#I just have to keep this scaffolding in myself

[yther]

I need an extra push, I need to experience this in a much more concentrated way. I need to do something that will make it impossible to even consider existing another minute. Fuck you.

Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

[intermundia]

I'm a different anon, but your answer to that person, about how we all have our own perspectives and such, got me curious if you wanted to talk about your favorite things about Anakin? I really like how he has this earnest passion in everything he says and does, no matter what the consequences are. He lets his instincts and heart influence what actions he takes. I think you could say the same about Obi-Wan too to a degree, but I think Obi-Wan errs to keeping his emotions/intentions concealed until he has the best advantage he can get. And I think that this sort of "two sides of the same coin" contrast between them is part of what makes the ship appealing. Anyway, yeah, I wanted to know what you enjoy about Anakin ^^ And that other anon too, if they want to send another ask about their feelings/thoughts

Oh man, what a question. You've activated my trap card. Anakin Skywalker is possibly my favorite character of all time. It's endlessly fascinating to read stories about him, and writing him allows me to articulate the messy, painful, thwarted parts of myself. He's half my brain, and Obi-Wan is the other half, and resolving their differences brings me deep catharsis.

Everything you said about him is so true, his earnest passion is so deeply appealing. Obi-Wan called him passionate, fearless, forthright, and he is the embodiment of those traits, but he's flawed too, and flawed in ways I feel in my bones, and regrets the same things that I regret. He's so beautiful and so damned, a fallen and risen angel, you know?

Stover wrote that the brightest light casts the darkest shadow. He ends up at just the nadir of cruelty and violence, but he begins from a place of pure generosity and light. His intentions were so good, and he was so impossibly brave. It seems like arrogance, that cocky assurance of what he was capable of, but the universe bends around him to fit his will.

He's more than human, he's half-divine, a mirror and barometer of the entire galaxy's mood. His life is coextensive with the rise and fall of an empire, his personal tragedy from greed is both archetypal and relatable, and he is the scaffolding the narrative rests inside. Luke is the hero of the story but Anakin is the embodiment of the world he strives against.

He is painfully earnest and a liar, a villain and a victim, naive and jaded, brilliant but foolish, perfect and deeply flawed. It's so easy for me to understand why he was so beloved. He's absolutely the other side of Obi-Wan's coin, the heart to Obi-Wan's head, the passion to his reason, the instinct to his experience. The Team together is one complete and fully realized being, separation means incompleteness and disaster.

Vader is just one of the most iconic villains of all time, and Lucas defied all expectations in the prequels. He used his character to tell a cautionary tale about greed rather than give excuses for why he became such a monster. He is intentionally shown to be so generous and kind as a boy, handsome and daring as a man, with infinite wasted potential for good, it's incredible.

Idk man, I like him and I love him, I hate him and I want him; he's one of the best characters of the modern age.

[cuubism]

A vignette from Silly Rabbit universe (jeez it's been a while). Part 1 of 3 interconnected scenes. [Explicit]

--

“You know, there’s an old saying about lying,” Hob remarked casually to Dream.

Dream was leaning against the bookshelf as Hob graded, looking far too self-satisfied. Earlier, Hob had told him about how a university administrator had come by to ask him if Morpheus was a student, to which Hob had responded with an emphatic no because as much as he wanted to let Dream have his fun, he wasn’t about to let people go around thinking he was fucking his students, Jesus Christ. Dream had pouted at first, though he understood.

Now, he was smirking, and that could not be good.

“I tell no lies,” Dream reminded him, “and I weave no webs, other than by providing the scaffolding for imagination. Your students – and colleagues – are simply creative.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, let’s steer the rumors away from sexual harassment, if you don’t mind.” Hob could technically always fake his death, but he’d really really rather not have that be the cause.

He also really didn’t want to have to go back to grad school yet. Please, God.

“As you wish,” said Dream. “I have no desire to disturb your life.”

“I like having you disturb my life,” Hob said. “Upend it. Throw the table over.” As long as you stay. “There just has to be a limit somewhere.”

“I will plant more stories separating myself from this university,” Dream said, and Hob breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“After all,” Dream continued, with a crafty smile, “there are plenty of other reasons a man such as yourself might be in possession of a lover who is… how did that student of yours phrase it? Young, pretty, and unemployed.”

Hob groaned. He could already see where this was going. “You’re only one of those things, Dream.”

“And as I have stated, I will not be obtaining a ‘job.’”

Hob threw a pen at him, which Dream caught with those supernatural reflexes of his.

“You should get a job. A human job,” Hob told him.

Dream’s lip curled in the most abject expression of disgust Hob had ever seen. “Why?”

“Because it would be funny. I want to walk into Starbucks in the morning and see you behind the counter glowering at some kid ordering a Pink Drink.”

“Ah, I exist for your amusement, then,” said Dream, leaning further back against the bookcase. “A court jester dancing about for tossed pennies.”

“Pretty much,” Hob agreed.

Hob expected him to pout, but instead, he smiled. It was not a smile that boded well for Hob. “Or perhaps… I am doing more than dancing for my coin.”

“What is this obsession with making me look like a sex fiend?” Hob demanded.

“If it is easily believable,” Dream said haughtily, “then that is hardly my fault.”

Hob blew out a long breath. “I’d almost think you wanted to destroy my reputation.”

“Perhaps I want you to myself,” mused Dream. “Perhaps I crave all your attention.”

“You have it.” Hob beckoned him over, and Dream uncurled himself from his slouch, stepping over and perching on the edge of Hob’s desk. “The moment you step into a room, you have it,” Hob said, looking up at him. “And all of my daydreams besides.”

Dream found his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing each finger in turn. “Good.”

Hob meant to make some lighthearted retort about his sheer entitlement, but it was impossible to focus on it when Dream had his mouth on him, looking at him from under his eyelashes like that.

“You know,” Hob said instead, keeping his voice light purely through force of experience, “sometimes I think you haven’t actually given up on that bet that I’ll die, you’ve just decided that you want to be the cause of it.”

Dream grumbled in disagreement. “If you are choosing death, then I have been using my mouth very wrong.”

Hob should probably take his hand away from Dream’s mouth if he wanted to survive this conversation. He didn’t. “We should probably take this elsewhere.”

Dream, the absolute bastard, merely tugged Hob closer, pulling him off balance in his seat. “Must we? For I seem to recall a young vagabond who would have cheerfully bent me over a table in full view of the entire tavern, given the chance. Have you become so timid?”

“Nope,” Hob said, and, resigned to it now – or rather, gleefully allowing himself to be dragged into Dream’s fantasies, as usual – braced his hands on Dream’s hips. “Wouldn’t have. Even then, I wanted you all to myself.”

“You have it now,” Dream said. He hooked one long leg around Hob’s back to hold him close. “Will you let the locale stop you?”

“Oh, no, in fact, this is an enduring fantasy of mine,” Hob admitted. He slipped his hands under Dream’s shirt, feeling the sharp angles of his hips. “It’s just, we were talking not five minutes ago about avoiding getting fired for workplace misconduct.”

Dream merely looked at him expectantly.

Hob sighed and conceded, “Would probably be worth it.”

Dream’s eyes lit with victory as if he hadn’t known he would get exactly what he wanted from the start.

“This is a fantasy of yours?” Dream asked as Hob gave into temptation and pushed up his shirt, kissing his belly just above the waistband of his jeans.

“As if you don’t know,” Hob said.

“I know only what dreams you share with me,” Dream said, letting out a sigh as Hob kissed his way over to his hip bone. “I do not pry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t,” Dream insisted. He tugged on Hob’s hair in admonishment. “If your fantasies are obvious in the way you look at me, that is not my fault.”

“Are they that obvious?” Hob asked as he worked on unbuttoning Dream’s jeans. He couldn’t help but be charmed by the thought, even if it was another strike towards getting fired for inappropriate workplace behavior.

Dream smiled. “At times. But you have never been one to hide your feelings. And it is flattering.”

“‘Course it’s flattering. Sponge for compliments you are.” Hob wondered idly how obvious his thoughts on Dream had been over the many years of their meetings. Wondered if Dream had seen them, and simply decided not to address them — or hadn’t let himself see it at all.

“I suppose,” Dream agreed idly, as he dragged a hand through Hob’s hair, disheveling it, scratching his scalp with sharp fingernails. “Does that make you a font of compliments, then?”

“Or just a born simp, as the kids put it.”

“I did overhear a student say as much,” Dream admitted, and Hob laughed, pressing his forehead to Dream’s stomach.

“God I’m so obvious. Did you know I actually had a professional reputation, once upon a time? Properly professional Professor Gadling, I was once.”

“I do not doubt it,” said Dream, in an overly indulgent tone. “You have been wholly professional and respectable, always. And certainly never a charming bandit swindling your way into pockets and pants.”

“Charming, eh?” Hob grinned up at Dream, not missing the irony that he was currently mid way through getting into Dream’s pants. “Now you’re making me regret not making a proper pass at you back then.”

“I would have smote you where you sat for the audacity.”

“Nah. You liked me too much for that, I could tell.”

“Like an unusual bug I had found in the grass,” Dream conceded.

“On that flattering note.” Hob finally got Dream’s jeans properly undone, and pressed his nose to Dream’s pelvis, breathing in with a satisfied hum. Sometimes, Dream smelled of nothing at all in the waking world, like he had forgotten to apply that layer to his ‘human’ skin. Sometimes, he smelled like strange and impossible things, echoing dream scents that would never linger so long on a real, physical body.

Today, he smelled properly human, sweat and musk and Hob’s body wash.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Hob asked, voice muffled by Dream’s body.

“Am I doing what?”

“You smell good.”

“Ah.” Dream pet Hob’s hair. “Perhaps.”

“Yeah, perhaps. I’m onto you.” He pulled Dream’s jeans down to his upper thigh; Dream obligingly wiggled on the desk to let them free, which was far cuter than it had any right to be. “You’re such a tease.”

“I enjoy when you want me,” said Dream, softer now. And Hob’s heart ached, but in a sweet way, a gentle way.

“You hardly have to work for it,” he said.

He took Dream in his mouth, then, and set to showing him just how much he was wanted.

Dream spread his legs wider on the desk, leaning back, letting out a long sigh of pleasure. Hob loved him like this—loose, indulgent, enjoying himself. Dream didn’t indulge himself enough.

And really, there was nothing Hob loved more than indulging him.

He worked Dream’s cock, licking over him and taking him deeper in increments. Dream’s moan above him was the greatest reward. Hob had had lots of time by now to learn, to get very good at drawing his pleasure out. A most valuable skill, to get Dream’s thighs shaking and his hands clutching tight to Hob’s hair, breathing in deep though he didn’t need to, relishing in the simple illicit pleasure of Hob sucking him off in the middle of the work day.

And Hob loved it, too. The taste of him, and the experience of his enjoyment.

Soon enough Dream’s hips were twitching up, and he came in Hob’s mouth with a long sigh. Hob swallowed him down, and remained there for a few lingering moments, Dream’s prick softening on his tongue, until Dream squirmed from overstimulation and Hob let him go.

He was terribly hard in his trousers, but wanting Dream was its own pleasure to relish in. “Dearest Hob,” murmured Dream, a glint of mischief lighting through the haze of his expression as he pet Hob’s hair. “Should I leave you like that? Wanting, and knowing that I await you at home as you finish your day?”

Hob shivered, but said, “More like go about your work and rematerialize at home once I get there. Don’t pretend like you’ll be tormenting yourself, too.”

“Mmm,” said Dream, “but I could.”

Hob sat up straighter. “Could you? Would you really make yourself wait?”

“Perhaps you will have to find out.”

“How am I supposed to know if you’ve really been good?”

“Hmm,” said Dream. It was a challenge now. “I will show you.”

He vanished, leaving a scattering of sand on Hob’s desk. A few moments later Hob received what he could only describe as a vision, a daydream of Dream lying in their bed, nothing but a pair of lace panties on, idly playing with himself through the fabric with one hand as he read a paperback book with the other. He knew it was really Dream, the image was too crisp to be a creation of Hob’s mind. Apparently, being also all daydreams Dream could make himself into one. Damn creature.

Hob groaned, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his erection before forcing himself to stop. He did have to teach, after all, though he knew Dream was going to be holding that image in his head all day.

Indeed, an impression of Dream’s voice floated to him.

Work hard today, beloved.

Oh, he’d be in for it later.

If Hob survived the workday.

[indigovigilance]

Why Crowley Rescues Aziraphale

Okay, yes: it's flirtatious, it's cute, it's Anthony J. "Acts of Service" Crowley showing love in the only way he knows how because God forbid he use his words.

But what if there's more to it than that? What if there is a much darker explanation that portends major events in S3?

Allow me to convince you below the cut:

Evidence of Repetition Compulsion

But before we talk about the rescue motif, let's examine a more transparent aspect of Crowley's behavior that will provide a scaffold for the discussion of his Princess Peach obsession.

The Plants

Sure, Crowley is a hobby horticulturalist, but he doesn't do it because he loves plants. He does it because the plants are a representation of himself, and how he treats the plants tells us how he feels about himself. Importantly, how he treats the plants changes over time.

Season 1

He puts the fear of Crowley into them, destroying any specimen with a blemish and making an example out of it to threaten those that remain.

You know, just like God did to him.

This scene is jam-packed with symbolism, and we can simmer on whether his punishment of the plants is simply externalized self-flagellation, or reflects internalized standards of perfectionism, or if he feels so powerless that he creates a new relationship in which he is the one that has the power... We could simmer, but that's not the point of this meta, so let's keep going.

Season 2

In 2023, Crowley is no longer a domineering monarch, ruling over his houseplants with an iron fist; of all the memorabilia he has in his flat (the statue from the church, the original Mona Lisa), the only things he brings with him are his plants.

And for someone living in his car, he's taking pretty good care of them:

Someone else even noted that one of the plants appears to have spots, and clearly he hasn't thrown it in the garbage disposal for its transgressions. I wasn't able to see it myself, but I headcanon it because it fits with the observation that:

Crowley's attitude towards himself is changing.

He is evolving from internalized guilt and sense of inferiority to believing that he deserves care, even if he is a little blemished. It is this shift that brings it within the realm of possibility that he can admit his feelings to Aziraphale.

In both seasons, the unifying theme is that Crowley is reliving his trauma over and over, and then reliving his healing over and over. This cyclical behavior is, to my knowledge, incredibly characteristic of PTSD and CPTSD. In a phenomenon clinically referred to as Repetition Compulsion, the subject recreates and relives events of a traumatic past over and over in their present life, seeking resolution for something that has already happened, where the opportunity for true, satisfying closure is forever lost to the past. A huge part of therapeutic treatment is breaking these maladaptive cycles [citations]. But to our knowledge, Crowley doesn't have a therapist.

If this is how Crowley's CPTSD manifests in his relationship with inanimate objects semi-sentient dependents, how might it manifest in his relationship with his angel?

The Rescue Motif

The cycle of Aziraphale's self-endangerment and Crowley's nick-of-time rescues might look like just a cute part of their flirtationship, a necessary cover for their continued association, but I argue that it something much darker.

Crowley rescues Aziraphale over and over throughout history to try to absolve himself for the one time he couldn't.

But clearly, Aziraphale doesn't know that.

It only took one rescue for Aziraphale to realize that this kind of behavior brings them closer together - and he desperately wants to get close to Crowley. Please forgive the crudeness of the metaphor, but: when you need to drive a screw into a board and all you have is a hammer, you're gonna smack that thing on the head over and over with the only tool you've got. The problem is, this is really bad for the screw.

Aziraphale, by leveraging the damsel-in-distress motif, over and over again, is inadvertently triggering a trauma response from Crowley because he likes what he gets out of it, which is spending time with the demon he loves and growing intimacy. If he knew that this is what he was doing, it would be sick and twisted and go against everything he believes about himself as an angel, let alone being mortified that he was hurting Crowley.

So the only possible conclusion (given we take the above conjectures as fact (see @queerfables, I listen to you <3)) is that:

Aziraphale Doesn't Know About His Own Jimmification

What is it that Crowley could have failed to rescue Aziraphale from that Aziraphale himself is unaware of? Well, at the least, it would have to involve a mind-wipe.

We know, canonically, that the Metatron can and will mind-wipe angels without actually casting them out of Heaven. Just because Aziraphale is an angel does not mean we can assume that this ability was never leveraged against him.

If Crowley knew that they were going to do this to his friend, he would have tried to stop it. The repeating damsel-rescue motif (in context of the existing, plant-based evidence of Repetition Compulsion) is a strong indicator that his mission to protect Aziraphale from the memory-wipe failed, and he is living in an endless loop of rescue behavior to try to resolve his guilt about that.

So why wouldn't Crowley tell Aziraphale that his mind was erased?

To properly address that I will need time to write a part 2. But others are welcome to use this as a jumping-off point, please just cite the inspo; it's a little thing that brings me joy ^_^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, you may also like:

Why Crowley is Blind to his Yellow Eyes

A Nightingale Sang in 1941

Baraqiel and Azazel

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

[eldritchelfwriter]

Thoughts on religious trauma and leaving religion in Baldur's Gate 3 and real life

It is rare to see religious trauma in popular media - in fact, I struggle to bring any other examples to mind besides Shadowheart's journey in Baldur's Gate 3.

I was so excited to see an experience so many go through finally being acknowledged to the world at large. Leaving religion is an experience I have had myself, and the fanfic that I'm writing over on A03 is partly influenced by those experiences.

So what stacks up from Shadowheart's journey in Baldur's Gate 3 with real life?

Firstly we see in Act 1 and Act 2 that Shadowheart is subtly suffering from cognitive dissonance - holding two or more opposing ideas in mind at the same time.

For Shadowheart this is a tension between her religious dogma and what she (mostly unconsciously) really feels, or in actions that don't line up with her beliefs (see her "there'll be penance later" line after saving the refugees at the party, and her surprise at how good it feels to care about them). There is a rare line that can come up in Act 2 where Shadowheart says she is distracted and "it's almost like I'm conflicted about something" which shows that her cognitive dissonance is slowly coming into her awareness. Cognitive dissonance is a common experience for people trapped in unhealthy religion but not enough on its own to leave. It's something that takes a lot to even be aware of, but there's also plenty to keep people from acknowledging it. For Shadowheart we see an extreme response from the religion: the uncurable wound, punishing her whenever she goes off the Shar-approved trajectory as a sick example of attempted behavioural modification.

I think a key reason Shadowheart is able to start "seeing the machine" behind her beliefs is because the whole incident with the nautiloid has unwittingly removed her from the cult environment that has kept her imprisoned in her own mind for so long. Never underestimate the power of shared routines and behaviours, and their power to keep people in one place without questioning. If you have a friend or family member who gets sucked into a cult, one of the tactics to try and free them is in fact predicated on an environment change that opens them up to being able to question what has been going on without the constant bombardment of indoctrination and behavioural manipulations.

By contrast we start to see Shadowheart in Act 3 making decisions to put a line under her time as a follower of Shar. The fear that she describes, about having to chart her own future is a very real one for a lot of people who leave toxic religion. All the guard rails and scaffolding of religion that makes life certain and safety are suddenly gone, and being the one in charge, after letting others lead you around, can be a very disorientating experience. Especially if the toxic religion in question encourages a significant level of co-dependency. And in all fairness to Shadowheart, it's why I'm particularly proud of her decision, at the end of the final fight, to invite Tav to enjoy the life Shadowheart wants to live - not just mould herself into something she thinks Tav wants.

The Act 3 scene where she is at the statue of Selune, considering how she feels about Selune now is a very powerful one for those who have left a religion. It is hard to suddenly go without all the trappings of daily rituals, a ready made community and easy certainties and some people do find themselves exchanging one religion for another, because of the "easy" comfort it brings. Leaving a toxic religion is very strange for a while when days of religious significance come up - a little like the first time after a bereavement that you experience the birthday of the person who has died. Shadowheart's line about how she sees why "it's so easy to bow" and have your life dictated by a deity is particularly poignant.

Whether Shadowheart still has the incurable wound by the end of the game depends on your decisions, but regardless of your decision, shock and grief over what has been lost and uncomfortable reminders of the past are certainly completely normal.

(Check out the fanfic).

[teeth--thief]

Photos of Lyonyd (Leonid?…) Toptunov? I wouldn’t mind rambling on him, also.

- Rodka

I deliberately saved this ask for last (sort of). As a treat for myself and as a threat for everyone else ♡ And for @ur-favorite-basil-enthusiast since he was also interested in seeing The Collection.

I'll have to split this into a few parts - dreaful, I know! - because I can only add 10 pictures to one post while on mobile =( I'll keep reblogging with additional pictures till I run out of things to share. Subscribe for more insane content in the future and don't forget to click that bell icon to...

Part 1

He had manifested to me in a dream when I first started researching Chernobyl, have I ever mentioned that? Well, he has. Which was truly an anomaly because I almost never have any dreams at all... but about that some other time, perhaps.

I am going to put the pictures of him under the cut so nobody gets jumpscared by my Collection of Five Billion White Guy Pictures. And I'll also include some relevant information! Or as relevant as I can make it, at least.

Just to be clear (and safe): I found all of these out in the wild, on da internet. I am, however, pretty sure that at least the collage of his pics from uni times is from @/toptunovleonid on Instagram. So, just to be very clear: all credit for at least that goes to her.

Semi-chronologically, his pictures go like this:

Ignoring that one picture that is barely visible and out of frame in a few pictures of the photo album it's in, because he looks about 10 there and I feel slightly weird about sharing it specifically.

We're in... Tallinn, middle school number 11!

Second boy from the left in the second picture is him. That is he. He who was 15 then. And a 16 year old Lyonya in the left picture, of course.

From this time, one of his classmates remembers him as follows: At school he was quiet, unnoticeable, very shy. I remember he was always hanging out with younger kids. He was chubby. They'd now say he was a "nerd". Alright, we get it, he was a sweet child... Teen? Both? Or was he like this all his life? Either way, please stop before I die from all that sugar...

He's (10th grade) the guy leading the little girl (1st grade). His shapeless hair has charmed me. What's his hair routine and will it work on my curls? Mhm, didn't think so. And first in the second row from the bottom in the small pictures, in case you can't recognise his face yet.

As a bonus - his school certificate from the school in Tallinn he attended until graduating in 1977:

The grades were from 2 (you didn't pass with that one, so that's an F) to 5 (an A, I suppose?). So as you can see, he certainly studied well. What a nerd (affectionately).

Uni territory now! Moscow calling 📞 or, rather, Obninsk and the MEPhI

If you weren't born in any of the USSR countries during The Soviet Times, it'll come as a surprise to you but the students had mandatory... field... work... classes...? if you can call them that. They had them digging potatoes and what not. Nothing screams socialist spirit like making uni students do free labour in the field, I guess?

Pictures with his uni girlfriend, how cuuute! (And Sasha Korol hanging from the roof in the background... for reasons unknown)

Lyonya pretending to drive a combine harvester. And next to him, obviously, Sasha Korol. When I first saw this picture, I thought he was on some kind of a scaffolding but alas - it's one of those old beasts, like our Bizon. But that's not a Bizon because those had roofs. Nobody here cares for USSR combines talk - not even me - let's move on.

Not too sure when these two are from but they look uni enough to me - probably from the very beginning and sometime closer to the end, judging by his stache doing significantly better...

Mandatory military service because a REAL MAN in the USSR needed to know how to shoot a gun, obviously. Even when that meant military service interrupted your uni for a short while. I say that as if no other countries before or after had mandatory army time... don't question it, I'm doing a bit.

Lyonya is second in top row in the picture on the left and third from the left in the top row in the other pic. Korol is there, too, he's fourth from the left in the top row in the first picture and second from the right in the bottom row in the other picture.

[bettsfic]

I’m taking another break from writing and I really want this break to be different so that when/if I go back to writing I’ll actually stick with it and have some of my walls pulled down so that I have less resistance to working on a project. Do you have any tips on how to step away from a project to recoup mentally and then go back feeling ready to tackle writing a novel again?

I don’t want to just avoid writing by watching tv and stuff but also be ready for a new project:

If this helps, here’s what happened:

I was working on a story idea off and on for 6 months and I noticed it becoming a story I did not plan on and one I didn’t think my skill set was ready for. It made me avoid the project for days at a time or build up walls around the idea of writing because I have attempted this thing for 2 years now with no significant progress. Just starting and stopping an idea and hating myself and slowly hating writing in the process with each failure.

As someone who is goal oriented I set mile stones, like query in 5 years finish my first novel this year,etc….

But it feels daunting when you stand on square one and feel like your ideas not right or your not skilled, people are going to hate it, and you are afraid of self-inserts(I don’t like to read self-inserts so I’d hate to write one of my own by accident).

So now I’m burnt out and has lost touch with what’s fun about writing.

it's interesting that you mention the idea of walls multiple times here. that seems to be both the problem and the solution. it sounds like you're writing from two different minds: the half of you feeling creative and inspired, and the half who wants to do the job to the standards you set yourself.

the problem is that you can't do one task with both minds, so you have to give each their own task. the half of you that wants to make something and have a good time with it can become the generative half. you use that energy to plot, draft, daydream, etc. the other half of you needs to do something they're good at, because they don't seem to be very helpful with generation.

my recommendation is to create an independent study for yourself. this project sounds very important to you, and you want to do it justice, and that means that second half of you needs to devote itself to developing the scaffolding that will allow your generative side to build the thing you want to make. if you've done any kind of teaching before, great. if not, think back to how your favorite class you've ever taken was structured and go off of that. write a whole syllabus if that sounds fun to you (creating syllabi is very fun for me).

most people i know see everything in one step: do the thing. but try breaking all your goals up into at least two steps: teach yourself how to do the thing, then do the thing. especially for people like you who are goal driven and organized (and probably were/are very good students), it can be extremely fun and satisfying to become your own teacher.

here are some individual activities you can try that i think might keep you focused on your project and relieve the burnout:

write a list of learning objectives. this can be anything from specific craft mechanics to mindfulness and meditation.

create a reading list. find some relevant texts that will help inform your project. you say, "I don’t want to just avoid writing by watching tv and stuff," but if you watch tv through the lens of your project, it becomes a productive exercise. take notes, then organize and index your notes. personally, i love taking notes about the tv i watch and then indexing my notes.

craft small assignments that use what you learned from the reading list to reach the learning objectives. if one of your learning objectives is "learn how to write in first person," you take your favorite first-person reading and use it as a prompt for a short piece of prose.

make a final assignment. maybe your final assignment is a drafting plan (not an outline) for how you want to tackle your return to drafting. maybe it's a sample/practice chapter of your project. maybe it's an actual "what i learned in this course" style book report.

this isn't advice i would give to everyone. there are a lot of writers out there who would read this and go "absolutely fucken not" because they are the "just do it and see what happens" sort, or they had such a horrible primary education that the thought of framing creativity within the structure of a course seems agonizing. but for writers who get in their own way, who have both tastes and ideas that outweigh their current skill level, i definitely recommend training your scaffolding brain to tasks that are more actionable, and taking the time to learn what you want to write before writing it.

[kendsleyauthor]

🎨 Journey + Hush + Labyrinth + Regret 🎨

Promptober 2023

Print / Trinket Universe (Kylian and Bluebell)

~2000 words

Warning: Dehumanization, fearplay

A sequel to this story. These were the only two stories I planned for this month about Kylian and Bluebell, but you can expect more in the future. 😉

@marydublinauthor

Bluebell was a woman of many talents and skills. Cleaning was not one of them. This was especially troubling because there were no other openings available for prints at the time she took the job. And changing roles was unheard of—she should be so grateful to have a job in the first place.

Thankfully, the fellow prints and even the human members of her crew were easily charmed. But was sure she was on thin ice despite that.

Kylian Hart, the owner of the estate she cleaned every Monday and Thursday afternoon, surely wanted her dead—or, at least fired.

Ever since he caught her dancing around in front of his mirror like an idiot, he glowered at her whenever they crossed paths. Even when she averted her gaze and hurried off to find something to clean, she was aware of his gaze following her like a lead weight.

He was probably waiting for the opportunity to pounce—ready for the moment she would do something frivolous and stupid again. It had been two weeks since the incident, and every time she had to return to the sprawling house, her stomach curdled with fear.

If Mr. Hart had complained to her supervisor, Bluebell hadn’t gotten wind of it yet. Which meant, for some reason, the enigmatic artist was keeping her slip-up to himself. That only put her more on edge. Any time now, he would fire her when she least expected it. She’d learned from the others that he had sent away cleaners for even less. Prints who were fired from a high-profile assignment like this were dismissed from the company entirely.

Against all odds, cleaning rich people’s ridiculous homes was a high-value job among prints. I’m grateful, she told herself over and over, as though it might nullify the karma that was chasing her. I’m very, very grateful.

If she lost this job, she doubted she’d find another. She wouldn’t starve—not when she had a way with charming meals from the neighbors in the slums. But it would mean having no money to wire to Aster. Not that she sent much, though it was something. And the wire transfer was one of the few ways she could assure him that she was still alive.

“Where are you off to, Blue?” Elara, one of the prints on the crew, spotted Bluebell wandering away while they were supposed to be polishing the contents of a china cabinet.

Bluebell barely needed the movable scaffolding to reach the floor. She landed lightly, slinging a rag over her shoulder with a warm smile. “Off to get a head start on the next room, sunshine. I feel so clumsy around all that fancy stuff, anyway.”

Elara gave a short laugh. “Please. You could do cartwheels around these things without leaving a smudge. But go on. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Can’t stand the way he skulks around like a ghost.”

A wry smile stayed painted on Bluebell’s face as she exited the room. He’s skulking ‘cause of me, sunshine.

When she reached the next room, she didn’t stop. The timing wouldn’t get any better than now. This was the floor she needed to be on. The humans on the crew, somewhat nice or not, wouldn’t have let her wander off again. Although they didn’t know about the incident, her penchant for vanishing hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She stayed close to the wall, winding her path toward the studio that Mr. Hart caught her in. Maybe if she apologized in person, he would have mercy on her. Maybe, just maybe, he would appreciate her bravery in speaking up.

Silly, ditzy me. Can’t help myself when I see a mirror. You know how rare a clean mirror is in the slums? Rare, Mr. Hart, very rare. I hope you don’t think that’s how I spend my afternoons here, though. I work so very hard. And I’m grateful. So very grateful.

Much like the first time she meandered into the room, it was open just a crack. The lights were off, and the curtains were drawn as she peeked her head inside. The hallway fixtures provided just enough illumination to confirm that Mr. Hart wasn’t there—and that there were several new canvases set up around the room.

Although her heart sank that she wouldn’t get her chance to apologize right then, her attention was drawn to the canvases that towered high overhead. She squinted. When she last intruded into the studio, there had been a few sketches pinned to the walls and books stuffed on shelves, but not much else to look at.

Her gaze remained fixed on the nearest canvas. She could make out a figure. One that looked like… But no, it couldn’t be. She was seeing things.

Get out. He’s not here. Go.

But she had to know. 

Grunting, she pushed her entire body against the door to widen the opening. The hinges were well-oiled enough, but the weight of the wood proved to be cumbersome. She managed to widen the net of light from the hallway that fell into the room. Panting from exertion, she looked up to see the canvas—and its neighbors—properly.

She would have gasped, but her lungs refused to take air. She staggered further into the room, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

All five of the canvases—even the new sketches pinned to the walls—were her.

“Holy hell,” she breathed.

Most of her likenesses were full-body portrayals. Blue skirts, dark hair, dancing poses in motion. All kinds of expressions, too—from full-blown grins to pensive frowns. 

He had been watching her.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, gaping, but she didn’t know what snapped her out of it—footsteps thudded down the hall, fast approaching.

Bluebell cursed under her breath. It was him. No one else in this house would dare walk as loudly as he did. She couldn’t bolt out the door—he’d see her. She scrambled further into the room and ducked under the table, praying and praying that he would simply pass the studio.

The door creaked open wider. The footsteps entered. The light flicked on. The door shut firmly.

She cowered against the wall, hiding among the clutter. Boxes of half-used art supplies and scraps of crumpled sketching paper created a maze around her. Clearly, Mr. Hart had not allowed anyone to clean this room in ages. Thank heavens that worked in her favor. 

Polished shoes approached. She pressed herself hard against the wall, covering her mouth to keep from screaming. He settled into his chair. After a moment, she heard a harried scrape of pencil on paper. 

Another sketch of her?

Bluebell stepped gently to the side, looking past the clutter to catch a glimpse of the door. There was a wastebasket there, surrounded by more wads of paper. If she could huddle behind the basket, she could flee whenever he opened the door again. 

She turned her attention to his shoes and slowly, slowly crept against the floor molding. With all her attention fixed on him, she didn’t pay attention to her path. A pencil lay at her feet, and she stepped squarely upon it. A squeal burst past her lips as she dropped hard to her hands and knees.

The sketching stopped.

“Who’s in here?” His voice was vicious. 

His shoes scraped against the floor as he stood, shoving the chair back. Cowering in the soft puddle of her skirts, she looked around desperately for a hiding place. Perhaps one of the boxes—but the world rattled, making it impossible to think clearly. Massive hands dug at the clutter, determined to leave her with nothing to hide behind. Clawing fingers almost blindly took her into their grasp.

She bolted, slipping expertly among the boxes, but it was no use. He shoved one of the containers so hard that it knocked into her. Pain lanced through her body as she was forced into the open—right into his glare’s path. 

His hand descended and squeezed her into a tight grip. A scream wanted to come out, but she didn’t have the air to produce it. A pathetic whimper came out instead as he dragged her out from under the table. Her legs hung over empty air, her stomach churning from the sudden ascent before her captor’s eyes.

All at once, his murderous glare snapped into surprise. His grip loosened, nearly dropping her, but his other hand shot up to stop her fall. She gasped for air and bowed her head while she gathered her bearings. He said nothing, so she scrambled to fill the silence.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. Both hands were around her, leaving her entirely at his mercy. After what she had seen in the studio—from the art to the bite of his glare—her inner speech abandoned her. All she could produce was a whispered, “I work so hard. I’m very grateful. I-I…”

“I didn’t know it was you,” he said, filling the pause after she trailed off. His tone was unreadable, and she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

She nodded shakily, wishing he would put her down. “It’s me,” she confirmed with a high little laugh. “I was just going to apologize about the other day, and I…” She chanced a look at the canvases around her, then winced.

He stood, carrying her with him effortlessly to the tabletop. He dropped her onto the surface. Her breath caught. He had, in fact, been sketching her. She could see the outline of her heart-shaped face taking form on the paper. The table was littered with blue pencils and markers. She swallowed hard and scooted back on her rear, wondering what he would do with her now that she’d seen his work.

“I-I… I should get back,” she said hoarsely. “They’ll start to wonder if I’m taking a nap somewhere.” She gave a forceful giggle. “N-not that I would ever—”

“You don’t like them?”

She blanched. He regarded her stonily.

“W-what?” she asked. “Oh. The—” She wet her lips and blinked around the studio. Something sinister crawled beneath her skin, but she forced another dainty laugh. “The me’s. I just… Sir, I just don’t understand why…” She pointed at herself and smiled cluelessly.

Don’t play dumb. You love the attention. Well, here it is.

Mr. Hart steepled his fingers imperiously, leaning the lower half of his face behind his hands. She dared to look higher and meet his gaze. She hadn’t noticed before—he looked less disheveled than usual. Hair combed back instead of messy. Clothing neat instead of rumpled. Facial hair was shaved close to his skin. Maybe he’d looked like that every time he glared at her the past weeks—she’d just been too afraid to look at him long enough to notice.

“I thought you looked compelling.” His voice sounded matter-of-fact, yet small behind his hands. Almost bashful.

A bizarre silence followed. He watched her closely, his stare digging into her face like hot knives. Was he taking the opportunity to examine her more closely for his next piece—or did he truly care about her reaction to his work?

As if that reaction could be anything less than undying appreciation and awe. He had her cornered. If she displeased him… Disappearances weren’t uncommon. Her crew and neighbors might mourn her for a few days—their charming little mascot lost. 

Only Aster would really care—but she was more or less dead to him already.

Still, self-preservation took hold. 

She fixed her expression into a bashful smile as she cowered before him. She batted her eyes coquettishly. Little old me?

“I’m… so very touched, sir,” she said.

For the first time since she’d ever laid eyes on him, Mr. Hart looked pleased.

[gowns]

In regards to your repression post: aside from the obvious answer (therapy) what are some exercises or things we can do to tackle/acknowledge/defeat repression? If you can suggest any.

i think it really is so individual to different people. therapy will help (it helped me; i found a very progressive therapist who is familiar with trauma). a lot of self-reflection.

for me: reading about zen helped. i'm not very good at meditating (too much bonkers stuff going on up there) but i really like reading about zen concepts and what people get out of it. books that i read that helped me grasp zen were, in this order, the long quiet highway, you are here, nothing special, then goodbye things and the concept of minimalism (what are the things in your life that matter to you, and what is clutter?). also, previously i have been helped by reading books about how trauma manifests in your body, like "the body keeps the score," but now i know that guy is problematique so i would check out alternative books like what my bones know.

that was all kind of like the baseline stuff that was scaffolding for helping me get to a better position to grasp what came to me last year...

... which was a deeper understanding of my own sexuality, identity, how i relate to other people, how i present, feeling embodied instead of disassociating, actually feeling sensations instead of it all being mental. in other words, a deeper acceptance of the fact that i am gay and that queer sex makes me whole.

now, for me, that all started with deep vulnerable conversations with friends about sexuality, identity, desires, dreams. long, long conversations. having more LGBTQ friends. being more in community with people. putting myself out there more, not isolating myself, feeling like an island unto myself.

--

i must repeat: i think that the seed for unrooting repression can be many different things, for many different people.

for me, i found myself in a position where i was a parent of two, in a seemingly cis hetero marriage, experiencing years of isolation. this isolation was mostly self-imposed! my partner has always been very supportive of me in anything i wanted to do. i just had no concept of my own wants and desires anymore. i had been in a caretaker role for so long that any concept of a personal "want" was buried deep underground.

how did this happen? i have always been against the status quo, in concept. but i felt a nebulous social pressure to "perform" motherhood, marriage, nuclear family structure, to wear makeup a certain way, to have sex a certain way... i was living in an unquestioned "normalcy" which was actually actively harmful to me.

i am usually coy about this on this blog, but i'll tell you right out, i started actively dating again and engaging with new sexual ideas and i was astonished that it just... made me feel so real, so myself, in a way that years of therapy and different medications have never done.

over the past several years, in periods of re-experiencing trauma or being triggered, i felt asexual. i would often have to be very drunk or very high to enjoy sex. i felt separate from my body.

now i feel whole again. i feel lit up all over.

like: i sat down and tried to learn the piano this year, and i was amazed that for the first time, in a very long time, there was a connection between my brain, my hands, my ears, and i was capable of being fully embodied in that way too, being able to use my hands to make music, having the plasticity in my brain to learn new things.

--

tldr: i think the answer is different for everyone. for me, it was embracing my nature as an unabashed flirt and local lothario. for you? it could be writing a love song and performing it. it could be finally writing the book laced with details of family secrets you've always been afraid to write. it could be just, like, buying a leather harness, and enjoying the sensation of the leather against your skin. we're only here once (in this form of consciousness)! enjoy the ride!

[camelliagwerm]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thank you for the tag @dragonologist-phd! I had to go with Valerius on this one because he is actually the only character where I wouldn't be struggling to find material to choose from.

“In time you will come to understand why I must keep certain parts of myself locked away in Mendevian territory.” — May You Dine Forever

“I'm not your responsibility. Your brother needed — needs you more than I do.” — If She Loves Me, Why Do I Feel All Alone?

“I served Her hunger, not her domain of undeath and as such – I will dedicate to her a feast even she cannot ignore.” — If She Loves Me, Why Do I Feel All Alone?

“You might not be my sister in faith, but there might even be some insight in there you’ll find…enlightening.” — Curiosity

“My word is my bond,” he replies, taking her hand and bringing it to her lips. The reverence in his words come as natural to him as breathing, a new oath to replace the shattered divine bond. “As long as I still draw breath, you will not come to harm with me, nor will I judge for who you are.” — Bloodied Petals

“That sounds like how the chronicles will tell it, certainly. We both know the truth is far bloodier." — My Strength and Comfort

“May your goddess have mercy on your soul, because I certainly won’t.” — Her Grace's Chambers

“If they see me as a monster,  then I will make sure that is the last thing I send their way.” — Savour Its Sweet, Bloody Taste (Chapter 2)

“Hells, Lillanthe! You, especially, should have known. Are you not my damned diplomat?! I should send you to the scaffold for such an oversight.” — Savour Its Sweet, Bloody Taste (Chapter 3)

“You would do well to remember that no one holds dominion over my fate  but me — not Vorlesh, not Pharasma —” a phantom scuttle up his spine. How dare he even utter her name in here “— and certainly not you; and I’d sacrifice a thousand souls or more to keep it that way.” — Savour Its Sweet, Bloody Taste (Chapter 5)

“So I took Iomedae’s way out. Selfish of me, I suppose, to love you so much that I committed heresy and brought shame to my congregation.” — Addicted to the Taste of You(r Blood Red Lips)

“But food is important to me, to my people. Cooking isn’t something we do to survive, but to celebrate the bonds with one another and as a demonstration of trust and service.” — Favourite Food (Owlcatober 2023)

"And now, start praying," her lover had intoned to the Count, "that is, if you have anyone to pray to." — Slow Kisses (Something I Gained Nonetheless (Us) prompt #2)

“But is it so wrong of me to wish to keep something - someone - I hold so dear that I wish to indulge in all life’s pleasures with her, if possible? Is that not what our priests preach?” — Something About You (Something I Gained Nonetheless (Us) prompt #10)

“If you wish to hear your Commander’s recommendation, I believe that a general should always be in view of his forces. An elevated vantage point would suit us well.” — Strategy (Something I Gained Nonetheless (Us) prompt #17)

I'm never sure who to tag for these sorts of things so consider this an open tag :')

[aheathen-conceivably]

how do you go about planning your storyline? :) especially for your decades challenge

Hello there dearest! I’m sorry this took me a while. It’s a bit of a difficult one and I wanted to take some time to sort out the chaotic process in my brain before I tried to type it out 😅

This is just a rough outline of what works for me specifically in writing a historical story on simblr. I can’t speak to writing advice in general because it’s not something I have experience with; nor do I think this will be helpful for everyone. So please feel free to pick and choose whatever suits your fancy or ignore it all completely.

Of course, it’s time to take this below the cut, since you know it’s going to get a bit long 😉

1. Find Inspiration (Nonfiction books, Blogs, TV shows, YouTube videos, Period Pieces, etc etc…)

For a decades challenge/history based story I think this is really the starting point for me. Whether it be styles of architecture, clothing trends, a historical fact, or an individual’s story, there’s so much real life inspiration to be found for this type of story. It can often seem small, but sometimes pinpointing what you know you want to include and working it in there can be the crux of so much of a story.

I’ve said this before but one of the very first things I knew I wanted to include was the Titanic, since it was the first historical event I ever became interested in. Other examples are New Orleans as a setting, the inclusion of Storyville, and even something as small as the axe man that I included in this post.

When I find these moments of inspiration, I try to immediately transform them into tangible scenes or plot points rather than simply jot them down as a note or like a “maybe for later”. This keeps me from getting mired in too many ideas or overwhelmed with things I like, but that don’t necessarily have a place in the story.

However, sometimes it also means I will need to tweak ideas as the plot develops, such as changing the original storyline of Rosella and Lord Harrington to Rosella and Georgiana; but even with these edits, this process still creates a sort of scaffolding structure for the story as a whole. It gives me plot points or small, specific scenes that I am working and writing toward. I’m then able to allude to the eventual outcome beforehand as well as weave a larger narrative around it while still having clear points of guidance for where I want to go. 2. Connect the Dots

The “dots” here are the aforementioned scenes and/or plot points that I have written well in advance. I have dozens and dozens of these, and I’m basically constantly adding to the document where I keep my writing. This is all kept in chronological order so I can see the progression as well as where I need more narrative to fill out a decade. I generally look at this structure and ask myself: how do I realistically reach that point?

To use the example of the Titanic again: this meant somehow getting the oldest daughter of a relatively poor and close knit family aboard a ship bound for America. It meant not only putting her in contact with someone who would have access to these tickets, but also giving her a reason to leave the people she loved. Then once those larger dots are connected, I continue to focus on smaller and smaller threads, like the details of Georgiana herself or Rosella’s relationship to Zelda, until the storyline feels fully fleshed out and a character’s motivations are coming through. 3. Character Consistency

That last bit is very important to me, and I always try and think about how the characters are functioning within the framework of what I’ve written and the historical landscape. Sometimes this comes into play before connecting the dots, but often it is actually what finally puts the puzzle pieces in place. Something sim-specific here is that I really do use sims traits as guidance on who the characters are, how they interact with the world, and how the world has affected them. So often when I am referencing a prewritten plot point or scene I will ask myself, how would that character get to this point? What may have happened that would lead them here? How does their personality interact with this historical event or point of inspiration?

Many scenes have often come from more outward facing questions, like, is this trait clear to everyone reading as well as me? Has this visibly impacted their life and done so in a sensible way? This is in part responsible for many extra scenes we saw at the end of the 1920s when a few of my best simblr babes pointed out to me that Antoine’s motivations weren’t very clear. It also helps me to fill in and round out that base storyline structure with more small, real-life scenes that showcase and develop certain traits as characters grow and interact with the world around them.

—

With all that said, this is often a very long process that involves reading or watching historical content, going over my own writing again and again, and just waiting for the day when my brain suddenly writes 5-6 scenes unprompted. Other times I’m flying by the tip of my boots, watching y’all feedback and incorporating it or reading through scenes with friends for their help.

So the process has looked very different at various points in the narrative and through the many months I’ve been writing this story. But overall, having those points to write toward as well as tangible character traits have guided the process throughout.

[isabeljkim]

hi!!! thnx for posting so much writing advice, very helpful to see from someone in the Business™️ :))) if you’re willing to spare some more, how do you find your way into a pov/story structure? do you know right away when you start drafting or do you try a few different approaches first? i feel like you’re very good at twisty/layered plots in a small space and i’d love to know how you get there <3

ya sure lets talk story structure!

so i do this v different for Long Things (novel :< ) and for Short Things, and btwn Short Things, its different for what i consider story (regular) and story (ah!). these are categories that only make sense in my brain but the functional difference is that story (regular) is a linear narrative and story (ah!) is when i try to do something weird because i feel like getting a little silly with it. so i guess the first thing i do personally is decide on whether the structure will be linear or experimental. and that's a decision i make kind of....just based on the story idea, and how i'm feeling? some things lend themselves better to disjoint, but that's really only something you can figure out through experience. i'd say its good to go in knowing whether you want to stick to tradition or stretch your wings.

i then just start drafting, and then i usually end up rewriting the opening a few different times - this is sometimes because i realize im telling the story from the wrong perspective, or in the wrong tense or the wrong person. i personally have a weakness for the second person and a dislike of the first person, and i have to actively keep myself from just going second person present when its not really necessary. usually when it clicks it clicks, but that might take a few different iterations. my advice here is that if you write and its not working, then take a break, think about it, and try from a different angle - a lot of the time its that you're telling the story from the wrong person's pov.

i then usually block out scenes - write out a couple words/sentences about what happens in the next xyz scenes, sometimes the ending... and then i just start writing, backtracking when things go wrong. usually i have a decent idea of where i'm going but about half of it gets thrown out while writing, and that's ok. that's just part of the process.

for twisty/layered plots, well, the secret is that i just have a tendency to make things hella convoluted when they honestly do not need to be, and that's just who i am as a person. but the other secret is that a layered plot in a small space is something you build retroactively. when you build a story, your grat advantage as the writer is that you can finish the story and then go back and scaffold the story. with a twisty plot in a small space, what you want to do is to create a single throughline and pepper it with additional details that snap into focus at the end, so that the reader can go back and re-read and realize "wait, this all was part of one narrative."

i think my best advice re: plot / story structure is that its necessary, but doesn't need to be complicated. in general, most things boil down to "guy wants something but cannot get it because of reasons" and "guy experiences something fucked that changes him." thats the foundation to build ur house on.

hope this helps lol idk if it does !!

[transienttheologyproject]

i hope my followers & others keeping up & supporting this project know that whenever you leave a kind message on my post — whether it be something as simple as a tagging your reblog of my posts with ‘!!!’ or as personal as sending me a message to the effect of ‘this type of work means so much to me thank you for doing it,’ you are helping me keep my momentum going.

bit of a whole big rant below, sorry for the length, but tl;dr i’m just immensely grateful for what support this project has received because the backlash it has gotten has taken way more of a toll on me & my mental health than i anticipated, and your kindness has helped in motivating me to not just completely wipe this whole thing from the internet.

today yesterday kinda sucked. a lot of the past couple weeks have sucked, especially since pushing more of an online presence with this zine, because of course, with something like this you’re naturally gonna attract a range of Christians, from those ‘gender-criticals’ (whatever that means) who think I’m misguided, to those who begin their messages by calling me & my work perverted, to those whose vitriolic transphobia manifests in sending me Gospel verses weaponized as straight-up death threats. and obviously i knew this was going to happen, and it did, even from as early on as when i was posting the calls-for-art.

and at first i handled it well — i deleted whatever i felt wasn’t worth my time responding to, and if i could meme a hate-comment into a promotional tiktok, then i kept it around to do exactly that. and that worked. i told myself i wasn’t going to get defensive and bound up in keyboard wars because the purpose of this specific project, this specific platform isn’t for debating or dialoguing with Christians who don’t affirm trans+ identities — it’s to serve those who are trans+ and Christian, and I didn’t want this intra-community effort to become an inter-community debate forum. dialogue is a perfectly necessary thing, don’t get me wrong, but there’s a time & a place for everything and this project wasn’t meant to be it.

as the weeks went on, however, the negative attention this project was receiving began to take a toll on me. it didn’t help that in addition to the anticipated pushback from Christian peers, some of the trans+ folks i knew gave me a hard time for ‘bootlicking the oppressor.’ i was, and still definitely am, having the most intense experience i’ve had to this day of the exact type of ostracization that inspired me to pursue this project in the first place — too trans for the Christians, too Christian for the trans folks.

receiving comments calling an academic research project i dedicated my entire summer to “perverted” made me doubt everything i had worked so hard on. accusations of “heresy” and “blasphemy” i had expected and received plenty of, but perversion was not something i had anticipated. comments like “you make me sick” made me second-guess everything i had done leading up to that moment — am i sickening? i was falling for the false narrative that exists as the backbone of much of today’s transphobia — that trans+ people are inherently groomers, monstrous predators. i was perverting my body, they said, and scripture, too — and i began to wonder if they were right.

receiving comments like “enjoy your insanity! I hope the boot still tastes good when they've taken away all our rights so you could feel like ‘one of the good ones’” made me doubt my identity as a Christian. yeah, it’s no secret that the anti-trans legislation running rampant and scaffolding an era of fascism in the United States is the result of neoconservative Christians who represent more the Rome that Jesus mocked & condemned than Christ’s mission itself. i began to worry if calling myself Christian identified me with the oppressor and if talking about transness from a Christian perspective was really a helpful endeavor or if i was essentially stabbing my trans+ community in the back.

you’d think that given the nature of this project, i would be better about not letting those sorts of interactions wear me out. because i’m conducting a project that’ll say “hey, trans+ Christians, you don’t have to choose between those two facets of your identity because they’re not mutually exclusive,” you’d think i would’ve had that mindset confidently internalized. or maybe you wouldn’t think that, but i guess i thought so myself. and i guess i thought that expecting the petty backlash & having done enough research to dismiss it was enough to be prepared for it. not really.

from the beginning, i told myself, “don’t let the mean ones get to you, you’re smart and have done your research and know what you’re talking about.” but there was such a separation between myself and my work this summer that i never truly internalized what i was writing about — i believed it, but i didn’t necessarily believe it for myself.

this project has been a labor of love. and i definitely think the labor part got the best of me this whole summer. the literary review was a drag. writing up the annotated bibliography was immensely frustrating and took me way longer than i would have liked. same with the zine’s section prefaces. and i had planned and hoped to meet with and interview several professionals in the various fields examined in the zine — and i totally dropped the ball because of… something that felt like burnout, which actually made me feel like i had committed the biggest blunder of my professional career before it had even begun. I’m still recovering from that.

the mental and emotional toll this has caused me, the academic, spiritual, psychological, and physical strife this whole endeavor has proven to have been has resulted in me sort of dissociating from the project; i talked about it as though it was a passion project of mine — which it is — but as i was working on it, i felt so disconnected from the material. as if it were akin to a homework assignment in a class i couldn’t care less about.

i’ve been in a tough spot regarding mental health for a long while now (for various other reasons besides this), and i’ve reached the point where i’ve wanted to pull the plug on something to just try and break whatever vicious cycle im trapped in, whether that something be as large-scale as dropping out of university, or as low-scale as shaving all my hair off, or maybe…well, maybe since i can pinpoint these online interactions and this research pursuit as a whole as contributing substantially to my poor mental state, maybe i should pull the plug on the zine. screw it, delete the social media pages & the website, make sure artists get their copies & be done with it.

but i have folks who have been legitimately looking forward to this — not even just people of the intended audience! i have cis Christian friends on my college campus who had never met a(n openly) trans+ person, let alone a trans Christian, before they had met me who have demonstrated such a genuine eagerness to learn from the expressions of faith and gender from myself & others like me. i know a Catholic mother — the sweetest woman — who is ordering a physical copy of the zine so she can try to understand and support her two trans+ daughters, and any other trans+ people she meets, better. i’ve had countless people — strangers — message me “this work you are doing is incredible and incredibly needed. thank you for doing it.” i’ve seen several people, folks just scrolling through their tiktok for you page who don’t even usually follow after leaving me comments to the effect of “yknow, this is a strange crossover episode, but i’m here for it, this is cool!”

there are people who want this work out there. and what’s more is that there are people who need this work out there. and i guess every time someone goes out of their way to extend some kindness towards me and gratitude for this project, i am reminded that i am among those who need this work. those little moments ground me in the purpose and mission of this project — to serve my trans+ Christian community, particularly those who may be having trouble reconciling their intersection within those identities especially within the current socio-political climate. and like, that’s me!!! i am a member of my community, i am a part of the people i am hoping to serve.

everything i was (and truthfully, still am) anxious about, everything that was (and is) weighing on my heart is everything that this project hopes to challenge. all the doubt i’ve been experiencing as of late is exactly what inspired me to do this work in the first place.

and the kindness and gratitude so many of you have extended towards me in the past few weeks, especially within the past few days, have truly helped ground me. i’m still struggling to get back on my emotional feet per se, which is why i will ask that if you find a moment, you keep me in your prayers — but i genuinely mean it when i say that every positive tag on a reblog, every share on one’s story and every kind comment serves as a reminder to me that a.) there are people will be genuinely served by a project like this, and not only that, but b.) i am one of those people. you all remind me to take a look at what i’ve done from the perspective of a trans Christian, not of a student researcher or a graphic designer or a social media moderator or any of the other practical roles i had to take on this summer. you remind me to look at this project as the type of person it’s meant to serve. you remind me of my initial hopes and goals with this endeavor.

you remind me to allow myself to be transformed by the work i have done.

when you share with me how inspirational this project is to you, you remind me to let myself be inspired by the work i’ve done. when you share how much this zine means to you, you remind me to let myself take meaning in it.

and i think it’s sort of ironic in a very beautiful way — so much of this zine focuses on the idea of entanglement and the interdependence of many facets of our lives, and it wasn’t until this project became entangled with you all so much that your experience with the zine is no longer just dependent on mine, but that ours are interdependent on each other. the positivity you feel at learning about this project is poured back into my cup, giving me the breathing room to finally allow myself to feel positively about it, too.

so truly, from the bottom of my soul, thank you. thank you for your kindness and your support, and for making it this far in my ramblings if you have. i know it was quite disorganized and probably very repetitive but this is my first time sort of articulating what i’ve been feeling so heavily recently. so, thank you again — i hold each and every one of you always in my heart, mind, and prayers!

<3 - Soup

(the man behind the curtain)

[qupshalfempty]

Bayverse!Donatello X Reader One-Shot - Date Night

Established relationship, new relationship jitters, anxiety ridden don and reader, autistic coded don and reader (as much as I could fit in a small one shot anyway), self indulgent, beware.

Word Count: 722

I sat on the windowsill by the fire escape, waiting per usual. Keeping myself busy was the hardest part, especially when my turtle boyfriend came to visit. His semi-uncommon down time saved for our date night had me antsy, running around making sure everything's clean left myself with little left to do but wait. I turn back around to the window and look out.

No one.

Thinking about him while he was gone wasn't healthy, though when he rushed out I couldn't help my nerves. Him and his brothers attempts at getting New York under control was admirable, but nerve wrecking. The things they've seen and fight... I sigh, turning back to my phone, while waiting I read to pass the time.

Finally, the knock on the window made me jump up. I didn't even hear him land on the scaffolding outside, though I expected such. Hurriedly unlocking the window and opening it as wide as I could, I saw the purple bandana first as he ducked inside.

It'll always feel special when he comes over, though at first odd to see the terrapin in my living room the first handful of times; now it's his home as much as mine.

"Y/N?"

I snapped out of it, realizing I was staring and held my head low to hopefully hide my blush.

"U-uh I, ahem... Am so glad your here."

Smooth. He laughed and I didn't even care if it was at me, his deep chuckle a reminder of what I was missing earlier. I sighed.

"Any particular reason?"

"Can't I be happy my boyfriend decided to stop by?"

After the heat cooled from my face I cast a quick glance at him to see him just as flustered as myself. His hands wrung each other in nervousness and his eyes were anywhere but mine, some habits I picked up on. Though we've been dating a month, the butterflies have yet to leave the confines of my ribs and his too apparently. I could tell the change in the atmosphere when I'd called him mine, my boyfriend that day..

I bit my lip, swaying from foot to foot as I thought it over.

"You want to say something."

He could always tell, but being put on the spot I rushed to give an explanation.

"Yeah, I was wanting to ask.."

He smiled and walked closer, our bodies just a foot away. His frame towered over mine, I figured no matter how tall or short I was I'd always have to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

A three fingered hand reached for my elbow, sliding down to grasp my hand in his much larger ones. I reflexively looked up and couldn't look away. His golden eyes shined past his bandana, the purple bringing out the shine in them. His mouth quirked in a soft smile, immediately bringing my attention back to the matter at hand.

"You can tell me," his other hand reached for mine and I met him halfway. His three fingered hand dwarfing my own. "If you want."

"Can I kiss you?"

He smirked, knowingly. That shy but sly scientist really made me ask-

"Any time."

I rolled my eyes, smiling as I lay a hand along his shoulder and slid it down his firm chest. Looking up, I smiled softly at him through my lashes. His own softened as he stared at my lips.

...Awkward pause.

"...are you gonna lean down?"

He blinked, shaking his head out of the trance he was in.

"Oh, right."

My giggle was cut off as he wasted no more time, a muscular arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me flush against him. I'm sure I looked silly with my feet dangling above his shins but I'm too happy to care. Wrapping my legs around his waist the best I could still forced me to rely heavily on his hands holding me up by my thighs.

With our eyes finally able to meet, I could only quit staring once he kissed me. Although his lips could dwarf mine his mouth moved so sensually, loving and sweet. He raised the back of his hand to my face, the semi rough texture caressed my cheek. I could tell he missed me as much as I missed him.

[coffee-at-annies]

Oh! For the mash-up trope ask- 53 and 70 for The Core?

53+70: Mutual Pining+Locked in a Room 

Yes yes yes! Good. Excellent. Love it.

Gonna do a quick scaffold then see how excited the muse gets for actual writing.

So the boys are locked in a room. It’s big enough for the three of them but it’s definitely like a walk in closet or a trainers office. This is during training camp. One of the rookies/new guys thought it would be funny. None of the core are laughing.

Sid keeps banging on the door hoping someone will hear him. Kris has already tried texting for help but he’s got no cell service and something is wrong with his phone’s WiFi. Geno, is glaring at the wall in a corner. Eventually someone is gonna have to walk by and realize they’re in there. Or it’ll hit skate time, video review, or some other meeting, and people will notice they’re missing. The person will have to tell someone and he’ll have to let them out. They won’t be locked in here forever.

In the meantime, they’re locked in a room. Kris is annoyed because they should have locked Sid and Geno in a room together years ago (trust him, he and Flower discussed it) so they’d get over their pining, but why’d it have to include him? Kris is under the impression Sid and Geno got together after the 16-17 cups. They did. It didn’t work out.

Sid and Geno dated briefly during the 17-18 season, broke up sometime fall of 18, and have been on-again-off-again sometimes partners sometimes fuckbuddies ever since. They can’t stay away from each other but every time they give the relationship a shot it fizzles after a couple months. They’ve never lasted over a summer and it’s hard. They were in an off period during Geno’s contract negotiations which added a lot of stress. They do love each other and miss each other when they’re not together, hence the mutual pining on their end, but they haven’t figured out how to make it work in a way that sticks.

It’s been a longer than usual off season and they both missed each other terribly. Neither of them wants to suggest getting back together just yet because I do think it ended badly in the spring but the summer apart soothed their hurts and stirred up the pining so they’re back to missing each other. Both of them are trying very hard not to think about how that conversation is on the horizon, especially since they’re locked in a room with their close friend who they’ve never officially told they’re dating.

Fun fact about these two, they’re also both interested in Kris, which Kris doesn’t know. Idk if Sid and Geno have talked to each about their mutual attraction to Kris but it’s there, and it makes the feelings conversation harder.

Kris now, he kinda fell in love with both of them at different points in the last couple years. Between Flower and Duper leaving, stepping up into the alternate captain role, everything about the pandemic and the stuff after, he just ended up spending a lot of time with them organically and feelings started blossoming on his end. He’s not gonna act on it with his two friends that are together.

The time they spent is why he thinks they’re together. They never explained the breakups or makeups or any of the complicated relationship drama. They’ve never even told him they were together, Tanger just knows them well enough to pick up on it and what they stopped hiding.

Having said all of that I have no idea how this fic actually resolves. It’s been a hot minute since my brain wanted to juggle dialogue and I really should stretch myself to write it but it’s midnight and it’s a school night. I have to be up at 8am to go into work.

Sid bangs on the door. Geno snipes at him about it. Sid turns around to yell at him cause calling for help isn’t working. I think they go back and forth for a while and then Tanger makes a joke about getting a room or seven minutes in heaven in an attempt to diffuse the tension and accidentally gets both of them staring at him. They admit they’re not together. Tanger doesn’t know how to react to that. I’m not sure how the convo gets to the feelings admission. Maybe Tanger asks what happened and they have to explain?

I think during the convo Sid admits that even when they’re off he’s not seeing or sleeping with anyone. The one time he tried to hookup he just ended up missing Geno. Geno probably echos the same. It’s cute. Maybe the couple is back together. Maybe they even kiss. Idk.

I’m unclear how we get to Tanger confessing. Does he mumble something about wishing he could have been that rebound hookup that didn’t go anywhere? Does he say something about how he thought they were together so he never said anything? Does Sid try and echo his joke about getting a room and Tanger admits that he doesn’t hate it since it’s them. Idk. Somewhere in there Tanger admits his feelings, maybe before getting Sid and Geno back together, maybe after.

Either way both Sid and Geno are like wait you like me/us? Tanger wants them to forget it but when has Sid ever forgotten a thing once he’s set his eyes on it? When has Geno taken his eyes off the puck? Anyway I think they lock eyes and decide they’re seducing him, which they do. There’s maybe love/feelings confessions in there but there’s also a bunch of kissing and maybe some blow jobs so Kris can see how much they care for him as well. It’s a good moment. Geno suggests that maybe the reason him and Sid never worked out is because they didn’t have Kris. It’s the three of them on the ice, maybe they need the three of them off the ice to work too. Sid likes that very much and Kris just had an orgasm so he’s feeling pretty agreeable.

It’s still not until an hour after that that they get let out of the room. They have time to negotiate and plan their relationship. Also cuddles (geno gets cuddly after orgasms, not that he’d admit it).

[ratfreecog]

How was newsies vibrates excitedly

IT WAS SO GOOD I SAW IT LAST NIGHT

This school has such a big budget drama program it’s insane good on them for actually valuing the arts. The theater was huge it felt like walking into a professional venue in my city not a high school. I wish my old school cared that much our drama teacher got fired for embezzling our club’s funds. Jack, Davey, Katherine, and Crutchie were all so good it was insane. Also, girl Crutchie!! Hell yeah!!

Predictably, a vast majority of the newsies were girls, but instead of trying to hide it and making them dress and act like boys, they just made them girl newsies and used some of the names from Newsies Jr and the Brooklyn girlsies instead. The only exception to this was Albert, who was played by a very femme person with long hair and a skirt, but was still called Albert, which I think is hilarious and I’m hoping that was the actor’s choice.

They also actually had adults play the adult characters which was interesting?? For a highschool production but good for them ig

My favorite moment was in the last Pulitzer’s office scene when Davey goes “since the strike, your circulation’s been down 70%” and Jack, who was currently laying down across the arms of two chairs, did a sit up and whispered “70%” and then laid back down

Also during the Snyder chase scene at the start they had Jack run up one of these scaffolding buildings that were part of the set, realize it was a dead end at the top, turn around and be cornered by Snyder, and then dived between his legs and ran back down to the floor again. Wonderful choreography 10/10.

Speaking of choreography, they actually tap dance during KONY! Holy shit! Was not expecting that! And it was good! Like really good! Hell yeah. All the dancing was really good actually very similar to the Broadway production but like they did a great job at it.

Crutchie also broke my fucking heart during LFTR she actually started crying on the “your sister, Crutchie” line and so did I in the audience

Jack fucking killed Santa Fe he was awesome. Just always he was awesome but Santa Fe was really fucking good

For the seize the day reprise where they’re singing it while Jack Davey and Spot are going to Pultizer’s office, for some reason (I’m guessing running out of time in rehearsal) instead of having the kids sing they played an audio clip from the proshot and it caught me so offguard and im definitely the only person who noticed because I know every single line in this show and have performed the entire thing by myself in box at my haunt to keep myself entertained in between customers.

Overall it was awesome! I do know this show so well that it haunts me and literally every other line an alarm would go off in my brain for whatever they did and how it compared to other versions of the show and what it might mean for their characters so I could probably go a lot more in depth but these were my main thoughts coming out of it. They did a fantastic job!