to catch a glimpse of the figure talking but I can't see him.

"Now take her away, we'll talk in better conditions!" Before I can respond I feel a cloth cover my mouth and nose as the man in front of me reaches out and holds the cloth there. I try to struggle, to reach for my radio or gun, anything, but my limbs go weak and my vision fades.

I wake up to cold water splashing against me, bright lights on my face causing me to squint. I try to move my arms but they're bound, my legs are free though. I'm stripped down to just my tank top and cargo pants, no boots or socks. I blink against the light as a masculine figure moves in front of me. He reaches towards me to grab my face, I try to pull back before he grabs my chin.

"You lamb are going to tell me everything you know willingly... Or we'll break you and you'll tell us after. Which would you prefer?"

I turn my head into his hand and bite as hard as I can, I can taste blood in my mouth but I continue biting. A heavy blow to my gut caused me to release my hold. I hear the man cursing in Russian as I receive another blow to my stomach.

"Don't do this Lamb, it will not go how you plan. Please I hate to beat a woman with such a pretty face but I will if I have too."

"Go feck yourself..."

"I just want to know about your wonderful Captain, you see he knows about the location of a very good friend of mine and I would like to see him. Now you're his second in command and a very close ally to John, you must know something about where my friend is, no?"

"Doesn't ring any bells"

"Ah! But I haven't told you my friends name yet! Aren't you a little bit curious?"

"No, don't care either..." Another punch this time higher just below my sternum. I wheeze a bit from the blow.

"Hmm, so you truly haven't heard about the failings of Price to Vladimir Makarov?"

I freeze a bit at the name, I've never heard anything from John himself but Laswell gave me the operation file. There was a lot of blacked out text even at my clearance but from what I could read it's a good thing he's in some unknown black site prison. This isn't going to go well for me, even if I tell them everything I know I doubt they'll believe me nor will they let me go.

"I know of him but they never let me read the operation file. Wasn't interested in reading about a mad man who's dead in a ditch somewhere..."

"AH! But he's not dead, he's very much alive Ms. O'Connor... And you will tell me where."

Another punch, harder this time, the man says something in Russian and I only pick up a few words. Nothing helpful, I feel stupid for never taking Nikoli up on his offer to teach me more than just the basics.

The figure punching me laughs and walks out of my field of view. It's a small field of view due to the bright light shining directly into my face. I feel myself being grabbed by my arms and pulled up, the light in front of me moves and I can see I'm in a very simple concrete cell, no bed, bathroom, nothing just a pipe coming from over top all the way through to the other side and a small table with a chain on it.

The Russian man who was talking has his back to me as he opens the door. I throw my head back hard into the skull of the man holding me from behind and his grip loosens. I take my opportunity to bum rush the man, slamming myself hard against him and the open door. He's knocked prone as I continue to run. Blood pumping in my ears to turn a corner and come face to face with two very heavily armed guards. I try to rush past them but they grab me and pull me back, I kick and flail trying to get another opportunity to escape.

"Oh how I wish you didn't do that Lamb, now my friend will have to teach you a lesson. Demetrius?" A figure steps out of the cell I was in, he has a bloody nose. I feel a small twinge of satisfaction from seeing it bleeding and swelling.

"Teach her well!" With that I'm tossed back into the cell after a guard bounds my ankles, I trip forwards causing the air to be knocked from my lunges. I hear heavy footsteps as the man, Demetrius, looms over me. He steps onto my left leg putting heavy pressure on it, then his full weight as he kicks my side once, knocking the little air in my lungs back out. I watch as he pulls out something shiny and metallic, before placing it onto his hands. I feel a hard blunt pain as his boot connects with my side again, once, twice, three times before he stops. The man over me chuckles darkly as he reaches down and pulls me up by my hair causing most of it to fall out the bun it was tied up in.

He drags me towards the back wall, he grabs something from the table and ties the chain around my wrist. He gets the chain over the pipe and begins to pull me up higher and higher, my toes barely touching the cold cement ground. My arm high above my head stretching my arms and shoulders in an uncomfortable and painful way, there's already a bull ache in my shoulder.

"Such a lovely body." The man's hand begins to caress my hips as I try to move away. He clicks his tongue before stepping away again, he removes his jacket and turns to me with a sadistic smile. He approaches, before landing multiple punches to my stomach and sternum.

Each blow I can feel the brass knuckles he's wearing. There's a slight throbbing pain after every hit, I know I'm going to bruise. He continues to beat me to near unconsciousness before stopping. He leaves me chained up as the first man comes back, he grabs the chair I was in originally and turns it towards me sitting down in front of me.

"Interesting, Demetrius didn't touch your face. I have to say I'm happy about that, you have such a lovely face Lamb." I just stared past him not once looking at him but keeping my head up.

"Come now Lamb if you tell us what we want you'll be free to walk your cell. I'm sure your arms are hurting now, no?" I keep my mouth shut and continue staring forwards. He mumbles to himself before standing to leave.

"Give her half rations and water, you will get more if you speak Lamb."

This cycle continues for a while, Demetrius comes into the cell beats me to near unconsciousness then Wolf (This is the only name I hear anyone call him) comes to try to talk to me. I just stare past him, keeping my head high and my mouth shut. I don't know how much time has passed. I guess a few days but I know Price and the 141 will come. Farah and Alex know I left the area and I've not come back... Unless something has happened to them as well.

I'm not given much food or water, my stomach keeps growling and there's the faint gnawing sensation in my abdomen. I'm kept in the same position, hanging by my bound wrists from the chain above me. Demetrius walks into my cell and drags in a little medical cart. Wolf follows closely behind him before approaching his chair and sits down crossing legs.

"Oh little Lamb you've made this very difficult for us. You've held out well against Demetrius and I must commend you for that." He gives a little clap as Demetrius chuckles darkly next to me.

"But we need the information Lamb so Demetrius is going to start using his favorite tools. Now I'm being kind and giving you one last chance to speak." I see Demetrius picks up a blade and wince as he pulls it across my cheek. I hiss as the pain spreads through my face. I can feel the warm blood trickle down my cheek, it's a stark contrast to the cold cell I'm stuck in.

"Feck. You." I hiss, I know I just have to hold out. My team is coming for me. Price won't abandon me no matter what anyone says. I've seen him do it before for people he's known for less time. Las Almas and Alejandro's team come to my mind as it's the most recent example.

Wolf waves a hand and I feel the sharp dragging pain as Demetrius drags his blade across my upper left arm along the underside. The blade is sharp so I don't feel the pain until after the wound is made, a thumping pain that matches the beating of my heart. I can feel the rapid dripping of my blood, the sound of my blood hitting the ground echoing through the room.

"Lamb? Do you have anything to tell me?"

"You're feckin stupid if you think a simple cut will get me to tell you anything." I stare straight ahead as I try to distract myself from the pain. I can feel another slow pull of the knife across my upper hips ripping through my skin and tank top. I bite my tongue refusing to make any noise.

"Oh come now Lamb let us hear you at least." I keep myself as calm as possible as another cut is pulled across the same hip slightly above the first one. I hear him sigh as Wolf stands up and walks out the cell, turning around to look back towards me.

"If you wish for Demetrius to stop his work all you have to do is talk Ms. O'Connor. Cut her rations again, maybe delirium from starvation will help our little Lamb loosen her lips."

Demetrius continues to slash through my skin and I focus on anything else but the pain. So I start to pull back into my mind. It's like I'm slowly carving a little hole in my consciousness, it's safe and warm there. I can't talk when there as well so I can't let anything slip. Falling into the little cave helps me deal with the pain and hunger, I know I won't have to do this much longer. Price is coming, he'll be here and he will help me get out of here.

I'm dragged out of my head as I feel a hand grab my chin and something slimy drag across my cheek. Demetrius licks up my cheek, collecting my blood and groaning. I feel sick as he meets my eyes and the same maniacal grin spreads across his face. I scream as a piercing pain radiates from my lower right hip, another scream is ripped from my chest as the knife is twisted sharply before being pulled out harshly. The hammering pain matches the rapid beating in my chest.

"Oh so pretty when you cry, I'm going to burn this picture into my mind for later. Thank you Maevis."

He moves away and I quietly cry trying desperately to crawl my way back into the safe little cave in my mind. But this seems to have caved in a little, I can't pull back as far. I can still feel every drag of Demetrius's knife across my chest, arms, thighs, and back. I keep telling myself that it's okay, they're coming. They're going to get me out of here and I'll be safe.

This cycle doesn't last as long as the previous one, or at least I think so, it's hard to tell time. My stomach stopped growling, but the gnawing had spread from my lower abdomen to my chest. Every time I breathe I can feel it biting down on my ribs, like it's trying to eat it way out of me. A wild feral beast chewing at bars of metal in desperation to flee.

Wolf walks in with another man's and Demetrius. I don't bother looking at them keeping my sight fixed on the same spot as before. I've pulled myself out of my head, out of my cave, just a bit to listen to what Wolf has to say. He gives away more than he knows by talking to me. A great little bit of information he's revealed is that he's not the one in charge. He's a middle man.

I keep replaying Ghost's words in my head when he talked to me about combating interrogation. 'Never look at your capture but always listen. If you give them nothing they'll get desperate and will show their hands more often than not. That information can be used and could be more deadly than a weapon. The real task is surviving long enough to know how to use it against them.'

"Lamb, you're being unnecessarily stubborn. You're forcing my hand but again I'm giving you a chance to talk before Ivan is put to work. So I'll ask you again, where is Makarov, what do you know?" He sounds like he's begging, but I'm not stupid and keep my mouth shut.

Wolf sighs and shakes his head, gesturing to the shorter man, Ivan. He approaches me holding a needle with liquid in it. I feel my heart rate spike as I try to move away. I feel a pair of hands grab me and hold me still, I glance back to see Demetrius smiling that same disgusting smile. I start thrashing hard ignoring the pain as I reopen wounds and the strain in my arms and shoulders. I feel a slight prick in my neck and something warm spread through my neck, shoulder, and upper skull.

I retreat into my mind, as far back as I can get hoping that whatever was pushed into my veins would have a harder time affecting me. I know it's unlikely but it's all I can do to comfort myself.

It takes some time for me to feel the changes, everything is brighter... sharper. I can feel every dull ache and thrum of pain across my skin. When Wolf talks it's loud and the lights seem to flicker brighter when he does. He asks his same questions, using the same leverage that isn't that going to change my mind. I'm acutely aware of Demetrius's hands still on my hips, his thumb rubbing circles into my hips. Then he squeezes them and I thrash away from him. Wolf barks something in Russian and Demetrius leaves the room.

'Price is coming, they'll save me. I just have to hold out.' I can feel myself mumbling away, slurring my speech as I keep saying my little mantra. A part of me is very aware saying this out loud isn't a good idea but I can't stop the part of my brain that's blabbering. It's strange how aware I am of myself but unable to control my body. It's because I'm in my safe little cave in my head, just barely keeping my head above the water that has rapidly started flooding in. The pain and drugs mixing with me retreating into myself is dangerous but I'm not drowning. So I stay, breathing calmly, hoping I can pull myself out before I drown.

"Oh Lamb, you truly think Price will come for you? It has been eight days, they do not care for you. Though your little American friend tried to come get you with a small group. We have him in another building, he's faring far better than you. He holds no information that we need so we haven't touched him... Much."

"You're... Wrong! Price... Never! He wouldn't... They'll come... They have to... They will..." I feel something warm slide down my cheeks... Tears, why am I crying? I know they'll come to get me. So why am I crying?

"Poor Lamb is so loyal to someone who has abandoned you, Makarov would never repay such loyalty with this betrayal... Just tell me where he is and I'll personally inform him of your part in his escape."

"No" I hear Wolf goan in frustration before standing and leaving.

"Ivan dose her again when this round wears off. Keep doing so while Demetrius does his usual routine."

Wolf leaves me to Demetrius and Ivan. Demetrius seemed all too happy to continue his work with his knives. He raved about all the foul things he's going to do with me in mind, what he'd like to do to me, how he's more than happy to have such a resilient woman break to him. Every word made me sick and I couldn't handle listening to it anymore. His perverted words mixing with the pain is maddening.

I'm taking a risk, I know it but it's the only way for me to feel safe. I stop trying to float, stopping wading in this water, letting myself sink into thick liquid miasma of drugs and pain. It's calming in a way, everything is muffled and muddy. I feel myself drifting deeper into the strangely numbing cocktail. Safe and comfortable...

I don't know how long I drifted in the cocktail mixture of pain and drugs. I know it's been days, eventually though I resurfaced. Ivan and Demetrius eventually leave as I slowly come down from the drug. My head is pounding and my body feels like it's on fire so I stay tucked away in my flooded cave, head barely above the water. I have to crawl back out a bit as Wolf returns to my cell.

"I tried Lamb, I tried very hard to keep you out of Sergey's room but you are too stubborn. Demetrius get her down."

My ankles are untied and the chain holding me up lowers. I can't help the sigh of relief as my arms fall in front of me. I stumbled forward as I felt a hand shoving me forwards, I got the hint and started walking. There are two armed figures in front and behind me, Demetrius and Wolf to my left and right.

I'm forced to walk for a bit, passing other cells most are empty or impossible to see in. The ones with people in them aren't looking any better than me. Eventually we reach a door and I'm shoved through. It's another cement room with a small window at the top of the far back wall. It's dark I can see there's outlines in the dark of items but I can only make out a few things. There's a light on over a single chair and there's a man standing next to the chair. That's the one thing I can see clearly.

I'm shoved into the chair, my hands are rebound behind the chair. My legs are bound together and then tied to the front two legs. Wolf sits down in another chair in front of me, Demetrius leans against the wall next to the door, and the other man, Sergey walks behind me, draping a rope around the front of me and placing both hands on my shoulders.

"I suggest you speak up now Lamb, Sergey isn't going to give you much time to speak" I stare straight ahead mentally preparing myself for what is next. I don't know if I can fully retreat into myself but I have to protect myself and going there is the only way I know how.

Sergey's hand moved to grab the rope and hold it taunt. I take one last deep breath as the rope is wrapped slowly around my throat. I try to keep calm knowing that if I panic it'll be exactly what they want. But I also know that not panicking will be more difficult as this goes on.

"Last chance Lamb, all you have to do is tell us what you know. You'll be taken back to your cell maybe even get to visit your American friend, yes?"

I say nothing, slowly I feel the rope get tighter and tighter. At first there was not much of a change, it's like breathing with my compression bra and full kit tactical vest. There's a restriction but if you know how to compensate for it, it's not that hard to deal with. Then it's like running for too long, I'm bringing in air but it's shallow. Wheezing and panting, it's not pleasant but it's not enough to kill but it's uncomfortable.

As the rope gets tighter I can feel burning around my throat, the rope rubbing and cutting into the skin making it raw and tender. I can hear my heart beat, feel it thrumming in my skull. You know that feeling when you're holding your breath under water, those last moments of desperation before you push yourself out of the water? Imagine that but there's no surface to break through, I'm just sitting with the feeling. I force myself to retreat deeper into myself.

As soon as I do my body reacts, leg and arms twitching trying to fight against my restraints. My vision begins to blur and blacken around the edges, I can feel my lunges burning like there's fire slowly engulfing my chest. My whole body is thrumming and pounding in tune with my heart, like everything is pulsing. I can feel a cold sheen of sweat across my body, I think I'm crying but it's hard to tell. I think I'm too dehydrated to cry but I'm sweating so I can't be too certain. It's hard to think, to move, to do anything except gasp desperately for air.

I'm teetering on the edge of oblivion, I know if this keeps up I won't be around to see salvation. A part of me is hoping for that little push, to have this all end. I wonder if it would be the same as when I retreat into myself, just floating in the miasma of distant feelings. I wonder if I'll feel the pain of my body slowly fade or if it'll just all disappear at once...

Suddenly the pressure is gone, I'm shunted out of my brain into the driver's seat. I gasp for air, gulping and heaving trying desperately to air in my lungs. The feelings are still there but faint like I'm drifting when I know I'm not. I'm very much in the middle of all of this and I can't retreat to find comfort.

"So are you willing to talk? Because the next thing isn't going to be as nice as this Lamb."

"Go. Feck. Yourself... You can all go rot..." My voice is horse and strained.

"I really do wish you would just cooperate Ms. O'Connor, it's been eleven days... Price is not coming for you. Why protect him?"

I say nothing keeping my expression stoic, but inside I feel something begins to bleed. It's been slowly cracking slightly oozing something into my veins and to my heart. I'm losing hope, I don't want to think of Price abandoning me but it may be my reality. I get nauseous at that thought, because surely at least one of my team is fighting to come and get me, right?

No, this will get me nowhere. "Go eat a bullet"

"Sergey, you have 3 days with our Lamb here. Why not demonstrate the other event she's going to enjoy with you."

Demetrius walks behind me, grabbing the back of my chair and tilting it back holding it there. Sergey ties a cloth over my face and I instantly know I'm going to have to fight. I hear metal creaking and water rushing, footsteps and splashing getting closer and closer. I take a deep breath at the last possible second.

The water splashes over my face covering the cloth. As soon as I can't hold my breath for any longer I begin to move my head taking deep gasping breaths before moving again. Water invades everything, burning as it goes down my nose and throat, stinging as it rushes across the cut on my cheek. I hold my breath as the water moves across my face, I try to keep my movements subtle. I don't want them to be able to predict me. Eventually the water stops and the rag is removed, the rope around my shoulders is being picked up again.

"Good luck Lamb, Sergey doesn't find pleasure in this work so he'll be changing frequently between the two. I'll see you again in 3 days, hopefully after your time spent with Sergey you'll be more talkative."

I watch as Wolf leaves the room and I feel the rope tighten. There's searing pain all across my neck and a pounding in my head. I'm also incredibly cold, being wet causes the rope to slip and a soft cry escapes my lips as more tears fall from my eyes. I hear Demetrius chuckles darkly and fresh tears fall as my air supply is stolen from me again.

The next chunk of time is numbing. Going back and forth between retreating into my mind to being shunted back out in order to survive drowning it breaks a small part of me. I don't want to give up hope but I can't wait any longer, if I stay any longer I'm going to die. Escaping on my own is just as likely to kill me but there's a chance and I can't hold out any longer.

Wolf drags me back to my original cell, putting me back into the same position as before. He sits down in his chair, dismissing Demetrius and bringing another soldier to stand beside him.

"Oh little Lamb you're losing hope, I can tell. There's a dying spark in your eyes. Do you know how long you've been here?"

I keep my head down, refusing to meet his eye but too tired to keep my head up. I'm so tired, I just want this to stop... But there's only one option that will truly make this stop, I have to escape.

"14 days... Two weeks and nothing from your captain or team. I will leave you for now, let you recover for a few days and think about where your loyalty lies Lamb..." Wolf leaves and so too does the guard.

I have a rough plan on how to get out, Wolf has been true to his words so far. Because of that I've had plenty of time to think and realize that the pipe I'm strung up on is loose. If I can just get enough leverage I'd be able to get myself out. Beyond that it's survival but it's my only chance.

I'm receiving a meal again, once a day or at least that's what I assume the cycle is. There's multiple guards when the meal comes so I can't spring the plan then, but it may be my only hope.

I hear the shifting of my cell door and as I look up through my hair I see Wolf approaching with my food. It's just him in the cell but Demetrius is standing outside smiling at me. I feel nauseous again.

"You've had a day to think Lamb, how are you feeling? Maybe a bit of food will help you better come to the right answer."

"I'd think a lot better if I wasn't strung up like a butchered pig."

"I'd let you down if I could but sadly it is not my call Lamb. If you gave us what we needed then we could let you down Lamb." There's a commotion as multiple armed guards come rushing towards the cell.

"Sir! There is multiple armed soldiers invading cell block A! What should we do?"

My heart leaps to my throat, is it them? Are they finally here? Was I right that they'd come for me!?

"Who are they?"

"Mostly armed militia sir, they're only trying to get to cell block A. Its not the men you warned us about!"

No... No that can't be. Why aren't they here... Why have they left me? What did I do wrong? Surely they're here right? They haven't abandoned me... It's Farah coming to Alex... But do they even know I'm here... Does anyone know... Do they think-

"Send all squads except for A and B squads, they will guard the halls here."

My vision pulls back, back into that safe comforting area of mind that I've scraped and clawed at to keep myself sain. That dark bleeding feeling becomes a flood. I'm not in control, I can't be anymore. I'm not capable of it anymore, so float and sink. The flooding of the black fluid emotion seems to be what's moving me now.

The soldiers rush away and Demetrius turns his back to the cell. Wolf is still sitting in front of me with his back to me and he looks distracted. I grab the chain, pull myself up, swing my body forwards and wrap my legs around Wolf's shoulders. I pulled him towards me so I have better leverage and used that to pry the pipe down.

Once the chain and pipe becomes loose I loop the chain tight around Wolf's neck. And then I pull, putting all of my strength until I feel a pop then keep going until there's another pop and Wolf stops flailing. I drop onto the ground with the body of Wolf underneath me.

I stand, dropping the chains, and grabbing the pipe. Demetrius still has his back to the cell, I move towards the bars. Quickly I get the bar out of the cell and in front of Demetrius, I grab both sides and throw my entire weight back. I can feel him thrashing and clawing at my arms.

"Not so fun being on the other side is it?" I can see the panic in his eyes as he tries to turn his head towards me, something inside me purrs with satisfaction. I throw my weight back once more and hold it until he's no longer moving, until he's no longer breathing, there's a purr again. I check both bodies finding Demetrius's brass knuckles and a knife left in the cell. I cut my hand loose of their bindings and take a moment to let relief flood my system.

I open the cell door and go the opposite way the soldiers ran. My body is moving on its own, going from shadow to shadow. It's like I'm watching from a distance, through a thick fog. Everything is murky and hard to see or hear, but I still know what I'm doing.

I know that I'm currently pressed against a wall listening to three lightly armed guards talk to each other. I can feel the excitement and joy as they split off two and one. I can feel the strain of my body as I grab the guard and pull him towards me. The swift movement of my knife across his throat, the warm coating of blood across my hands. The ache and pain from moving the body to better be hidden.

My body doesn't grab his gun, a part of me understands. I have the element of surprise right now and guns are loud, but I can hear another part of me screaming to grab it. That gun is a safety net and we need that small comfort, it sounds desperate as it please. But whatever is in control doesn't care and keeps moving.

Again finding shadow my body approaches the two guards, they stop and turn their backs to each other and stand facing down two opposite directions. Slowly approaching the one on the right and grabs them. Pivoting so the guard so he's facing his buddies as they scream and shout in Russian. The one not grappled turned and sprayed a spread of bullets hitting his friends. There's warmth spreading across my lower abdomen as the body's blood seeps out all over me and the tattered dirty clothes I'm still wearing. He's still alive so my knife and hands get a fresh coat of red.

Grabbing the dead man's side arm and shooting it twice at the chest of the female guard. The two bodies drop and my body is on the move again. It's odd how different my body is on auto pilot, running purely on instinct, adrenaline, and that dark flooding feeling that is all around me.

I know what it's called, what it is but saying it, acknowledging it feels like it will break something in me. Permanently changing something I could never get back. She knows it and I know it, we both know as well that this is the only way to protect us. So She stays in charge, surviving on feral instincts while I sink slowly deeper into our mind. Escaping further and further away from everything because this is how I'll survive.

She finds more guards, four solo roaming the halls. Each one painted our hands and arms with more red, with each kill I can feel myself sinking further and further away. It's odd I've never allowed Her full control like this, She's always there when I kill. That overwhelming emptiness I feel when I pull the trigger... It scares me every time, so I focus on their humanity and the sadness of ending them. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

She finds another two soldiers, dragging the first one away into a shadowy alcove. As soon as the blood on our arms started to cool the other soldier appeared opening fire. The sharp, crystal clear, stab of pain pulls me up to the surface of everything. I have the chance to pull myself into the driver's seat again but it's so comforting to be just drifting. So I let myself sink again, because if I'm going to die then I want to die with whatever comfort I can get... And being adrift in this lonely sea of my mind is the greatest comfort I have.

She moves again tackling our assailant and stabbing into his throat. Standing and moving again we continue down the halls. Then there's the unmistakable sound of rapid gun fire down the hall in front of us. She ducts into the shadows again, slowly moving us towards three figures... All of their backs turned towards us. Distracted by something else and not paying attention to the danger right behind them. I can feel the deep satisfaction She purrs out as it echoes through the waters I'm floating in.

The one furthest back is the first to go as She launches herself onto the back of the first guard. Our knife finds a home in his neck, three times as more red coats more of our body. He's still holding his rifle and all it takes is for her to aim towards the second soldier, his friends impulses do the rest it unloads into number twos back.

I feel myself slipping further away, I can't handle being so close. I can feel everything, the thrumming of pain, the pumping of adrenaline, the warmth of blood soaking my body... The lack of emotions... There's nothing, just death. And that scares me so I sink further below, into the comforts of my mind.

Still holding the body She turns towards the last soldier as he fires repeatedly into his fellow guard's body. Only once he starts to reload his rifle does She begin to move, surging forwards and tackling him to the ground. It's only once we're on the ground that it seems to register that our beloved knife is in the neck of the first guard. Thankfully though we have the brass knuckles from Demetrius's cold corpse.

There's a difference between slicing someone's neck open and beating someone to death. It's a difference I never wanted to know but I do now, I can't seem to slip far enough away. I can feel everything, every crack of bone, every splitting of skin, and every splatter of blood. I force myself further away, I can't deal with this.

She grabs the soldier's knife and stabs it into his chest. I can hear the movement even through the pounding of our heart and our heavy breathing. She turns pulling our new knife from the guard's chest and begins to move towards the last living guard. She stood over him before falling to our knees, one on either side of him.

"No, please... Please! PLEA-" His begging is interrupted as the first stab goes into his back, puncturing a lunge. A lung being stabbed while someone is talking isn't a pleasant sound. There's a rushing of garbled air that escapes the mouth. His pleas get quieter and quieter as her stabs get louder and more frequent. Only stopping once the guard stops moving. Something moves in front of us and I can feel the blood thirst spike again.

"O'Connor are you okay?"

Wait I know that voice! We know that voice!

She stands up gripping the knife tightly, that the same purr echoes around me. Excited for more blood...

"Calm down you're hurt, we can get you out!"

No no no no! Stop! We know him! It's Soap! He's a friend! He's our boy!

I try desperately to swim up, I have to gain control. I can't stay here but it's so hard to get out. Why? It's been so easy before to pull myself to the surface and out into control, why has it changed? I can't get to him in time. I watch in horror, trapped in my own mind, as my body moves to kill Soap.

Something large, dark, and strong grapples my body dragging Her away. I see the white skull and panicked brown eye of Ghost. I continue to claw desperately in my own mind. What once was a comfort, a way to keep myself sane and safe, now feels like another prison for me to escape... Because if I don't I may kill my boys.

Ghost gets the knife out of our hand and prevents Her from grabbing his knife attached to the vest he's wearing. I can hear Soap begging for me to calm down and every part of me is screaming the same thing. Ghost is a formidable opponent when sparing but we're evenly matched, though he tends to win a few more rounds. I hope more than anything that today is one of those days that he predicts the winning move right.

She goes to lunge again and Ghost predicts it, dodging to the side before moving to pin our body against the ground. Positioning himself better, he puts me into a headlock before sitting back. He wraps his left leg around and pins our left leg, properly preventing Her from getting any leverage.

"O'Connor please, calm down. It's just me and Johnny, we're not here to hurt you!"

She continues thrashing and growling, I can feel Ghost squeeze harder. I can feel our nails dig into Ghost's arm. At first there was only fabric but then I heard something rip and I could feel flesh. Ghost squeezes harder and the same suffocating feeling overcomes me but this time I truly hope I don't get the chance to resurface. Because I'm not sure I can get back into control in time.

"Calm down O'Connor!"

Slowly the thrashing stops and I can feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. Finally I resurface but I know it's too late so I give into the oblivion of sleep.

I'm floating again, but there's something wrong. This isn't me shielding myself from something happening, this is the familiar in-between of conscious and unconscious. That state where your mind is awake and your body is still out. I focus on what I can remember and panic floods everything, the torturing, my escape, the disconnect getting worse, my feral frenzy, Soap and Ghost. Suddenly the curtain is lifted and I can hear myself screaming.

I'm sitting up, pushed far back against the bed, breathing heavily. I'm in a hospital room not a concrete cell and all the tension and panic is gone. I look to see everyone here, Laswell, Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz and Roach. I feel tears streak down my cheeks as they check in on me and indulge me in a group hug.

Eventually I was discharged and learned I was kidnapped by the Russian ultra nationalist extremist group. They were keeping tabs on Farah hoping to catch Price the next time they interact together... But I was the second best opinion. Farah and Alex visited me in the hospital and explained what happened.

My lieutenant never informed anyone about me going out for a house call despite regulation. It got chaotic and busy very fast. It took Farah going to look for me about two days later to realize I was missing, it was only then that the lieutenant spoke up. Alex manages to track down the young man who lured me away. He learns the young man's sister was being held hostage and that luring me away was the only way she'd be set free.

It took four days to find the prison sight, only for their attempt to break in to fail and gets Alex captured. Farah the entire time was trying to get ahold of someone from the 141, anyone but nothing was going through. By the time Farah managed to get something through Price was already on his way. I feel relief knowing they were looking for me, trying to find me but I feel a bit of resentment towards how long it took. I know logically why it would've taken so long but I can't seem to shake the bitter resentment that has made it's home next to my heart.

Everyone was with me as we had to drive and again I felt myself crying. I hate that I doubted them but that small dark part was whispering that it was a reasonable thing to do. Before we leave the hospital to go back to base, Laswell stops me.

"Maevis, before you return to base I have a massage from Quinn..." There's anxiety in Kate's voice as she hands me a small envelope. "I'm sorry she's had a change of heart. I wanted to tell you before you got to base... You usually try to talk to her and I know you'd likely try..." (My friend no longer wants her OC to be in a lesbian relationship, is okay that happens! Love you Jules)

I spent the ride back to the base thinking; about Quinn, about my most recent experience, about those who've stuck beside me and tried to save me... About the shame and frustration I felt and still feel. There's a whirlwind of a million thoughts and emotions in my head and I can't focus on a single one.

Once back on base Price calls me into his office, we walk together into the room. I sat in front of his desk chair expecting him to sit there, instead he sat in the chair next to me. He had his hands clasped together with his head down causing the shadow from his bucket hat to cover his face.

"John? Wha-"

"I'm sorry it took us so long Maevis... There's no excuse for it. I should have known something was wrong the moment our communication stopped. As soon as you didn't come back from the week deployment I should have pulled everyone back from their ops and looked into it."

"John... You couldn't have known, Farah already told us that their communication was compromised. You also had multiple small operations going that you had to pay attention to. I was the one least likely to be in danger, I had Farah and Alex with me and a full squad dealing with injured civilians. I'm fine now..." I try to keep the tears in but I can feel the warmth of them falling onto my cheeks.

"15 days and 12 hours... You had multiple lacerations, bruising, and rope burns. You were severely starved and was extremely close to death by dehydration. Not to mention the lack of sleep and the cocktail of drugs in your system... You were tortured within an inch of your life and you managed to escape. You don't experience all of that and walk out fine." Price looks at me with that look. The same look he gives he'll give one of the youngsters after a particularly rough day. Thankfully this isn't the first time I've cried in front of Price so I don't feel ashamed or embarrassed.

"That's not the worst part for me though John! I... Sweet Jaesus I thought you'd never come. That you'd left me or that you couldn't find me." Price placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it slightly to comfort me.

"Then Farah's team broke into the wrong cell block and something snapped. I was so confused and hurt... I was angry... I felt... Hopeless like no matter what I was going to die so I at least wanted to die trying to get out of there..." I was struggling to breathe as the words kept tumbling out, I just kept blabbering about everything that happened. Everything came out, I told Price everything that I experienced and how I coped with it.

"I'm sorry Maevis, I'm so sorry..." John pulls me into a long hug after I finish talking. We stayed like that for a while John holding me while I cried into his shoulder. It reminds me of when we were younger, all those rough nights with Will, questioning if I made the right choices. Eventually though I calm down and I leave to debrief some random Superior Officer with everything that happened and what I learned.

An hour and a half of me going into graphic details and some high ranking general asking stupid questions. Once I'm finally dismissed the cantina is closed and I'm not in the mood to go to the rec room so I just walk to my office. I have to replace my bandages anyways. I open my office door to see Gaz sitting in front of my desk. He turns and smiles at me as soon as I close the door.

"You didn't come to dinner and Price told us you had to talk to your COs and answer questions... I noticed you still weren't out of your meeting as the cantina was about to close so I grabbed your dinner..." It was then that I noticed the tray of food on my desk, still warm.

"Thank you Gaz, that's very thoughtful of you." I walk over and sit across from him. We chat for a bit while I eat, he tells me about the mission he and Roach were sent on. It was just some simple recon with plenty of gorgeous views.

"Would you like help with some of your bandages? I know they're difficult to replace alone and I'm already here..." I smile at Gaz before nodding. I'm wearing a tank top with loose pants because of all the bandages and how uncomfortable they are when I wear a turtle neck. Though I have been wearing my hoodie.

It takes a bit and by the time Gaz finishes helping me with my arm and neck it's late into the night. I tell him I can get the rest on my own and that he should go to bed. After Gaz leaves and I finish replacing my bandages I go to bed.

It's been a few days since I've been dismissed from the hospital and put on medical leave. I'm having trouble sleeping consistently so I'm currently out for a late night walk. It was raining earlier today and now it's the perfect weather for a night walk. I'm slowly walking around the outside of the furthest hanger.

I don't see or hear anyone when suddenly there's a figure behind me. I feel myself shunted out of the driver's seat and into that same miasma from before, my vision loses focus and my body reacts before I can even comprehend. I spin and grab the figure shoving them hard against the building. I look to see Roach is who I have pinned.

Roach who has a look of shock and pain written across he face... He has fear in his eyes, he's scared of me. And that realization pulls me back so fast I wonder if I can mental whiplash. I quickly let go of my hold on the boy and step back. Shame floods senses and blurring my vision.

"I- I'm so sorry Roach... I don't know what came over me! Are you okay?" I can hear the fear in my own voice and the tears welling up in my eyes. I try to keep them at bay but they start flowing freely. Because instead of saying or signing anything to me, Roach steps forwards and pulls me into a hug. I cling to him as the tears continue their journey.

"I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to hurt you, to scare you... I don't know why I did that, I've never done that before... I don't know what came over me, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" It's getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Mom, calm down... Breathe for me yeah?" Roach pulls back a bit and places my hand onto his chest above his heart. I can feel the faintest thumping of his heart and the inhale, exhale of his chest. I unintentionally start breathing in sync with him, calming me down.

"I snuck up on you, you reacted. You didn't hurt me, I was just caught off guard. I wanted to ask if you'd like to walk with me?" I nod not trusting my voice.

We walk together in relative silence, occasionally being broken up by small chats or Ripley barking at Roach to throw her ball. We eventually make our way back into the barracks and split up to go to our different rooms. I'm physically exhausted which helps me shut off my brain a bit and fall asleep easier.

I'm sitting in my office catching up on paperwork when two figures appear in my doorway. I look up to see Ghost and Soap walking in and sitting across from me at my desk. I set aside what I was doing to give the duo my full attention.

"I wanted to say thank you for getting me out of that prison and I'm sorry for attac-"

"Don't apologize Doc" Ghost cuts me off and Soap nods in agreement. Soap stares at me, like he's looking for something before speaking.

"LT said it best, you weren't yourself. Whatever attacked us was running on pure instinct alone... Though that was scary as hell, you were horrifying. I'd say almost as scary as Ghost!" Soap was smiling as Ghost gave the sergeant a slight shove on his shoulder.

"But seriously I don't ever want to be in your sights like that again. You looked ready to tear my head off and play football with it, if Ghost hadn't jumped in when he did." Soap got this far off look before he continued to speak. "I really hope none of us have to see you like that ever again... It felt so wrong to watch you act so ruthless."

" I'm sorry you had to witness that... It scared me too, I didn't feel in control at all. It was like I was locked away in my own head watching my body react without my input... I hated it." Ghost nods his head with this knowing look in his eyes.

"Doc... Roach told me about last night, he told me you had the same look in your eyes..." I look at Ghost and he has a familiar glint in his eyes.

"While I was..." I make a vague gesture. "Anytime it got to be too much I slipped into my head, it was the only place that felt safe." I focused on a spot behind their heads. I felt like I couldn't look at them as I talked about this.

"Eventually I just stayed there, only resurfacing to listen to that bastard talk. But there was something breaking that I couldn't fix... And then the dam broke and I just kept sinking further and further down..." I felt the warmth of fresh tears on my cheeks and I just want to curl into myself.

"Is it fixed? The dam?"

"I don't think so, there's still a leak I can feel it slowly oozing near my heart. It was worse the first few days in the hospital..."

"What will it take for that dam to break again? Will it break again..."

"I don't know honestly... It will... Now that it's broken I don't think I can go back to normal." I look at Ghost and we maintain eye contact, silently acknowledging each other.

"How do we help you when it happens again Doc?"

"Knock me out, after that... I'm not sure... I've been struggling to figure out how to cope with everything. I'm still physically recovering so I can't really do what I'd normally do. I can't workout or go to the range and I can't just throw myself into a mission because I've been sidelined." I rub my temples as I think a bit more before sighing.

"Usually I'd read but I haven't gone into town to buy any new books... Though I suppose I can, now that I'm sidelined for a bit."

"Then that's what you do Doc... Trust me it takes some time to get back to some form of normalcy after something like that. You won't be the same, there's permanent changes from what happened." Ghost has the same sad look in his eyes, every time I look at him since I've woken up in the hospital.

It's not a look of pity, it's a look of understanding. Like he knows exactly what I went through and I know he does. He probably understands better than anyone even me. There's a sense of camaraderie between us now... A camaraderie that neither of us wanted the other to understand, but sadly that's not the case. Instead it's nice to know that there's someone here who can intimately understand the why behind something.

I'm not alone, a sad but comforting fact.

COD Master List

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparks tour 2023 part 2: The Royal Albert Hall - show #1

After two more nights of extremely broken sleep due to excitement and anxiety, a 5 hour bus journey to London with my two tour buddies Sarah (@dinkydiamond) and Amanda, and having heard the album for the first time on said bus journey (thank you Sarah for letting me use your headphones for my first listen!) probably looking like I was high (it's just Sparks and extreme sleep deprivation), we now arrive at the day of the first Royal Albert Hall concert. In the morning me and Sarah met up with @where-did-the-groove-go and visited Abbey Road as none of us had been before, and also visited the place Ron and Russell had previously lived where we were reunited with Amanda and all pretended to be “fucking freezing”. (A good time was had.)

In the afternoon we met up in the park in front of the Royal Albert Hall with a group of 16 Sparks friends that we met over the years ^^ It's not often that so many Sparks fans who have come from different places all over the world are in one place, and honestly this was so special! (It wasn't always like this where there’s been so many of us, and we really are living in the good times!) As well as previously mentioned people, other tumblr people present were @votedmostlikelytofail, @parts-of-me-unravelling (thanks again for having brought pineapple to the meetup!) and @nocribdoll (who, I forgot to mention, I'd bought the new album with on the day of the show in Manchester, where at multiple record shops we had been informed that Russell had visited the shop earlier in the day).

…I just need to say, I love our fandom so much. All the people present at all the different shows and everyone I spoke to online as things were happening contributed so much to how next level amazing everything was! Okay, on to the show. I just had to mention the fandom and friends at least at one point in my write-ups because it really wouldn't have been the same without you all :)

Royal Albert Hall - Night 1 (may 29, 2023)

Impressively large building and a very fancy concert hall, WHAT NOT TO LOVE! The three of us had been a bit worried about sitting too far away because we were up in the highest balcony (like a lot of people who bought their tickets as soon as they went on sale we'd been screwed over during the ticket sale and offered only balcony seats), but we really needn't have worried - this was STUNNING, and even more important: we got to be here!!

Mr.B the Gentleman Rhymer

First up: Mr.B the Gentleman Rhymer! (Who had been excitedly and nervously posting on Instagram about playing the Royal Albert Hall which was very joyful, as you can see here.) When he came on it became clear our view was pretty good as we were some of the first to notice him entering the stage, resulting in me shouting WHOO! before he was visible to most people - this has actually ended up in a reel he posted later (see below) and I'm not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed 😂 This audience though was already proving to be amazing as the response to Mr.B was really good! It was so nice to be here with my long time Sparks buddies at this special night, and to start it off collectively singing along to Mr.B :)

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A post shared by @gentlemanrhymer

Sparks

We lost our minds when Sparks came on! Now that we'd all heard the album we realized their entrance music was Take Me For A Ride which had us all sorts of “!!!!!!!!!!!!”, plus WOW this audience! We couldn't help shouting, clapping and saying “this is AMAZING!” to each other about it all, and all Sparks had done so far was enter the stage. All this audience seemed to want to do was give them a standing ovation, before anything else. (I'm so here for it, hell yeah let us all applaud Sparks for a couple of hours!) A few lines into So May We Start it became clear Russell had managed to already spot us in the audience and we were really dying up there 🥹 (Having been noticed in the balcony in Manchester was one thing (and I never saw that one coming), but this was a whole other level and this was The extra special show. I will cry.) The audience ROARED when the song kicked in when Russell did his jump. Seeing and hearing them be so loved by so many people was literally everything. Videos of the roar still make me cry, it was so loud! Over 5000 people going insane over Sparks. You can come and pick me up from the floor. (Or leave me there, that's fine too.)

We're not really balcony people as our levels of excitement are a bit too much for it but we sang and danced our asses off up there, despite feeling overly self-conscious at times as some people deliberately pick balcony seats to enjoy a show from their seat with unobstructed views. But it was really special to see this show from the balcony because seeing the way the whole audience responded was one of the most beautiful things. I'll never forget it. I can not convey with any sort of accuracy how that audience sounded and what it was like. It really was something. At multiple points between songs there had to be a moment for the applause to exist in, there was so much love in the hall.

A few songs in, Russell addressed the audience with so much heart and emotion and excitement about the relevance of playing the Royal Albert Hall that he really seemed to struggle to keep it together at one point, Ron was equally extremely moved. “You don't know what a treat this is, for us to be playing here tonight. Ron and I, when we first moved to London way back in the early 70’s, we hadn't even yet recorded the Kimono My House album … we would stroll out at the front of the Albert Hall on that main road out there, and we'd just say, ‘wow. The Albert Hall.’ and we said, ‘yeah but that's just where the big groups play…’ And, I guess by that logic, 2 sold out shows at the Albert Hall … Sparks has now become a big band!” *a very large applause* “Thank you! It's all because of you so, thank you!” (We obviously sat there looking like this: 🥹)

This whole evening was a perfect mix of gentle and loving attention, and energetically singing and bouncing your heart out. You can only imagine what the reactions to the songs were like, but obviously special mentions for the big hits like This Town, and for everyone's favourite danceable song Music That You Can Dance To. @nocribdoll was sat away relatively close to us and tried to come dance with us but security didn't allow it. One of my favourite song introductions that night was for Nothing Is As Good As They Say It Is, Russell seemed to need a moment to piece the words together and said “... It's from the viewpoint of a 22 hour old child” *cheering* “a lot of you are 22 hour old child fans”. Sir 😂

During Gee, That Was Fun some people in the audience had taken their phone torches out by their own initiative which was really beautiful. There was a lot of applause before they left the stage, and again when they came back for the encore, after which Russell again remarked on how special it was to be playing the Albert Hall and to get such a warm reception as well <3

The band introduction was great for multiple reasons, one of which was that there was a moment of confusion about which microphone Russell should use and he said: “this mic? Or this mic? This mic. [Read this next line with him sounding quite disappointed] …we've got too many microphones.” Which was great on its own already, but Ron didn't miss a beat in looking for another microphone and holding it out to Russell while Russell continued to introduce Evan Weiss XD

What also happened during the band introductions is what people have already been calling Viagra gate but I think the moment it happened makes it. (Whether that's making it better or worse I'll leave up to you.) Russell did his “OH YEAH.”, pretending to just remember Ron exists. Walked over to Ron and grinned, “him!”, which resulted in a Ron Ron Ron chant. After egging us all on for a bit, Russell broke it off and said “my big brother, Ron Mael!”, which was when Ron was expected to stand up to receive applause, and that, my fellow fans of various genders, was the exact moment Ron was holding up a packet of Viagra looking visibly confused. (Things that can only happen at a Sparks concert.) Ron also introduced Russell as the lead vocalist of the band :)

Which brings us to the final song: All That. Russell, being super subtle, said “That light thing that you guys were doing in Gee, That Was Fun, …from the stage it looked really amazing. And this is another one where it would be appropriate.” :) And like… I need you to imagine the most loving and most beautiful and heartfelt thing you can imagine, and multiply it by 5000. Edgar Wright captured some of it while he stood backstage and while it's a hard moment to do justice in words or in video, it has made me cry on multiple occasions watching this back or just thinking about it. It is a pretty darn good video:

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A post shared by @edgarwright

(A video that hits me even harder was made by a fan who was close to the front of the stage, who first films Ron and Russell and the band performing and then turns around to reveal all the lights waving in the hall. …It really was an immense privilege to have been part of this, to celebrate this all with Sparks and so many fans.)

Russell gave a really nice speech of gratitude to Edgar Wright and the team behind The Sparks Brothers, who were present as well, and then Edgar came on stage as he would be taking the audience photo. Russell asked for us all to give him a great round of applause which was super sweet. There were hugs on stage :) Edgar proceeded to pretend to struggle to take the photo, which resulted in remarks from Russell about him being a director and that he was directing them right now and it was really fun to see them respond to Edgar. Edgar called them over and Ron told us Edgar had just asked “What's my motivation”, before they went back to strike another pose. 10/10 sweet moment.

Ron and Russell received so much applause at the end and honestly, the standing ovations were possibly my favourite thing about the entire night. They let us all applaud them for a really long time 💖 “You made our dream come true tonight, so thank you!” …We got a wave from them before they left the stage (🥹🥹🥹) and it really means everything to have been able to be part of this super special night, with two amazing friends at my side 💖

~~~

After the show someone who had been behind us in the balcony complimented us on our enthusiasm and energy, which was really nice. (And ESPECIALLY compliments to Sarah, who truly is The Energetic Fan Extraordinaire✨) We stood outside talking with friends for a long time, which apparently bothered security so much that they didn't even want us to take a group photo in front of the building, so we took our conversation a few metres further out and continued on. Some people were visiting the artist entrance doors, where the other band members had been talking to people and taking photos with people which was so nice. One of my favourite photos of the night though that I'll treasure forever is one @parts-of-me-unravelling took of our little gang in the balcony with our lights out during All That. (Again, thank you so much for that!) So here's a photo I took of her that I took before the show, and the photo she took of us:

Sadly after this there had to be a goodbye to some of our friends who wouldn't be there the next day. But the whole of this day was a really, really special one. Thank you to all who added to it, whether it was in person or online :)

[thecoppercompendium]

for the tarot rpg ask game! The Fool, The Empress, The Hierophant, The Chariot, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Tower, The Star, The Sun

Wow, that's a lot (to be clear I am not complaining)! Thanks for your interest! I've already answered The Chariot and The Star here, so I won't answer them a second time, but the rest are new!

The Fool – What do the earliest stages of work on a game look like for you? OR How did you get into game design?

I'm going to be greedy on this one and answer both parts, because… I want to, to be honest. The earliest stages of design vary quite a lot for me, but typically start with either a mechanic (say, exploding dice), a concept (a game set in an eldritch ocean) or a title (Summit). If I'm very lucky, I occasionally start with all three! From there, my first step is to define a few restrictions for myself, normally 1/2 for mechanics and gameplay and 1/2 for genre/vibes. For instance, with The Curse Lingers (which I'll come to in more detail) I started with the idea of it being based on nuclear waste warnings (vibes), that it would be multiplayer (gameplay), and that I wanted to use Caltrop Core for it (mechanics). These restrictions give me a direction to push the game in, even if I often end up ignoring some or all by the end of the process.

When it comes to how I got into game design… It was D&D 5e. My friends badgered me enough to DM for them that I read the entire PHB cover to cover in a day or so, then proceded to make some (very very bad) homebrew for the very first session I ever ran of any TTRPG. I do not recommend this in the least. While that campaign eventually petered out, my creation of homebrew did not, and in the last year and a half I've drifted further from 5e and began making stuff for other systems, as well as a few TTRPGs of my own.

The Empress — Where do your ideas come from? OR Do you seek out or avoid inspiration while working on an idea?

To be completely honest, I have little to no idea where my ideas come from. I have a colossal list of concepts on my phone, typically titles or bare-bones mechanical possibilities, but I can't pinpoint the source of many of them. Some spring from conversations with my friends, others crop up at 4am, probably as a result of sleep deprivation, still more sneak their way in after seeing some particularly cool art. I wish my inspiration for games was more consistent, but I'm definitely not going to be running out any time soon.

This is getting long, so continued under the cut.

The Hierophant — Who is a fellow game designer you’ve learned a lot from? OR What is a piece of popular wisdom about games you think is nonsense?

I can't nail down one particular game designer I've particularly learned from -- I tend to magpie from any and everything I read, taking inspiration from the mechanics and flavour that most appeal to me. In this vein, we have @rathayibacter for their excellent work on [BXLLET>, @prokopetz for his many many posts on game design, John Harper for Blades in the Dark, Spencer Campbell (Gila RPGs) for RUNE and Caro Asercion for Exquisite Biome and i'm sorry did you say street magic. I'm sure there's more that I've forgotten. I've recently joined @uktabletopindustrynetwork, and am learning a lot from everyone there, too.

The Hanged Man — What other creative pursuits do you have? OR What current trends in game design are you most interested in?

I've written a couple of first drafts for fantasy novels that I will come back to one day. My main creative passion has always been worldbuilding, so that inevitably gets built into my TTRPGs in some way if I can get away with it. I particularly love creating maps of the worlds I create. I've been working on a map for my fantasy world that I run D&D (at the moment at least) in since I started that first campaign, back in late 2019. I've included one small section of it here, a dimensional overlap between that world and the Far Realms known as The Wandering Isles, created using assets from Map Effects (it goes without saying you can use it for personal use if you like, but not for commercial use). I've made a bunch of others for towns and cities, but it's the overall world map that's taking the time -- the world keeps expanding on me.

The Devil — What motifs or mechanics do you just keep coming back to? OR What is a game you’ve enjoyed playing in the last year?

As it happens, I was thinking about this last night before reading back through these questions. Turns out every single one of my games so far has you fighting against time in some way: Summit drains your cards the more time it takes you to climb, I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE is literally about trying not to be late, the Curse Lingers has a curse mechanic that mutates you the longer you spend within a temple, and both of my current in-progress games have a clock that counts down in some way. I'm beginning to suspect this says something about me…

The Tower — Talk about about a game you tried to make that crashed and burned.

The very first game I tried to make after becoming disillusioned with D&D (during the OGL debarcle, as it happens, what a surprise) was tentatively named Cursed Fools. It was far too ambitious for a first game, used a deck of playing cards and had an interlocking system of Curse and Boon cards, as well as complex spellcasting, classes and a TONNE of elaborate worldbuilding. I do still like a lot of the mechanics I came up with for it, but odds are the game will never see the light of day in its original form. Since then I've continued to battle scope creep (my nemesis) but I've learned to begin with a smaller scale concept to mitigate.

The Sun — Talk about a game you’ve made that you’re proud of.

This is the bit where I talk about The Curse Lingers (TCL), the most insane thing I've decided to do (so far at least). As I mentioned earlier, TCL is a Caltrop Core game about nuclear waste warnings. In it, players take on the roles of the Keepers of the Temples, many years after an unspecified apocalypse. These Temples are cursed by a Relic, with each curse having specific triggers. Keepers delve into Temples to cleanse and claim these Relics, entering fragments of the Old World, our world, in order to do so.

I'm incredibly proud of the mechanics I developed to bring the feel to the game I wanted, using a variation on clocks (which I know from Blades in the Dark) as well as a health mechanic called Mutation, where a Keeper grows more powerful the closer they come to death. I'm proud of how the Temples and even the 4 included Keeper classes are all based on actual nuclear waste warning suggestions. What I'm most proud of, however, is how long it took me to make. I decided to create a TTRPG for Free RPG Day this year, and this became TCL. What I neglected to mention was that I decided this a week before Free RPG Day. I made the entire 28-page game, including formatting, within that week. It was one of the most exhausting and rewarding things I have ever done. I hope to not do something that insane again,

Thanks a tonne for the ask, and thanks to @che-bur-ashka / @wildwoodsgames for stealing/creating the ask game!

[applepies-and-starlight]

...so I completely forgot that (2) (more) people were interested in Siltcurrent. (Akuma!Ishmael)

Anyway I'm gonna be posting the text under cut because. It's A Lot. And there's a 10 image limit so I can't just screenshot my ramblings

Some Context for LCB moots/readers who have not seen MLB: Akumas are butterflies made by the show's villain (Hawkmoth) who target people experiencing negative emotions, usually said emotions influence how their villain self acts and what their powers are

Extra context for anyone confused: basically a while back I made an AU where Ishmael is the Ladybug (Scarlet Ardor) and Don is the Black Cat (Chatvalier). The aim of the game is bringing glory to yuriville here Also note that they're both in university in a modern AU where we aren't in the shitfest called the City for obvious reasons

Mid edit apple: now should probably be a good time to mention the entire context of the scenario here is that Ishy tries to confess to Don, gets rejected (as Ishmael) and accepted (as Ardor) at the same time. So in attempt to logic away her hurt she tries to figure out why Don likes Ardor better (Ishmael knows Don is Chatvalier (accidental); Don does not know Ishy is Ardor) but in doing so she attracts an Akuma and turns into Siltcurrent thanks faust

Mid edit apple 2: i'd like to clarify that 90% of these writings were written at 3am while i was delirious on sleep deprivation with all of my impulse controls dead on the floor

(Writings will be indented; ramblings will be in bullet points)

So! Siltcurrent! Ishmael Akuma!!

Akumatized late at night (roughly 11pm maybe) but it isn't noticable for the first few days

Illusion subset of powers; Siltcurrent conjures up a form of Ardor to try to keep up some form of normalcy

Omori vibes; as in, everything seems normal but there is something Wrong

Physiology:

Half-blind; Siltcurrent can only identify colors and vague shapes

Exception is Chatvalier/Don, she knows Exactly what to look for and it's Very Hard to trick her

Because Dream Devouring Siltcurrent reference, flouresents!

Bandages. Everywhere. Especially in the heart area

The bandage covering her chest is trying to hide a wound that looks like a lance ran through it

Constantly crying, like deadass her tears are flooding the place

Basically she looks like that fucked up Blind Obsession mer KoishiJSM drew

Oh, yeah, have I mentioned this fucker can break into your dreams?

It gently held her hands, adoration and malice waging war in its one visible eye, both combining into a new emotion that could only be possibly described as obsession.

"I love you," it said, gently kissing above her eye "I love hate love hate love hate..."

Its near-fanatical murmurs eventually petered out into a low whine, resting its head in the crook of her neck.

"You ruin me. Ruin me so much... I hate it I hate it, love you hate you love it love it please keep going please please please..."

(^^ this is a dream sequence; coincides with the last point i made)

(Siltcurrent keeps visiting don's dreams because her horrible compulsion keeps making her do it, otherwise she'd go even more insane for not acting on said compulsions)

Akuma has killed her impulse control so her intrusive thoughts are running rampant

She has at least enough self control to not go... Too Far, at least

(This lack of impulse control from "Ishmael" and "Ardor" is one of the things that tip off Don that something's wrong because honestly she's pretty smart despite what others say)

Very Avoidant of Don (as "Ishmael")

Like. Yk how ayano's like in yansim? Yeah basically

Mild yandere(?) mode now that i think of it

Like. She sees that Don's given someone else more attention than usual too and immediately tracks them down before pestering them about her (mainly like. Asking why she's been around them more, if they learned anything about her during their interactions, etc etc; comes off as overbearing and creepy)

It causes people to steer clear of don because nobody wants to deal with "ishmael"

This one needs screenshots i can't do it justice otherwise

Queequeg's..... Somewhere.

I don't know what exactly happens I just know the end result is that Ahab did A Thing and now our sailor has Trauma. Yk, usual limbus shit

Whatever the fuck happened broke Queequeg and her apart

Idk what it is exactly (could be death or other circumstance, probably the latter because.. cool leg) but whatever it is caused her to not quite. Open Up™ as a defense response

"I've been burned once, I don't want to be burned again"

"Don't go... don't go..."

Torrents of water began to fall from the sky, as if a god had punctured a hole in the clouds. Flooding the place and dragging her under.

"Please don't go..."

The thing pressed its body against her, eye searching for any reaction she had

"Empty... so empty... why do I keep breaking?"

"Why am I always hurt?"

"Is there something wrong with me?"

Don woke up again, managing to stifle a shout before she ended up waking the entire household.

(She swore she heard a choked sob off in the distance)

(^^ This one's a little rougher, but also another dream sequence)

(Side note: this one and the previous one were in italics because i used italics to distinguish my writing from my rambling in those entries and i'm too lazy to deitalicize them)

Ardor tentatively stepped towards Chatvalier, smile too stiff to be sincere; too wide to be human, her blue eyes desperately searching for something as she lifted a hand, only to awkwardly let it flop beside her.

(Her eyes were supposed to be green; a near-golden shade of olive that reminded Chatvalier of the first leaves heralding fall.)

"Hey, Chatvalier." Ardor spoke, her voice barely above a whisper yet still carrying through the space between them. "I..."

"Release Lady Ardor at once."

"Ardor's" smile faltered, her hands trembling with some deep-seated emotion.

"Chat, please." Its voice cracked as it took more steps towards the cat, "It's me, It's really-"

"Silence, wretch." Chatvalier spat, lowering her stance and pointing her staff at it. "Thou shall not decieve me; release her at once."

Its smile vanished completely, a tear sliding down its cheek.

Then, with a booming roar, a mighty wave crashed down on the fake.

(^^ beginning of what I like to call "Act 2", basically Don figures out Ishy's gotten Akumatized and something's Wrong with Ardor but instead draws the conclusion that Ishy kidnapped Ardor she mentioned she loved Ardor)

(Don't ask how I know my middle english I don't remember either (and if its janked anywhere please tell me))

Fun fact i originally used cur instead

But then i remembered the word wretch existed and went "yeah that's more in line with an absolutely pissed off Don"

"What do you want from me?!" The Akuma wailed, its head whipping around as it tried to find the flash of gold it so dearly adored, "Why are you doing this to me?!"

It screamed as it felt something stab into its tail, twisting around and throwing Chatvalier off of it, trying to shake off the pain from its mutilates tail

"Have I not told you, cur?" She shouted back, flourescent blood staining her boots as righteous fury burned in her eyes.

"Thou hath harmed mine lady, and it is mine duty to deliver retribution onto thee!"

(^^ I can't fucking figure out how I want the last line to go)

(The tail stabbing is a minor nowhere is north reference lmao; one of my drafts for siltcurrent's appearance is that she has twisted legs for a tail ala Mili's bathtub mermaid art)

Chatvalier watched in both horror and morbid fascination as the akuma writhed on the ground, screaming in frustrated agony as it clawed against its bandages, the fight all but forgotten.

"I DON'T HAVE ARDOR! I CAN'T GIVE HER BACK TO YOU!" It screamed at Chatvalier, tears overflowing as its voice went hoarse, "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO?! WHAT DO I DO?! TELL ME!"

Before she could even formulate a response, or even a short quip, it dug its claws into itself, a guttural roar ripping out of its throat before a sickening thump landed on the rooftop.

A still beating heart rested at Chatvalier's feet.

(^^ something possessed me to write this and it just. Ended up becoming an important thing in my outline)

(Discord between me and @/scriptum-pandemonium (tell me if i you want these off tbe post pls))

Speaking of here's more stuff (spoilered because body horror (vague) which i added because. C'mon, this is a limbus au, i should be able to ramp up the violence to blood and (some) gore levels)

Hell yeah up the gore and horror

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THE HEART

:>

■■■

Delulu this akuma just has multiple hearts, octopus time

Honestly my original idea is that like, through magic bullshit she's still perfectly ok (still in pain because. Literally ripping your heart out. But. Y'know.)

If I may build on the banger lines you put down, maybe when it's over donqui pulls Ishmael in for a long hug just so she can hear the beating of Ishmael's heart in her own chest

:0

(Shoutout to Blue and the gang at Halcandra btw this was largely inspired by Magiajam)

Shaky, labored pants filled the silence between them. The villain's hair - Ishmael's hair, shadowed its face.

Only its eye was visible; the eye looking at her with so much manic hate, sadness, obsession...

Love.

The heart continued to faintly beat.

"Take it." She gasped, a bloodied claw gingerly covering the gaping, bleeding hole in her chest, "just take it and leave."

Chatvalier couldn't. How could she, anyhow? Anyone who saw such a grosteque sight would be paralyzed in shock, too.

A small sniffle snapped her out of her spiral, looking up to find the akuma desperately trying to wipe its tears away.

"Please..." it hiccuped, desperately trying to steady its breathing.

Then, a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry-"

It started wailing again, babbling a thousand apologies at once as it began to crawl back to the waves.

"I'msorryIcan'tbeherI'msorryIdon'tknowwhyyouloveherI'msorryIcan'terasetheuglymeandbebeautifulforyouI'msorryyouhavetoseemeuglyI'msorryI'mnotperfectforyou-"

Somewhere through the storm of sorrow, Chatvalier found that her feet had tried to bring her to the villain; to Ishmael.

But when she raised a hand to try and stop her, she was already gone.

All that was left was a patch of flourescent, bloodied water, and a single glass shard.

(^^ arguably one of my favorites; I am in so much pain!)

[...] sorry for being not ardor, for being ugly, for not being perfect [...]

It's been a few days since her confession. Ishmael has gotten over the rejection. Definitely. Yeah. It wasn't like... it wasn't like it was the end of the world or anything. She and Don were still friends. (Right?) (Right...) (....hopefully.) No, the self reflection notes weren't about Don. She was just... curious about herself. Yeah, that's it. Nothing to do with how she told her that she reserved her heart for Ardor. (She didn't even question it; she knew Don was Chatvalier, her annoying, endearing, ever loyal partner, who'd gladly throw herself into harm's way if it meant she'd be safe.) Nope. This was only because she saw a curious ad on the internet. A few days ago. (What did she do differently as Ardor?) She checked her notes again; a list of traits she'd describe herself as, another one for the her with the mask. (She impulsively checked her phone for the time.) (A small part of her scolded her for getting distracted so quickly.) What made her and Ardor different? What did she lack outside of the mask. She was just curious; absolutely nothing to do with the proverbial daggers in her heart. Nothing to do with impressing the girl who stole her heart. It's fine. She's fine. She isn't hung over it. It doesn't hurt. Does not hurt at all. Not in the slightest. In fact, she's over the rejection. She's perfectly fine! Just great. Peachy, even. Everything will go back to what it was tomorrow. She shouldn't be fretting over this, the weekends should be enjoyed right? So yes, she's fine. Nothing to worry about. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't... ... "Good evening, Siltcurrent."

(^^ this one's big, I just kinda gave up on editing this to fit tumblr format here)

(Anyway this is me trying to portray OCD and may or may not be me somewhat venting/projecting)

[...] Ishmael desperately trying to logic it together because she's fine it's not even a total rejection, Don Quixote just loved her hero self and not her ordinary self

[...] donqui is a bit self conscious because here she is, rejecting one of her best friends because of a what must seem like a celebrity crush that could never happen

[....] personally I like to think after the Realization™ (figuring out chalier was donqui) Ish started seeing her in a different light [...]

■■■

[...] theres something sad in Ishmael being the only one that realizes the truth, because Ishmael's been the one to see the entirety of Donqui as both a civ and chatvalier, yet Donqui can't because she thinks of ish as two separate people

Part of her is confused as to why Donqui sees it as that (she and Ardor are technically the same person right? They can't be *that* different)

The rest is just. Hurt. And is trying to grasp on straws to logic it away

■■■

Donqui loves ARDOR, which means she could've loved you but she didn't. Because you didn't win her over. Because YOU did something as Ardor so that Ishmael could never compete

Because it is "what does he have that I don't, what can he promise you that I won't" but to yourself

"Ishmael" is borderline manic 90% of the time (like, has the vibes that 1 wrong move will suddenly make her start laughing like a madman before she decks you)

She sometimes gets mental breakdowms over not being able to complete her goal (obtain the miraculous; [Acherontia] assures her that that isn't important right now

Doesn't really help much it just stops her immediate crying and makes her internalize the guilt more

This + her core motivation + everyone now looking at her weirdly compounds into siltcurrent just. Fucking flooding the entire place with her tears (this is when act 2 starts)

Ishmael hovered awkwardly at the edge of the door, practically hiding behind it with the way she positioned herself. "...uh, hey-" She barely started talking before Don was crashed into her, wrapping her arms around Ishmael's waist as she buried her head into her chest. (She could hear the gentle heartbeat under Ishmael's clothes; soft, but steady.) (Strong.) She felt Ishmael flinch at the sudden gesture, but she couldn't find herself to care. "I- woah, now." Ishmael stammered, awkwardly patting Don's head in a subtle attempt to pry her off, "Was... was I really that bad? I know Akumas don't last longer than a day, but..." She trailed off, her ears finally picking up on shallow, stifled gasps as she felt something wet on her shirt. She instinctively wrapped an arm around her, rubbing gentle circles on her back as Don tried to hold back her tears. "Hey, it's okay... I'm okay now." She mumbled, still somewhat awkward from the chain of events, "whatever happened to me is over now, yeah? I'm better now." (She didn't know that Don knew who she was, unaware that a blinded mermaid had begged her to know why it wasn't loved without a mask.) (She didn't know that Chatvalier stood on the roof of a building, holding a bloody, heartless body. Desperately trying to ignore the gaping wound in favor of pretending her Lady was simply asleep.) (If she convinced herself that the blood wasn't real, then perhaps...)

(^^ epilouge scene, basically)

(There are Consequences to gouging out your heart)

Me, at 3am, high on sleep deprivation: i know this is a kid's show, but you know? We've never seen an akumatized villain that was terribly injured detransform before the Cure kicked in

Lady Sonata ex machina I can't have yuri if one of them is dead

The peacock can literally make life from a will and a way ans G is more than competent enough to make ladybug and cat senti-copies to emergency stand in incase one gets incapacitated (also i want a pun on Ardor (Ardoll... heh))

[daz4i]

being sappy and vulnerable under the cut 🧐

i am not the type of person to be proud of myself often (or. at all) but since i'm getting better lately, esp in the department of hating myself a little less, i gotta give myself props for going against my avoidant instincts with that show. like i've been thinking of quitting it for months before it went up and it really hurt my mental state to the point others also told me that i should quit but! but. i persevered and it absolutely paid off bc it felt so good to go through with. and it's been a month and i haven't had a "mm actually i wasn't THAT great :/" moment i always have whenever i do anything bc this really was an objectively big achievement. everything i've been doing since march-ish is tbh. and so i'm allowing myself to feel pride while simultaneously trusting myself not to let it go to my head like it used to do in the past (since. the main reason i haven't been proud of myself or any achievement i had in years is that i wanted to keep myself in check abt precisely this, so i think it's innate in me by now) and it's leaking into other areas of my life now too, like how i end up liking my writing or thinking i have good ideas, enough that i want to pursue more skills to develop myself further (which tbh i always did but was just too scared to try 😳 honestly still am but. a little less). there are still A Lot of issues that ik are holding me back in many parts of life and my mental health but. it's very clear that i'm getting better

*since a lot of my vents reach that topic and ik others related to those sentiments i do wanna say tho. i am still suicidal, like i'm managing through life as long as i avoid thinking abt certain topics, and i can very easily lose it when i'm hungry or sleep deprived or imbalanced with my hormones n such, so. still i think it's important to say that these thoughts are quieter now. if they were loud and booming and always there before, they're more easily cast aside now, a tad quieter, less overtaking and nebulous, and more of a solid thing i can grab and put away, if that makes sense. so. i think this is an important thing to point out too. since ik a lot of my mutuals and followers struggle with this too and i want them to know that like even if it doesn't go away, it CAN become easier to handle

i still don't quite believe in the 1000 hits approach or w/e it's called ("the rock doesn't break on one hit but thanks to the 999 blows that came before it" or however it goes) nor do i relate to these posts that are like "one day you'll wake up and realize you haven't thought of killing yourself in months/you like your life/you're feeling good" etc lmao i still very much think they're annoying and still have "recovery" and "positivity" blacklisted for that reason 🫡 BUT for me it was this moment when i got to do smth i love, always did love, that i deeply care about and worked hard to achieve, and this is what made the switch in my brain for the better in the most significant way i think. idk if this is how it'll work for everyone but either way the most important advice i can offer is: find people to be with that you like. this was probably the most important part of this, for me. bc they made the hard work a little easier and part of me not avoiding shit for once is bc i didn't wanna let them down or make things harder for them, which is probably a part of why i'm feeling good abt this whole thing too (like. pursuing the thing i want and love was the least selfish option)

but yeah. things are still hard, but easier than before. it's hard for me to be proud of myself or give myself credit but i'm doing it. as if i removed some veil from my eyes that used to block any of my progress and achievements, but i can now see them more clearly (tho. getting constant praise for my work and effort from multiple people absolutely helped me get rid of said veil hehe). also not to sound cringe but my main self ship atm also helped ngl 😭😭😭 but i may get into that in another post in the future lol

if you read this far: thank you. also why. i appreciate it tho mwah <3

[yellowcry]

How can this be fair?

It feels like just now he was texting to her, alive and happy. Now he was dead. And it still feels surreal

Aka yc wanted to write something about Ukraine so suddenly you have rtc fic.

Natalia yawned, it was early in the morning. And she did stayed awake for the night again. She had to chat with her lyubiy, seriously she would do it in any time of the day. And with nine hours of a time gap, one of them had to sacrifice their sleep either way. So it wasn't strange for her. Lifting her head from the keyboard. Yes, she had passed out in the middle of the night again, sitting by the computer. Sleep deprivation had its effect.

Mischa: Інтернет чогось зовсім не робит. (For sone reason internet doesn't work at all)

Mischa: Океан тягає нас на якой-то циклон. Чо вона причепилася як псина якая-сь? Я хотів іще в тире постріляти. (Ocean, drags us onto some cyclone. Why is she barking like some kind of a dog? A wanted to shot in the gallery more)

Mischa: Кохана ти вже спиш? Ми ідемо на цу гірку (Love, are you asleep alredy? We are going onto that rollercoaster)

The last message. Fairly unusual, Mischa would text hours and hours even when she wasn't online to see it. And she did the same. It was strange, almost painful to meet such a tiny ammount of messages. It wasn't Mischa-like at all.

Natalia shugged, trying not to think about it much. Who knows what happened? Mischa said he had a bad connection. And maybe it didn't restore. Maybe he just was busy, fall fair must be so fun. How could Nata be upset when her loved one had so much fun?

Teenager had poked on her black nails. Hm, she would have to recolor them later, the varnish peeled away. 

Natalia carefully aplied the black paint. Let an annoyed groan when it got out of the edges. She was a cool girl, how could she be at anything but her best? Combed her hair to the side, showing off the temple. Ha, Mischa would like it. 

It's been a few days. Mischa didn't text anything. Nata hated it way more that she let on. He wasn't online. He didn't post anything. He didn't write another thousand of messages of how much he loved her.

And it scared Natalia. At first, she tried to brush it off as being clingy. Mischa had his own life, he could be busy. He could be...

No, she knew him too goog. If there was something keeping him busy, Mischa would tell. He would explain and say something. Not this crushing burning silence. What happened? Were it his adoptive parents again? Just a few days weren't so much. But Natasha wanted to know what happened. She texted and asked  and begged her zhyenih to say something, go back and make her day bright again.

"Uh, hello?" Natalia stared at the message from unknown acc. For a moment she was about to blick them, knowing that it probably were spammers at best. "You're Talia, right?"

Her hands trembled. "Are you Mischa friend? Where's he?" She knew that Mischa called her Talia outside of their chat. He told her it would be fun if they all meet one day and Nata could laugh over them calling her 'waist' from the lack of knowledge. 

The other person. Penny Lamb if her facebook username was correct took a really long time to write back. Natalia suspected she was writing and erasing her message over and over again. And it didn't make her feel confident more than she was already. "I don't know how to say it. There was an accident on the rollercoaster. Mischa didn't get out alive."

Natalia's grip became so strong she was sure her phote would shatter from the sheer pressure. It was a joke? Right? This wasn't fucking funny. But the message was clear. "You're not serious." She waited, hoped that it was some form of a prank. And that she wiuld get confirmation that her kohaniy was fine, a bit busy, maybe got into some problems in school.

Instead, she got a link onto some Canadian site she couldn't understand for the most part. Six meant... sheest', and Saint.... okay, she wasn't completely sure what it meant. But.... An awful crash on the fair. Victims.

Nata could recognise him. Not even looking at the camera. Texting something.  Was he texting to her at the moment? (Was he texting while dying?) Google translator wasn't the best way to know the exact content. But it would work at least for now. Even with her best skills, there was no chance she would be able to translate it throught the read.

Dead.  

The word felt blank. Surreal. 

Just five days ago they were texting, all sweethearts online. Just five daus ago Mischa was telling how he'll get money and move back to Ukraine. How they'd have the biggest pir in the whole Ukraine. When they bake a big fat pig and dance untild their feet is off. Or just buy some cheapest gorilka they could find and lie on the frest grass, cuddling together and laughing vecause alcohol hit inside their blood.

The worst part? It didn't have to happen. The whole thing was an accident. A stupid cheap accident because some jerks didn't want to waste their time to maintain shit. Mischa should be alive. But because of them he wasn't. Natalia trembled, staring at the table. Feeling the traitor tears pushing their way out. Pale shaking fingers gripped onto the wood. She felt that she would get sick any moment now.

Dead. Dead. Crushed. Buried two meters underground

It shouldn't be. It couldn't be. Mischa was alive. He had to be alive. He just... There was no way he was fucking dead. 

Natalia hang her feet down the roof. She had climbed on it, she often did so. It was a good hangout place. Nervosly muttering something under her breath. Lines of old panel houses, same as her own flashed, standing like solgiers on the post. Black leather jerkin lied behind her for the lack of use in the September warmth. Nata sighed, opening another bottle of gorilka. Cheap one. It burned her throat to the core. And it didn't even taste good or made her feel better about anything. But it wasn't like she had anything better to do.

"OAH, Yascher!" She winced, looking back from the nickname. It was Polya, or, as she was known in their circle, Zmeya. One of Nata's pank group. "How's life, you've  been fucking awfully quiet lately."

"Comtele shit" Nata admits. She's slurring, maybe she overdid with drinking a bit too much. But who the fuck cares? 

Polya sits next to her, taking the bottle and taking the sip herseft. "What the hell is this?" Her face wrinkles at the taste. "Don't you have any standards?" 

Nata had to admit that Zmeya had a good point. It was the worst gorilka she ever tasted. "Yeah, crap so much. But taking what can afford." She shrugged, blinking to wash away the sleepiness. 

"So, what happened? Sis, you look like complete shit."

Natalia looked down at the old playground. It seemed to stand here longer than she could remember herself. "Remeber my online boyfriend, Mischa? Who is Bad egg?"

Zmeya stared at her for a moment before her face twitches in rage. "Fuck, if that dick dumped you I swear, I'll go all the way to his fucking Canada and..."

"He's dead." Nata interrupted her, she always preffered to get straight to the point. 

She saw Polya's face changing into a look of shocked disbelief. "Like, for reals?" She gasped, as Natalia looked away, hugging herself. Setting down sun brightened her hair in gold. Polina wrapped her arm around Natalia, pulling her closer in. "God, I'm so sorry."

Penny: Hey, I'm just checking. How are you doing?

Natalia stared at the message, it's been a little over a month since accident. They didn't talk much after the breaking news. Not like she even was online after it. And it still stinged. Like somebody poked her with a rusty needle all over. 

Natalia: Pretty bad, I still can't get over it

She knew it took too long for her to answer back for it to be socially appropriate. But she couldn't exectly care about this. 

Natalia: You're the one who survived, yes?

She read about it in the news. Six kids on the rollercoaster, including Mischa. One made it out alive. What a huge luck. Nata swallowed, knowing how unfair it was. Some girl she didn't know before got her chance to live. Her love, the dearest Mykhailo didn't. And even if it wasn't Penny's fault, she wasn't the one who did such an awful job in making sure the rollercoaster was in the good condition, the situation still was painful.

Penny: I wish other kids were alive too. We all were so young.

High schoolers. What was so bad. Nata had to admit, even those about whom she didn't care at all. Of course, nobody of them was making her pained as much as Mischa. They were just four random kids she knew from Mischa's messages at best. But... they all deserved their chance to live. But life turned out cruel and unfair. And, knowing how the news worked, how big were chanches that they lied about something?

Nata stared at the computer paunchy monitor. Where flickered open their chat with Penny. She had at least someone to tell how it was. Even if Natalia knew it would make her sick and cry and mourn for Mischa and something thay would never happen now. But, maybe, it would be nice to know someone who knew Mischa in person.

Natalia: Hey, mind sayin, how close was you with the choir?

[jeannedarkterraguard]

So after reading through my last post again now that i'm not sleep deprived (and also now that we watched more of them) i feel like i should address a few of the things i said even though it probably doesn’t matter to anyone but me

first the thing about there being no tall girls in hololive:

I really wasn't talking about the actual average height (which google tells me is about 160 cm for women so i guess from that perspective Nerissa is quite tall) i meant from my perspective.

For reference: i am 187 cm tall... sooo... yeah...

and i know what's going to happen because it always happens when i tell people on the internet this

"Oh LiSa Is SuCh A lUcKy WoMaN!" well... i like to think she is but not because of that, because she's actually taller than me at 191 cm... in fact i am not even that tall compared to friends and family:

my mom: 197 cm

my sister: 186 cm

Lisa's parents: both 190 cm

my best friend: 193 cm

my uncle: 180 cm

my cousin: 178 cm

my sisters husband: 205 cm!!! (he regularly hits his head when walking through doors. It's kinda funny)

really the only outlier was my dad at 168 cm... Yeah, HE was a lucky man

so when i hear someone being 175 cm tall it just doesn't seem tall to me

next the EU-Time thing

and i know every time this is mentioned someone will inevitably go "oh but you have Vesper and Kiara and the ID girls and you can just watch VODs" and this wasn’t actually meant to be a complaint but well...

yeah of course we can (and do) just watch VODs but sometimes you just want to watch live (and we do watch several non-hololive vtubers live if we can but hololive just seems to hate Europeans sometimes)

With the ID girls and Vesper a big problem is that they might stream during the day in Europe but just "during the day" doesn't translate to "at a good time to watch live" you see they usually stream during the early morning... when people are either at work or still in bed...

also Vesper is still MIA

and Kiara... well to me at least she struggles from a combination of three problems

her time slot: her streams usually start at 3 pm in our timezone (which is the same timezone as almost all of Europe with the exception of the UK and Portugal) so even if we assume just a regular 9-5 job and an average of 30 minutes to get home you're already missing the first 2,5 hours of her stream which wouldn't be much of a problem if it wasn't for point number 2

her choice in games: Kiara tends to stream long story driven games like Fire Emblem, Zelda or Yakuza. This means that missing 2,5 hours of a stream could mean missing significant portions of story and feeling completely lost for the rest of the stream which brings me to point number 3

her long streams: While i personally really like long streams they do make it hard to catch up. Let me give you an example...

Kiara starts streaming Zelda while I'm at work. I come home 2 hours later and can't watch the rest of the stream live because i have no idea what's happening in the story so i decide to watch the VOD the next day but she streamed for 8+ hours so watching it takes me 2-3 days...

now if she decided to stream Zelda again during those days i can't watch that stream either even if i am at home when it starts... and so the backlog just grows and grows...

Funnily enough the best schedule for European timezones is faunas...

you see fauna usually starts her streams at 10pm for us and streams for about 3-4 hours max so you can easily put one of her streams on, watch it and then go to bed once it ends... at around 2 am which probably isn't the best time to go to bed when you have to wake up at 6 am but let's not get into that...

anyway i hope i managed to clear up what i was trying to say in the last post... bye

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

We’ve been home for a week now and it’s been really nice to sleep in our own bed!

Now, if we could get Cocoa to sleep past 5:30AM I’d be thrilled. 😃

I hope you have a nice cup of coffee or tea ready and I hope you enjoy the links.

CNN

Wagner chief Yevgeny Prigozhin has refused to surrender, and called Vladimir Putin “deeply mistaken” following the Russian president’s address describing his actions as betrayal.

I heard about this as I was crawling in bed. I hope the Wagner Group is able to destabilize Putin and end the war in Ukraine.

Probably too much to hope for. 🙁

iamthatis • Reddit

I wanted to address Reddit’s continued, provably false statements, as well as answer some questions from the community, and also just say thanks.

I love this openness from Christian Selig. If folks don’t know, Christian tapes his conversations with Reddit folks. It’s been very interesting to read bit the transcript he’s shared. It’s clear they have lied.

I just wish Christian had posted this all to a weblog so it would have a more permanent home. Who knows what’s going to happen with his subreddit.

Platformer

After a bruising week of protests and locked-down forums, things started to get back to normal Tuesday on Reddit, as — oh wait, what’s this?

Subreddit moderators are doing all they can to screw things up on Reddit. I applaud their effort.

Polygon

If you want to watch pop culture eat itself, go see The Flash, a movie that starts out as a sprightly superhero adventure, then dissolves into a self-referential requiem for the DC Universe.

I’m torn about seeing this movie given all the hubbub surrounding Ezra Miller but I really want to see Michael Keatons older Batman!

Trisha Gee

These days, distributed version control systems like Git have “won the war” of version control. One of the arguments I used to hear when DVCSs were gaining traction was around how easy it is to branch and merge with a VCS like Git. However, I’m a big fan of Trunk-Based Development (TBD), and I want to tell you why.

I’d imagine most folks I work with today have no clue how we used to work. I didn’t use git for version control full time until around 2014 I’d imagine? I found it terribly frustrating to work with at first but know I’m fine with it.

Anywho, up until 2014 I’d worked with so many different version control systems. I’d imagine I worked with CVS the longest and we had one main branch — trunk — and everyone committed directly to it. Yes, breaking the build was definitely frowned upon so you had to be very careful about your commits!

LA Weekly

When North Carolina Gov. Patrick McCrory signed House Bill 2 into law, I wonder if he was thinking long-range about what the result might be. I can’t see him and his staff wondering out loud if their thick-skulled, cracker logic might result in Bruce Springsteen not only canceling his upcoming show in Greensboro, depriving the state of revenue and its residents of a Springsteen concert, but inspiring Mr. Boss to issue a press release that more people have read than will ever peruse House Bill 2.

Henry Rollins seems to be a really great dude. Part punk, part philosopher, always interesting to listen to or read.

The Guardian

Seven years after the Brexit referendum, the proportion of Britons who want to rejoin the EU has climbed to its highest levels since 2016, according to a new survey.

I mean, duh! The British version of MAGA didn’t work out so well. It’s been terrible for so many. I hope they rejoin the EU.

Hendrick Motorsports

The NASCAR Next Gen Garage 56 Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 was a hit from day one in Le Mans, among fans, media and even other competitors. And it was fast on track, consistently putting down lap times that bettered cars in the GT class. The car ran near the top of the GT field for more than 20 hours until a drive line issue sidelined the team for more than an hour. Overall, the car was running at the finish, completed 285 laps on the 8.4-mile circuit and finished 39th in the 62-car field.

This car is an absolute beast and looked out of place at Le Mans. It would also look out of place on a NASCAR track. It is a beautiful car with some really excellent engineering. Oh, yeah, and it is super fast! Good old American V8 horsepower under the hood.

I kind of wish I’d been more of a car guy when I was younger. My Dad certainly is and has built some beautiful cars in his time. His ‘37 Chevy Coup Street Rod is stunning and he used to drag race a 454 powered ‘51 Anglia.

I had the opportunity to learn a lot but didn’t. If I could do it today I’d love to be a mechanic or engineer for a NASCAR, IndyCar, or F1 team. I’d love to specialize in engines. I do find them fascinating and would love to rebuild one again. I rebuilt a Chevy small block in High School my senior year. Yeah, I took auto shop because I wanted to do something “easy.” 😃

Cadillac Racing

After 21 years, Cadillac Racing marked our return to the iconic 24 Hours of Le Mans on June 10—11 with our highest finish ever in front of a record audience of 325,000 spectators. Our No. 2 V-Series.R led laps for the first time in Cadillac history and finished on the podium in 3rd, with the No. 3 just behind in 4th, and the No. 311 fighting back for 10th in class.

There’s an article on Jalopnik that includes a video of one of these cars doing a bump start and it sounds mean. It instantly made me think of the Batmobile for some reason.

Now, let’s get more American manufacturers back in NASCAR. Cadillac would be a super interesting entry! I think Dodge is an obvious entry for NASCAR Cup, Xfinity, and Truck series given their history of legendary cars like the Challenger and their RAM trucks.

Cadillac would be super cool to see in NASCAR Cup racing but it may be too lowbrow for them? 🤣

Traveler Dreams

Renting an RV and embarking on a road trip across America can seem like more of a fantasy trip than a real thing you actually do. But you can truly make it a reality. And if you do, it can turn into a thrilling and liberating experience that will leave you with unforgettable memories. Here’s why you should take the plunge.

This is something I dream about all the time but I can’t quite get Kim convinced we need to sell everything and go all in on the RV lifestyle.

As a compromise we’d like to acquire a smaller RV and do some two week to one month excursions to see if we like it. It would also be great for week long camping trips with the entire family.

Maybe someday it’ll be a reality? 🤞🏼

Business Insider

When former NBC Universal executive Linda Yaccarino was named Twitter’s next CEO last month, advertisers breathed a sigh of relief.

I don’t expect Ms. Yaccarino to last very long at Twitter. I think my original quesstimate was six months but I could see it lasting as long as a year.

Musk is too much of a control freak. The kind of boss I’d hate working for.

The best piece of advice I ever got from my VP of Engineering and CTO at Pelco was “You have to convince people your vision is the right way to go so they follow. You won’t get their best work if you’re a tyrant.” It was something like that. Basically be a leader, not a bully.

Teri Kanefield

This blog post is meant to be read in order. Later answers are shorter because they rely on the information presented in the earlier answers.

This is a really nice piece if you’re following along with the TFG Top Secret documents prosecution. Dude is such a knucklehead and honestly believes he has magical powers to declassify things with his mind. Dumbass.

The New York Times

The engineers reminded him of their commutes. The working parents reminded him of school pickup times. Mr. Medina replied with arguments he has delineated so often that they have come to feel like personal mantras: Being near each other makes the work better. Mr. Medina approached three years of mushy remote-plus-office work as an experiment. His takeaway was that ideas bubble up more organically in the clamor of the office.

I believe with all my heart CEO’s like this are real control freaks and must have the adoration of their people surrounding them at all times. I can have these ah-ha moments, Slack someone, and fire up a zoom call to have the same conversations. It’s just not face to face in a building I have to commute to.

If our company demanded everyone come to the office, of course I’d comply, but I really don’t believe it’s necessary.

Just my horrible opinion.

Assigned Media

A federal court heard both sides during a trial where trans youth, their parents, and their doctors challenged a law banning gender affirming care in Arkansas. The court found that the law violated the right to due process and to equal treatment under the constitution, and ordered the law struck down because Arkansas failed to demonstrate a compelling state interest justifying the unequal treatment.

We really need the courts to continue overturning these idiotic and dangerous laws.

You cannot force people to be someone they are not and denying them healthcare because they’re different than you is barbaric.

Apparently Meta’s Project 92 is going to federate with a limited set of Mastodon instances, pay them, and allow them to display Meta ads in exchange for a cut.

Embrace and extend. Amirite?

Let’s see how this plays out.

[pikahlua]

Hacking Katsuki Bakugou’s Last Remaining Brain Cell: I’ve only had this chapter for like three waking hours but if anyone even looks at my son the wrong way I will use my fucking toes to drag them out by their hair

I haven’t had my caffeine yet and it’s about to show, but thAT AIN’T STOPPING ME FROM READING KATSUKI’S MIND

Okay I have a lot of feelings and predictions formulating about this chapter and I wanna give most of them more time to stew (and more time to, like, get a good night’s sleep), but y’all are underestimating my genius perfect son and I will not stand for this slander

Here’s chapter 360, I’m not even gonna copy the translations over here for each page, I’m just gonna sometimes assume you have it memorized or can read Japanese for the purposes of this post look I warned you I am sleep-deprived as fuck already and you should know what my sleep-deprived posts can be like

First of all, let me just say, I was right...

AFO was definitely trying to psych Katsuki out of his fucking mind. All his taunting this chapter was in the service of breaking Katsuki’s spirit;

I was right, this is the fucking question of the goddamn day;

and I’ve got you the answer to this question now.

Everything in this opening scene is a callback to the final exam arc I’ll have you know. I woke up realizing that “uru-” Katsuki gets out is actually him probably trying to say “shut up!” just like he did when he was under All Might’s boot.

As I was falling asleep last night, it occurred to me that this moment is just meant to be a visual representation of Katsuki experiencing a “hallucination of death” in the face of the Symbol of Fear. Nothing in this scene happens in reality.

(I shall hereby refer to this scan as Page 3.)

HOWEVER

HOW.

FUCKING.

EVER.

THIS IS THE PAGE THAT’S CAUGHT MY EYE.

{And this all-important page is now named Page 4.)

I know it looks like Katsuki is having a heart attack on the spot, that he’s being humbled and crushed like a bug as Tomura rubs his face in all his worst fears, that his facial expression is one of abject horror and humiliation.

But you’re wrong.

It turns out these two pages in conjunction are MASSIVELY IMPORTANT HOOOOOOMGGGGHHHGHHHH

THIS. THIS FUCKING THING WAS DRIVING ME NUTS FROM THE MOMENT I SAW THIS PAGE.

That’s artistic shorthand for a realization.

What the fuck did he realize? Seems fucking important since that’s the last clear picture of his face we get before the final page of the chapter!

And yeah, I see some of you have already identified that in the page before, Katsuki is exhibiting some DISTINCTLY Izuku-like behavior: mumbling battle analysis.

But did you pay attention to the content of that analysis?

Right

Fingers

Feint

Sound familiar?

...

If you said Deku vs Kacchan (any part), you’re wrong.

(Here’s the part where I show you how fucking wild my sleep-deprived brain is.)

Page 3 and Page 4. These motherfucking pages.

Page 4 has one line--said by Tomura: “No matter how far you go, you’re OFA’s (read as: Izuku Midoriya’s) goldfish excrement.”

And while now I know that’s an idiom, at the time all I could think about was

these fish fuckers.

And I looked up this panel in Japanese to see if he says anything about fish crap, but no, he says “That’s not bait/a lure” or whatever.

But the word he used, for no good reason, reminded me of...

Kamino.

And that’s when I realized.

Page 3, AFO says, “You admired All Might [in the moment] just when he wins, right? Let’s see the reality, Katsuki Bakugou.”

Katsuki already has seen the reality.

Katsuki’s spark of realization this chapter was in response to AFO’s remark about the reality of All Might’s moments of victory. That’s what gives him the realization that snaps him out of his hallucination of death.

Katsuki’s doing the same thing All Might did. He’s learning from Izuku.

That’s why he’s dropping into battle analysis mode.

Katsuki is in a debilitated state just like All Might was. He’s facing the same degradation AFO used against All Might then.

The final word of large text, “mada,” on chapter 360′s final page is the same as this one here

except this page adds “shinen no da!!!!” which means “can’t die.”

“I can’t die yet.”

And we all know death = losing.

Katsuki is focused on the reality of what victory looked like for All Might in Kamino, the same event that he harbors massive internalized guilt over. He’s working through his guilt. He’s accepting All Might won despite what Katsuki feels he made All Might turn into. He’s turning that moment into his power.

“Right...fingers...feint.”

All Might used his broken right arm as a decoy to hit All For One with his left arm. Then he switched back to his right arm and “put his back into” the finishing blow.

Katsuki’s right arm is broken right now.

It’s his turn.

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

[nostalgebraist]

Writing Almost Nowhere is really exhausting.

(Just to be clear: I'm not complaining. I like doing it. If I didn't want to do it, I'd stop.)

I write in long, continuous intervals, many hours at a time. It takes me 1-2 hours to rev up to full speed, and once I'm there I keep going for much longer, for 6 or 8 more hours.

During these trances, I rarely get distracted. I don't take breaks, or think of taking breaks. I don't do anything except write, steadily and slowly.

A single day of this isn't enough to produce a chapter. Usually it takes two. (The work required can fit into a single weekend, but only if I do very little else that weekend, and only if I'm okay being kinda useless the following Monday.)

As an example, according to my git logs, the most recent chapter (#28) was written in two long stretches:

One lasting 7 hours and 33 minutes

Another lasting 11 hours and 17 minutes

Chapter 22, the one with Sylvie talking to the Ells, was written in a single sitting. But it was a very long sitting.

As you might expect from this description, I feel utterly drained every time I finish a chapter. Not just physically or mentally but like, spiritually.

At the time, I always think about characters in fantasy stories who can call upon magic powers, at the price of a little bit of their soul. Like the Madoka girls, or like Rose in Homestuck, the kind of stories Rose is a riff on.

I know this comparison is probably like, "extra" or "cringe" or something, but it is what always comes to mind.

I often feel a sudden apathy or even revulsion towards what I've written, once it's done. I specifically remember feeling this way toward Chapter 22, that one with Sylvie and the Ells. I had to hold my nose, so to speak, and force myself to post it, against my sleep-deprived gut sense that it was wholly without any value. (It seems strange to remember this now, because when I've re-read that chapter I like it a lot.)

Writing this book is always an intense experience. It feels like, I dunno, taking a final exam? Or like taking the qualifying exam for one's major, maybe, is a closer analogy.

I don't really know why it's like this. TNC was like this, I think, except with much shorter chapters and a much shorter book. I think Floornight was sometimes like this, but less so. Although I don't remember Floornight as well.

Some of it is just that AN has a particular style, and that style is really effort-intensive to produce. I have to linger over every word and sentence, not even so much in the name of good writing as because it's impossible to write in this style without lingering over every word and sentence. It's a lingering, deliberate style.

The amount of calendar time I've spent on the book exacerbates the intensity, too. By now, a lot of the events I'm narrating are ones I came up with literal years ago. I've been playing them over and over again in my head for a very long time. And now I feel I have to produce a string of words that does justice to those years' worth of daydreams.

I guess that's why a qualifying exam comes to mind. You've spent years studying the subject, but none of that matters now, no one can see it, all they can see is what you do in the next few hours -- which is suppose to sum up those years of studying. Got that? Good. Now go.

Anyway, that's a lot of why the book's taken so long. It is simply difficult to fit around the rest of life.

I said I would finish it in 2022, and so far I'm more or less on track. And that is no more or less than what it sounds like: spending a significant fraction of my weekend time inside of these intense, exhausting trance states. It's a weird thing to do to oneself, and I wouldn't choose it as a long-term lifestyle. I definitely would not have done it organically, without the target date pushing me.

I don't know if I'll continue writing after I'm done with this book. I probably will, sooner or later. If I do, I'll try to write something with lighter, more flexible requirements of me. This book, though, is just what it is -- that ship sailed long ago, and I do want to see its voyage through.