#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.

[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.

[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. 

[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. 

[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

[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…

[hogwarts-legacy-confessions]

Anybody who thinks it's easy to be seen in any fandom should receive a reality check. I'm going to give those people a bit of tough love. Yes, it is discouraging to try so hard without getting much interaction in return. Yes, it is mostly based on luck and timing whether you get your foot in. No, a gigantic yield of likes and comments isn't going to pour at you with one or even a handful of works just because you think you deserve it. And no, you're not going to be making friends overnight if ever. Most fandom experiences are actually quite lonely. People who do make fandom friends often sacrifice a ton of their free time and in-real-life relationships to hang out with them. It's hard work, it's rotten work and it can eat at you mentally since getting friends and also sticking with them, no matter what your or they do, is hard. Making people read or look at your things is even harder because you feel like you are imposing on them (most of the time you are by the way). This is why you are not creating for others. You are creating for yourself! Out of self-indulgence! Because you are obsessed over these little fictional characters playing out scenarios in your head! I am so sick of hearing people complain about lack of kudos, likes, reposts and comments, and I can't believe a fandom this small suffers from it as well. Why do you care so much for a made up internet currency that will just make you miserable? Create something out of love for the creation. Why give a flying fvck about what others think about your work because chances are, they aren't real critics with real knowledge and feedback that you need. I've noticed that the "icons" of fandoms often don't even interact much in other's creations' comment sections. So why don't you concentrate on perfecting your craft instead, like they do? You can mope about it all day or you could go outside, work on your poetry, do a study of an impressionist painting or read a classic. Consume art, watch movies, go to the theater, experience. Make a roadmap for your goals, take notes, watch tutorials. That's what's gonna give you skills, inspiration and ultimately, visibility for your work, both fan- and/or original. Just do something useful, you! Right. Now.

👀

Sorry, I'm gonna have to tackle this little pep talk head on.

It's horseshit to say "write for yourself" and act like it's shameful for people to express their frustration with the perception of having their work ignored. Yes, one should ultimately create fanworks that are true to themselves as much as possible, and do so because they enjoy it first and foremost, but I have a feeling that anon here doesn't know what it's like to pour your heart and soul into something and get crickets. When you know people are seeing it, that feels like a judgment of your work - a negative one. I say that as a quasi-popular creator in the fandom.

I'm not saying people are obligated to like or engage with works they don't find appealing, I'm simply arguing why it's valid to feel sad about that situation.

If fandom creations are all "for ourselves" then why bother posting on Tumblr or ao3 in the first place? It's because there's a community here that we want to engage with. Every single one of us.

This posturing about "I write for myself so I don't need or want any validation for my work" might put you in a special category of emotionally different people but it's not true for the majority.

In fact, most of the idea of asking for prompts on Tumblr is to entertain an audience of people supportive of your work, so I hope you've never answered a creative ask, anon. That would make you a hypocrite.

Everyone should absolutely be writing what pleases them first and foremost, but that doesn't detract from the sense of community and pride you get when someone else openly enjoys your work.

I also feel like there's a definite subtext in this confession that reads "you're not popular because you're not good enough. You need to work harder and you'll succeed." Studies have shown that popularity is not necessarily based on merit, and it's almost random what gets popular based on who latches onto something and shares it.

In short, anon, please get off your high horse. There are plenty of amazing writers and artists in this fandom who get little to no traction. Maybe if you stopped getting comments, kudos, and likes on your work for a day we'd see how you feel about this issue then.

This is certainly not a dynamic unique to HL, although in a fandom with only a few hundred active members at most (at least on Tumblr), it feels more personal when your work is ignored. Since our tags are small, it's harder to just accept that you're being overlooked and not take it personally.

You can find countless posts decrying the overall decrease in engagement in the past few years on Tumblr and begging people to leave kudos and comments! Maybe people should try to keep in perspective that they're not alone, maybe we all should complain less, but the idea that we should be better than wanting others to enjoy our work (and show that) does not sit well with me, especially while we're constantly watching others in the fandom sniff each other's farts.

[rametarin]

I have my reasons

I'm not going to name names. In fact, this entire post is carefully crafted to not say things, while allowing other things to be said in those unstated things' absence.

I'll simply say, I enjoy when people foreign to the US, or the Western World, and separated by language barriers enjoy our sphere of the internet. I don't just mean mainstream entertainment culture, I mean the indie stuff, the subculture stuff, the really seedy, greasy indie stuff. The East Asians that traffic DeviantArt and FurAffinity, and have for decades. The Africans that busy those infrequently updated webcomics that were so indie-popular in the 00s and 10s. The sneaking fans of comics, animation and western videogames that either consume or even create ones inspired by them, across central Asia.

I see you, I appreciate you.

An incredible number of them observe like ghosts, both for their own anonymity and because they like not being observed. But I've seen too many that broke their anonymity.. to me.. not to notice and comment on it. You'd never know they weren't just some Ted McDude from Canada or Mississippi, but they definitely aren't. Maybe they're tomorrow's award winning PC game company. Maybe they're a future or former famous mangaka. It runs the gamut.

The vast majority aren't copying work, they're actively studying and being inspired by what is made, with a rapt fascination. But the world of interests marches in progressively smaller circles, the more narrow your interest. Find one niche circle hole deep enough, and you're all like angels, merrily dancing around the same little halo, casting shadows on the universe around you.

Who knows whom you might inspire, from another side of the world, with your creations? What works of art made into a multi episode miniseries will be broadcast, because of a short story you wrote, or a painting you drew that inspired them to an idea?

I know you're there, in the abstract, but I don't use any kinds of software tools to see you. Experience just tells me, you're watching. Enjoying. Learning.

Hope you enjoy what you see. Have a good day.

[littlelordalphinaud]

now i wanna know more about valentina the galvus family makes me go crazy

Valentina is Zenos' eldest daughter!

She was based on the idea of Varis realising that the way he'd treated Zenos had kinda ended the family line by virtue of his son being the perfect warrior but with 0 interest in anything, or anyone, else.

So finds a noble woman of good breeding and arranges a marriage and makes it clear to Zenos that you do your husbandly duty once a week until you have a son.

And so along came Valentina!

And then her two younger sisters and then finally her brother, the actual heir.

Valentina desperately wants her father's love and attention. So she taught herself SAM swordsmanship from watching him, to try and impress him, despite it not being "A ladies place" to do so.

Again, when Solus dies she leaves Garlemald to go to Eorzea, but her drive is that she still wants her Father's attention and care and affection and believes that proving herself a great warrior will earn that for her. And she's aware of Rhan Dei-Ijla, the Warrior of Light who defeated Gaius (who again belongs to @instantbee . We both have character creation problems and enjoy enabling one another)

So up she shows and asks Rhan if she can help!

Valentina has no great love for Garlemald but that's not on any particular moral grounds. It's more simply that her Father is the only person she's ever really cared about, and since he has very little interest in the empire, neither does she.

During Heavensward, while helping Rhan with Bismark, she is reunited with her grandfather, Varis. She's quite excited to see him, while he immediately disowns her and names her 'vaitor', stripping her of her 'wir'. Valentina is surprisingly upset by this, while Rhan and Alphinaud both agreed to keep her identity as the former princess a secret.

Stormblood was incredibly difficult for Valentina. She was excited to see her Father again, only for him to dismiss her, attack her friends, send her flying, and try and kill Rhan. She spent a lot of that expansion in something of a fugue state as even with her disowning, she held out hope that her Father would care about her if she proved herself strong enough, and it just... Never happened.

She does manage to pull out of it, thankfully, and firmly places herself on Rhans side of things, as Rhan and the Scions actually care about her.

Other things about Valentina:

She ends up an Omnicrafter as she finds herself fascinated by how everything is made. She genuinely stumbled into it but it got put into hyperdrive during her 3 years in the First, as she worked at the Crystalline Mean in between helping the guard in Lakeland

Rhan is the reason she figured out she was gay. It took a concerningly long time because she'd never been particularly told it was an option so assumed this was just how people felt about their friends.

Her mother, two sisters, and younger brother all got tempered during Endwalker. Valentina does not know their ultimate fate. She's too afraid to go home and find out.

She was only 19 when she went to Eorzea.

On the boat to Doma, in a somewhat desperate attempt to bring her out of the soul deep depression that was consuming her, Lyse started teaching Valentina to be a MNK. At this point in the game, she's a VPR but still maintains her MNK training to help herself stay on an even keel.

After Stormblood, but before she gets pulled to the First, Valentina starts actually looking into the Garlean Empire properly, and privately vows to do what she helped to do in Doma and Ala Mhigo in every place they conquered.

She's a big part of the Bozja storyline, working tirelessly to help them, never expecting them to warm to her existence but wanting to help them anyway.

Because of her upbringing, Valentina can read music, sew, sing and dance. These are not skills many know she possesses.

Despite the disowning, the Anima fight in Endwalker was a difficult one for Valentina. Unfortunately, with literally everything else that was going on in Endwalker, she didn't really get the chance to process it for quite some time

There we go, that's Valentina, the sweetest princess ever raised by a nation of warmongers!