#your consumer is simply there to enjoy your creation

[rene-hl-trashcan]

My unsolicited two cents tho:

While I agree it's nice to receive approvals or validation, needing kudos/approvals/validation to feel that your writing is good however, is a slow-acting poison to your writer's/artist's soul. Sooner or later, it will lead you to fall into that bottomless pit of writing/drawing what people want instead of writing/drawing what you want. It's gonna become a payless chore, especially with how rabid and entitled the consumer attitude I see in readers nowadays.

You don't follow the canon lore to a T? The lore police is there to correct your ignorant ass. You write the characters a bit OOC? Some fanatic rando gonna rain on your comment section, wanting you to write the characters the 'correct' way. You write a rarepair or some obscure crack ship? Someone gonna shit in your comment section for pairing their fav with this random character. You write some Dead Dove Don't Eat stuffs or some equally triggering themes? You bet some snowflakes gonna be triggered and cry in your comment section as if it is your choice they decided to read the whole damn thing.

It wouldn't be long when you have to banish your creativity into the depth of the abyss to please your readers for those sweet sweet kudos. You're gonna hate the very thing you once do out of the passion of your heart the moment you let other people put values over it.

So yeah, TLDR, fuck everyone's validation. Others' validation is like a drug; it's good in small amount but the more you get it the more you would end up wanting and needing it, probably losing your passion and creativity to please your dealer for that sweet sweet validation in the end. Don't let it reach that point. The only reader you should be going to hell and back to please is yourself. The others are simply lucky you decided to share your piece with them for FREE.

You don't need anyone's approval for the stories you write and the art you create. But it's also absolutely valid to want some approval from your audience. Kudos and likes don't determine your creation's worth. But it just feels amazing to receive them.

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

pairings. Rafayel x gn!reader

wc. 6.8K

synopsis. He believes that by isolating you, he can protect you from the outside world and ensure your happiness together. In his twisted mind, this is his way of creating a perfect and eternal bond, you’re his muse, his statue of beauty, his own aphrodite.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hiyaaa! Thank you so much for the people that have helped me make my post manage to slip through the timeline! I kid you not I had to break my spine with this issues I kept running into (the ori yandere Zayne post is gone, I’m sorry for the inconvenience), if any of you have any suggestions on how to make my post made it into the tags please tell them on the comments section. Get ready and have some snacks and hope you enjoy reading another hc I made

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

A manchild…? you love this guy? Me being a slander and simp at the same time

To put it simply, Rafayel is always the damsel in distress and YOU are his knight shining armor. He needs your attention and protection 24/7, you don’t want him to end up dead, do you? The whole universe will miss him. 

First of all, he loves you. Second of all, he hates you. 

You’re like a goldfish, how could you not remember the vows you both made when you were just a little kid?! The mere fact that you failed to recognize his face shattered his heart into pieces, for you hold immense significance in his life.

The weight of your indifference crashed upon him like a tidal wave, leaving his emotions in ruins. It was like a tornado tearing through his soul, causing a gut-wrenching ache that seemed to consume him from within.

It creates a twisted cycle of emotions that he struggles to contain. He yearns for the love you once shared, yet despises you for not remembering the bond you had. 

Perhaps he regrets not taking action in the past to ensure he could always locate you, to have left a distinctive mark upon you as a means of tracking your whereabouts.

You should’ve recognized him at first glance. Where have you been? He thought he lost you, he doesn’t even want to wish upon your death but you make it harder for him not to.

You’ve grown so much and so many changes but you’re still the same person he met at the beach, and it makes him feels so many emotions at once, it’s the first time he has managed to put a rein over his emotions, he could’ve coax you to come to his studio and locked you up, if you were to recognize him.

His heart longed to show much he misses you yet his mind tells him to seek revenge. It’s like his body and soul is splitting. Do you know how much damage you are causing him?

You must understand, my dear, that he is determined not to repeat past mistakes. It is time for him to take drastic measures, to make a promise that will bind you to him forever. He sees you as his ultimate protector, his unwavering shield. From this moment forward, you will never leave his sight again.

In his eyes, you have always belonged to each other, from the very beginning. Your destinies intertwined, your fates entangled. He craves the security of knowing that you are by his side, guarding his every step, his every breath. No longer will he allow even the smallest sliver of distance to separate you.

From the beginning you are his as much as he is yours.

His artistic talent is both his greatest strength and his greatest weapon. Through his art, he immortalizes his love and hatred for you, capturing the complexities of his emotions with every stroke of the brush. His creations serve as a constant reminder of his twisted desires. 

Initially consumed by hatred, he concealed his love, allowing it to resurface gradually, in subtle and tender ways. 

It’s the slowest burn you could ever imagine. Painstakingly slow.

As Rafayel's hatred gradually diminished, he began to express his feelings more openly, albeit subtly, leaving significant hints about the depth of his emotions towards you. Similar to a small forest fire that grows steadily, each progression was deliberate and methodical until it consumed the entire forest, an uncontrollable blaze that can’t be extuingish.

Say goodbye to freedom and welcome to his world, now that you’re his. He will be the center of your universe.

Clinginess is an inherent trait of Rafayel's nature. He craves your presence and attention, unable to bear the thought of being separated from you even for a moment. He will go to great lengths to ensure that you never leave his side.

You've grown accustomed to his playful nature and constant need for attention, but be prepared for an amplified version, as his demands intensify. Good luck dealing with your man ♡

He is a man of pride, he immortalizes you through his art, proudly showcasing pieces dedicated to you at his exhibitions. While abstract in form, this exclusivity serves to intrigue others, leaving them pondering what makes you so special in his eyes.

Unknown to you hidden away within his personal stash, there is a gallery dedicated solely to you. Every piece of artwork revolves around your existence, capturing his obsession with meticulous detail. The walls are adorned with portraits, each stroke of the brush reflecting his twisted love for you.

But at the very least, he showers you with lots of love and affection, no more holding back.

In relationships, he presents himself as a calm and romantic partner, radiating an aura of serenity akin to the sea. He enjoys spending quality time with you, whether it be casual outings or simply sharing space in silence. With him, you will never feel alone.

But do not be deceived by the calm waters, for they possess the ability to draw you into the depths of darkness, leaving you submerged and unable to resurface. His obsession remains unpredictable, much like the ever-changing tides of the sea. 

Oh, how you've stumbled into his clutches the moment you made that fateful vow. There is no turning back, my dear. You have fallen into the siren's trap, lured by his haunting charm. You are now forever entwined in his grasp, unable to break free. You should have thought twice before crossing paths with him if you weren't planning to stay.

He has two preferred methods of dealing with nuisances. He may choose to be smug and show off his superiority, rubbing his success in their faces. He revels in flaunting his success and talents, using them as a means to intimidate and belittle those who dare to steal you away.

However, if they persist, he is unafraid to resort to physical means, utilizing violence to eliminate them from your life. He goes to extreme lengths, even shedding blood and concealing the evidence of his actions, all in the name of safeguarding your well-being and maintaining his possessive hold over you.

His possessiveness knows no bounds, his desire to claim you as his own overpowering any sense of reason. He will go to great lengths to ensure that no one else can possess you, viewing you as his ultimate masterpiece.

When faced with difficulty or resistance from you, Rafayel won't hesitate to take drastic measures. He is willing to use any means necessary, including drugs, to put you to sleep and kidnap you. He will isolate you in his studio, ensuring that you will be together forever.

His studio, the place where he creates his art, becomes both a sanctuary and prison for you. Within its walls, he controls every aspect of your existence, dictating your every move and stifling your individuality. It is a place where his obsession can flourish unchecked.

You will forever remain under his possession, as he claims you and binds you eternally.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The First Man

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 here it is, also @beef-brisket you can also join in the yandere-ness if you wish, anyways enjoy part 1 ;)

The first thing he was aware of was a beaming bright light. It shined right where in front of him, causing him to squint and cover his eyes. When he opened them again all he could see were two blurry figures, one much bigger than the other. Soon though the blurriness faded, and he then saw the world around him. It was vast and spacious, seemingly going on forever. Everywhere he looked it seemed colors of all kinds, mainly green, covered the Earth. That wasn't even mentioning the things that were walking around so full of, of

"WELCOME TO LIFEMY CREATIONS THE FIRST MAN AND FIRST WOMAN. I AM THE LORD HIMSELF, GOD, YOUR CREATOR"

Startled at the booming voice he turned and gape at the colossal figure of light before him.

"DO NOT ME AFRAID FIRST MAN FOR I MEAN YOU NO HARM."

and the first man believed the voice, which spoke once more, "

"YOU HAVE MANY QUESTIONS I AM SURE BUT I MUST FIRST INTRODUCE YOU TO EACH OTHER"

With a gesturing wave of his hand the first man turned to see a creature just like him. However this creature made him gasp as his eyes went wide, what he saw had to be the most captivating thing he ever saw since he opened his eyes. This creature was much taller than him, not as large as the voice, but still pretty tall. Their hair was so long it reached to their bottom. He just wanted to comb his fingers through it. Their skin was pale like his though with a hinge of a tan to it. It looked so soft that he wanted to touch it. However, their most engrossing feature were most definitely the eyes. They were the same color as their hair with a shade of a type of yellow light. They simply sparkled to him, this creature was simply so, so

"Beautiful"

The voice smiled at his creations first word and said happily

"I AM GLAD THAT YOU THINK SO, FOR THIS WOMAN IS TO BE YOUR MATE"

The first man looked back at the voice

"Mate?"

"YES, SHE IS YOUR MATE IT MEANS THAT SHE IS YOURS TO LOVE, CHERISH, AND PROTECT AS YOU ARE FOR HER TO DO THE SAME"

He explained before moving on

"NOW THEN THERE IS STILL THE MATTER OF PROVIDING YOU WITH PROPER NAMES. FOR YOU TWO SIMPLY CANNOT BE CALLED AND CALL EACH OTHER MAN AND WOMAN. NO, THAT SIMPLY WILL NOT DO. (turns to the man) YOUR NAME SHALL BE LUCIFER FOR IT MEANS LIGHT BRINGER, (turns to the woman) AS FOR YOUR NAME SHALL BE ADA FOR IT MEANS BEAUTIFUL"

The man, now named Lucifer, felt his lips twitch upwards at the fact that he helped name his mate.

"THIS PLACE THE TWO OF YOU STAND BEFORE IS CALLED THE GARDEN OF EDEN. THIS IS TO BE BOTH OF YOURS HOME. YOU MAY DO AS YOU WISH HERE JUST AS YOU MAY EAT FROM ANY OF THE FRUITS THAT HANG FROM THE TREES. HOWEVER, THERE IS ONLY ONE FRUIT THAT I MUST ASK YOU TO NOT ONLY NOT CONSUME BUT STAY AWAY FROM ENTIRELY FOR IF YOU EAT IT, YOU SHALL SURELY PERISH."

The voice said as it pointed over to where a grand tree not too far away stood. Hanging from the branches were the forbidden fruit as it shined a tempting red.

"WITH THAT SUBJECT OUT OF THE WAY WE SHALL NOW DISCUSS YOUR DUTIES. DO NOT WORRY FOR THEY ARE ONLY TWO. YOUR FIRST DUTY IS TO GIVE EVERY LIVING THING IN THIS GARDEN A NAME AS I HAVE GIVEN YOU. YOUR SECOND DUTY IS TO BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY, WHICH BRINGS US TO ANOTHER MATTER. YOU TWO ARE NOT SIMPLY JUST THE FIRST MAN AND WOMAN. LUCIFER YOU ARE THE FIRST ALPHA WHICH MEANS THAT YOUR SEED SHALL SPILL INTO ADA AND HER WOMB SHALL ACCEPT AND SHE WILL THEN CARRY A CHILD."

Lucifer didn't understand why but that statement...excited him.

"NOW I MUST MAKE MY EXIT FOR I AM SURE THE TWO OF YOU WOULD LIKE TO GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER."

In a flash of the light their creator was gone and it was just Lucifer and Ada.

[galebrainrot2024]

NSFW You&Gale

Howdy y'all it has been a minute since I wrote fanfiction, however to contribute to the BG3 brain rot, enjoy this NSFW 18+ one shot.

Takes place at the Stormshore Tabernacle, post conversation with Mystra on her alter. Ahem. AFAB reader 'you.'

NSFW 18+: oral sex, restraint, mutual pining

As you paced, Shadowheart and Karlach stood awkwardly, trying to offer words of reassurance. “He’s going to do the right thing,” Karlach said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, mate.” Your brow was furrowed and despite your companions best efforts, you were unable to shake the pangs of jealousy that threatened to consume you. 

Gale was in the Astral plane, meeting with Mystra, his former lover… the goddess of magic about the crown of Karsus. You had encouraged Gale to hear her out, to simply take the time to meet with her, even though you would have rather told him to tell her politely to fuck off. Your face was hot and you felt the tension snaking through every fiber of your being, knowing you were on the verge of lashing out. “Thanks, Karlach,” you said, your voice tense, “I think maybe it would be best if you and Shadowheart met us at camp… I think I need to be alone.” 

Karlach shrugged, giving your shoulder a playful punch. “Goddess or not, Mystra has nothing on you.” Karlach gave you a cheeky grin and Shadowheart gave you a quick squeeze on the shoulder before they left. 

You weren’t sure how long you were there, pacing. It was long enough that the priest told you he was planning to lock up and which door they could exit from upon Gale’s return. As you stood in the storm shore tabernacle, the only sound echoing off the cold, lifeless statues was the sound of your erratic breath and nervous heart beat. 

You were pulling idly at a stray string of fabric on your armor when suddenly, Gale materialized, his brown eyes bright and cheeks flushed. You bit your tongue, withholding your jealousy. “I can’t believe I saw her…” Gale said, almost breathlessly, “After all this time…” the pang of envy grew within you and you gritted your teeth, staying silent so Gale could share openly. 

You averted your gaze from Gale so when you felt his strong, capable fingers lift your chin you felt a shudder course through your body. “She didn’t exactly bring me there for small talk…” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers. Tav’s lips parted and she sighed, melting beneath his touch, the envy and jealousy melting away as Gale looked at you with irrevocable adoration. It made you feel weak, your stomach flipping. 

“What did she want?” Your voice was icier than intended and Gale’s lips curled into a mischievous, lopsided smirk. 

“The orb… the entire time it has been Karssus’s malignant creation...gods… how could I not see..” Gale’s voice trailed off and he pressed his forehead to yours. “I will return the crown to Mystra,” he says softly, his hot breath mingling with yours, “I promise, I will not let you down…” Gale gazed deep into your eyes and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

As Gale’s hands combed through your hair, you leaned into his touch, bringing your lips to his to brush against them. “You will always be enough for me,” you murmured, pressing your body closer to Gale. You heard him intake breath sharply, and he gripped your face in one of his hands gently, capturing your lips with his. 

The kiss was tender and slow, a soft moan escaping your lips and you felt Gale’s smirk against your lips. “Hm…” he whispered, kissing across your jaw and down the delicate skin of your neck. “It seems it’s quite empty in here… a bit more private than our lodgings…” he murmured, one of his hands snaking around the small of your back and he pulled you closer against his body. You felt the desire radiating from him, his arousal as you felt his manhood begin to stiffen. It made you smirk, and rose an eyebrow. 

“It is…” you whispered, nearly breathing the words when Gale lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist and he laid you against the alter, Mystra’s cold statue gazing down at. You gasped, laughing quietly yet can feel the desire surge through you like a tsunami. You felt superiority swell within as you envisioned the ire of Mystra as her former chosen, her former lover, rested you against the sacred shrine his intentions clear. “How would Mystra feel about this…” you teased, your eyes glinting mischievously. 

Gale’s playful smirk made your heart flutter and he chuckled softly, “Oh, she would be furious,” he whispered against your neck as his hands methodically began undoing the facets of your armor and slid it to the side, exposing your bare stomach and chest. You sighed, your fingers entwining at the back of Gale’s neck, pulling him against you. Gale’s lips brush against your skin and it feels as if a wildfire is spreading through your body, aching and begging for Gale. You bit down on your lip to control your visceral need to moan as your imagination went wild. You arched your body as if to indicate need, your body trembling with anticipation. “Be patient…” Gale pulled back to gaze at you, his eyes hungry as he brushed his hands over your body. You felt your breath hitch, your fingers tugged at his hair subconsciously. He chuckled wickedly then took your hands and put them above your head. “Hands to yourself,” he said, in an almost commanding tone. You bit your lip, eyes glinting as you nodded. 

Then Gale began deftly, leaning forward to lightly brush his lips down your neck and across your collar bone, his hands lightly grazing against your hips. You shuddered and you felt his grin against your skin. Goosebumps spread across you when Gale’s lips and tongue snake lower down your chest, down your torso so that his face is just above your lower half.

When he looks up at you, he holds you gaze and painfully slowly, hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls them lower and off of your body. They drip with your arousal. Your hands subconsciously tried to grip his hair and Gale conjured a mage hand, restraining you. You moaned, pressing your legs together and squirming slightly, the arousal spreading and your mouth watering. “Trust me,” he whispered again, his tongue tracing your inner thigh, and he bit down gently. You twitch violently when he does this. His husky laugh only makes you more wet, more eager for what’s to come. You licked your lips expectantly and they part as you let out a soft sigh. 

Gale locked eyes with you once more before his hands deftly pushed your legs apart, his lips brushing against the apex of your pelvic bone. You are unable to breathe, your eyes fluttered back into your skull even though Gale hardly began. The warmth of his mouth on your bare skin made you writhe with pleasure, and the idea of omnipotent Mystra who has most evidently been keeping tabs on Gale, seeing your naked body splayed across the alter for her… as Gale’s tongue worked you to the heights of pleasure made your arousal all the more intense. A shaky breath fell from your lips, “Won’t she… won’t Mystra…” you had trouble composing your thoughts, your voice low and raspy. 

“Let her watch,” Gale said in a firm, husky tone laced with his intent. Slowly, his tongue traced along your inner thigh and he groaned, pushing your legs farther apart and allowed his hands to hold your inner thighs apart to give him purchase. Methodically, he flicked his tongue out between the folds of you, tasting you, and you moaned, the guttural noise echoing through the tabernacle. Gale moaned against you and the vibration mingled with the warmth of his mouth and tongue made you squirm. “Stay still..” He commanded, his tongue massaging you, flicking into you as he sucked gently, twirling his tongue around your clit, lapping hungrily as if she were his last meal. Your entire body shook, your hands fighting the mage hand and Gale’s concentration waned as he indulged on you, his primal moans as he tasted you mixed with your cries of pleasure. With your hands free, you entwined them in his hair, pushing his face between your thighs greedily and he obliged, groaning and slid two of his fingers into you as his tongue worked the outer folds. You threw your head back in pleasure, the electricity coursing through your body threatening to drown you. As Gale feasted, his warm tongue sliding against your wetness, he groaned and murmured, “I love how you taste…” and it made you squirm and moan louder, and you pulled at his hair almost roughly. Your entire body tensed, your breath shallow and quick as you got closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

Gale abruptly pulled his head back, his eyes glinting. You whimpered, trying to push his head back between your legs and his hands wrapped around your wrists. “Be patient,” he insisted, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, “I want the God’s to hear you…” he slipped his tongue between you again, his fingers pushing deeper, harder into you and you shook violently, your fingers gripping his hair desperately as your body rolled against his tongue. 

“Gale...” You cried, writhing as your moans and whimpers filled the room, your entire body trembling with waves of pleasure, your mind completely muddled and sure you would pass out. Unable to breathe, Gale thrusted so firmly, hitting your internal pleasure centers in such a way as his warm tongue massaged your folds that you cried out, your entire body trembling as you climaxed, your essence releasing into Gale’s mouth and you felt him moan as you released, as if he was desperate to taste more. He kept his fingers in you, slowing his pace as your body quaked, tasting your finale. You were still unable to think clearly as he stood over you, leaning forward to kiss you, to let you taste yourself. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, wrapping a hand around your neck lightly and he pulled back, gazing deeply into your eyes. 

“You are the only one I want to taste,” he murmured, a little sheepishly now, “no God could ever compare.” You were still breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and he ran his hands through your thick hair. The way Gale looked at you, as if you were perfection, as if he would spend every waking moment doing whatever he could to please you, it took your breath away. You pulled him into a kiss again, wanting more, needing him, and he obliged. 

[makingspiritualityreal]

It is ironic, that while Venus and Saturn are friends as planets, Saturn Nakshatras are the enemy of Venus Nakshatras. It is very reflective of how planets can work differently than Nakshatra rulership.

Venus Nakshatras are all about status and forming privileged inner circles of worthy people, creating alliances for oneself, looking for a certain refinement. Venus is also big on family, and belief that one’s bloodline and genetic background contributes to a quality of character. As a result, Venus Nakshatras frown upon those of “lower background”, believing them to be naturally and irreversibly inferior.

Saturn Nakshatras are the opposite of that belief, all of them being compared to the Lotus flower that blossomed in the middle of mud. Saturn Nakshatra natives defy the flaws of their genetic background and strive to improve themselves, often being experts at reaching positions far beyond their origin. That annoys Venus Nakshatra natives, who view them as impostors without proper breeding, yet can’t deny their objective qualities. As a result, they perceive them as insidious usurpers, that have unfairly reached a certain status, that in Venus Nakshatra native’s opinion should be reserved only for them and their circle. That is not fair to Saturn Nakshatra natives that work hard and go through hell to get to their desired outcome, but Venus Nakshatra natives still believe these people will never be good enough no matter what they do.

This can also be used as an interesting example to how important it is to have friendly Tara Bala in your own chart. Any Nakshatras that are in a “best friend” position to your Moon will enhance your life. Any Nakshatras that are in “enemy” position will be a karmic drag, a major issue that you need to solve before you feel like you can progress with your life at all.

Say your Moon is in a Venus Nakshatra, but you also have an important planet in a Saturn Nakshatra somewhere in your chart. The role of Venus Nakshatras is to create and share their objects of worship and creations with the world, especially like minded individuals. The role of Saturn is to progress and build solid ground beyond one’s status of birth. So until you resolve the karma of your Saturn Nakshatra planet, you won’t be able to create freely as your Moon wants to, because you will feel drained having to prove your worth as a human being despite your difficult birth circumstances. Having to work hard for that status that is owed to your character will drain the free flowing creativity your Venus Nakshatra Moon desires.

The same principle will also apply to other difficult Tara Bala. For example, for Saturn Nakshatras Mars Nakshatras are enemies. As someone struggling a lot with that particular combination (I have a Moon - Mars conjunction in a Saturn Nakshatra and two malefic in Mars ruled Nakshatras), I can attest how conflicting the interest of these two types of Nakshatras are. Saturn Nakshatras enjoy their slow progress of due diligence, and even though they do overcome obstacles it is done more so in a colder way, where over time you simply don’t associate with individuals who don’t fit your standards and you easily cut those influences off. Mars Nakshatras, however, are about provocation and psychological manipulation. So Mars Nakshatra energy slows down and drains Saturn Nakshatra natives, because you end up being lumped in with people that have no right or no place in your life coming back to “look for shit” with you, provoke you, often out of jealousy and competition and having to handle that externally and then deal with the outcome internally is draining and consumes the energy the Saturn native should instead use for the progress of their personal path.

[butchreg]

⛪️ — Ethel Cain Preacher's Daughter Agere Flag 𓈒

a flag for regressors & dreamers who associate their regression with ethel cain's album preacher's daughter whether it be through themes , aesthetics , a connection or attachment to the album or even simply enjoying listening to the album while regressed 𓈒 it can be related to a specific song or the album as a whole 𓈒 a flag perhaps for those who use regression to cope with having suffered abuse , generational trauma or a strict religious upbringing 𓈒 for those who have been dehumanized , made to feel like a piece of meat , who have been consumed by the world around them 𓈒 for those who are vaguely human , those whose trauma has turned them into a weapon , for those who god loves but not enough to save 𓈒

please credit if using and do not repost or claim as your own 𓈒 if using feel free to tag — i would love to see your creations ! liking and reblogging is much appreciated regardless of use 𓈒

tagging @bunnelbaby for archiving ! please let me know if i am tagging too much i would never want to overwhelm or be a nuisance 𓈒

[verystrxxwberry]

ELDARYA; your last breath

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Angst, TO & ANE routes x reader, when they receive the news that you have died or when they see you die, neutral pronouns, not specified the reader’s gender!! Not requested. Warnings: death, no mercy, slightly detailed scenes.  ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I had this idea randomly and couldn’t wait to write for it hehe.  I must apologize because I am not the best at writing angst, but I wanted to try to bring some different content. I hope you enjoy it! Have a good week <3.

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

EZAREL

You were commanded to go on a mission as he stayed on the quarters, focusing on the creation of new potions. Ezarel wasn’t dumb and was uneasy since the moment that mission came out, knowing it could be lethal for some of his mates. The moment you got selected to go, he argued with Miiko for you to stay, for you to keep yourself safe and not risk it out there. But you were a member of the guard, you had to risk your life just as much as others did. You were capable, you were strong and well-prepared. And Ezarel knew that any creature that tried to fight you, would easily be killed by you. Or that’s what he wanted to believe.

You weren’t immortal, and there were creatures much stronger than you out there. And even more in the place where you have gone. 

With a deep breath, Ezarel tried to focus on his work, feeling his chest tighten from the anxiety he was feeling. As long as he didn’t see you come back safely, he wouldn’t feel good. Any creature that talked to him just received a short answer or silence from him. He was zoning out constantly, thinking of you. He rejected Eweleïn’s comforting words, and he didn’t even try to talk to Valkyon since he’d be telling the elf to prepare for the worst.

What would he do without you? It was the first time he dared to imagine his future besides someone else, and wasn’t really prepared to suddenly spend the next days without you. Without having the chance to hold you, to kiss you and to say goodbye one last time. To say goodbye… he couldn’t say goodbye. If you died out there, you wouldn’t have heard how much he loved you one last time. He was very mad at the thought of not having said goodbye properly.

The disgusting scent of intense chemicals filled his nostrils and he realized that the potion he was creating was no longer useful since he gave it more temperature than it needed. He quickly grabbed the crystal with his hands. A mistake. The pain filled his hand from how hot it was, dropping the bottle to the floor and hearing it crack in millions of pieces. The floor was all dirty now. His anxiety, his impatience and his irritation were increasing by how bad things were turning out for him.

He heard a knock on the door, and he sighed in frustration. It could mean a lot of things. Ezarel simply hoped that it wasn’t a fail attempt of comforting him again by any of the creatures. But what if the news were the worst? What if they suddenly told him that you were no longer alive? He felt a burning sensation on his abdomen from the nausea. His intuition barely failed. And he hoped it did fail this time. With sweaty hands, he opened the door, meeting Miiko’s eyes. He was furious with her, and he frowned when he saw her.

“Where are they?”  he asked in a husky tone. He had spent the whole day without consuming any water, any food, and less with some sort of company. Miiko looked surprisingly calm. No, not calm. She looked vulnerable, regretful. A gaze he knew so much. A gaze she always had whenever the news were bad. Truly bad. “Fuck, no…” He shook his head, “tell me they’re just injured.”

Miiko shook her head, her eyes dropping to the floor with some tears threatening to escape. “It was quick. They had no time to suffer, I swear…”

Ezarel’s eyes were wide open, as if he was hearing the truth after the biggest lie, as if it was a betrayal. “You have nothing to swear! You all should’ve protected them. Or I should’ve been the one to go there in the first place!” he raised his voice in frustration, gripping his hair with resentment. 

“We did our best to protect them, Ezarel. Some of our other friends have also been injured or killed by those monsters. We did our best. Yet we weren’t enough to kill all of them, to keep our eye in each other,” her voice cracked when she was about to talk about the worst. About how she saw you getting killed in front of her eyes. “And when we least expected it, a monster grabbed them, as if they were… a snack. And bit their head off… they had no time to even yell. They were shocked, they…”

Ezarel started losing the way on the conversation, the voice fading as his vision started to blurry. It was as if time just stopped for him. As if everything was done and there was no more purpose for him. He couldn’t say goodbye, he didn’t say goodbye or that he loved you enough. Many regrets appeared on his mind and that was truly overwhelming.

They didn’t even have your body to give you a proper funeral. He was furious with everyone, even himself. Ezarel did not only lose you, but also lost his hopes and motivations. Every source of genuine happiness and genuine affection. Everything was done. 

He stayed for some months in the quarters, helping others around automatically. He didn’t have the ability to turn on his mind, not even a single joke escaped him for so long. The sight of him like that was also painful for Nevra and Valkyon.

And the moment he lost Valkyon as well… he felt really lonely, really lost in life. Nevra was still there, but Ezarel didn’t want to stay somewhere his memories became blurry from the many lost lives. He never forgot about you. Never. 

And I’m sorry, but Ezarel is the type of guy who rather not do anything that brings him back old memories. He’d remember your favorite meals but might try to avoid them, he’d remember your favorite colors and wish he was blind, he’d smell something similar to your scent and almost break down. Even having a relationship with another person was a big no. He couldn’t get to love someone as deeply as he loved you.

With time he’d unconsciously use some of your quirks, or use some words you used to say. He’d even dress up with a uniform with your favorite color, as it was strangely comforting. And whenever he missed you, he looked up at the sky and mumbled how much he still loved you. And how much he will love you forever.

NEVRA

Bandits were always ones to barely care about the damage they did. If they already inflicted the law to do some evil, what would they care about injuring anyone to get what they want? Nothing.

You, Nevra, Karenn and their team got called to protect one of the harbors in a village, which was constantly threatened by groups of delinquents. They dared to hurt the elder and whoever got in their way. And as you got there, you all hid to prepare a trap to that group of bandits.

They weren’t the usual bandits, the usual thieves and murderers you’ve faced before. Yes, they were creatures, but they held long, customized weapons that looked pretty dangerous. The sounds of metallic steps made you all aware that they arrived, and the mischievous giggles from them made it even more clear.

You all got out from your positions to fight that big group of bandits. They were easy enemies, yet they had the bad ability of thinking at the same level as your team did, so it wasn’t really easy to injure them. Your goal was to trap them, not to kill them- but they needed to be defenseless first.

You and another creature were busy with a single bandit. It almost seemed like a choreography how you both attacked him to make the enemy release the weapon, and how he moved in a strategic way to protect himself. You felt some drops of sweat in your forehead because he was too precise with his moves, until you finally did a quick move that achieved to rip the weapon from their hands, hitting him on the nape to leave him unconscious. You looked around, searching for a mate to help and joined others. 

As you finished tying a rope around a girl’s wrist, you looked around to see Nevra easily get rid of the amount of delinquents who were surrounding him. He easily cleaned his surroundings, it was impressive and clear why he was so named a leader. From far you could see one delinquent who was hidden and seemed to be aiming at Nevra. How did anyone not notice that girl being there? She seemed to be waiting for the perfect moment, and a smirk on her face was the sign that it was the moment. You saw her finger on the trigger, and you quickly ran towards Nevra, “guys, there’s a sniper!” you yelled as you ran, finally pushing Nevra to the side. He fell to the floor and looked towards you confused, and it all happened too quick, and you suddenly fell to the floor violently. Some of your mates went towards the sniper, defeating her, but it was already too late.

The bullet perforated a neat hole in your chest, the pain making you release an alarming yell for the vampire. The intense scent of blood twisted his stomach in fear. “No, no, no,” he mumbled in repeat, pressing his hand over the bound as he saw you breathing heavily. That place was lethal, and you were too far to get immediate aid. “Please, no! Stay with me, please, stay here.”

Wow, you didn’t imagine it wouldn’t be just as in shows, where the character gets shot and spends 3 minutes talking with their beloved. You were currently feeling lightheaded, with an immense pain and a great difficulty to breath. Your shaky, weak hand reached his wrist, attempting to give a squeeze but failing. “...ove you…” you whispered, making him press his forehead against yours. 

“Don’t say that as if you’re dying,” he says in a desperate tone, caressing your hair with his free hand. “I love you too. I need you to keep your eyes opened, please,” he whispered, his lips kissing a few times your forehead.

But a soft and calm sighed escaped you. The last one. You’re last breath. He started to sob as he held you, embracing you firmly as he repeated your name. His stained hand caressed your cheek, leaving a trail of your own blood over there.

He spent a few minutes crying, not caring that all the job was done and they could successfully leave. There were others injured, but no one other have died. Only you. It made his own heart burn from the pain that view gave him.

Karenn had to make him get away from the scene. They had to leave with the bandits, and some others wrapped your dead body to send it back to Eldarya and give it a proper funeral. Karenn was also affected for seeing you like that, but she had to act strong because the most affected was Nevra.

Nevra cried for the whole night, letting Karenn hold him. Holding someone only reminded him of how he held you during your last minutes, if those were even minutes.

But he had to act as a leader, trying to keep himself focused on his tasks. But his mind always went back to that day. He was rude towards others’ unconsciously, just because he was overstimulated with his feelings to let others bother him more. He seemed present but was on his own world of negativity instead. He started behaving like a teen, and he hated that, but he was frustrated for not having protected you from that bullet. For not having done enough.

He gave the girl who shot you a proper punishment. One that he isn’t proud of and never spoke about to anyone. But he sought some sort of revenge towards the woman that killed who he loved the most. 

The moment Valkyon died and Ezarel left he was even madder. He lost almost everyone. The only one he trusted the most and stayed with him was his sister, the only one he showed more trust.

He tried to reconstruct his life, going back to old habits to keep his mind busy in the bed of different creatures every night. Yet the simple act of holding them on his arms provoked him to wake up in the middle of the night, panting softly as he remembered about you. But when he sees you aren’t the one in his arms, he quickly gets dressed and leaves the bedroom without any explanations. Or he reached a point in which he accidentally moaned your name, reason why some girl got mad at him for that. But he couldn’t help it. He felt guilty for seeking the pleasure and affection only you knew how to give him in other people.

Nothing could replace you ever. And he didn’t know how to properly cope with it, asking Karenn for help. With time, he learnt to accept that, but he took a few years to finally learn to live without any of his friends and partner on his life.

VALKYON

It was the last day on that expedition, and as far as things were, everything was going perfectly fine. The nights with your team were comforting and warm after a whole day of sweating and wishing no one got seriously injured. Every day you all got closer to the cave where the actual enemy was. Valkyon was beside you all the time, not only being a great leader but also being a good support for everyone. And sleeping in his arms was the most energizing thing ever, those last nights of the expedition where he made sure you knew how honest his heart was.

The next day, the awaited fight arrived. You all were very prepared to face the giant creature that was hidden at the tip of that snowy mountain. You had a good breakfast, filled with vitamins and giving you the energy for the fight. Entering the cave made you all freeze from how cold it was in there. But it would be a quick fight, and then you all could go back home safely. It was known there was just one creature who lived alone, and whenever it went out in the mountains it was always to destroy villages for food, which were the innocent creatures on those villages.

With a great teamwork, you all achieved to dodge its attacks. Some took charge of tying its limbs as others made sure to end with its life. It wasn’t too quick, but quicker than Valkyon expected. You all happily celebrated the dead of the creature and saved some of the prisoners from there. But a loud thump echoed through the walls of the cave, causing some stone grains to fall from them. The cave was deeper than you all wanted to realize, as the darkness covered its length. But a pair of shiny, green eyes, looked at you all through that darkness. Then three red eyes, then some other eyes from various colors. Those eyes seemed to be getting closer, accompanied by the big bang that appeared to be coordinated footsteps. The darkness seemed infinite as the creature, or the creatures, got closer and there was no sight of it yet. 

The fear settled on everyone’s bodies. Even Valkyon was paralized. You all expected one creature, which was already big. But there were more.

And another bang was heard, and finally the sight of a giant paw that crushed over one of your mate's body without any compassion. That paw was the size of the creature you previously killed. It was so close to you that you could feel the air moving your hair and clothes from the raw movement, even the scent of blood and the bitter scent of the creature. The silence lasted for a while until the panic got the best of the prisoners and some of your mates, which ran away while they yelled.

Valkyon started yelling orders to retreat towards the base, staying on the entrance of the cave to make sure everyone exited. You and some others were paralyzed from the panic. The whole cave was trembling. And the thump of the steps was covered by the cave starting to collapse.

Valkyon tried to look out for you, seeing that you were left behind as the rocks fell. He yelled your name as loud as he could. And you heard him, but you were completely blocked. Even more when a rock fell right on the only path to get towards the exit. Valkyon started punching the rock, then using his sword for it… he could still see you through a small gape, “Darling, please! Get here quickly, run! Run right now!” he kept yelling. 

Just when your brain started to proceed stuff, you started to run towards there. But what could you do? Climb the rock? It was pretty useless. Valkyon’s tears started dropping at the impatience. He ordered the others to help him, “please, help me break this! Darling, try to be safe in there!”

And Valkyon, along with some mates, tried to break the rock. He looked once again into the gap, seeing you run towards him. His breath was very heavy, his heartbeat quick, and just when you were about to reach the blocked entrance, everything started to slow down. A wall started to collapse, and he saw your body slowly getting trapped under all those heavy rocks. 

Valkyon had to get dragged back towards the base to escape. But he was very shocked. You were crushed by all those rocks without any mercy.

From this moment, his nights were spent overworked to avoid his thoughts or drinking beer along Ezarel and Nevra as he cried about everything that happened. His chest was constantly heavy and whenever his mind got random thoughts of you, he had to go cry in an empty spot.

The day he died, he laid down on the floor with a little smile on his face. His eyes looked at the blurry ceiling, as he thought that since that moment he could go with you and spend the rest of your time in heaven with you.

After you both were resting god-knows-where, the residents of Eldarya made a sculpture of you both together. It showed Valkyon holding you as you held the crystal from Eldarya, both with that sweet smile you both had.

LEIFTAN

You got ill. Very ill. It was one of the things you didn’t really think about when you got there. What kind of virus would they have? What kind of deadly poisonous stuff could you accidentally touch? And you certainly find out when you went to such a wonderful, exotic place in an expedition. The amount of vegetables, fruits and plants on the area were beautiful.

One of those plants was pink, purple and blue, a cute mix that called your attention. And it was strange for you to see. You crouched, touching it and getting disappointed when the touch wasn’t as soft as you expected. Instead, the tip of your fingers were numb after touching it. It was strange, maybe it was poisonous, you wondered. But you kept the healthy collection of fruits and vegetables and went back to the quarters, forgetting about that plant.

You washed your hands, hoping your fingers felt better, but you were in a rush and didn’t pay much attention to the fact that your hands did hurt.

Days went by, and your body showed random symptoms that you didn’t really like. So one night, before going to sleep, you talked with Leiftan about it. “Leif, three days ago I touched a precious plant. It was very pretty,” you started, calling his attention. He had that sweet, kind smile of his. “Oh, yes? How was it?”

“It was purple, pink and… blue,” and his smile started fading when you said that. He quickly looked at your hands, gently touching them. “My goodness… darling, I thought those plants…- shit, let’s go with Ewelein, now.”

You started to panic as he carried you to the infirmary, where Ewelein was calmly reading some papers. When Ewelein saw you both, Leiftan said a strange name you never heard — the name of the plant. And by the elf’s expression you could guess it wasn’t a good sign at all.

“See… this plant was supposed to be extinct years ago. It brings a certain illness no one can cure,” she explained to you. She started looking through your body, finding symptoms that made you three lose the hope when seeing that it was more advanced than you’d think. Leiftan held his tears, but couldn’t be compared to how scared you felt. You were going to die and it was a countdown.

You stayed the next days on the infirmary rather than on your own since your skin started showing pinkish bulges and scales you’ve never seen before. You felt weaker, and you lost your appetite and thirst as days went by. Leiftan was almost always there, searching ways to make you feel better, both physically and mentally. He stayed there all the night, awake, holding you on his arms. He tried everything. He tried to make you drink a potion of healing, he tried to place a warm towel on your skin to make those symptoms fade away…. But it was completely useless.

During those days, you both cried together, shared your last good conversations and lovely words. You both drew together, did some creative things he definitely would keep for himself to remember you.

One specific night you asked him to sing to you, as you were sleepy and wanted to fall asleep to an angelic melody. And who else could it be other than Leiftan to be angelic? No one. So he gladly started singing, his hand caressing your scalp. You closed your eyes and smiled weakly, yet affectionately, his voice massaging your ears with the best melody ever.

But you started to hear that sound fading away, your body feeling suddenly light and how you finally could sleep. A soft, content sigh left your lips unconsciously. His hand no longer massaged your scalp as he kept singing, his fingers pressing your neck gently to take your pulse. His melody became shaky as he slowly started to break down. That was what he feared the most. “Sweetheart, no…” he whispers, embracing you with such delicacy as if you were made of crystal, his tears falling on your face. It was going to happen at some point that week, but it was hard to accept it.

He filled his room with some details he had with you to remember you. He spent some nights looking at those details with a sad smile, caressing them. He was glad, though, that you were no longer in pain. 

During the first nights, he had a very hard time finding some kind of comfort, placing his not-dominant hand over the spots you caressed on his body when you were cuddling. He lost his soulmate. 

He was more vulnerable than usual, constantly zoning out and not being too careful with his work, as he usually was. Leiftan got a strange behavior from that moment, feeling very melancholic and shutting down the moment he saw something that reminded him of you. And whenever there was an event in the streets of Eldarya, his sad smile appeared, looking at the sky at some point and mumbling “are you enjoying this too, sweetie?”

You’d be his angel, proclaimed by him. An angel who’s always watching to protect him and fill his heart. He didn’t know if it was true, but it was the only way to fill the loneliness he felt.

LANCE

Everything was in peace since the day you returned from the crystal and Lance had no longer the intentions to hurt anyone else. Instead, he regretted everything he had done and wanted to show that he changed, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone at all.

He was currently happy with the life he had there. Even though he had that inner guilt of what happened with his brother that you perfectly were aware of. Lance compromised himself to protect you at all costs. He was terrified of losing you and felt like you were the only one who genuine forgave and understood him.

One night, you went out with some of the other guardians to do guard in the forest and the beach, having fun through that time. Lance was doing guard on the quarters meanwhile, not quite worried of anything happening because most of the nights until now have been safe. 

Everything has been fine for you all, but an ambush changed everything. Shadowy creatures, specters from another dimension, appeared out of nowhere. And they weren’t simple enemies. They didn’t seek to fight, only to devour the life essence of those who stood in their way.

You fought with everything you had. You stood your ground as your companions fought as they could. But the enemy was relentless, so the easiest way was to escape. When you tried to flee to warn the others, one of those shadows slipped between your ribs like an icy edge, stealing your breath. Your energy was slowly drained, your skin lost its color, and your body fell limply to the damp grass of the forest. It was a direct and painless death. You didn’t even realize what happened the moment the shadow crossed your body as if it was used to it. Your open eyes reflected the moonlight, but could no longer see anything. 

The guardians went towards the quarters, warning about the incident. Lance heard hustle and quickly went towards the main spot of the quarters, seeing your team but not you. “What happened to them!?” he grabbed one of the guardians from the shoulders, shaking him with impatience.

“T-they… they weren’t too fast to escape…” he mumbled, looking at Lance with regret and sadness. Lance said nothing, he merely stood, jaw clenched and knuckles white from the force with which he clenched his fists. His eyes burned in rage, in denial and devastation. He must be lying. You couldn’t be dead.

There was no way he could express the guilt that was burning him alive. After losing you, he got drowned by himself into that darkness of constant guilt, of constant self-destruction. He failed you and wasn’t going to forgive himself for that. He didn’t openly talk about that, instead, he got distant from everyone. Mathieu was there to try to comfort him, but Lance was so cold during the first days that accidentally hurt the young man’s feelings. His answers were colder, his impatience shorte. 

Whenever he heard your name, his heartbeat raised to the point he had to leave or practice the deep breathing skills to not break down there. His heart was weak to you, and more now that he didn’t protect you. He never mentioned your name even if you were always present on his mind. He saved that memory as a testimony of his failure.

If he had goals before, now he just followed orders without questioning them. Not because he believed in them, but because he didn't care. Life became a succession of empty days, in which he did what he had to do, but without emotion.

And sleeping… sleeping became a punishment. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw you. He remembered you, smiling, on his arms… until the moment of the news returned. Until he found himself crying and apologizing all loud to your ghost, if you ever watched him.

Was he able to continue with a normal life? No. Or at least, not in the same way as before. He went on living, because death was not an option. But living ceased to be meaningful. He never loved again. Not because he couldn't, but because deep down he felt he didn't deserve it. Over time, he learned to carry the guilt without it consuming him completely. He learned to breathe, to move on without letting the pain paralyze him. But there always remained in him that emptiness, that shadow that would accompany him until the end of his life.

MATHIEU

You both decided to take a night walk where you’d be talking and having fun until you both were tired enough to keep your path. Eldarya was certainly a curious and gorgeous place. But it was also very scary how many creatures lived there, which humans’ didn’t believe in, were normal species in Eldarya.

And it was terrifying how many species you both didn’t know. 

The walk went well until something, a shadow, ripped you from his side, making him get suddenly surprised. When he heard your scream he ran after you, his heart drumming in his chest. His breath turned to mist in the night air. Following you until you were still, standing at the edge of the black lake, your clothes damaged from the creature’s claws. The creature was with you. It had no face, only a throbbing void where its eyes should be. Its bony fingers dug into your arm, making you squirm in pain, the fear not allowing you to scream.

“No!” he yelled and lunged forwards, but it was as if time just stopped around him. His steps became heavy, his prosthetic leg failing and his other leg feeling truly heavy. The creature bowed its head, as if studying him with amusement. Then, with a slow, cruel gesture, it brought its other hand to your chest. You gasped. Your back arched as if an invisible force was tearing at you from inside. Your lips parted in a soundless whisper, and then, your body turned to ashes. You didn’t even fall. Your body was no longer a material on this world. You simply vanished, as if you never existed. Mathieu screamed until his throat did hurt, running towards the creature and taking out his sword to attack it. But the creature faded in the shadows, disappearing into the whispers of the forest. And he was left alone, with the echo of your name on his lips and emptiness in his soul.

Even explaining it to someone else felt so unreal, so strange. What if no one believed him? But when he told the others about what happened, they were truly aware of the existence of this creature. He was slightly mad. Why didn’t you both know about it? Due to the lack of knowledge you ended up dead. Worse. Turned into ashes!

That was one of the most cruel deaths he has ever seen. And he spent nights wondering why would that creature do that. You didn’t deserve that, and he wanted to seek revenge for you. He missed you at every painful second that he could stand.

He spent so many nights waiting in the forest to see if there was a miracle and you came back. He had very tiny hopes of you appearing once again. But he saw you fade into ashes… you weren't coming back. He was in denial.

He forced himself to be happy for his friends and the children that constantly asked him to play games with them. But there was a notorious trail of sadness in his eyes. There was no brightness as before. It was all forced.

He was constantly around Lance so he could distract himself, but nothing could save him from those thoughts. 

What hurt him the most is that you didn’t complete most of your life goals. You were so young. That’s why he decided to complete them for you, except those who were too personal or those which included him. He couldn’t marry you, have children… but he’d be loyal to you until his death. He is mentally married to you, and his children would be your favorite pets. He’d take care of them, talk to them, sometimes ranting about how beautiful their other parent was, and how you'd be taking care of them since up there.

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[somepsychopomp]

venting rn but in the last 2-3 years I've noticed a huge increase in people who seem like they barely want to engage in fandom creations anymore. To be clear, there are still a lot of really great people out there and they certainly make up the majority of my fic readers & commenters!

But in the comments of my stories, I've noticed more and more people in recent years telling/asking me:

to summarize the chapter for them because they didn't understand it

to clarify very simple plot points

to clarify plot points that span multiple chapters

proudly admitting to skimming my works

proudly admitting to skimming my stories because they had "too much detail"

skimming because there was no romance subplot

skimming, skimming, skimming. (Look, if a story just isn't grabbing your attention and you feel compelled to skim it, that's fine. But for the love of god don't tell an author that you did that? It's so fucking rude?? I feel like it was common ettiequte a few years ago to just not say this sort of thing but nowadays I'm getting comments about skimming almost every month)

praising me for interesting writing descriptions which they "don't usually read"... which like... that's all a book is. a series of descriptions of characters, conversations, settings, etc. what are you even saying to me at this point

asking me when an event in the story happened, either in the very chapter that the event happens in or shortly thereafter (probably because they skimmed)

wanting zero ambiguity in the story by asking me to clarify exactly what I meant when I wrote X, or what I meant when I had a character say Y, etc. Even if the purpose of said ambiguity was to enhance the plot or build intrigue. Or god forbid, spark the imagination.

ignoring whatever I say in any of my author's notes, even if I leave a lengthy note or multiple notes, for the sake of begging/pestering/demanding another chapter, another sequel, or what have you. They just want more, more, more. (again, this has always been a thing in fandoms. I've been writing fics for almost 10 years now and I'm mostly used to ignoring it by now. But I feel like people are far less shy nowadays about ignoring an author's wishes just in the off chance that bothering us will give them more content to consume)

Overall, it's just extremely sad to me that a growing faction of people in fandoms simply want to be spoon-fed every last drop of the material they encounter. They do not want ambiguity, uncertainty, complexity, unhappy endings/emotions, wait times, or to put effort into engaging with their fellow-fandom goers. They seemingly want everything chatgpt-ified for them.

I have no statistical data to back up this theory but I just have to assume this is mostly coming from kids or prior-normies who are just now entering fandom spaces and only know how to treat us as commodities, not a community.

So all I can say to that is: I'm still going to take my time writing weird, unusual, or even unhappy stories because they fill me with joy and I know no matter what I write or how fandoms change over time, there'll always be other people who will enjoy my stories too!

[almostwisegalaxy]

The Intransigence of Silence_2

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: So far away_ Martin Garrix x David Guetta

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Enjoy y'all ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

..................................................................................

The Next Day

Y/n entered the studio the next day, her stomach in knots. Each step felt heavier than the last. She had spent the night replaying their exchanges, searching for meaning in the intensity that consumed her every time she locked eyes with the actor. She knew he was right: she could no longer ignore what burned between them.

Yet, she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t just a young actress trying to make a name for herself; she was his student, under his guidance. And he… he was everything she wasn’t. Powerful, experienced, unattainable.

When she arrived, he was already there. He stood facing a row of mirrors, hands in his pockets, looking distant. But as soon as he noticed her, his gaze darkened slightly, betraying an inner turmoil he struggled to hide.

“You came,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving her.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

A heavy silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t the usual silence of their mentor-student dynamic. It was something else—something deeper, more fragile.

They began rehearsing. The actor, true to form, corrected every movement, every inflection. But y/n could feel something had shifted. He was still demanding, but his critiques seemed less biting, more measured. She felt his gaze on her—not as a mentor assessing a student, but as a man observing a woman.

She tried to focus on her role, but her mind was elsewhere. She caught him glancing away several times, as if he were struggling to maintain a distance.

Finally, as she performed a particularly intense scene, he abruptly interrupted.

“Stop.”

Y/n straightened, her breath uneven. “What’s wrong?”

He crossed his arms, hesitating. Then he spoke, his voice quieter than usual:

“You’re acting like you’re afraid. Afraid of what? Me? Yourself?”

His words hit her like a blow. She looked down, unable to respond.

“Do you want to know why I told you to drop this role?” he continued, his voice hardening slightly. “It’s not because I doubt you. It’s because you’re not ready to face what it demands. You’re brilliant, y/n, but you’re still fragile. And this world—” He paused, searching for the right words. “This world will destroy you if you show yourself to the public before you’re strong enough.”

She looked up, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And you, sir?” she asked softly. “Do you think you’re not part of what could destroy me?”

He flinched but didn’t answer immediately.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted at last, his voice barely audible. “Maybe I’m your worst enemy in all of this. But if I had to choose between breaking you a little to make you stronger or watching you fail because I did nothing… I’d always choose the first option.”

Y/n felt a wave of conflicting emotions rise within her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tell him she didn’t want to be his project, his creation. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t just that.

“And what if I don’t want to be strong on your terms?” she whispered.

He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers, his expression unreadable.

“Then tell me, y/n. Tell me what you want. Really.”

She remained silent, frozen under his intense stare. Part of her wanted to tell him she wanted to run, to be free of him, of his hold over her. But another part, deeper and more honest, knew she wanted something else entirely.

Finally, she replied, her voice trembling:

“I want you to let me make my own choices.”

The actor stepped back slightly, as if her words had struck him. But instead of retreating, he stepped forward again, closing the gap between them to almost nothing.

“Then make a choice now,” he murmured. “But know this—if you stay here, if you keep following me, listening to me, challenging me… there won’t be any boundaries left. Not between you and me.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. He was so close, yet he made no move, spoke no further words. It was up to her to decide.

She could have walked away. She could have ended it all. But instead, she took a step forward, closing the last bit of space between them.

They stood motionless, the tension between them almost unbearable. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and brushed her face—a gesture both tender and hesitant.

“Y/n…” he whispered, as if warning her, but he said nothing more.

She closed her eyes, letting her breath sync with his. And for the first time, she felt like she had taken back control. Not over him, but over herself.

When she opened her eyes, she said simply:

“I’m staying.”

And this time, it was he who looked away, defeated.

---

She had barely spoken the words when he gently, yet firmly, took hold of her. One hand slid behind her neck, the other brushed her arm. The kiss was everything they were: intense, controlled, yet overflowing with a passion that had been suppressed for far too long. There was no hesitation, no awkward uncertainty. It was as though all the tension that had built up had finally found its release.

Y/n found herself suspended in that moment, her mind flooded with contradictions. But when he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her gaze, she saw in his eyes a humanity he had always tried to conceal.

"I can’t turn back anymore, y/n," he murmured. "And neither can you."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head, almost regretfully.

"You need to understand—if you choose to stay, there’s no going back."

She didn’t need to think. Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were clear.

"I’m staying."

From that moment, their relationship changed. During rehearsals, they were still mentor and student, the palpable tension between them hidden under a veneer of professional rigor. But when they were alone, in the shadows of backstage or after long sessions of work, the boundaries disappeared.

The actor, usually a master of self-control, occasionally allowed brief moments of tenderness to slip through: a hand brushing hers under the guise of giving advice, a look that lingered a second too long. Y/n, on the other hand, felt a newfound strength. She was no longer just under his influence. She had gained a certain equality in their strange dance.

But their secret was fragile. Other actors began to notice something had changed. Whispers grew louder, more insistent. Yet neither y/n nor the actor let the rumors destabilize them. Their bond, though discreet, seemed unbreakable.

A few months later, the film y/n had auditioned for—and that the actor had forced her to abandon—was finally released. It was a disaster. The reviews were ruthless, criticizing the lack of depth in the performances, the weak script, and the absence of chemistry between the lead actors.

In the studio, conversations revolved around this failure. Some of her former colleagues now looked at her with envy, as if her absence from the fiasco had suddenly validated her place among them.

The actor observed all of this in silence. One evening, as they were alone after a long day of rehearsals, he placed a newspaper on the table in front of her. On the front page was a scathing review of the film.

"Did you read it?" he asked calmly.

Y/n nodded, avoiding his gaze.

"I don’t feel any satisfaction, if that’s what you’re wondering."

He leaned against the table, arms crossed.

"This isn’t about satisfaction. It’s a lesson."

She looked up, intrigued. He continued:

"Do you see what happens when you rush into something to prove something to everyone except yourself? It’s not about talent. It’s about timing, about preparation."

Y/n remained silent for a moment, absorbing his words. She knew he was right. But deep down, another question burned within her.

"And if I had been ready? If I’d gotten the role? Would it have changed anything?"

The actor stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, he knelt down to her level, so they were eye to eye.

"I never stopped you from taking that role because I doubted you, y/n. I stopped you because I knew it wasn’t worthy of you."

She felt her eyes well up, but he gently placed a hand on her knee—a gesture that seemed to say, No tears, not here.

"One day," he added, "when you’re ready, it’ll be you the critics praise. Not because of me. Because of you. And on that day, you’ll understand why I pushed you this hard."

From that moment, their relationship entered a new phase. The actor became even more demanding, but also more invested. He poured himself into every detail of her training, pushing her further than she thought possible, but never breaking her.

Y/n, for her part, grew in confidence. She no longer saw him just as a mentor or a man she admired, but as an ally—someone who believed in her even when she doubted herself.

But lurking in the shadows of their connection was a persistent tension. They had crossed a line, and though they tried to conceal their relationship, they both knew the day would come when they would have to face the consequences of their choices.

For now, they moved forward together, united by a complex mix of ambition, desire, and mutual respect.

---

Their relationship had imperceptibly, but undeniably, changed. The actor remained true to himself: demanding, distant in the eyes of the world, but with a softness that surfaced when they were alone. Yet, he never made overt gestures—no grand declarations or romantic promises. His affection was visible in the details: the way he held her a moment too long during a correction, a lingering glance, or a murmured phrase that hung in the air long after he’d spoken it.

Y/n, for her part, felt overwhelmed. She never knew how to respond to these stolen moments: the thrill of a hand brushing hers, a quick kiss in the shadows of a hallway, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to unravel every thought she tried to hide. She continued to address him formally, clinging to it as a fragile form of control over something that felt so unstable.

One evening, after a late rehearsal, the actor offered to drive her home. They were alone in his car, enveloped in a charged silence. The city blurred around them, but all she felt was the warmth radiating from him—so close and yet so distant.

When he stopped in front of her apartment, he turned off the engine but didn’t move. Y/n, hesitant, opened the door, but his hand firmly stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned to him, surprised. His gaze was steady, burning, yet unreadable.

“You can’t keep running away,” he said softly, almost reproachfully.

She furrowed her brow. “Running away? I don’t understand.”

He sighed, and then, suddenly, he leaned closer. His kiss was intense, full of the tension he had been holding back for weeks. Her hands instinctively found his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. When he finally pulled back, she was speechless.

“Stop addressing me so formally,” he murmured, his voice husky. “You’re not a stranger to me anymore, y/n.”

She blinked, trying to compose herself. “It’s… a habit.”

“Change it,” he replied, his tone commanding but his gaze betraying a certain tenderness.

After that night, something shifted between them. The kisses became more frequent, though always fleeting, almost stolen. When they were alone in the rehearsal room, he would sometimes surprise her, pulling her close just to brush her lips with his before resuming his role as her mentor as though nothing had happened.

Y/n felt disarmed by these moments but clung to them nonetheless, unable to deny the effect he had on her. He never told her he loved her, but every gesture, every look seemed to scream it in his place.

One day, while she was rehearsing alone, he entered without a word. He stood watching, arms crossed, until she stopped, flustered.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

She averted her eyes. “I’m not nervous.”

He approached slowly, a faint smirk on his lips. “Then why do you still refuse to speak to me informally?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her.

“No excuses. Just… say my name.”

She flushed deeply. “Actor.”

He nodded, satisfied. Then, before she could say anything more, he kissed her again—this time slowly, savoring every second.

They began spending more time together away from the studio. A hidden café tucked in a quiet alley. A late-night stroll through the city. One day, he took her to a nearly deserted park where they sat in silence, simply sharing each other’s presence.

He had a way of touching her—not possessively, but protectively. A hand on the small of her back as they walked side by side. A strand of hair tucked behind her ear, his gaze burning when she looked up at him.

One evening, after one of their outings, she murmured, “I still don’t understand why you chose me.”

He frowned, clearly displeased. “Stop. It’s not about choice. It’s you, y/n. You, and nothing else.”

She didn’t respond, but that night, she fell asleep with his words etched into her mind.

Their relationship was discreet but had taken root. The actor, despite his usual cold demeanor, showed flashes of warmth that only y/n saw. He teased her occasionally, but his words always carried a truth that touched her deeply.

“You’re much stronger than you think,” he told her one day after she nailed a particularly difficult scene.

She lowered her eyes, but he tilted her chin up with a finger. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you. Believe me, y/n.”

She nodded, unable to reply. But in her heart, something shifted.

Their days became intertwined with tender gestures and stolen moments. She was slowly growing accustomed to calling him by his name, though it still felt awkward. He, on the other hand, seemed to take subtle pleasure in watching her soften.

One night, as they shared a late dinner in a small restaurant, she caught him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he replied, a faint smile on his lips. “Just you.”

And in those moments, y/n knew she could never go back.

---

After months of relentless effort, y/n finally landed a role in a big-budget series. It wasn’t a lead role but a pivotal character integral to the storyline. The role demanded a complex emotional range and a magnetic presence, and y/n knew she had to give it her all.

To her surprise, the actor approved without hesitation. When she shared the news with him, he fixed her with his piercing gaze, and for the first time in a long while, a genuine smile lit up his face.

“Good,” he said simply, but his voice carried pride. “This is the right role. One that will challenge you, but also make you shine.”

In the following days, the actor became more involved in her preparation. There was no longer any restraint in his encouragement, though his critiques remained just as sharp.

One evening, after a long rehearsal session, he looked at her intently. “Do you know what I admire about you, y/n?”

She looked up, surprised by the question, but didn’t answer.

“Your ability to turn fear into energy. Even when you think you’ve reached your limit, you keep digging deeper. That’s what makes you unique.”

His words warmed her heart, and a new wave of motivation surged within her.

Their relationship, already intense, became even more intimate. There were fleeting gestures—a hand brushing her arm as he passed by, a rare but genuine smile when she nailed a scene.

They spent more and more time together outside of rehearsals. The actor, usually reserved, slowly opened up to her. One evening, after a particularly productive session, he took her to a quiet, hidden restaurant, far from prying eyes.

“Why here?” she asked, intrigued.

“Because it’s peaceful. And you deserve to breathe.”

They dined in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with mutual understanding.

As they stepped out, he suddenly stopped under a glowing sign. Y/n looked at him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

He leaned slightly toward her, his eyes burning with emotions he usually kept so well hidden.

“Stop being so formal with me,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent.

She flushed, looking away. “It’s a habit…”

“A habit I hate,” he replied softly, but with an intensity that made her heart race. “When you’re with me, be yourself. Not some polite version.”

She nodded timidly, but the moment stayed etched in her memory.

When filming began, y/n poured all her energy into the role. The scenes were demanding, but she knew this was her chance to prove she belonged in this world.

Though the actor wasn’t directly involved in the production, he often visited the set to support her. He stayed in the background, but she always felt his gaze on her, watching intently.

One day, after a particularly challenging scene, he waited for her outside.

“You did well today,” he said, placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her heart racing under his touch.

But he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he let it slide to her cheek, gently guiding her to meet his eyes. “You know I’m proud of you, don’t you?”

She bursts into tears. No one has ever expressed such emotions to her. She takes refuge against his chest, serving him tightly against her.

Their connection grew more palpable, almost tangible. They didn’t talk about their feelings, but their gestures spoke volumes. A stolen kiss in a dark alley after a long evening of rehearsals. A quiet walk in a deserted park. A fleeting exchange of glances while working together.

One night, as they sat in y/n’s small apartment, he kissed her gently, almost hesitantly, as if to ensure she wanted it as much as he did.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, “you drive me crazy sometimes.”

She laughed softly, resting her head against his chest. “You’re the one saying that?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone serious. “Because you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”

When the series premiered, y/n was praised for her performance. Critics highlighted the depth she brought to her character, and her name began circulating in the industry as a rising star.

The actor watched her progress with a mix of pride and admiration. But he didn’t shower her with unnecessary praise.

“This is only the beginning,” he told her one night after a particularly successful premiere.

“I know,” she replied, a confident smile on her lips.

But this time, she knew she could face anything. Because he was by her side—not as a mentor or a guide, but as an equal.

---

y/n had come a long way since her role in the series. Offers were pouring in—interviews, magazine covers, proposals for new roles. She had become one of the most sought-after actresses of the moment. Yet, despite the whirlwind of success, there was one constant through it all: the actor. He was always there, always quietly in the background, but never too far away.

That night, there was a premiere he had to attend, a prestigious event for the release of his new film. He was the star of the evening, the headliner. But it wasn’t the spotlight he was seeking. No, his eyes searched the crowd endlessly, looking for a particular face.

y/n was there, radiant in her simple but elegant black dress. She seemed different—not in appearance but in the energy surrounding her. She was confident, independent, and it shone in every movement she made. The actor watched her from afar, a profound sense of pride swelling within him. He had always known she had incredible potential, but what he saw that night exceeded anything he had ever imagined.

For the first time, he didn’t mind not being the center of attention. He was content to simply observe y/n, like a lucky spectator, marveling at how she captivated the room with her mere presence.

The evening came to an end, and the two of them found themselves alone in the actor’s car, the road nearly deserted under the starry sky. The city lights sparkled through the windows, but inside the car, everything felt calm. The silence between them was now comfortable, imbued with a softness that hadn’t existed before.

y/n, tired but happy, stared out the window. The night had been a turning point for her, and though she had savored every moment, she felt moved by the actor’s presence, as if the evening wasn’t complete without him.

When they arrived at her apartment, y/n hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling nervous. Something in the air felt different tonight. She stepped out of the car, thanking him with a simple smile, and headed toward the door. But before she could close it behind her, she felt pressure against it. The actor gently stopped her from shutting it.

He stood there, just behind her, but the space between them felt immense. He stared at the ground for a moment, as if searching for the right words, before finally meeting her gaze. His eyes, usually so controlled, betrayed a mix of intensity and vulnerability.

“You know…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Tonight, I saw an incredible woman shine under lights that didn’t even do her justice.” He paused, as if each word needed to carry the weight of his feelings. “And I realized how lucky I’ve been to see you grow.”

y/n stayed silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected this moment to be the one where everything changed, but looking back, she couldn’t deny what had been building between them.

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and the world seemed to freeze around them. “I love you,” he finally said, the words falling slowly between them, like a confession that had been held back for far too long.

y/n felt her knees weaken, as if that simple admission had lifted some of the weight she had been carrying for so long. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with emotion, unable to respond immediately. But she didn’t need words. Her hands rose on their own, finding his.

Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her—a soft, almost tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepened into something more fervent, more intense. It was as if all the months of waiting, all the unsaid words, had found their release in this silent yet profoundly meaningful moment.

He followed her inside the apartment, without another word, but none were needed. The actor sat on the couch while she prepared to relax after the long evening. He watched her every movement, every gesture, as if trying to memorize every detail.

When y/n finally settled beside him, he took her hand gently, without urgency. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, his voice sincere. “But I didn’t know how to say all of this before.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart overflowing with conflicting emotions. “Neither did I,” she admitted before turning her face to him with a shy smile.

“You’ve changed a lot. You’re stronger now,” he continued.

“No,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with truth. Their relationship had evolved, and she now knew that, despite all the doubts and struggles, she was ready to move forward with him—not just as a mentor or a protégé, but as something more, something real.

He pulled her gently toward him, kissing her once more, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate. There were no barriers left between them, no unspoken words to hold back. The boundaries of their relationship had dissolved, and they were no longer two individuals separated by roles. They were simply themselves, together.

---

That night, the truth of their feelings was finally laid bare in the form of a kiss and the simple yet profound words they exchanged.

..................................................................................

Tag List:

@elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[fairyminnie444]

Hi! So I've finally plucked up the courage to make an ask and I thought of asking you since your posts really help me! 🩷🫶🏾

I've been really struggling with overcomplicating the law these days, my brain just seems to always want to make things more confusing for me?

Like i'd be understanding the law, reminding myself about how the 3D isn't my reality, imagination is and all I have to do is persist. I feel like I have to remind myself every time so I don't forget.

But soon as a remind myself and re-explain what the 3D is and what the 4D is and how i'll respond to bad circumstances and how i'll live happily in imagination my mind just becomes so overwhelmed to the point that I just loose control and start spiraling.

For example: I'll be reassuring myself on how I won't respond to 3D circumstances and then my brain will start overcomplicating and ask 'What even is the 3D again?' then I'll say the 3D is a projection of imagination (or similar) then I'll counter it by saying 'oh well then what's imagination?' and I might say simply the true reality then I'll counter than by saying 'why? Or what even Is imagination?'

Soon after I'll just start spiralling, nothing I say will make sense, nothing I say will click in my brain, I'll be stressed and confused and maybe after that I'll start consuming on loa which likely worsens it as it makes me ask more questions

It's like my brain just needs to know the answer, and I believe I have them, I just hate it when the questions overwhelm me and becomes too much to handle and I stop trusting my own word. And sometimes I don't know the answer, like when I ask myself 'what is imagination'? I can't produce myself a concrete answer that will make me shut up 😭

I thought to myself that the main problems I struggle with are overcomplicating and trusting myself, more so trust because if I simply learnt to trust the law I wouldn't need to overcomplicate and lead myself to spiral. But how can I learn to trust myself when my brain literally wont let me?

Every hour it feels I need to reaffirm what manifestation is before I forget it, the main reason why I struggle to manifest my desires is because I end up overcomplicating and not trusting the law, I end up spiralling, I stress myself out and before I know it I 'forgot' i had my desire or I just gave up and tried to give myself time to relax.

An answer would be greatly appreciated because I don't know how I can have fun and enjoy manifestation without changing my ways. Thank you for reading 🩷💋

-y

Your struggle with overcomplication and spiraling is more common than you think, and it often comes from a genuine desire to “get it right.” The good news is, the law is incredibly simple, and trusting it doesn’t require you to answer every question your mind throws at you. Let’s break this down and make it manageable:

1. The Overcomplication Trap

Your brain is stuck in a loop of analysis because it’s searching for certainty. This happens when we feel we must fully “understand” everything before it works. But manifestation doesn’t rely on intellectual understanding—it works through belief and feeling.

Simplify: The 3D is just the current reflection of past thoughts, and the 4D (your imagination) is where creation happens. That’s it. Every time your mind overcomplicates, repeat this to yourself:

“What I focus on in imagination becomes real. That’s all I need to know.”

2. Answering “What is Imagination?”

When your mind starts to question the nature of imagination or reality, remind yourself that you don’t need all the answers for it to work. It’s like using electricity—you don’t need to know how it works to turn on the lights.

Reframe: Instead of trying to explain imagination to yourself, shift into feeling it.

Ask yourself:

• “What does my dream life feel like?”

• “How would I feel if I already had it?”

This grounds you in experience rather than analysis.

3. Stop Fighting the Spiral

The more you resist spiraling thoughts, the more power they gain. Instead, allow them to pass like clouds in the sky. Acknowledge them without engaging. For example:

• “Okay, my brain is spiraling again. That’s fine. I don’t need to figure everything out right now. My manifestation is still working.”

4. Cultivate Trust Through Repetition

Trusting the law comes with practice, not perfection. You don’t need to convince yourself the law works—you just need to keep applying it. Over time, results will reinforce your belief.

Manifest something “simple”, like seeing a specific color or hearing a specific word. Each success builds trust.

5. Focus on Feeling, Not Logic

The law isn’t about intellectual reasoning; it’s about feeling. When you start spiraling, shift your attention to a state of gratitude or contentment.

For example:

• Instead of asking, “What is imagination?” ask, “How does it feel to have my desire?”

Feeling is the language of manifestation—not words.

6. Create a Grounding Routine

When spiraling feels inevitable, ground yourself with a simple routine:

1. Close your eyes.

2. Take a few deep breaths.

3. Imagine one simple, joyful moment from your desire (e.g., holding your SP’s hand, seeing your bank balance, etc.).

4. Let the feeling of that moment wash over you.

This brings you back to the present and out of your head.

7. Stop “Starting Over”

You never lose progress. Even if you’ve spiraled or doubted, your manifestation is still active. The law is always working, and your consistent return to your desire reinforces its creation.

Affirm:

• “Even when I doubt, my manifestation is still unfolding.”

• “I trust the process, even if I don’t understand it fully.”

8. Have Fun with It

Manifestation doesn’t have to feel like work. It’s about playing with your imagination and enjoying the feeling of your desire being real. Let go of needing to “get it right” and just focus on feeling good.

Reminder: The 3D doesn’t have to prove anything to you immediately. Relax, trust, and let the process unfold naturally.

Your job isn’t to know how everything works; it’s to assume the state of the wish fulfilled. Let the “how” take care of itself. Keep it simple, focus on your feelings, and trust that everything is working in your favor—even when you’re unsure.

[moronkombat]

Not sure if u do nsfw alphabet requests but if u do could u do it for havik :3

YES I LOVE NSFW ALPHABETS

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the rather long activities have concluded do not except hugs and cuddles. What you will find are eyes that stare at you as if the body he sees is a pure work of art. To him, it is. The cuts on your body, the blood the drips and drips...he will not wipe it away. He wants to watch it fester further. He may lick your wounds but that merely so he can taste the crimson shaded iron upon your body

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite part on his partner is their back. A wonderful blank canvas to tear into and to decorate. Hails will hook into your skin and pull and pull down until his fingers are coated sticky with iron. In terms of his body, it is his chest have you seen how big his tits are wtf

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The essence of his partner is the greatest of delicacies and Havik is a filthy eater. Finishing inside, to him, can be such a waste of fun. Much rather would he cum on your face so that he may shove it in your mouth and smear it upon your skin. It is joyous to feel that slick trail of white pearls between his fingers and draw such pretty pictures down the length of your stomach. It is barbaric how much enjoyment he gets with playing with the results of your union. Perhaps, it even his favorite toy

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is the type to fondle his partner when they are asleep and he does in it a way that is subtle as to not rise his partner from their dreams

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Havik knowns his way around the bedroom and then some. He is well versed, well practiced and very eager to display this for his partner. Pain is his language and pleasure his literacy. He creates a world for his partner where both exist, they simply cannot survive without the other and he is a master at this creation

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Positions often change during sex but he finds himself favoring the positions where his partner's back is exposed. That where he bites and tears the most but he also enjoys when his partner rides his lap while tongues perform their lecherous tango

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Havik is as crazed as a rabid hound. There is no stoicism to be found. Only will there be a wild hunt of a predator who seeks to completely destroy its prey

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

To say the carpet match the drapes would be rather inaccurate. Havik keeps himself groomed. Could it be because he enjoys the razor burns? Most definitely

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Havik considers himself an expert at romance for the mere reason of how he perceives intimacy. From his eyes, the blood and pain are the most romantic gift he can give to his partner. Romance is to share pain and create pain within one and other. Why provide each other flowery gifts when he can give his partner the agonizing rush of raptor?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation is a frequent pass time for someone like Havik. His thoughts ruminate over you, drown in the memories of your last time together. How can he deny himself a reminder?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Havik is a walking kink. Violence and gore consume him and he wishes for it to consume his partner as well. Biting, as simple as it may seem, is his favorite

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom, or rather his bedroom because it has all he needs to make the sex rather...entertaining. He also enjoys the carnal embrace when surrounded by the viscera he's created

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Injuries and the pain of himself and others. To feel a blade cut his skin, to hear the scream as he rips open the chest of an oppressor, there no better erotic elixir

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that is considered too vanilla or soft. He is not interested in the conventional love making where there are kisses and whispered nothing. No, that is far too dull for him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Enjoys both but really prefers to give. He enjoys using his tongue on his partner. The sounds he forces from your throat having him laughing against your heat. As much as it is a delight to see his partner's mouth stuffed full, he cannot hear the sounds of you as clearly as when he is wielding his tongue to a place most defenseless

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. Havik is a frenzy and a torrid storm that slows for nothing. He gets so lost in the moment of raptor that his body simply cannot control itself

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Havik enjoys taking his time with his partner. While his pace is fast, the entire performance is tantalizingly drawn out. Do not be fooled, however, he knows how to enjoy a shorter moment. When he is experiencing that call to the euphoria, he does not resist it and so quickies can become rather regular

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If there aren't risks or experimentations happening then something is wrong. Havik craves the thrill of the what ifs. He wants to get as close to the edge as he possibly can and he will

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

When having sex with Havik, expect it to bee quite the time consuming fun. He can last until the sun rises again having his fun with his partner

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are a favorite of Havik to bring into the bedroom. He owns a variety that is as vast as the sky and he will put them to good use

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is the biggest tease during oral. To hear you mewl and ache while his tongue laps at you like a cat with milk riles him up. It not only his tongue that teases but his words. Those he utilizes frequently

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud and blaring. He would never hide the sounds you bring from him. He begs for more. He speaks to you such wicked things that have your mind warping and twisting

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Havik is an obsessive lover down to his very core. Love is unknown to him only the twisted desires of having someone and never letting them go

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Large, thick and uncut. Veins run along it and curve in patterns that sensitive to trace. He is a shower, not a grower but is rather indifferent to the size he carries between his legs. His partner is most definitely not indifferent

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Exceptionally high. He seeks out sex frequently with his partner

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Does not fall asleep after sex. He wants to drink the sight of what both you and him have created

[rosesloveletters]

The Flowers You Gave Me.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 3,080

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: Reader has a food allergy/intolerance and has to carefully monitor everything that they consume. They are unable to eat anything inside of Wonka's original Chocolate Room and, therefore, he takes it upon himself to create an entirely separate Chocolate Room for their enjoyment and pleasure with foods which are completely safe for them to eat and free from any cross-contamination.

Author's Note: this fic is incredibly special to me, as Wonka's Chocolate Room is my absolute FAVORITE room inside his factory, but I would likely be able to eat almost nothing in there. At least, the chocolate would be off limits to me. I like to think Wonka would want everyone to be able to enjoy his chocolate and sweets, regardless of allergies and/or intolerances and, as we all know quite well, he goes above and beyond with extravagance.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The chocolate factory was a symphony of sights, sounds and smells.

The aroma of melted chocolate that filled the air was impossible to resist. Its rich, saccharine scent was intoxicating and sensual, making your mouth water in anticipation of the delicious treats that lied ahead. The sound of machines grinding and churning echoed in hypnotic rhythm throughout the halls while the incandescent lights shone down in poor, artificial substitution for real sunlight. 

Anyone else might have run off to taste-test as much product as they could get their hands on, but you had to be vigilant of everything you put into your mouth, scrutinize every ingredient to make absolute certain that there was nothing used in the production of what you were about to eat that could potentially make you sick. 

You were a bit resentful that you could not simply indulge in whatever you pleased, but this was your reality and you chose to make the best of it rather than let it control you. 

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what new product you’ve made, Willy,” your voice was terse, strained as if it pained you to remain cordial when he unwittingly teased you with treats you would not be able to sample, “why do I have to see it?”

It was not his fault, you reminded yourself. He knew your system could not tolerate certain foods, yet it was still understandable that time to time he might forget, although it was unlikely, considering his high intelligence, attention to detail and information retention. 

It was not that you were disinterested in his work; you wanted to share his excitement, but you could only do so much. 

You couldn’t taste anything inside of the chocolate factory until he gave you the ‘all clear’. You had to have confirmation and extensive reassurance that you were not ingesting anything toxic to your system and that nothing you put into your body was contaminated in any way. It was of the utmost importance that Wonka took the necessary steps and food safety precautions before offering you anything to eat. 

“Because to believe is to see, my dear, and you believe in me, do you not?” the smart curve of his lips as he smirked at you and the twinkle in his eyes betrayed little, but you felt like he was tempting you despite his words not making much sense, “I can see the worry lines forming, but please don’t be alarmed. You have tried so many of my creations and I haven’t poisoned you yet.” 

His words were meant to be comforting, but the added ‘yet’ at the end of his sentence filled you with apprehension. You knew that Willy would never intentionally give you something that would make you sick. He was not that cruel or uncaring. His words were playful and innocent and meant only to calm you down.  

Your cheeks were warm with embarrassment as you followed along beside him, however he stayed a pace or two ahead, traveling at a rather brisk clip. 

“I know. You’re right and I didn’t mean to imply that you would do something like that,” you tried to explain yourself, but Willy did not want to hear it. 

He held his hand up to silence you long enough for him to interject, “no need to explain anything away. I understand your concern, my dear, and am very sympathetic to your condition. Nevertheless, I simply must show you this.”

There was no getting around it. Whatever it was that Willy Wonka had to share, he was going to show it to you. At this point, your curiosity was starting to get the best of you and you increased your pace to keep up with him as he led you down a long hallway that you had never been on before.  

You were in the wing of the factory which housed Wonka’s beloved Chocolate Room. 

The sweet fragrance of melted chocolate wafted into your nostrils and you could practically taste it on your tongue. 

There was a lot which was unsafe for you to eat inside that room and it piqued your curiosity of why he would bring you to this part of the factory, but you remained silent as he led you on down the hall. 

Willy stopped in front of a door not unlike the one which led to the Chocolate Room. The wood itself was the same rich brown, carved to resemble a chocolate bar, except this one had an intricate gold inlay to set it apart from the others and indicate a very clear distinction between this room and the Chocolate Room. 

You would have noticed this door if you had chosen not to avoid this part of the factory and now as you stood outside the wonders held within the room beyond, you could not help yourself from asking, “what are we doing here?”  

He did not answer your question, but there was a knowing look in his eyes and that was one which you were highly familiar with. 

Willy Wonka was always up to something, but whether you wanted to know what it was were you uncertain. He had a penchant for hijinks and was known for being a bit of a trickster; you never quite knew if you could trust what he was saying or doing. He had created an aura of mystery and crafted the illusion that things happened inside the factory that were beyond his control, but you knew better. You had wised up to his antics and knew that nothing that happened here was without his approval, knowledge or doing. He was very much in control of what went on inside of his chocolate factory, regardless of what he might have let others believe.

His laissez-faire attitude added to the magic, but it was all a façade; this was his chocolate factory and he was the mastermind. 

“This is my most recent masterpiece,” he informed you, “the latest and greatest in chocolate confectionery that was as much of a challenge as it was a labor of love and artistry.”

He was proud of what he had created here, that was for certain. He was often humble about his work, even though you would have sung his praises to the moon and beyond. 

You did not know what to expect and so you eagerly awaited the unveiling with bated breath and hoped that whatever lied behind that door was edible and safe for you to consume. 

Wonka practically read your thoughts, “don’t get over-excited, my dear. Take it all in stride and appreciate what considerable effort went into it.”

His overreaching statements were as wild in sentiment as his hair was in texture and volume. 

You watched with wonder as one of the panels on the door flipped down to reveal a small piano lock, just like the one he had installed to keep the Chocolate Room off limits and protected. He played a few notes, which had a lower cadence and was played at a considerably slower pace than that of the overture of Mozart’s Marriage of figaro. 

Wonka deftly tapped the keys in smooth succession and you recognized the opening notes of Claude Debussy’s Clair de lune as the door unlocked itself. 

A wave of conscious relaxation washed over you like the calm, undulating ripples of the sun-warmed sea. 

He had wanted to surprise you, but this came as a shock. Clair de lune was your favorite piece and you vaguely recalled telling him this long ago; somehow, he had remembered. 

Willy Wonka didn’t acknowledge your surprise but was grinning from ear to ear as he pushed the door open. 

You remained where you stood, rooted to the spot. 

He had…remembered?

Why did he choose to use such a specific piece for this lock?

What was going on?

You felt like there was some giant secret that everyone was in on except for you, which was often the case with him, even if it would have been merely your perception with anyone else. 

You decided better than to ask him about it, knowing he did not like to be questioned and would therefore make up a silly excuse not to answer. Perhaps it was better that way, to simply enjoy these little surprises for what they were and to not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

A little smile lit up your expression and Wonka glanced over his shoulder to admire the look on your face. 

The soft light in his cornflower eyes made him seem almost ethereal. 

His gaze shifted skyward and his smirk grew.

He refrained from divulging that he had learned Clair de lune in its entirety; perhaps he would share this with you after dinner, when he might idly choose to sit at the piano and play, giving you yet another little surprise like tiny morsels spread throughout the day so that you could have a taste of sweetness each time you had a craving. 

What use was it to devour it all at once, rather than savor everything he had to offer?

Willy Wonka had so many secrets to share, but he wanted to take his time. 

Luckily, you would have willingly spent a lifetime just to learn his name, not to mention everything else in his head, which was an even more beautiful place than any one of the seven wonders of the world. 

Wonka gestured for you to enter, holding the door open for you. 

After you had recovered, your legs felt like jelly, but were steady enough to carry you over the threshold and onto the landing inside the room.

The sight that greeted you was so overwhelming that you did not notice Wonka enter and close the door behind you. 

He was still smiling, his eyes raking over you as he assessed your reaction to determine whether you were pleased. 

You covered your gaping mouth as your eyes were drawn to an array of vibrant colors and abstract shapes, candy-coated woodland scenery inside of a sugar-inducing wonderland.

It was all too reminiscent of his original Chocolate Room, except for the lack of a chocolate waterfall, but you were not about to complain. 

He had brought this vision to life straight out of his storybook mind and everything that your eyes gazed upon was something Wonka had envisioned and created with his own two hands. It was miraculous and beautiful, swirling and twisting delicacies that grew on trees and from the ground like real living plants and flowers. 

Your mouth watered and your stomach rumbled with hunger. You were literally a kid in a candy store; even your actual age couldn’t call you otherwise. 

However, as quickly as your excitement had built, it soon faded twice as fast. 

You could not eat any of it. 

“Oh, Willy…” your voice came out in a soft, halting whine, desperate to fill your mouth and stomach with sweets you knew you could not have, “it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“It’s for you.”

His words did not resonate with you at first; you did not even acknowledge them.

How could all of this be for you?

You did not understand and Willy did not clarify. 

He took your hand and tucked it under his arm as he led you down the steps and along one of the little paths. The small pathway curved into a small clearing filled with chocolate flowers and giant mushrooms with red licorice caps and frosting-filled spots. Your eyes did not deceive you when you thought you saw the very same edible flower teacups that grew in his original Chocolate Room. They were even the same color!

You bent down to admire them as they blossomed in buttery yellow splendor, a pleasant smile blooming across your features. 

These ones were somewhat different, shimmering as if they had been sprinkled with pixie dust; Wonka’s factory was nothing short of a fairy tale and you wondered what they were made of. 

“Give one a try,” Willy urged you, “I know you’ve always wanted to.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the glint in Wonka’s eye made you pause. 

What was he not telling you?

You were beginning to put the pieces together and suddenly it clicked in your mind.

“You did all this…for me?”

Wonka nodded humbly, “of course. I can’t have you missing out on any of my confections, now, can I? Everything in this room is safe for you to eat and the only ones who have access to it are a select few Oompa-Loompas I have chosen specifically for their expertise in cross-contamination prevention who have been made aware of your dietary restrictions, you and myself.”

You did not know what to say. No amount of thanks would ever be enough compensation for all the work he had done to provide you with the safety and comfort that everything that you consumed inside this room was perfectly safe for you to eat. You would never have been able to repay such a grand gesture, but Willy did not ask you to. He simply wanted you to be able to enjoy these delicacies despite your restrictions and since he was the most masterful chocolatier in the world, he was more than capable of giving you that. 

“I don’t know what to say…,” but soon, you blurted out, “thank you, Willy!”

Tears pricked your eyes like sharp glass droplets and Willy’s expression softened. He extended his arms, offering you a hug which you gladly accepted. 

His arms enveloped you in a tight embrace and you burrowed in against his chest. He smelled of cocoa and understated tones of autumn earth and candied maple drizzle with brown sugar nectar. 

You inhaled, your head swimming with the intoxicating smell of him as he held you. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, craning his neck to look down at you. 

His eyes chased yours as you seemed somewhat afraid to make eye contact with him now; he wanted you to see the gentle look on his face and know that you were always safe here with him.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, “it’s just…no one has ever gone to so much trouble for me before.”

“What trouble?” he asked with a slight frown on his face, “putting this together for you was a delight.”

“You know what I meant.”

Of course, he did. 

This was a massive undertaking for him alongside his usual work and to keep such a secret right under your nose would have been impossible if he hadn’t been Willy Wonka.

He heard everything that you were trying to say and it warmed his heart that you had such difficulty communicating it to him verbally. It meant more to him to see that satisfaction on your face rather than coming out of your mouth. 

Actions were stronger than words and this you and Wonka agreed upon. 

You gave him another little nuzzle and he patted your back in a comforting gesture. 

“Now, you can have whatever you like with no worry that it might be contaminated,” he assured you, his gentle voice like a sweetly sung melody, “but I don’t want you in here filling your belly unattended. A little bit of sugar goes a long way, so…I suggest we enjoy such things in moderation.”

You nodded, but then a thought came to you, “I think I’m far more at risk for sugar sickness from all your sweet words and kindnesses than from a little chocolate.”

“This isn’t your way of telling me to be unkind to you, is it?”

His teasing lilt made you laugh. 

“Absolutely not!” you replied, chuckling as he let go of you, “and all jokes aside, I really, really appreciate this, Willy. You have no idea…”

“Oh, I do,” he laughed with you.

He bent down and plucked one of the flower teacups and passed it to you, which you gratefully took from him. 

It was true; you had been longing to take a bite out of one of these since you had laid eyes on them, but thought it was never meant to be. Now, holding one in your hands, you were faced with the very real idea that you were as much a part of Wonka’s world as he was. 

You were as important to him as the cocoa bean was to the creation of chocolate. 

Everything that he did was now done with you in mind. 

It had taken some time to get to this point with him, but every step you took was another one which kept you by his side and you were ready and willing to carry on like this with him for the rest of your life. You wanted to coexist with him, to enjoy this wonderful world of candy that only he could create and now your fears seemed so far away.

Fear that had once convinced you that your limitations might cause resentment. 

Willy Wonka wanted you to know that no matter whether you could eat all his chocolate or none of it, that it did not determine how he felt about you. 

You were what was special and important to him and your impediments were not a disincentive. 

He would find a way around those because you deserved as much consideration and care as anyone else and he was determined to show you that. 

Willy knew how much it bothered you that you couldn’t just eat without worry and therefore he also knew just how much this meant to you that he cared enough for you that he would spend his free time putting together a Chocolate Room specifically designed to cater to your dietary needs and restrictions. 

He knew all this, and more, as he watched you take your first bite of the yellow flower teacup that had caught your fancy so much time ago. 

Your face twisted in delight and you hummed appreciatively as the taste of sweet crystal cream coated your taste buds. 

Knowing that he had finally been able to give you a gift that allowed you to enjoy his sweets uninhibited filled him with joy and even though he also knew you would be thanking him until the end of time, you didn’t need to. 

He had done this for no other reason than for your own enjoyment and pleasure and he knew how much you appreciated him. 

He knew more than you ever would have thought.  

Willy Wonka even knew that you loved him. 

[koukaaa-descent]

sits politely in your inbox. saw your post about jester lifecycles and wanted to ask if you have ideas for masked lifecycles. to me the dramatic masks you find as scrap used to be maskeds before, the hosts bodies simply ran out of "juice" and weren't useful anymore so the mask dropped off (the remaining corpse is scavenged by other creatures).

okay long post time!! I’m glad people like what I drag from my brain. (This is very long)

This post will cover topics such as; decay, insects (not in detail) and body horror. If you’re sensitive to things like that, I recommend looking the other way. Otherwise, enjoy however many words of my brainrot! :]

I like to think that the Masks themselves were made rather than born, albeit still organic. I’ve always been a fan of horrifying grotesque body horror scenarios. (User Pangolin-404 and their masked having webs of nerves that root inside of a host’s body, which is so fucking cool by the way, reminded me of this. I realize after writing this whole thing that my brain likes that more than expected.)

Honestly.,, I have a feeling that the masks themselves have been around for a very very long time, and new ones only ever appear when someone unfortunate is converted. There was a war (ingame lore!) roughly 500 years ago which may or may not have facilitated their creation.

In my eyes, Comedy masks are the ones that’ve naturally spawned (I.e, already with a host or otherwise lying on the ground.) I like to believe that the comedy masks are the ‘first’ of the masks to exist, which have been around since the beginning. The ‘first generation’, per se.

I also like to think that the Tragedy masks are made when someone is converted. They’re basically the supposed ‘second’ generation of masks. It goes like this; comedy masked converts someone, they become a tragedy masked. That tragedy masked converts someone else, and then, well... thus begins a cycle. (Ex. Comedy gen 1>Tragedy>TragedyG1>TragedyG2> etc etc..)

There are a relatively smaller amount of Comedy masked as a result of this, but their quantity is still very much immense. (Ex. For every 10 Tragedies, there is 7 Comedies). The reason for this is that, despite how well they can trick and capture prey, they are still oftentimes rotting and weakened from extended periods of isolation without access to new hosts. There is henceforth a greater number of Masks than there is the Masked. Comedy Masks tend to have a greater lifespan with their hosts, as they are very, very experienced and have gathered a significantly larger amount of knowledge. (They are still not entirely sentient, no matter how deeply convincing it may be. They have a measure of sentience, but not enough. This only ever occurs within Comedy Masks.)

I doubt that they ever actually die unless the mask itself is utterly destroyed, shattered or rendered otherwise unusable.

After this point is where more visceral topics are covered. However; with a host, that specific lifetime is pretty simple, I think. In the beginning, the corpse is fresh, probably still warm (and kept warm by presumably boiling blood) and likely behaves the same as any other human body. Even has a heartbeat and continues to breathe. Vocalizing is possible although usually incomprehensible (typically just a weird slurry of sounds). Finer control is possible, down to curling its toes or flexing individual muscles, along with blinking, moving its tongue, or focusing and unfocusing its eyes. (Please note; a majority of those features tend to be entirely lost during possession, either melted from the host’s body or simply consumed during the process of conversion.)

After a day or so, natural body functions begin to slowly and steadily cease as, despite the Mask’s support, the body has finally lost enough of its own blood and thus slowly shuts down. The Mask’s replacement blood—the substance rendered eternally boiling—is not a suitable replacement despite its apparent compatibility with regular humanoid blood regardless of the type. It carries too little oxygen and remains too thick to move properly through the veins without its host’s own biological assistance. Rigor mortis sets in to the majority of the body by the end of the second day, and the mask has to relearn how to use the body as it has new limitations and requires different efforts in order to move as it used to. Movements become clumsier (not just from the disorientation of change) and the fine control it once had is now unable to be achieved again without outside assistance. Vocalizations are now completely incomprehensible as the entity can no longer fine-tune the required muscles in order to produce the vaguest notion of words. (Not that it was able to speak beforehand.)

The body remains this way for about a week total before further decay begins to set in. The nature of the planet that the host was on beforehand does matter; if it was on Offense during this phase, it would proceed much faster in comparison to Dine or Rend. Temperature affects decay times. Masked typically tend to avoid hotter areas for this reason during this period of its host’s ‘lifetime’ (if it cares for or understands what is happening.)

By the third phase of its ‘lifetime’, the body begins to rot. Fortunately, no insects or decomposers infest the body; the natural heat that the Masked’s blood produces keeps anything untoward away, up to and including foreign materials, unwanted substances and undesirable parasites. Most biological poisons have no effect on Masked in general, typically being denatured on contact with its blood. Artificial poisons, venoms and other toxic substances do occasionally effect a Masked, although usually only in the region that it first made contact in. They do not have very good blood circulation.

The skin of the host cools down rather than remaining at the warm temperature it previously had, which is likely an instinctive response from the Masked as it senses the decay. By this point, points that usually chafe or experience too much friction begin to slowly rub away from the flesh and bone, scraping skin and viscera away with it. The Masked does not experience pain, only discomfort.

At the very end of its current lifetime, true rot begins. If the host is using an entirely sealed suit, blood begins to fill the inside. The corpse begins to slowly, steadily, achingly liquify. At one point it will start to drip from the helmet’s filters, pushed outward with every movement. The Masked can no longer run, as doing so will simply worsen its condition. It is now at risk of abandoning its host and awaiting the next.

If its current host is wearing an unsealed suit, flesh simply sloughs off and out of it as the body weakens. During this state, the Masked first feels pain. (It does not recognize the feeling, and does not usually react. There are cases wherein first or second generation Tragedy masks attempt to cry or otherwise vocalize with screams, keens, gasps or sobs, further obliterating their remaining throat. The third generations and those afterward display no such behaviors, however.)

At the very end of its host’s lifetime (where it is left as merely bone, softened flesh and tendon), the Mask finds a very quiet place. Oddly enough, they seek out small and warm areas, usually dry in nature. It is not uncommon for a Masked to give itself to a member of its Masquerade (a term used for groups of Masked, taken from another researcher (Pangolin-404!)) or to another entity that it has taken a liking to. Albeit, this ‘fondness’ is based upon the creature’s unwillingness to kill it, and its own lack of desire to kill the creature. Several cases have been documented wherein Masked have given themselves to a varying assortment of creatures; other Masked, Hoarding Bugs, Spore Lizards, Nutcrackers (which is a very peculiar interaction), Jesters (thought to be out of malice, seeing as Masks can devour a grown Jester if it is attached for a length of time), Coil-heads (incredibly strange), and Brackens, who occasionally partake in attaching the Masks to their bodies in return for the Mask’s boiling blood, forming a symbiotic relationship with as many as three at a time.

In the process of placing itself somewhere or giving itself to another entity, the Masked takes itself off of its host. The body remains beneath its control for a very short amount of time afterward, as its disconnected span of vein-like ‘roots’ within the body act upon its last commands. Shortly afterward, the body collapses and becomes entirely harmless, likely having placed the Mask somewhere, or having handed it to another entity.

After that, the Mask returns to dormancy, awaiting a host. (I imagine that they place themselves in a warm area as to facilitate “good dreams”. I suppose that staying in a cold, lonely place would be rather unfortunate when one is in a state of dormancy, unable to wake and move by one’s own terms. This is just a theory, however.)

Notes; 1 Masks are typically made out of a material similar to bone. Comedy Masks resemble porcelain, retaining a certain shine rather than the dull white that most Tragedy masks have. 2 Masked tend to place their Masks nearby fireplaces or Hoarder Bug hives at the end of their host’s lifetime, as they both retain a great amount of heat. 3 It is thought that the symbiotic relationship that a Mask can create with a Bracken is entirely beneficial to both parties—hence symbiosis. The Mask typically partakes in any form of possession with parasitism, and it is unknown if it chooses to leave the Bracken’s bodily functions alone because of an inability to control it or because of its supposed lack of desire to do so.

Thankyou for reading ,,, my brain likes to rattle around a lot and. I am entirely normal about the masks and I can be trusted to speak a normal amount about them. I’m like 12% sure I answered your question

[backjustforberena]

Quick question. Why do you think Rhaenys and corlys "waited" so long for children? And why stop at 2. My HC is they travel/enjoyed their marriage for the first years, going together to the end of the world

Side note, I believe there are so many parallels between Rhaenys and Alyssa, both married by choice at 16, having her first baby at 18/19, Meleys, personality. Is there another character you picture similar to Rhaenys?

Hello! I assume this is based on the book, rather than the show? Given that the show doesn't give us any timeline at all for Rhaenys and Corlys's marriage, other than what we see on-screen, so we don't know what age they were when they got married in this version of events, or when they had their children in relation to that, especially with the evident alterations to pretty much all ages involved: especially ageing Laenor and Laena down.

I would love to believe that in the show idea of canon: that Rhaenys spread her wings (dragon-riding pun intended) and travelled alongside her husband for a time, before settling down back to their island and their (assumed) future. Even the romantic notion of a honeymoon voyage! I'm not sure if Westeros has honeymoons, but if anyone had the time, inclination and resources for it, it'd be them! I think it's safe to say that Corlys still frequently travelled during this time and if Rhaenys expressed the desire, I'd imagine he'd absolutely want to take her away.

In the case of the book, I don't believe that's they do this. Corlys has, basically, retired when he married (at least, that's my interpretation) and whilst he could still travel, he's also a part of the Small Council as Master of Ships. His presence and service is required in Westeros. But, of course, I suppose I'm looking at your suggestion as something exotic and time-consuming, reminiscent of a Voyage. They could simply go a progress of sorts around Westeros and that would meet the criteria. But we have no mention of it. Whilst this doesn't rule it out, it makes me wary of committing to the idea of anything but Rhaenys and Corlys splitting their time between Driftmark and King's Landing.

However, in both instances, I don't believe they actively put off children. Children are too important for both of them, not just in the creation of a family but the creation of a legacy. In the book, Rhaenys was of age, it was expected. Corlys wasn't getting any younger and would need an heir as much as she did. He came home with the intention of a family. When it comes to the show version, whilst we don't have similar information or confirmation, we have the importance of family being central to both of them. They want kids. To put that off would almost be to put aside a duty as well, and neither of them seems the sort.

But my main point about all this would be the reliability on the confidence of your statement in the first place. We've got no indication that they made a conscious choice to "wait" for children or that there was any reason to, coupled with no information on any special behaviour during this period of their marriage.

They could have been trying for the entire two years and it simply didn't happen. Rhaenys's mother gave birth to her only child 4 years into her marriage, aged 20. To be honest, they could also be trying for a child whilst travelling. Any trip could be cut short if Rhaenys fell pregnant, for example. Similarly, we can't be certain that they made a conscious choice to "stop" having kids after having 2.

There are no external reasons as to why that would be a decision they made. Nothing political, nothing that threatens them. No word that Rhaenys had particularly tricky births, or that she's too old. It doesn't even particularly adhere to the social expectations or be an okay move in terms of securing legacy, especially when you contrast it to Jaehaerys and Alysanne at the time, who just seem to keep outliving kids.

I'm rambling but the main thing to keep in mind is, when it comes to the book, it's done in such a way that there are no personal insights, perspectives or absolute truths when it comes to motivation. We are working from unreliable and incomplete sources. We can't be certain of anything - we can't be certain what the truth is on this: what took place, what happened, and why.

We can go from a scenario that was they were trying for two straight years without success or even an inkling of a pregnancy, to a scenario where they toured Braavos for 6 months and Rhaenys had an early miscarriage. Or a scenario in which they decided to not try for children at all and employed some sort of contraceptive measure whilst they turned their attention to various other duties like Corlys's job or Rhaenys's integration as Driftmark's lady.

Corlys could fear for Rhaenys's youth and Rhaenys could reluctantly agree. Or Corlys could be the unwilling party to a stay of two years. That could be the truth! Or it could be totally rubbish! It could be one of these or it could be none of these! But the lack of information leaves it open: we have no confirmation but nothing contradicting it either, other than what we suppose. So, I'll leave that there.

In terms of your second question: is there another character you picture similar to Rhaenys? Not really. I must say I'm not wholly read up or as knowledgeable as some, but whilst there are poetic comparisons to make or ways to lump characters together due to fate or something in common, I don't think I really picture anyone as similar to Rhaenys.

Something that does play on my mind, however, is the significance and symbolism behind naming her "Rhaenys" in the first place. I doubt we could say that Rhaenys has the same personality as Rhaenys the Conqueror, but there's something in that being the name that Aemon and Jocelyn choose - the name of a conqueror and one isn't derivative. And that it's the one of the most beloved - I infer a lot of hope there and a surety of her place as Aemon's heir. There's love and tragedy in that name. That tracks in all three Rhaenys's, as much as there is a curse on Visenya's name and a legacy to live up to with Aegon's.

Put that together with the relationship she has with her dragon (both "M" dragons; Meraxes and Meleys), and then that they have very similar deaths (falling to their deaths alongside their dragons, in battle) - and, indeed, their deaths represent a turning point in both conflicts that they fall in: the Blacks choose to take King's Landing then and there and, certainly, Corlys's motivations seem to be directly about his wife's death, and dragons are fully unleashed onto the battlefield causing mass death and destruction, vs Aegon and Visenya burning the heck out of Dorne during "The Dragon's Wroth". I find that interesting.

[im-an-anthusiast]

Discuss your OCs. Now 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵

Ok so here is Thomas. Or well was. Here lies Thomas. Because while I wasn't looking he transed his gender. Or well. Gendher. This is the second OC this has happened to! Although, to be fair, Albion transed his gender retroactively - as in he was always male, he just swapped his AGAB. So, Tommy (?) here uh. Well. I haven't really written anything (good) about her. (I wrote two fluff romance pieces about her and Santi, her love interest, an OC whom I actually have written about!) I am in fact sitting on a half-finished familial trauma (my beloved) piece for Tommy. I keep getting stuck on a single word and closing the piece for another month.

So, what's up with Tommy? She's a very tall, for one. Has shaggy, dark grey hair, and is about 200 years old? 225 if I recall correctly? I might be getting that wrong. Her most prominent feature are her unnaturally bright - glowing, emerald green eyes. This is due to a part of one of my Magic Systems! She has a so-called Remnant Signature, which doesn't affect her Magic but affects her body. The special girl that she is, however, she also has another Signature. This one, however, is a regular Signature, and thusly affects her Magic. However, it borders on a Blank Signature with how large it's Stature is, meaning using Magic causes significant Maogic Recoil (better name pending). This is not at all helped with how she was forced into training Magic since young! This huge amount of Magic Recoil has given her the Magic-induced equivalent of very bad asthma (and other respiratory issues). Because I can't write a non-disabled character! I am also thinking about her having trouble seeing due to her own eyes projecting light... I think I love torturing my characters a bit too much. Oh also she's fucking BUILT.

Anyway, due to her respiratory issues, she has to use Magic Drugs. Which she deals, by the way. She controls a good ⅓ of the Magic Drug market. She, in particular, uses the inhaler form of a strong mix of Pollen Breaths, a kind of healing Drug(s) called Floral(s), which is/are made from the processed Flesh and Blood of Hexstarveds. In addition, it provides immediate respite from the effects of mind-affecting/altering Magic, which can be quite handy when striking deals with other Magi (plural of Magus, the colloquial name for a Mageblood Magic Channeller).

But that is neither here nor there. She also carries around a notebook simply for the sake of reading out Fun Facts™️ when none immediately come to mind. She also likes to take up regular professions, for the combined sake of enjoying studying, helping people, and needing a cover story for insane income and occupation. She's currently posing as a doctor, and let me tell you, she absolutely kills it in a labcoat! She also wears a lower-face gas mask (which is also her Tether (a tool for safer Magic channelling)) sometimes, though it is usually hanging off of her neck. This is because I cannot write a character without giving them an option/reason to cover up their face her second Signature, which I've already mentioned but not named, White Smoke, with the combination of the Discipline and Branch of Magic she uses - Creation Manifesting Magic - allows her to create smoke around herself. Which uh. Not only causes her respiratory issues, also worsens them. Obviously.

She is the daughter to two important Magic families, though I'd perhaps rather leave that to the piece which I want to sink my teeth deeper into that.

In addition, it is interesting to consider that Magebloods do not have extraordinary lifespans unless they have consumed raw Halfblood (A Mix of Mageblood and Hexstarved, often also referred to as an Unsated Mageblood) Flesh, or being hopelessly addicted and dependant on Iðuns, a special, extremely rare, insanely addictive and body destroying type of several Magic Drugs that slows the aging of or rejuvenates its victims consumers.

This has been yours truly, Felix Adustus, ranting about yet another OC. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did

[kewpikayo]

Lucifer Angst Week 2025

January 1st-7th Day one: Loss/Alone

find on A03

Chapter: 1 (you are here)

chapter 2 can be found here

Here is my contribution to Lucifer Angst week! I'm going to attempt to do all the prompts, but some may be a little late. Life has been busy at the moment, but I do hope you enjoy what I come up with!

This is supposed to be a character study and I plan to do this in a small mini series where each chapter builds on the other. The first chapter is below.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Lucifer is very depressed in this one. Nothing too bad, but he is deep in his sadness. I will post trigger warnings with each chapter as it will get dark. Stay tuned~

Melancholia: Day 1: Monday:

What was he doing?

Why couldn’t he pull himself together?

Lucifer was confined to his bed, cocooned tightly into the grand expense of his king sized mattress. He was supplied with too much room.

The sheets on his queen’s side were cold. They had been for a long time now. Each night without her carried her scent farther and farther away from him. He clung to her pillow, deeply inhaling the remnants of her faded, absent scent.

All he could smell was himself. He clung tighter to the pillow with duck down inside, holding it plush against his cheek for comfort. 

It only hurt his heart more.

Lucifer sighed. He had lost count of how many days, months, years, she had been gone. It was hard to keep track of anything as of late. Anything that wasn’t him focusing on taking shaky, shallow inhales and exhales at a time. That simple fact took the majority of his strength most days.

His breath warmed the covers obscuring his nose, embracing the bags under his eyes in heat. His eyes watered, blinking back tears that had long since gone dry.

Lucifer was tired. It was the type of fatigue that weighed heavy on the soul. No relief was in sight, not even when paired with the comfort of his favorite blanket. 

That blanket, with the sweet pattern of a family of ducks embroidered into the plush throw, belonged to his daughter. Much like her mother, she was also missing from his home and the majority of the past several years of his eternity. Only seldom calls with vague, forced conversation were had between them now. 

He didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him. He didn’t even want to talk to himself. But most days that was the only company he would receive. 

His servants knew to leave him to his “work” most days, giving any special business to the sins on his behalf so he could focus on creation. It was the one thing he enjoyed, and now he couldn’t even make himself get out of bed to do so. 

He was pathetic. 

He didn’t deserve to take up space…

‘Just move. Just get up….please…please just get up…! You know you’ll feel better once you do….”

That was a lie. It was a lie he often believed, but everyday he still did so. sadly, that was the case for today. No relief was to be had for him.

 Besides, today did not feel like a “force yourself to be a normal person and hate it the whole time” type day. 

No, today seemed like a “slowly drown in your sorrow and despair until you die” type day.

Either option was exhausting to think about. Simply just trying to exist was exhausting…

No. Today was the day to rot in his too big bed, to be smothered by his too big blanket and continue to be accosted by his very sad brain.

So that’s what he did. 

Lucifer sunk further into his bedsheets, his bed holding his shape in the middle from the countless nights he would lay in the fetal position and wait for the hours to waste away. He was often consumed by numbness, and found himself in a state of not quite asleep but not quite awake. Just existing.

Like he was now.

Lucifer had not slept in five days. His eyes were screaming, blinking every few minutes with fatigue, desperate for an antidote or sweet balm for the agony his mind put him through.  Still, his body would not allow precious sleep. Sleep was too good for him, much like everything and everyone else in his existence.

Bags piled themselves under his eyes, preparing for the long graveyard shift this next night would bring. A deep, heavy sigh broke through his mouth, dreary and pitiful in its sound. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, feeling akin to a desert with rich cracks in its soil. He breathed again, his brows furrowing. The smell was foul.

When had he brushed his teeth? When had he showered? When was the last time he even had a glass of water? He couldn’t recall. All he could remember was rotting in bed for days on end.

Alone. 

Completely alone.

He was always alone. 

Another terribly sad sigh left him, brief in its escape from his lips only to be choked down once more by whatever remained of his pride. He didn’t even deserve to be sad. He did this to himself. He didn’t deserve anything.

He was a failure.

A failure who didn’t deserve to exist…

There was nothing he could do about that except pitifully hide under his blanket and duvet.   That was all he was good at. Hiding. He was a coward. He hated it, but he didn’t have the strength to disagree with himself. Not today.

Claws gripped tighter on the throw wrapped around his weak frame, resembling a hug he didn’t deserve from one he loved. From one who didn’t love him anymore. 

He lost his chance to love her.  She left him alone…

And though she was absent from his side for what felt like centuries, even longer, still she lingered. Her songs wove themselves in his head, his queen’s compelling spirit, her independent will…

If he closed his eyes he could swear he felt her embrace once more, wrapping around him tightly. Warmly. With intention, as she once did.

Once again that feeling was a lie. She was lost to him, but still she lingered…

He wished her memory would leave him alone. It was better that way. The pain her loss created ate away at him like mold clinging to decomposed fruit, encompassing what once was sweet and favored into something undesirable. 

His heart was not fit to carry her affections any longer. He knew this. He had known this for years; and still her loss was felt with even greater dismay as the hours rolled by. 

His hope for her return dwindled with each day that passed. His brain knew what his heart could not; Still, his heart sang her name ceaselessly. He desperately sought after her love, her embrace, her warmth just one more time…

She was lost to him. He knew this, but his brain would not forget her. He couldn’t. With her, they created the one thing he cherished above all else. How could he forget his first love? The one who brought him such a wonderful gift, a miracle, to begin with?

He didn’t deserve even the memory of her love. He didn’t deserve her…

Fingertips embraced wood lazily, but with compulsion. A sense of urgency melted into his numb hands as the drawer to his nightstand feebly slid open. Searching, desperately searching, his languid palms danced into the contents of the drawer. 

A yawn worthy of a thousand years of rest carried its tune in silence as Lucifer’s fingers graced against something of all too familiar design. Delicately, his claws wove themselves around their prize, cushioning the comforting weight of the glass bottle into the depths of his palm. A sigh of relief escaped him. It was briefly lived.

Drawing his hand close, the object that held the culmination, the essence, of his wife’s memory felt safe in his hands. He laid the miniature bottle of perfume under his cheek, the crystalline surface cool and soothing to his face.

His heart ached. He dreaded the thought of using even a drop. It would be wasted on him, the scent lingering on his sheets for longer than he could bare. 

He didn’t deserve comfort. Oh but he wanted it. Tremendously.

Wordlessly, absentmindedly, the fallen angel snapped open the cap of his queen’s perfume. His hands fumbled with the cap until it, too, escaped him; falling onto the floor beside his bed. It didn’t matter. As long as he had the glass bottle he would be fine. He would hold on.

Delicate touches from his fingertips smoothed over the faded tag attached to the perfume,  ghosting over the bottle that was embossed permanently with her unforgettable name. His claws traced over every letter, his lips parting with their sacred spelling.

“...Lilith…”

Oh, how he clung to the sound of her title, even on its treacherous voyage out of him. He sighed and closed his burning eyes.

 He didn’t deserve to even remember her, to remember her name, to even utter its splendor. His lips had defiled her name, the last piece of her he even had. 

Tentatively, he brought the bottle closer with shaking hands. He just needed her scent. Just one puff would take care of him, to carry him through this terribly dark day. It was all he needed.

Just. One. Sniff. 

Still, he hesitated, wasting the seconds away. With each sample he took she left him. She would leave him permanently if he wasn’t careful…

Just one, tiny spray would be enough.

Taking in as deep a breath as he could, the pads of his fingertips plunged down on the atomizer. He awaited the sweet relief he was promised.

Yet again, he was denied.

His eyes shot open, feeling only the pitiful puff of air greet him. No fragrance was to be had. He was denied the one thing that was promised to him.

“....No….”

Pulling the bottle away from his face to examine, he reached deep into the resuvours of his strength to push himself off of his mattress to cradle the last hope of comfort he had in his claws.

“.....No…No no no….Please don’t be gone….P-Please don’t  tell me that there’s….Th-there’s none left?!”

His voice was foreign in pitch, gravelly from lack of use. Fatigued curses croaked out of him as he gripped tighter on the nozzle, begging for more fragrance to escape into the air for him. None was to be had. The scent had long since gone dry, ever since his last use some odd weeks ago. He had forgotten to replace it.

Ah, but it was something he could never replace. This was once hers, precious in fragrance as much as her presence was.

“Ha….haha….O-of course there’s nothing left… Why…Why would there be….she’s gone…Sh-she’s gone….”

With one spray, he lost what remained of his wife.. Just as with one bite, humanity lost its innocence long ago…

Once again, it was all his fault.

“She’s gone…..And she…She isn’t coming back…Never…Not for me…”

His energy spent in his panic, his body collapsed back onto the mattress. The perfume was still delicately cradled in his arms.

A final attempt was made, desperation deeply rooted in his actions, as he opened the lid and plunged his nose inside.

She was there…She was still there…She was safe in his arms for a final time. A laugh on the border of elated and mournful broke from its confines deep in his chest. He had found her…

He had her for one more moment….She wasn’t lost…not yet…Not yet…

Tears poured down his face, his mind still deluded with falsehoods. His heart knew she wasn’t back. The bottle in his hands was nothing but pretense, the culmination of  his sanity traded for comfort. 

Still, his heart ached. He was beyond troubled, the stimuli from the perfume and the melancholy supplied from his serotonin deficient brain only assisting in his torture. 

His eyes burned, fat tears digging ditches, trenches, into the apples on his once pristine cheeks. Silently they continued their work, explaining his agony, desolation, when all of his words would fall short.

All he could do was be resigned to the depths of his duvet, hiding his shame as he continuously breathed in his sorrow with every devastated sob…