#and the way people treat art born from pain

[aquapede]

do you know?

could you even know?

[v1nuswrites]

Chapter One: The Dare ...

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Summary: https://www.tumblr.com/v1nuswrites/749849029310021632/all-my-unconditional-love-carina-x?source=share

Please read the summary and warnings in the linked post before continuing on with the fic! ^^

Chris Sturniolo x female! OC

Chapters: Two

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"Once you’ve felt the power of unconditional love, you begin to realise that nothing else can compare. It’s a love that transcends past and self, exceeding grudges, word and insecurities. Unconditional love will always ultimately overpower all, no matter how much you may not desire it to."

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One thing that’s always stayed constant in Carina’s life? Her very much reciprocated hatred for Chris Sturniolo. No one really understood why, but they had had it out for each other since they first met – when they were six.

Ever since they had met, Chris had made fun of Carina, particularly her auburn hair. He was always tugging it, always talking about what an ugly colour it was. It had been her biggest insecurity ever since, and she never forgave him for it. Ever since then they had hated each other. It was no secret, and to their friends it was as natural as breathing. Chris and Carina hated each other, and that was just a fact of life.

Carina had always loved art. All kinds of art, whether that be painting, sketching, even writing. It was the only way she could express herself and let go of her admittedly irritable and abrasive personality.

Although it pained Carina to say that they had anything in common, Chris’ personality was similar in that way. Maybe that’s why they never got along. Hatred does tend to stick, after all.

The thing is, when Carina was six, she befriended Matt and Nick two of the triplets Chris of course had to be part of, so no matter how much they hated each other, they’d done everything together. With other people of course, but he was still always there.

God she wished Nick and Matt had been born twins so they could have been saved from sharing the womb with that idiot. Her friendship with two of the brothers made it more than awkward at times, and Carina and Chris were often yelled at by both of them to stop arguing.

When they started high school, rumours spread quickly, everyone wondering if they were 'secretly crushing on each other'. Chris was quick to put an end to that.

The sound of scraping on canvas broke Carina’s track of thought.

The idea of Chris irked Carina so much her paintbrush had scraped across the canvas she was currently painting, ruining the bristles of the paintbrush and the painting in one foul swoop. Gritting her teeth and silently blaming Chris for the mishap, Carina washed her supplies and tried her best to fix the brush, not bothering with the painting. She could worry about that later. Senior year was about to start and she was having their group over to celebrate; this of course included Nick, Matt, unfortunately Chris, and their two other friends Maya and Luca, who they had all collectively known since middle school. As she left her studio within the house, she made sure to lock it. No one had ever been in there, and no one ever would.

As she finished setting the snacks down in the living room, the doorbell rang. “Its for you Carina!” A deep voice, which she distantly recognised as her stepfather, called out. Her stepfather, Joseph, was a genuinely great guy. Carina and her mother had known him for a long time before they finally got married, and Carina was so happy for her mom, even if it meant she sometimes wondered how her father could be forgotten so easily after his death. She knew it had been years ago, but she couldn’t help but feel as though she were backstabbing him every time she treated Joseph like a father. Ignoring this though, everything was amazing, her mother was finally truly happy.

Well, everything was great … apart from her stepbrother, Soren. Nothing was wrong with Soren himself, it was more Carina’s past feelings for him. Yes, it was Carina that was the problem. Not Soren. They had known each other for years, before her mother and Joseph had began to date. They had been together all the time as kids and they always had the best time together. It was no wonder Carina had liked him since she was just a little girl, but when she discovered her mother and Joseph were starting to date, she knew her feelings had to end. It was easy enough and eventually, she got over it. However, that didn't erase her confession to Soren. She wished she had known about their parents, but she was told the day after, permanently ruining her and Sorens friendship. Even with it clear those feelings were long gone and buried, Soren just couldn’t seem to look at her the same as he used to.

“You’re just in time!” Carina smiled, ignoring her previous thoughts as she opened the door allowing the bright sound of laughter and the salty scent of the beach just a few meters from her house overwhelm her senses. “Of course” Matt laughed as he walked in already making himself comfortable, looking as though he lived in the house, which he practically did.

Maya bounded in just after him with a bright smile on her face, hugging Carina tightly. “I missed you” She practically wailed. “We saw each other two days ago!” Carina laughed, hugging Maya back even tighter. “Exactly!” She replied as she moved, allowing Luca and Nick to walk In. Her and Nick hugged, Nick complimenting her outfit and Carina reciprocating.

Luca and Carina smiled at each other with smiles and a small hi considering Luca’s highly introverted personality. As he and Nick walked further into her house, Carina couldn’t help but notice how close the two had gotten over the summer holidays.

She already knew who the last presence at the door was, and it took all of her willpower to not shut the door right in his face. “Chris” She gritted her teeth as she greeted him, trying her best to keep all hostility out of her voice. Chris only made a disgusted face as he walked into the house. “I’m doing great, thanks so much for asking!” Carina said sarcastically. “What a shame” Chris replied, smirking as he walked into her house. Carina could feel her eye twitch as she closed the front door.

As the night went on, the group started sprawling across the living room out of boredom. Maya suddenly shot up from her place on the couch. “Guys I’ve literally just had the best idea” “Oh god” Matt groaned, already knowing it was going to be the worst idea. It was clear the rest of the group agreed about his assumption as they each collectively groaned with him.

“Extreme truth or dare!” She exclaimed proudly. “That’s so fifth grade Maya … Lets do it” Nick added, always a sucker for any kinds of games that could bring harmless drama. Carina could see Maya practically vibrating in her seat.

“What makes it extreme?” Carina asked, never having played before. “Basically, once you get a dare, you can’t say no or ask to do something else, and once you get a truth, you have to answer“ Matt shivered at the idea, remembering the last time they played this and he ended up being dragged into one of Maya’s experienced dancers only lessons, in which he had no experience.

Eventually, they all sat in a circle, Carina and Chris on opposite sides for obvious reasons, and they began giving each other various truths and dares. Once it reached Chris, he just smirked, cocky as ever. The ones giving him the dare, Luca and Nick, turned to each other, whispering.

Finally, after a few of minutes of whispers and shared giggles, which Carina couldn’t help but smile at, they turned to Chris. “We dare you to fake date Carina for the first week of senior year” Chris’ face went through a million emotions within the span of seconds, finally landing on one of complete disgust. Carina, just as shocked and angry, blurted out “what?!” Even Matt’s face was etched with horror at the idea. “Come on guys! Can you imagine? It’ll be the first big drama of senior year; I’ll have so much material for the Instagram account! It’s been so slow lately” Nick sighed, referring to the Instagram account he had been the owner of ever since freshman year. Practically everyone at the school followed it. No one else knew it was Nick behind it, apart from their small group of course.

“You’re joking right? You must be insane to believe I’d ever entertain the thought of pretending to date that thing” Chris spit out. “That thing? You literally look like you’ve snuck onto earth with that ginormous forehead of yours-“ Carina started to retort, yet another argument between the two bubbling. But before it could go any further, Maya cut in.

“Sorry guys, but you knew the rules when you played this game. You have to, and its only a week don’t be so dramatic” Knowing she was right, Chris and Carina could only glare at each other. It was clear to everyone that the game had come to its end… Or had it?

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Tysm for reading! This is defo going to be more of a cringey fic, but I'm sure you can already tell just by this chapter ^^ I hope you enjoyed, thanks so much for supporting! x

[thelunarfairy]

what r ur opinions on teru minamoto as a character :33 I love the way you “analyze” and/or talk about characters so I’m curious what you think about him unless you’ve already done one on him  ( ^ᴗ^ ) him and akane’s (boy) interactions are so interesting to me tbh

I love reading that you all love my words, it's like a warm hug >,<

Thanks S2

Teru is a painting painted in watercolors and with a little magic paint. At first glance, we find a beautiful painting, full of smiles and joy, surrounded by a beauty unique to him.

But when the hidden paint is revealed, the art mixed with watercolor, we see dark colors, and the painting transforms into something frightening.

Teru is stained art, a stain we cannot fully see. The way he treats other people, the way he despises supernaturals, how he hates them and wants them to disappear.

We can list the reasons, well, a full-time job is not exactly something that anyone in the universe will want, is it?

A boy who didn't know what it was like to be a child.

That he had no choices, that he was not allowed. He was the oldest, he would have to take care of his younger brother and sister, and at the same time he would have to protect people he doesn't even know.

He offered the time of his life for other people, he lost his mother and took his father's place. He takes care of everything, but who takes care of him?

Every now and then I catch myself thinking about the hatred rooted in Teru's chest. How his tiring work provided him with this, how he put himself in front of his brother so that he wouldn't go through the same thing as him. Even though Kou wanted to be an exorcist.

So, maybe the hatred was also born because the supernaturals took everything from him, including his mother, can I consider that a hypothesis?

He lost his mother, his father is away because of work, he gained the responsibility of a father and a hero early on. Kou is inspired by him, Teru, in theory, is a hero who saves people from supernaturals, but at what cost?

Teru hides a secret, a melancholy that reflects in those eyes. Almost so obvious that we could hear him calling for help. He is also caught up in responsibilities.

The first time he was free, he had fun, he became a child again, he allowed himself. Even though he knew it would only be for a short time.

He is a teenager with adult responsibilities and a child's soul. Not literally, but the desire to be free, to do what he never can.

Of course, Teru has his flaws, but I like to be impartial, to be fair. He is ruthless towards supernaturals, and he will want to kill them no matter what.

This reflects on his relationship with Akane, how the simple fact that he works on the side of the supernatural irritates Teru to the point that he is always punishing Akane, that he doesn't show that he cares about him as much.

Teru and Akane have a partnership-based, do-for-me, I'll-do-for-you type of relationship. Nothing beyond that. If Teru cared about him, he would have faced Tsukasa.

If it were Kou instead of Akane, he would risk his life, like he did when number six appeared.

Teru's hatred and contempt for supernaturals is something that borders on the deeply personal, it's not just a job, something happened.

No one feels hatred for something for no reason. Therefore, sometimes I think that he lost someone very important or had a great trauma because of the supernaturals. Besides, of course, it was because of them that the father is absent, that he himself dedicates his life to destroying them.

There was no choice here. His blood determined his own destiny, which he hates.

But he knows, yes, he knows that even seemingly good supernaturals can do something bad. We don't know if one day in the past, Teru got involved with some supernatural and had to exorcise him for doing something bad.

It must have been painful, the same pain that Kou would feel if it was necessary to exorcise Mitsuba because he lost control. So, in order not to suffer again, he wouldn't want to get involved with the supernaturals, just get rid of them, it's easier.

Teru's hatred is what intrigues me, I see him and I want more and more to find out why he was born and where he will take him.

Teru is a canvas full of secrets, little by little the painting is completed, and we increasingly see his truer side.

[comradekatara]

can you please tell us about dr professor sokka phd x 7

this ask inspired me to make a sokkademia tag. peruse at your leisure

sokka brings a certain philosophy professor energy to the physics department and a certain physics professor energy to the engineering department thats got all the students complaining to the dean bc he refuses to grade on a curve.

his standards are extremely high, but the worst part is he’s convinced his standards are like. the bare minimum and everyone’s just too STUPID to meet them. 

he’s so divisive as a professor that students get in physical altercations upon debating his reputation. he has clear favorites and speaks to them specifically. the rest he dismisses as stupid and doesn't even bother trying to remember their names. but he respects the students who actually put in the work and they LOVE him and will go to bat for him like their life depended on it, even when faced with a (not uncommon) student who’s like “he told me to drop out,” they’re just like “and? sounds like you should’ve taken his advice.”

when katara learns how sokka treats his students she yells at him for hours. sokka’s just like “sorry but I can’t coddle and befriend my students like you do katara. we’re doing actual work instead of just playing with water” and she nearly kills him.

the university really wants sokka to give huge, accessible lectures that are open to anyone, since it’s great for business for obvious reasons. at first, sokka is just happy that he’s considered worthy of such a position, but he quickly realizes that he hates this setup. and since he basically has unlimited freedom since he’s in no danger of being fired, he’s instead allowed to construct very exclusive seminars in which he personally vets everyone who applies based on vibes. 

after sokka starts playing favorites even more explicitly than he already had been, some students protest that sokka is “gatekeeping academia” and “being an intellectual elitist.” sokka’s just like “well that’s rich coming from people born in the upper ring of ba sing se. I invite students from all over the world to my seminars, including women btw.” that shuts them up real quick. (they also start admitting women.)

since sokka’s position as BSSU is basically kuei’s bribe to keep sokka as his advisor despite the fact that sokka cannot stand him, the university has no choice but to let him teach whatever he wants however he wants, since firing him would basically be treason against the earth king. sokka takes advantage of this privilege to the fullest. (and let’s be real. he’s earned it.) 

he mainly teaches courses in the physics and engineering departments, but in his classes he discusses everything from art history to epic poetry to ontology. he barely even has a curriculum planned, he basically just talks about whatever he and his students feel like discussing. it’s nice to have a part of his life where he doesn’t need to adhere to a strict schedule. he knows it’s a privilege to not have a syllabus or a defined curriculum in academia, and he makes the most of it. his students know how lucky they are to work with him.

when he admits students into his class, he doesn’t actually care about prerequisites or what field they’re studying. in fact, despite officially teaching physics and engineering, he doesn’t like that most of them walk around with unearned superiority complexes, and is more likely to admit students who actually read and engage with art for pleasure. being "bad at math" is a way less egregious crime than not being curious and open-minded, in his opinion. 

sokka doesn’t like giving tests, essays, or psets, since he thinks busywork is a waste of time, and he doesn’t wanna have to grade all that (for the first year, when he was giving lectures, it wasn’t an issue, since he had ta’s, but now that he exclusively does seminars, he has to grade everything himself, which is a fucking pain. he doesn’t have time for that!) so instead he just gives them one big research project with the open-ended prompt of “teach me something new.” nothing is off-limits. the weirder the better. 

his students know that he is prone to go on tangents that can take up the entire class time, and it’s really easy to get him going. they’ll spend whole periods listening to him tell them about that time he got stuck in a hole while hunting and thought he was going to die, or debating the merits of airships vs sky bison as transportation.  

ba sing se is a very insular city, and in it sokka has a reputation as an elitist, angry curmudgeon who keeps to himself aside from his inexplicable friendships with an elderly tea shop owner and that gloomy girl who sighs a lot. in the southern water tribe, on the other hand, sokka is seen as a goofy extrovert who knows everyone by name and is always looking to help out in any way he can (to the point where his compulsive need to help people is actually a little concerning). everywhere else, sokka’s reputation is generally somewhere in the middle, but these are the two poles. which means that whenever someone from his tribe meets one of his students, they experience this disconnect where they’re both just like “are you sure we both know sokka?? the sokka you’re describing is the same sokka as the one i know??? for real???”

sokka eventually gets sick of spending so much time in ba sing se. he suggests to katara that they should build a university in the south pole so that he can work there. katara’s like “guess what we actually do have a school in the south pole and i happen to teach there, only we don’t study book-learning for eggheads.” sokka reminds katara that the only academic universities in the water tribe are in the north (where they don’t admit women) and immediately katara decides to build a university in the south, and also it was her idea btw.

sokka does a lot of research in bending theory, and he occasionally uses katara’s students to help him with his experiments in hydrodynamics. katara doesn’t like that sokka thinks he can just steal her students like that, so she decides to turn the tables on him, see how he likes it. she finds his least boring looking student to ask out, and they get through a couple dates until katara finds his condescension too unbearable to continue. by the third time he’s told her that the only reason she doesn’t like math is because she doesn’t understand it, katara blurts out “my cat is sick i should go home and check on her bye” and leaves to punch the snow until she feels better. and they didn’t even hook up. what a waste. 

toph, on the other hand, hooks up with many of sokka’s students. this is because toph likes women, which comprise a far less insufferable demographic. 

no one in the gaang has read sokka’s books. zuko tried, he really did, but it gave him a really bad migraine. no one else even bothered the attempt. azula, mai, and ty lee on the other hand are all like, “you haven’t read it? sokka merely presents a theory of the particle composition of the spirit world via the notion of it as a fifth dimension interposed over space and time. it’s actually quite elementary stuff… that is, if you comprehend the foundations…” 

wan shi tong has a few of sokka’s books in his library. the kitsune snuck them in there without his knowledge. 

sokka coauthors a lot of his papers with yue, but since they’ve long since agreed that anyone but a select few being aware of their rendezvous in the spirit world is probably not a good idea, yue is happy with being anonymized. after all, the other spirits knowing that she divulged the secrets of their plane to such an insolent mortal would probably ruin her street cred. 

sokka doesn’t really get along with the other professors. sure, they’re nice enough for the most part, and he admires their dedication to their fields, but the problem is that for all their knowledge in one extremely specific area of study, they have no actual practical knowledge or any understanding of the real world whatsoever. sometimes sokka will agree to go out with them for drinks, and even though they’re all older than him, he feels like he’s babysitting.

suki doesn’t spend much time in ba sing se, since they both agree that it’s preferable to hang out on kyoshi island or in the southern water tribe, or even the fire nation. but sometimes she’ll come if the earth king is throwing a party or if iroh has invited them for tea (at which point their reunion is extremely dramatic, as always, even if they saw each other just last week). one day the dean pulls sokka aside and is like “just because you’re a special case doesn’t mean you can date students” and sokka’s like “what??? why would i date a student???” and the dean says “well someone informed me that you were kissing a young woman on campus yesterday” and sokka’s like “suki??? you mean my girlfriend suki??? she doesn’t even live in ba sing se.” and the dean is like “nevertheless. you shouldn’t do that. i hear it’s making people jealous.”

[friendlynbhddevil]

15 questions, 15 people

Thank youu for tagging me @killerandhealerqueen!!

1. Are you named after anyone?

Nope. I am named after the concept of flourishing or prospering.

2. When was the last time you cried?

The day before yesterday.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. But I want to be the cool aunt someday.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not as much as I used to.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

In one-on-one conversations, I notice their smile. And in a group setting, it's the way they treat their friends.

6. What's your eye colour?

Dark brown

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

Happy ending! I'm okay with bittersweet endings too. Just as long as there is some sweetness to balance out the excruciating pain, I'm fine :D

8. Any special talents?

None. Nil. Tumbleweed rolling around in a barren stretch of land *cue the wawawa music*

9. Where were you born?

India

10. What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading, collecting phrases/quotes from books and fanfics

11. Do you have pets?

Nope

12. What sports do you/have you played?

I used to play Kho Kho in my school days.

13. How tall are you?

5'4"

14. Favourite subject in high school?

History (Psychology tooo)

15. Dream job?

Becoming an industrial/organizational psychologist. (At this point, I need the money to build a mini library, buy books at a whim, buy merch, go to concerts and FOOD)

Tagging: @noctiselusio @akanesoma @harshitadekasblog @evil-moonlight @minimoni-archive @joonie @pien-art @pineappland @hemaris @koreanthrillerenjoyer @khaotunqs @cyphernet @fr-wiwiw @forgive-and-take @knjspjm

[svetzzi]

knightklok stuff Is it headcanons or an au? I don’t know, but either way I sure as hell wrote about it.

Timeline: 1450’s-1480’s

Main Location: Pre-Sherborne/Sherborne, Sherborne Abbey Cathedral

Content Warnings: Character death, Christendom, religious fundamentalism, mentions of torture, mentions of social and systemic racism, mention of alcoholism.

Note: I subscribe to the implication that Dethklok, or even so the other people foretold in the prophecy, have been subjected to reincarnation for eons. Whether or not reincarnation is a normal aspect for everyone’s life-death cycle in the Metalocalypse universe is unknown to me as of writing this, but here I am making it certain for the pawns of the prophecy. Personally I find that the prophecy cave art in season 4,  the “ancient animal forms” from season 2 and onward, and the lyrics of Blazing Star are evidence for this notion. Every force included in the prophecy are doomed to their fates; despite being placed in deadly situations time and time again, they can make it out totally unscathed until their death. Said deaths may seem sudden or untimely on a surface level, but they are always decided by destiny or the universe (or perhaps The Devil if we lean more into the Satanic narrative). Here we see a version of Dethklok from their long line of reincarnations (that also happen to be ancestral to the present-day members), who had failed to fulfill the prophecy and thus had to die and start over.

If there are severe historical inaccuracies, then my apologies, I am not a buff and I made this for fun. If it helps to ease the pain at all, I am certain if this were to actually happen in the show, it would also be incredibly historically inaccurate.

I am also not Catholic, so some things may be wonky in that context as well.

Noah Eruption

Nationality: English / Roma

Weapon: Morningstar

The surname Eruption evolved to Explosion as the English language advanced.

His looks and demeanor forgave his non-chivalrous attitude, however being a man of few words made the public mistake him for chivalrous. Nonetheless his stature and steadfast fighting ability granted him both knighthood and the role of leader for the Sherborne Guard. Born in Canterbury, Noah traveled to Sherborne for personal independence and to no longer deal with those that knew of his mixed Romani bloodline. His morningstar was his closest companion.

Fled and retired to The Western Isles post-exile. In retirement he turned to cattle farming.

Death: Drowning (reason ruled unknown, speculated to be either suicide or accident)

Aengus “Picil (The Ruthless)” Barrel

Nationality: Irish 

Weapon: Dual-Wielded Scottish Dirks

The surname Barrel derives from his English grandfather’s favourite pub.

Picil, freeloader son of a shepherd, lived at his village’s pub. Of course, this habit kind of ruined his life and reputation within his hometown, however he did get some decent knife-tossing skills out of it. The pub eventually changed ownership, and consequently he was banned for being a pest. In some spark of clarity, the young man decided to start off on a clean slate. He packed a bottle for the road and headed for England (I reiterate short-lived clarity was mentioned, not intelligence). As a stumbling Irishman his time living there was incredibly difficult, but upon meeting Noah and Bishop Offgyrdd seemingly by coincidence he was “taken in,” so to speak.

And yes, his classic dirks slightly resemble penises, like God intended.

Fled to Wales post-exile.

Death: Went into the wood at night in a typical drunken stupor and was never seen again.

William “The Barbarian” “The Royal Guard’s Boil” “Barnacle Meat” Murdgruff

Nationality: English-Italian/Ethiopian (see Medieval Ethiopian Discovery of Europe) 

Weapon: Battle Axe

William Murdgruff fled from Italian slums as a young adult, in fear of further discrimination and possible death. He hid in a cart of hay bales and went wherever it took him. Sherborne did not treat him much better upon his arrival, even less so than expected, but the Bishop of the village saw his potential. Murdgruff then proved himself to be a merciless fighter, and with the strong persuasion of Bishop Offgyrdd, he was knighted by the Lord and assigned to the small guard sanctioned in that very town. An exchange was brought in return for his knighthood– that he would keep his appearance a secret from the public, as it would damage the church’s reputation. They even commissioned a custom helmet in order for him to fulfill such an order. He did as told, however that did not stop him from becoming the town’s punching bag due to how he held himself (and having the most non-chivalrous of attitudes, obviously). 

Fled to Germany post-exile.

Death: Tortured and Executed via Wheel at the beginning of The Werewolf Trials after fleeing to Germany.

Sigfrøðr / Sighfridh Swkigelf 

Nationality: Geat 

Weapon: Knightly Sword, though prefers Falchion

Irregular for the time and place, Sighfridh was born to closeted Heathen parents. Their Geatland patriotism imprinted onto him, but he found himself drawn to the Christian environment surrounding his family. Sighfridh saw himself not only in Odin, but in both the Lutheran and Catholic depictions of the Lord. In interest of visiting an authentic Roman Catholic cathedral, he decided to journey west. His stay in England was supposed to be temporary, especially after Toki began to accompany him on his journey, but finding good work with the Sherborne Guard (along with acclaim from all the English ladies…) Sighfridh stayed until the group’s exile.

Before England, Sighfridh was an ice harvester.

Returned to Scania post-exile.

Death: Disease of Totally Unknown Origin (it was definitely not syphilis).

Toki Wartúþr

Nationality: Norwegian/Norse

Weapon: Knightly Sword

(To my knowledge the name Toki has existed since like ~7th Century AD, so I find it perfectly sensible that the name Toki would be present multiple times throughout his family tree.)

He was a Sami boy adopted by Christian parents as a babe. Blessed with the spirit of death, his parents eventually blamed him for the unorthodox deaths of crops and farm animals, even if he was not tending to or near the area at the time of death. Their negative superstition surrounding their son grew more, soon blaming him for the rot of their food and the harsher winters. Believing him to embody the antichrist, they intended to kill him, but Toki found this out and escaped before they could execute their plan. He was a homeless wanderer for years, getting by on stolen goods and river water. It was when he ran into the traveling Sighfridh that Toki finally found some sort of path in life. To Sighfridh’s dismay, Toki was enamored with him and his journey, and so tagged along. 

Exiled.

Death: Murdered.

Bishop Offgyrdd

Nationality: English/Welsh

Weapon: Holy text, witchcraft, sabre

Under the guidance of his most trusted companion, Sherborne’s Archbishop, Offgyrdd was devoted to the underbelly of the church. He typically kept an eye out for any newcomers during the day, and was a transcriber at night. Before the mysterious and gruesome death of Canterbury’s Archbishop, Offgyrdd was– although emotionally distant– an average abbott. Even though transcribing was work for a lower monk, Offgyrdd happily took on the task for The Church of The Black Klok. The loose lips on the group of knights he brought together was ultimately his, their, downfall. From Sherborne Castle, the royal guard was demanded to put an end to this heresy, but they refused. Because they liked Offgyrdd. He was pretty nice to them after all, you know? Their Lord allowed for word— panic— to get out due to this. Reeves and the rest of the general public ended up taking matters into their own hands. The traitorous royal guard’s executions were debated. The enraged mob was still somehow infatuated with them, despite their association with witches. Out of fear of his own life, the Lord mercifully damned the knights to exile. After the beheading of the Archbishop, the last thing Offgyrdd saw was Noah watching his demise from among the crowd.

Thankfully, the actual Black Klok meeting grounds were never found by authorities. 

Death: Executed; burned at stake.

[true-intha-blu]

BIG PROJECT TIME!!!

Introducing!!!!

It is something I have been doing for quite some time now. Way before Tears of the Kingdom came out and playing the game pushed me to now finally work on it. It will be a fanfiction on Ao3 FEATURING!!!

Gerudo Link!!! I have always been fascinated as Link not born as a Hylian and acting as a foil to Ganondorf being a male Gerudo. But Link is not a king in this one. Far from it. Just a small time Scout for the tribe, he feels as though he is an outsider to his own people despite of his best efforts to protect and help others. Then suddenly through events is banished to the forbidden lands by breaching an ancient taboo in an act of selfless heroism. Becoming embroiled in a rebellion again the Hyrule Sovereignty.

The Gerudo people are not the people of the dessert, they had been banished from their homeland for centuries due to the actions of the last King of the Gerudo who brought nothing but pain and suffering. They instead are part of a Land with No Name, hearty nomads who treat their banishment with respect and adherence. While stable, it is no secret that Link's birth is viewed as an ill omen. At least his sister Aryll always has her big brother's back.

I want to go back to some classic roots for Zelda so this includes companions! Meet P.I.N! Personal Interface Navigator. A strange bracelet that transform into a psuedo fairy made of something called Sheikah tech? Apparently it is fairly new and still in development. But Pin is the most advanced thing they have so far and they are following Link because... well....

Link will meet many allies, including Sheik, the hot headed Sheikah warrior. He will be invaluable in aiding Link as he navigates through strange new lands and speaking through P.I.N. for advice or if Link is just lonely. He is a ruthless assassin who is eager to fight back against the oppressive Hyrule Sovereignty.

Along the way Link will meet many foes and friends across the forbidden lands known as Hyrule.

Hyrule is split into several actions and Link will come across the Hyrule Sovereignty that has employed advanced technology to server as their dominating military force that does not tolerate disruptions to their rule.

The royal family itself is a mysterious group, aided by 7 sages of technology. The prince being the face while the mysterious princess Zelda serving as the people's holiest figure.

Not all is at it seems. Beware of false confirmation and previous assumptions. Leave them at the door least you be stabbed in the back. In a world of Steam, Haze, metal and civil war, this is not the Hyrule you know. As I say this, I want to reflect and show my appreciation to the previous entries in Zelda, calling back from previous titles and themes, including musical instruments and stuff. I will be writing this fic as though I am making a game, with mechanics, dungeons, side quests and all the fixins with concept art and scenes drawn. It will take far before the first calamity mentioned in Breath of the Wild but takes place after all the other zelda games. After the somehow timeline merged. This is not going to be a dark fic. This fic will have as much charm and whimsy and weirdness as any other Zelda game if I can help it. There will be violence and rated M. So Stay tune for the first chapter of "The Legend of Zelda, Sanctum of Kings"

if somehow this becomes more popular.... I might consider, making it a comic or somethin.... I dunno. I am doing this mainly for myself really.

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

BG3 Backstory Bash by Kelandrin

I was tagged by @dutifullylazybread, thank you! Tagging @commander-krios and @charmedcleric, if you fancy it :)

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

Ok, I’m going to modify a whole bunch of this, if you want to do it properly probably look up the hashtag! I’m doing it for *my* version of the Steel Weave/Sharp Teeth Tav, though since it’s written in 2nd person with only sparse details of her life, I’m not calling it canon. I’m also going to do what @dutifullylazybread did and add in my version of Rolan and Tav’s future together <3 This ended up way more in depth than I thought, and I loved doing it :)

Baby

Birth & Parents: born in her paternal grandparent’s run-down house in Baldur’s Gate, to military parents. Her parents quickly returned to military service to support the family and defend the Gate, and were both killed when she was an infant in the same skirmish, defending a village against Orcs. Tav grew up with the understanding that her parents died heroes, and with the love of her grandparents never felt too much like she was missing something. Her grandparents were bakers, and she first built her muscles kneading vast amounts of dough when she was helping out in the shop as a kid.

Childhood

Friends/Siblings: no siblings. She did have a rotating cast of friends, some for a long time, although as her grandparents aged she found herself taking on more and more of the shop duties and seeing less of others her age. Her best friend was from the Little Calim part of Baldur’s Gate, and left aged thirteen with their parents to return home. Tav would like to go there one day, having heard many tales of its mountains and deserts (and a delicious drink called ‘coffee’ from its furthest reaches, that has yet to be widely imported up to the Sword Coast). They fell out of touch because of the expense and difficulty of long-distance communication, but Tav hopes they’re still out there somewhere, living well.

Birthday: Midwinter

Learning and Playing Games: Tav has always been very focused and determined about learning the things she cares about, whether that was the necessary reading and accounting skills to help her grandparents run the bakery, or the sword skills she began learning to follow in her parents’ footsteps. She’s curious, but felt she had to learn things with purpose first. A lot of the games she played were very physical - tag, Owlbear and ‘Fists vs Guild’.

Trauma: as she grew up, she got into a fair number of physical scrapes, especially when practising duelling and her grandparents privately despaired of how costly it was - though they were anxious not to communicate that, because they loved her energetic nature (if not her desire to go into the military). Those scrapes though, rarely registered with Tav herself, and she prided herself a little too much on being able to ignore physical pain in a way that sometimes alienated other kids (something she learned not to be so annoying about as she got older). The old loss of her parents though, and the increased pressure to help out her aging grandparents and grow up too fast, did have their effect. A gradual squeezing out of childhood.

Youth

First Love Crush on another girl in sword fighting class; Tav asked her out for a celebration after they were ranked joint first together. It went well until it didn’t; things fell apart in common teenage ways, when they forgot to notice each other’s upsets in the mess of their own feelings. They broke up after a couple of months and Tav sulked (a lot) and the other girl cried (also a lot) and then that girl quit sword fighting and took up warhammer instead. Whoops.

Rebellion and Running Away Tav did not really rebel much; on the occasion she misbehaved, stayed out too late or didn’t wake up for her morning shift at the bakery, she saw the disappointment and hurt of her grandparents, and felt terrible about it. They didn’t feel fun to rebel against, because as she saw them aging it only worried her. The same goes for running away, though she did dream of travelling. To Calimshan, or perhaps Icewind Dale - it would be so fun to be an adventurer, and to strike out on her own, though it seems impossible. How do you even start? What if you make the wrong decision? She ends up defaulting back to the military.

Peer Pressure, Risk Taking and Responsibility If anything, Tav was a bit of an (unintentional) peer pressurer herself, with her active and rather physically-risk taking nature. It’s something she learned to stop doing as she grew up, especially after she encouraged a friend to scale a tree with her after he’d already hurt his ankle and he fell and broke the other one too. After that, she got a lot more concerned about other people’s limits…. whilst still paying very little attention to her own. Her grandparents despaired of that, but they were deeply proud of her responsibility at home, even as she missed out on some more childish, fun things. Great at taking responsibility with adults, more likely to bicker with her peers. She was pretty resistant to peer pressure, as either she wanted to do something (drinking? Go on then) or not (stealing? she’s simply not interested). Can be quite judgemental of others seemingly not caring about their parents/family because she’s so concerned about her own. Cares a lot about doing good in the world, even as a teenager, because that’s what her parents died for.

Growing Pains I feel like most of the above covers it! Tav’s not the most introspective person, and her concerns were largely outside her - though some things did slip through. Her main struggle is having no very close friends; she hasn’t got a lot of time, and is a little bit singleminded about her military training.

Adulthood

Leaving Home Tav left home for the military barracks at 18, a hard decision knowing that her grandparents would have to sell their bakery without her. She sent her money home and visited them as often as she could - after all, they were all still in Baldur’s Gate - but they died quite soon after.

First Time Soon after moving into the military barracks. Technically not allowed but… they’re all very physical people who spend a lot of time getting sweaty in each other’s company. Tav’s not outrageous about expressing interest, but she’s happy to ask someone for a drink and see what happens.

Serious Relationships The relatively fast turnover of the military - recruits who can’t hack it, deaths at the front line, moving between posts or just to the Flaming Fist - means that she’s mostly had casual relationships. And in all honesty, very few people have stirred her soul. Everything is fine, but it often feels like others in the military are content with their lot, and the way the world is, and without being able to express it Tav feels like something is missing.

Aging Oof, thinking about Tav and Rolan getting older makes me a little sad. I think they have long and happy lives together, despite many close scrapes, and Tav keeps fighting even as her joints begin to creak. Jaheira was still at it, so why shouldn’t she? As for Rolan’s wizard magic… I don’t think he’d want to live an artificially longer life without Tav and Cal and Lia to share it, especially knowing that wizards need people they love surrounding them whenever the temptations of power get too strong. Either he finds magic they can all share, or they make peace with mortality knowing that there’s a place in Selune’s realm for them in the afterlife. (Well, as much peace as Rolan is ever capable of. He’d take Tav’s mortality as a personal affront, and his own as the deeply annoying but inevitable end to his glorious magical career).

Family Tav and Rolan have spent so many years of their lives being responsible for others, and for Tav, locked into the military as a default path without thinking enough about it. Both of them want to live life on their own terms, with their found family, and throw themselves into their work and passions rather than raising children. They’re often going off on adventures and discovering new things, and Rolan frequently works into the small hours on magic whilst Tav is out defeating mild zombie infestations or whatever is most recently plaguing Baldur’s Gate. But they do love Cal and Lia’s kids, and Tav considers Lae’zel, Astarion and Gale to be her extended family.

Work Tav was in the Baldurian Army, which I don’t think exists in canon but it exists in my head as more of an outward-facing force, dealing with wars and invasions and marauding Gith/Orcs, vs the Flaming Fist which are more of a domestic force (and are canonically awful, let’s be real. Not that the military is likely to be much better but… everyone in Baldur’s Gate has had personal experience with the Flaming Fist being incompetent, corrupt and otherwise terrible. Tav wanted to be a hero, and the Fist are for beating up hungry commoners for stealing apples. Not her vibe.) Her job is fine, and she trains hard, but it leaves little room for thought or individuality and she finds herself feeling stuck. Especially as she realises there’s a whole load of pointless skirmishes with neighbouring states over borders and trade, conflicts that only make ordinary peoples’ lives worse. She’s risked her life many times for civilians and that has stopped her getting promoted.

Finding Her Place The tadpole completely changed Tav’s life. Before, she’d have said that the military was her place - but she was never really anchored to it by more than rules and regs and a sense of duty. Now she’s struck out on her own - with Rolan and her companions by her side - she’s found she’s a strong and capable leader, and prefers making her own decisions about right and wrong to having the military make them for her. And she found the kind of deep love and devotion that she’s been lacking; a reason to live in every battle she fights. She would risk everything for Rolan, and he would risk everything for her, and then they will argue about it. Perhaps the arguing is something she’d missed in her closest relationships, previously, like with her grandparents; each too worried about the other to risk bringing up things that bothered them. And most people she’s dated, she’s simply never felt strongly enough about to have much conflict with. In contrast, Tav and Rolan can’t help themselves from arguing, and it means they always end up addressing whatever their problems are - even if they hurt each others’ feelings in the process sometimes. They know that they love each other no matter what, and they care so much that they’ll always make it up to each other in the end. (with lots of amazing sex in the process sorry did you think I’d get all the way through this post without mentioning that lol)

[kingsdespair-if]

King's Despair: In a Heartbeat - Short Stories. 6.

[Kaellë Lorthan]

The Last Flower to Blossom

Once upon a time, in a small village, there was a beautiful garden filled with vibrant flowers.

People from all around would come to admire the garden's splendor. However, there was one flower that had yet to bloom - the last flower to blossom.

This flower was different from the others. It was small and delicate. The villagers would often pass by, wondering when it would finally bloom. Some thought it was simply a late bloomer, while others believed it would never bloom at all.

Are you patient enough to wait for the last flower to blossom?

~

Kaellë was born into a loving family of healers in a small Salt Elf village. The Lorthans were renowned healers, specializing in their craft for generations. When Kaellë and her twin sister, Lumnia, were born, they were adored by the villagers, who treated them like one big family in their close-knit community.

Lumnia always outshone Kaellë in every way. She was faster, stronger, smarter, and even considered more beautiful despite being twins. Kaellë never felt envious of her sister's brilliance. Her focus was on her baby wyvern, Jokhan, and learning the art of healing magic from her mother.

She found contentment away from the spotlight.

Every day, Kaellë diligently trained her magic, steadily improving her skills over time. She was shorter, weaker, and shyer than her sister, often being ignored by people when she was with Lumnia.

Whenever someone needed healing, they always preferred Lumnia's treatment, even though she hadn't completed her studies and didn't possess half the knowledge in medicine and magic that Kaellë did.

Nevertheless, Kaellë didn't mind. Whenever Lumnia failed in her healing attempts, Kaellë was always there to support her sister, even though Lumnia always received the credit.

Lumnia, like a prodigy, grew into a popular teenager within the village. Everyone adored her, especially when she started participating in the royal races hosted by Queen Portya, the Salt Elven Queen.

Lumnia became a sensation, winning every race until she reached the finals. The entire village gathered to watch Lumnia compete in the race with her sea wyvern.

She soared through the sky like no other, captivating everyone's attention.

When the time came for the final race, Kaellë was present to watch and cheer for her sister.

She stood in the bleachers with her own wyvern by her side, filled with happiness as she observed the event.

The wyverns took off into the sky, their scales shimmering in beautiful colors. Shades of blue, green, cyan, black, and various light and dark hues resembling the sea.

They were incredibly fast, surpassing Kaellë's speed even in her own dreams. Her sister was leading the pack, getting closer and closer to the Queen.

It seemed like she would easily overtake her soon.

However, during a sharp turn to avoid obstacles, Lumnia's wyvern collided with the Queen's wyvern. Lumnia managed to regain control and continued racing ahead, unaware that the Queen had fallen from the sky into the sea.

Being at such a high altitude, the fall would surely hurt. Although the Queen, being a Salt Elf, wouldn't drown, she would still sustain injuries.

Kaellë immediately realized the situation and rushed to help. She mounted Jokhan and swiftly headed towards the Queen's location.

Jokhan was faster than ever, causing gasps of surprise and screams of fear from the onlookers as they witnessed the Queen descending into the sea.

Queen Portya's body hit the sea water as if it were solid rock. Kaellë heard the Queen's grunts of pain and the unmistakable sound of bones breaking. She had been unable to prevent the fall, but there was still time to save the Queen. Kaellë ordered Jokhan to dive, and on his first attempt, he managed to retrieve the unconscious Queen from the water.

When she came back to land to start the first aid, her sister had already been the victorious of the race, but no one cared about the race anymore. For the first time, all eyes were on Kaellë.

She gently placed the Queen on the sand and began her healing magic. Everyone around was captivated by Kaellë's magic. Most healers would require at least 5 sessions to accomplish what she did in less than 15 minutes.

Bones reattached and bruises vanished in an instant. Her cyan magic enveloped the Queen, causing her to glow.

When she finished, Kaellë was sweaty and tired, but she had done a perfect job. The Queen's own healers didn't even need to intervene; they simply stood beside her, watching along with everyone else.

Queen Portya opened her eyes, slowly regaining her memories from the fall.

The Queen expressed her gratitude to Kaellë, and the crowd cheered for her, just as they had done for her sister many times before. However, Kaellë still didn't seek the spotlight. She accepted the Queen's thanks and left with her wyvern.

It didn't take long for her sister to find her, wearing a bright smile on her face.

"So, you've finally blossomed," she said, sitting beside Kaellë on the sand.

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally shining, my sister. Just as you always deserved."

"I don't want to shine. I'm content watching you shine."

"People love you now, silly."

"I don't want to be loved either. I just want to be a good healer."

"Well, you're already the best healer I know, and people already love you. But that kind of love is fleeting, you know? It's the kind of love that requires you to keep giving them a reason to love you. They love me for being a skilled racer, and if I ever stop, they'll stop loving me. You don't deserve that. You deserve the kind of love that accepts you just the way you are, for who you are, not for what you can or cannot do."

"Where are you going with this, Lum? I already have you, Mom, and Dad," Kaellë replied, looking confused.

Lumnia chuckled and tousled her sister's hair.

"I'm telling you that you can do better than this. Leave this place, Kaellë. One day, you'll conquer the world. You're a star too bright for this small town. Go, travel, help people, meet new faces. Find the love you deserve, okay?" Lumnia kissed her sister's cheek and stood up. "The Queen will never forget you. And neither will I."

Kaellë was left alone, feeling the warm sand beneath her feet, with Jokhan nuzzling against her back as the gentle sound of the waves reached her ears.

Kaellë decided to take her sister's advice. Her magic was meant to be shared with the world. There were so many people in need, and she had the power to help them, so she would.

As for love? Love is too conditional, too temporary. Does the kind of love Lumnia spoke of truly exist?

[scotianostra]

The renowned surgeon Lawson Tait was born on May 1st 1845 in Edinburgh.

Born Robert Lawson Tait, to a middle class family, he attended Heriot's Hospital School and showed great promise, In 1860, the 15-year-old Tait won a scholarship and attended the University of Edinburgh to study the arts, where he subsequently changed course to study medicine, graduating in 1866.

He started his professional career in Wakefield before moving to Birmingham, specialising in gynecology and is widely known as the first to perform salpingectomy to treat ruptured tubal pregnancy, to put it into layman's terms this was a treatment for ectopic pregnancy, a procedure that has saved countless lives since. He was also the first to record removal of an ovary for relief of pelvic pain and to induce menopause, this was way ahead of its time. His scrupulous cleanliness was undoubtedly the forerunner of modern aseptic methods.

Tait's bold, innovative surgical techniques led to a significant decrease in surgical mortality, and his prescient, aggressive approach was at the forefront of changes in the practice of obstetrics, which resulted in a marked decrease in maternal morbidity and mortality. This master teacher, whose contributions inspired the next great generation of abdominal and pelvic surgeons, deserves greater recognition than the few who know of him.

What I also like about Tait is that he was a fervent antivivisectionist. He argued that vivisection was a selfish act in which humans forced living animals to suffer in order for their own benefit. He also argued that the only people outside of medical fields who supported vivisection were the rich. These proponents acted as "amateur poultry butchers" and took to maiming pheasants for fun. As such, the less wealthy saw supporting vivisection as enabling the frivolous and wasteful lifestyles of the wealthy. And although being quite religious he believed in evolution and that humans share a history with lesser animals, they deserve equal rights. As such, despite their inability to speak for themselves, they should be treated with care and respect as one would treat a human being.

He is said to have had disagreements with the pioneering Joseph Lister and believed that using nothing more than boiling water for cleaning his instruments had the same results as Listers antiseptics, this was borne out with his results, mortality for this operations was over 90%. Tait was able to achieve exceptional results in his surgery using his techniques, as they were simple, low-cost, effective, and not limited by the presence of chemicals.

I think it is quite amazing we do not know more about this man, here are a list of his some of his firsts;

First removal of an organ (Ovary) (

Observation of association of cystic ovaries and excessive menstrual bleeding.

Surgical induction of menopause by removal of ovaries.

Removal of infected tubes.

Drainage of pelvic abscesses

First appedoctomy in 1880. It was later learned that he was anticipated by French-born English surgeon Claudius Amyand in 1735, but Tate removed the first appendix.

First Cholecystectomy (gallbladder surgery)

Tait's career began to decline in 1892. Due to his lifelong history of advocating for new techniques and against common practices (e.g. vivisection and antisepsis), there were many who saw him as an enemy and a nuisance. Tait’s productivity slowed to a halt due to his declining health, along with two legal situations. The first of these was a lawsuit from Andrew Denholm, and the second was a threat to bring action against Tait for supposedly seducing a nurse.

In his retirement, Tait continued to stay active within medicine. Many younger doctors respected and admired him, and he regularly contributed to meetings at several Medical Institutions. He died in 1899, at the age of 54 of

Nephritis and Ulremia , after a week and a half of severe illness. He remained lucid in his final days, and left instructions that his body be buried in a cave near his home! At the time of his death, several of his contemporaries published writings in praise of his medical advances, character, and work at hospitals for poor women

He isn't altogether forgotten though, The Lawson Tait Society at Birmingham University.

Oh his burial? Well he was cremated, still a relatively new concept for christians in the 19th century, his ashes however were interred in Gogarth's Cave, an ancient burial-place in the grounds of his Welsh home on the west side of Great Orme's Head near Llandudno.

I garnered most of the info for this post from Wiki, although other info came from several other sources.

[ratstuckinamarble]

<3 <3 <3

right, third time's the charm- You are someone I am very glad to have 'met' in whatever way the internet lets us.

Not because you're the first person I've ever exchanged drawings with like they were notes passed along on a rainy day, making silly little stories out of woodpeckers and lego toadstoods and trick or treat wishes- Not because I have those drawings printed out, woodpecker and otter hanging on my wall, the halloween ones added to my old lebkuchen box of decorations to be tacked up next year with all the rest- Not because the memory of looking at your art had me picking up pen and paper with a lightness that hasn't been there since I was a kid-

I just love seeing you around on here.

Blocks of tags with rambles- little stories and asides to soak up like a sponge or a plant, reminding me of this or that thought I've had myself- your passion for things, the breath of relief I let out reading something you wrote that says something I can't trust myself with.

The rhythm of your thoughts makes mine very happy, is what I mean. And that you share them- tossing small paper planes of your life out into the world- honest silliness, maybe? It takes bravery and kindness to do it, I think. Even when something upsets you or makes you sad, I'm grateful to see it- these things you care about enough to be hurt by, and to talk about.

From you, I won't argue about how good of a person I am. I'm smiling at the thought that you would think that of me, and I'll makes myself send this little ask to try to tell you back-

thank you for being you.

If tumblr crashes tomorrow and I never hear about you again, I'll always be grateful it lasted this long. I'll remember the rat stuck in a marble, with a skull for it's emblem, hoping you got to do some pottery, snuggled your cat, and had a little hot chocolate, as a treat~

I- I'm at a loss for words...

And crying. Oh words collect yourself into a proper order-

People have said kind things about me before, and it's always brought me joy- but nothing like this. You've cut right into my soul, found things I didn't even know would get to me like this if I heard them.

I want to comment more but re-reading what you said is almost painful, because I was not prepared to take in such words today, or ever. It hurts in the same way as thinking about the beauty in life for too long. I don't know if you understand what I mean- but strong joy, getting overwhelmed with feelings that are good

It's like my little body can't handle it, experiencing things it was not made for. This feeling is bleeding out of me, and I can't even name it. It's not joy. It's... Something better. The knowledge that someone I care for deeply could be made happier thanks to me, my words, my ramblings, my silliness, my art, even the serious and vulnerable moments. Everything. It's like you saw my entire self and said yeah... there's nothing I'd leave out. Oh gosh I'm crying again.

I didn't know you did actually print those drawings out. I've been wondering. I'm so very glad. Bringing you some joy with them is all I wanted. And that someone could appreciate my art this much- especially you. It's like something out of a dream. I didn't know life had such luck in store for me. That I could make art come more easily to someone else again. And you know I love your art. Every time you post something I scramble to get that across, after all. Clunky and anything but concise.

Often I fear that I may be doing too much, coming on too strong, saying so much where others would keep it short. But I've had my years of silence born of paranoia, and I got sick of it. So sick. The reason I started blogging is exactly that, a form of self imposed exposure therapy, I suppose. Every time I'd be afraid to share something, I reminded myself- that's exactly why you should do it. Even if your heart is beating so fast it makes you lightheaded. Which happens rarely now, because this worked, somehow.

And I find myself thinking of a different string of time- where I didn't. Where I let the fear win. Where I never met you and some other lovely people, where all these exchanges we've had, the art and the words and photos of little rocks and tote bags and comics of them running away- never happened. These things that fuel me even when things seem dim. You light something up in me that was previously difficult to cling to- an occasional burst of this spark. Now it is like a little star that has snuggled its way deeply into my heart, refusing to leave.

The rhythm of your thoughts make mine very happy too. I never feel like I have to adjust my thinking with you, because I know you'll understand. Your mind is just as wonderfully strange. I know no one else who creates hand snails and runaway totebags and the most perfect crest imaginable. Making art for you is so fun, because I feel like whatever I choose to depict, you'll get it.

What I want most in life is to be a good person. To bring people joy. Knowing I succeeded is more than I could ever hope for. Am I making sense? Why are you so easy to let into my heart? Why does letting you influence my creations, my way of thinking, my way of loving the world feel so right?

You bring out the best in me.

And that you think sharing what I do takes bravery- well I suppose you're right. I never thought anyone would realise. Would understand. But that it takes kindness? I never thought of it that way. I didn't think anyone would look at what I say and think, "how kind of you, that you chose to share this". I never thought that would be possible. I've had people tell me how happy my tags made them, a few times. That's what fueled me. I thought, if some have said it, then more must have thought it. And I want to keep spreading that joy. What I'm trying to say is you've reassured me in things I didn't dare hope for.

And that even my occasional admission of pain could be seen as good. That you would see me as good.

You're the reason you know. The reason I talk so much on here. I didn't use to do that. I think about the moment that made me follow you, I remember it clearly. I think about all that led to knowing you at all.

Thank you for sharing. I will come back to this, whenever I need a reminder that, well. That I did something right.

I'm glad you won't argue what I said. You couldn't change my mind anyways, on you being a good person. I am so very grateful to have you in my life. I find it hard to tell what people think of me. Thank you for the reassurance, your own bravery, and your beautiful words. They're like poetry.

If Tumblr crashed tomorrow, and I never heard of you again, I would be heartbroken. Truly and fully. But I would be grateful, as I already am. For the time you were a part of my life.

But this shall not happen. We haven't reblogged those snails yet, as we promised, and even after that. I don't want to imagine.

I'll do pottery some day. I'm snuggling my cat as I type, and I'll make myself a hot chocolate, in my dancing skeleton mug. And every day, I'll keep being reminded of you, and how you're everywhere now. In every little thing I've shared, that you got excited about. You're a part of that clay hand now, my spooky dishware, my lego frog, my tote bags, my rocks, my memories. I take a moment to take in nature and I'm reminded of your description of the light falling through your window, the spot you left just to appreciate it. I see a sword, a snail, a drawing of a werewolf, and you're always there.

When you let people take up your time, you let them take permanent residence in your heart. And with you, I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you for being here, for being you, and for bringing a peace to my soul I didn't know it needed.

Thank you.

[nephytale]

ϟϟ

Send me ϟ for my muse to tell yours the story behind one of their scars.

The stars in the sky were clearly visible thanks to the fact that there was not a single cloud in the city. The sea was calm, serene, on that spring night while a soft cool breeze hit their faces. There, on the coast, on the small patch of sand that was surrounded by rock formations that led to the sea, there was a bonfire. Their ship was hidden on a nearby island, but that didn't stop the pirates from deciding to have a good time. Since had already crossed paths a couple of times with Senritsu and noticing that she was pleasant company, she invited her to spend a night by the bonfire, with snacks and drinks, while they laughed and shared stories. Since the doctor had joined the crew, the others understood that they should not be too loud and scandalous, and she had emphasized it again when she alerted them of the woman's invitation with a keen ear.

They were calm, happy, enjoying a great time all together. Even if they weren't all sitting around the campfire, and everyone was enjoying it in their own way, you could feel the togetherness of the people.

Ryoko laughed softly. She turned her back to Senritsu, and lifted her blouse - she lifted it so high that it reached above her shoulders, there was no shame in showing off her body - On her lower back, a tattoo could be seen that consisted of two sais crossed in the shape of X. And above them, a red dragon ascended along her entire spine until it reached the base of her neck.

"My most significant scars are under these tattoos, I decided to transform a couple of bad experiences into art, how does it look?" Holding her blouse up with one hand, she used the other to point to the pair of sais tattooed on her lower back. "This was the first…" Ryoko paused, then readjusted her blouse and sit again in front of the campfire

"My best childhood friend, turns out to be the son of the most powerful pirate that sails the seas. He never really did anything wrong, but just because he carried his father's blood, the navy has treated him like an evil-born demon forever, we were thick as thieves, or rather, I was the tick that stuck to him to survive" She paused and just a few seconds later, let out a good-natured laugh. "We became friends over time… we were almost like siblings…" There was a small sound of someone clearing her throat and Ryoko turned to look at her doctor, who was simply smiling in an exaggeratedly innocent way to be real.

"Well, siblings was not the word that defined us… but we only discovered it when we met again some time later. Anyway, getting to the important thing. Shortly after our paths divided, the navy had captured me. They wanted information about him. And I preferred to die rather than give them information. They took me to the most disgusting cells you could imagine. They didn't feed me, they kept me chained, there was a damn leak that echoed in the place, the only sound I heard for days. That was driving me crazy. Until one day they changed my room. There, two executioners and a lie detector began to ask me questions, and I lied to protect him. For every lie I told, the executioners gave me a whip on the lower back. The punishment was so much, so much the pain, that my bones had been exposed. Their target, and I quote their words that I will never forget 'We are going to hit you every time you lie, until you tell the truth, we will make you unable to walk anymore only with our whips, or until you faint from the pain. You choose.' And so I spent a couple of days. At least there they fed me and gave me water, they needed me lucid to answer their questions. Although my legs had already stopped working, I waited patiently for them to lower their guard and managed to escape from there, crawling until I finally found a very kind person who brought a doctor to help me" She smiled, honestly and softly. She was actually fine, leaving aside the permanent lower back pain it caused her.

Sipping some of her tea, she let out a soft sigh "But we've already talked too much about me, please tell me about yourself, do you have any scars to tell the story?"

{ @hunting-songs }

[scrawnytreedemon]

This got brought up during a conversation with a friend last night, and I realise it’s important to say here.

The way we treat improvement in online art culture, art culture in general but especially online, by only measuring technical prowess is deeply harmful. This issue is not only harmful to beginner artists, whom this most affects, but also wreaks havoc on the minds of even those well entrenched.

We do not emphasise enough how important it is to be comfortable with the physicality of art; how much of art is coordination, and positioning, and finding a comfortable environment: both in a spacial sense and psychological sense. Time and time again, we push for this self-flagellating, motivation-via-punishment strategy, both from ourselves and from our peers, in a hope that this strife shall motivate us, and time and time again it wreaks insecurity, pain, and even total abandonment of the craft altogether.

Look at the state of the online art community. Take a look at any big Youtubers or prolific Instagram posters, and see how many of them continuously breed an environment of self-disparagement and dissatisfaction. How they, intentionally or not, pass these values onto their audiences. I’ll never forget when in one of her art tip videos, Lavendertowne said it was better to improve and be dissatisfied, rather than stay at a certain level and be comfortable.

Just what do you think art is for?

I was fortunate to have come along in my own journey to see this advice for what it was: harmful. Dissatisfaction as motivation. And some people manage to propel themselves off of that; clearly, Haley had. But what this advice either fails to consider, or does so as a form of weeding, is that this shit will utterly decimate the will of anyone not masochistic enough.

That this can and will cause the stagnation they are oh-so fearful of.

It’s sickening.

I hate how much capitalism has fucking twisted online art culture. That it’s turned the beginners on themselves and set them as rabid dogs on each other, and uplifted an Elect Few as flagellant martyrs, bearing the light for all who follow.

The simultaneous lie that art can only be achieved by those born with an innate talent like myself, and that also, if you work hard enough, beat yourself up hard enough, you’ll finally earn your worth. This emphasis on scarcity, whether inborn or dragged up by the bootstraps, either way serves the same end: to deny the fact that art is not special.

That art, just like cooking, is fundamentally human; we all do it, whether it’s prepping instant noodles, or drawing a stickman.

Let’s unpack that, for a moment: the stickman.

Do you know just how much is stored there?

A basic understanding of form, of emphasis on key features(prioritising the head, leaving a potential for emotion), the way it taps into human identity, the fact it’s flexible and can easily be changed-- Hell, alot of humanoid guidelines can be boiled down to stickmen with varying levels of buildup.

It’s so fundamental.

And yet we can go even deeper than that.

Think about how universal the experience is of just drawing shapes. How many of us picked up a crayon, or a twig, or a ballpoint pen, and ran absent patterns over the plane of our medium-- How then they’d allow us to go further, and relay the things we saw around us; whether solely for artistic pleasure, or as a form of preservation; and how neither are entirely divorced.

How my little cousin, scribbling with my coloured pens, is doing the same thing I do in my notebook and on my computer, the same thing Leonardo did with his pencil and his paintbrush, what artisans in the Americas and all over did when decorating their pottery, when they inscribed it, as we all do, with that human soul, and what humans have been doing far, far beyond recorded history, possibly before we were even human.

How essential something like this can be in building hand-eye coordination, another thing that is often neglected in this discussion! That not only are you struggling with technique, but also breaking-in those neural pathways; getting your arm used to these simultaneously repetitive and yet fluid motions. I? I don’t do proper lineart-- My hand is too loose. I’ve tried, and I’ve done it, but the experience was miserable, and there’s no need to put myself through it just because that’s “procedural”.

Your art, at the end of the day, is for you. You may show it to others, and do what you will, but at the end of the day, when the sun goes down, and it’s just you, and your pen, or your stylus, or your paintbrush, or whatever, it’s for you. Whether you started out with “pure” artistic intention or not, here is that.

And it may take awhile to break that in. We’ve made art, even private, into such a performance. Sketchbooks are not meant to be these neat, orderly things-- They can be, and that’s beautiful! --But in a sense, they’re more akin to something as a diary. A little place to pour the soul; to wander where you may, unfettered and unbound.

There are no rules here. There are guidelines. Nothing more.

Take what you will, and go forth.

If you’re struggling to make progress, and you’ve assessed that you do infact want that progress, then consider it’s not technique you need to worry about, but enjoyment; comfort, a degree of assuredness.

You won’t backslide into incoherency if you take your pedal off the break. Let yourself adjust to the road ahead, and drive where you may. And it will be awkward! And it will feel uncomfortable! And you will have those horrid moments where you’re ripped out of your own view and see yourself through the lens of some nebulous judging entity on the outside!

But allow yourself to ignore it.

Because now, you can take your art on your own terms; not on art Youtuber’s terms, not on your disapproving social circle’s terms, or whatever overly-hopeful expectations have been set on you because that’s what we as a capitalistic society do to people displaying any sort of prowess or potential of; Yours.

You deserve to be comfortable with your own work. You deserve to look at something, and feel however you may, and feel as though it isn’t a big deal. You are allowed to find pleasure in just being. That is what art is for: to answer the longings of a yearning soul.

Go forth, love of mine,

And be.

[geraskierbrainrot]

This is a collection of Alternate Universe fics where soulmates exist (and, more often than not, Jaskier and Geralt are soulmates)

One-marker by @zuzallove | T | 1k

Some people are born with a thousand soulmates. Others with just one. Geralt has a meagre double mark. It doesn't matter, though, does it? It's not like he's going to have a relationship with either one of his soulmates. Cue Jaskier.

Nisrae by spqr | M | 3k

Jaskier's seventeen when he pulls the Witcher from the fire. He has no idea, at the time, that it's a magical fire.

Socially Accpetable Ways to Meet Your Soulmate by @elpiething | E | 4k

Jaskier's parents weren't precisely keen on their oldest Omega child going to Oxenfurt to learn art. So they told him to pay off his own student debt. Which means they can't technically get mad at him for going in for a camera test at Vengeance Studios. - An AU where Alphas can't knot without medical assistance. Or their soulmate.

you don't have to call me yours, my love by @serenfire | T | 4k

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. “This is absolutely my fault, and I shouldn’t have accompanied you in the first place. But you don’t have to worry about me! I can deal with this myself.” “Jaskier, you’ve been cursed to tell the truth until you fucking smooch your soulmate!” Geralt shouts. “And you don’t have a soulmate! So no, you can’t deal with this yourself.” Jaskier winces. “It’s actually a little worse than that,” he admits. “I know for a fact that I will never be anyone’s soulmate.”

I Promise (Not) by @zuzallove | M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 5k

It's modern era New York. Jaskier is an aspiring singer/songwriter who pisses off the wrong person. Geralt is the man supposed to beat him up. It's not that simple, though.

“Yen,” Gorgeous growled into the phone. “Did you know that I was called away from the Marini deal tonight because a twink that looks twelve accidentally offended that moronic cousin of yours?” Jaskier gasped, putting a hand on his heart to show him how outraged he was.

Ear Worm by @raven-dirt | M | 6k

When a song is stuck in your head, it means your soulmate is listening to it, wherever they are in the world.

Or

Geralt hasn’t slept properly since 1229 because he can always hear singing.

What's Mine is Yours by @operacricket | T | 7k

Jaskier had always had a set of lungs to rival the North wind. By the time he was old enough to put words to his wailing, his poor mother’s head was grey and her heart torn by the babe who had never once stopped crying. There wasn’t a healer or witch she took him to who didn’t say the same thing: there was nothing to fix. They could treat a bruise, bandage the reflections of another’s injuries that sometimes echoed onto his skin, but there was no curing pain that wasn’t his. --- Soulmates Share Injuries AU

→ They Know (I'm Yours) | T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | 1k

There's more danger in their connection than a few bumps and bruises.

Love as You Are by @geralt-jaskier | E | 16k

Jaskier didn’t want to marry just any noblewoman--no matter how comely she may be--he wanted adventure and many loves, but most importantly his biggest, greatest love of all. He is not expecting that love to be in the form of a brooding stranger sitting at the back of a tavern. In one instant his breath catches in his throat at the beauty of the man before him and in the next, there’s a burning sensation on the bottom of his heel as his mark makes itself known. It’s pain and pleasure knotted together, roses surrounded by thorns.

Of soulmarks and one-sided matches by @ylc1 | T | 17k

Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a happy experience. In Geralt’s experience however, things rarely ever go as they’re supposed to.

Nothing to Lose But My Secrets by @handwrittenhello | E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 45k

Jaskier is the best assassin in the Northern Kingdoms. On the most important mission of his life-- kill the Warlord of the North or die trying --things go terribly wrong, and he's taken prisoner. During his time as a captive in Kaer Morhen, he's forced to confront some uncomfortable truths: witchers aren't what the stories say, his soulmate is most definitely somewhere in the keep, and he may have found himself on the wrong side of this war. -- aka a warlord AU, soulmate AU, and enemies-to-lovers fic all in one!

Show love to all these authors by leaving kudos and comments, and happy reading!

[brettesims]

Breaking Generational Trauma: How to Become an Artist with a Family Full of Doubters

Hey my little Community!

This has honestly been a topic that has been on my mind for years. I feel like I haven't addressed it, not for personal embarrassment, but due to how embarrassed I was by how others treated me. I am so sick of playing this "prefect family" role society makes us play. Most of us do not have that and I refuse to be ashamed of authenticity. So, lets talk:

In the self love community it is said that we teach others HOW to treat us. So for many years I was ashamed to speak on the emotional abuse I endured within my immediate family and friendship groups. I think we also have to remember how deeply conditioned individuals are, especially black people in America, due to the mental conditioning directly linked to slavery. If you aren't yet awakened in self love then it's easy to blindly and unconsciously play out these patterns; which is the only way I can explain my family blocking my success. My last art hiatus was caused by my family. I don't want to have another so I must speak my mind.

I am an astrology lover and in astrology I am a Mars in Cancer zodiac placement (if you know you know) but your Mars placement is your action. Your method of operation. Being that my placement is in Cancer; the divine mother, I am supposed to flow in soft feminine awareness utilizing my high priestesses spiritual intuition. Instead I was born into a family of wolves. Wolves that often prey on my own happiness and joy, as that is what my art is an embodiment of and represents.

Now, I am sure you are thinking - well it's not uncommon for artists to complain about family support. It's not uncommon for black women to have endured family trauma. Yet, its one thing to have an unsupported family, but it's quite another to have a family that preys on your success and inner love flow.

I come from an emotionally unsupportive family with means. They have every means available; every contact, resource & connection I require to succeed. They supported my brother through law school -jobless. They would even offered him in-family jobs. But when I do art as my job they act as if that isn't real. They showed me none of the same support. They have only been kind to me when I have suffered the abuse of 9-5 jobs they forced me to enslave myself in.

This is not a knock to any 9-5 grind, but it is to say that it ain't for me. It's not my job. And it's toxic for me to pretend as if that is my path. When it came to me evolving as an artist and Nonprofit founder my family has every contact and resource available to support me to if they actually wanted - but most of the time, they choose not to. Every time I lift a project up out of despair or pick myself up from the pain of their incessant emotional abuse, they aim to drag me down further. They cannot stand my joy.

Whether it's campaigning for my Nonprofit, working on my art, launching a podcast, launching a Self Love Shop, Launching NFTs, or a Youtube Channel they pretend to completely ignore everything I work on. My mother "ignored" my Nonprofit then recently created her own, saying I couldn't get involved. She then hired another black woman my exact age and gets a high growing her own Nonprofit as she watches mine struggle and says nothing.

The excuse is that they have "given me everything". Everything I am is because of them they like to remind me. Everything material. But what does that matter if the inside is hollow? What do all the riches in the world mean if the support is fake and the love is conditional? My elitist family attaches value to how much money each person has. They belittle people who have none. They also belittle mental health care and spirituality.

They have disdain for every aspect of what I am. I have always been bullied by my family. They when I do these things in joy and they see it on social media, they stalk my pages and begin to emotionally tear me down. Even when I block them, which I do - it continues because they will gossip to my friends and everyone they know about me. They talk behind my back and tell stories about who and what I am. They have brutally character assassinated me for years.

People love to talk about me but tend to be terrified to actually talk TO me. Probably because they know I see them. I can tell what inauthenticity is because I came from a household full of it. I know when people are talking shit because my family has talked shit about me my entire life. I can tell when people aren’t walking in their truth because I have come from a family that never has.

A few years before the pandemic, when my loving Gemini grandpa died, who was my ONLY sense of unconditional love and support - my family turned on me. My Grandpa, Abba, protected me. He supported me. He taught me art. He clearly saw the ways in which my family treated me; hated my joy and would break me down when they saw me in joy. So growing up, he gave me everything and anything I wanted. I think in some ways he taught me self love. Only because of him do I know I CAN DO, BE and HAVE ALL things. He was a pure soul. I know he is now my guardian angel.

Before a lot of therapy, I had so many gaps in my memory, because I blocked out how bad the emotional abuse actually was growing up. I have always had to hide my joy from my family or they well find it and take it away somehow.

It's like they seek, search and look where I find the most joy, go to that source and taint it. For example, my brother did this with my group of friends. He started hanging out with the 2nd family I had created for myself - FAR away from my real family. He tarnished my name, character and reputation and with it the credibility of my art businesses.

My family loves to spread ill rumors that I have mental health issues when I run a global Nonprofit that exists to help heal the worlds mental health while giving girls of color protection within the art world I never had. Them not supporting me isn’t even the worse part. I think what’s FAR worse is that they lie about supporting me to my face and slander my name behind my back.

As a mental health advocate do you know what that does to my credibility? They socially outcasted me to hide their truth and simultaneously take away my power. I am obsessed with mental health care because I have always had to protect myself from a family that does not take mental health seriously.

I had to take responsibility for my own mental health because they never would. I can't count how many self help books I have read since the age of 15. At 13 I had to BEG for therapy after my parents divorce. I had to heal my own depression through art, self love, books, teachers, courses, meditation, spirituality, and more! I constantly work on myself. I work on myself every single day and am obsessed with inner work and inner growth. I like to show up as the highest version of myself every single day!

This blog is a 14 year old testament to that. So the fact that my family will not stop shading me and breaking me down even now at I'm at the highest point of a career I have had to climb myself up to - is truly deplorable.

I have been harassed by my family for months, and more brutally when announcing my solo art show.

Since no one in my life has ever stood up for me before - I am forced to stand up for myself. How can any artist create without authentic support? It's impossible. I love family. I have a very close connection to my cousins who have nothing to do with this. I even love my family as much as they spew distain back at me.

But I am DONE with this chapter of abuse. Because my family emotionally abused me for so many years and still does... my jobs, circumstances, relationships have all reflected that same abuse. They will never acknowledge it and continue to put up this cookie cutter external view of a "perfect family" never owning up to the fact that this family targets, harasses and emotionally tortures one individual artist. So while I don't even want to write this - I have to.

I should be celebrating my biggest accomplishment of planning for the BIGGEST (and 3rd) solo art show of my career. But I have been protecting myself and battling my family for months now. When announcing the show via social media my mother said "allegedly you have an art show" continuing the on-going false narrative that I am a liar, and my father tried to put in my head and my little sisters head that my paintings don't sell. That is not even true. I have sold many many paintings; by the grace of God. My fathers white girlfriend also lied on my name with my brother. They love talking about me together. And she wouldn’t let me see my own sister for over 2 years. White lies. So yea I think my mental health would have to be intact to deal with such disorder.

And on top of all that… for over 2 years my art collection has been locked in storage due to family. My mother arranged that during COVID behind my back. My Art stuff was stuck in LA and I was in the Bay and no one would help me for 2 years. I recently recovered it.

But you know what the good part of all this is? That my eyes are finally open and that I am no longer afraid to speak out against this abuse, because I know other black women and other artists go through the same and in voicing something - you learn we are never really alone. And happily the humor in all of this is… lol that they all thought I didn’t know; friends and family alike. Since the beginning I’ve been observing them ALL in silence. I’ve been watching how they move and switch up. When they tune out you home in.

So anyway, that was a long story and you can tune into my Podcast to hear all about this in more detail, but sometimes I need to write things off my chest and this was just that.

If you dig my art, all I would really ask is that you support it, support my Patreon, my art shop, Self Love Shop, Podcast, Vlog, Nonprofit and more! I have put so many digital resources our to help the collective heal and to safeguard you all against feelings of betrayal, depression, alonesness and more.

In all of this it has really made me walk my talk on another level. It has taken my artwork and self love to another level. Due to my family coming for me during an actual world pandemic it made me truly realize how much art DOES save lives and self love heals! Self love also saves lives and art heals!

Thank you for allowing me to share tumblr community and thank you for all the love & support you have been showing me! I truly appreciate it!

Click to listen to the Pod about this!

Love,

B

#PROTECTBLACKWOMEN

STOP ARTIST ABUSE - ACT NOW!

[ellyellipsis]

Please be very braced for incredibly serious topics if you wish to read this.

I don't particularly mind who continues past this point, but do keep in mind that this one is just for me.

It really, truly, is just for me.

But I want to be able to say that I said it.

As close to aloud as I possibly can.

Consider this my formal statement that I am going to return to the act of writing for my own self-interest. No more cornering myself with expectations; I miss the me that wrote entire novels. Whole fucking book series. The me that put decades of work into worlds no one ever got to see.

... I'm not saying I never want anything I make to see the light of day, but I miss who I was. I burned it all. Most of that time is in the void now, with only scraps to remind me of ideas that used to get me out of bed in the morning. They were, after all, vestiges of who I used to be; a very hurt, very manipulated child that had a lot of growing up to do.

And that's who I lost touch with. That's who I abandoned, somewhere on the road between here and there. In many ways, who I am now feels like the escapee- the last little inch of undamaged soul rocketing forward out of a rotten vessel.

I owe it to who I was to go back. I always feared it. I never wanted to inspect the wreckage, or the remains, but... they're my origin.

They were my home once.

I always want to tell the stories. Every fucking time I think about them I wanna talk about it, and it feels fake on my tongue. "It happened to someone else," I say, but so what? Does it mean anything that shit happened to someone else? Does it validate how I was treated in anyway that I can simply distance myself from it all?

I always thought when I got older, I'd understand why it all happened. I don't think I ever will. I'm almost thirty now. She was older than that when she was grooming a thirteen year old. Somehow, no one saw any issue with that; somehow the kid was the perpetrator, the monster, the weird creep that obviously wasn't being told "but I love you so it's okay" from a deranged fucking degenerate.

They were older than me, even now, when they harassed a thirteen year old for the crimes of their abuser. They were older than that when they said the kid deserved it. Some friends used doxxing, some of them had the decency to mail in a simple "kill yourself."

I never knew the depths of the lies. I wonder about it sometimes. How do you get an entire warband of adults rallied against a child? An abuse victim, no less? How utterly slimey do you have to be to convince a group that, no guys, it's actually the pedophile's victim that's the bad one here?

It took me years- years to realize I didn't just have a "bad ex." I was used, I was stolen from, I was raped.

And the worst part is the pattern isn't just for the perpetrator; it's for the victim too. I spent so long wandering between manipulative users actually thoroughly convinced that that was how it was supposed to work. Time after time I gave everything I had to people who had utterly no fucking business taking it.

Even a close friend for the last decade; I look back upon them and realize they were so incredibly artfully chosen. I managed to find someone who could tell me exactly what to do, who to be, and whip me into the form they expected just the way she did. Because that's exactly how I was trained to be.

So every single time I channeled my pain into my art. I made people- I made worlds- I wrote about the setting sun upon dead worlds. I scripted the end times and I killed heroes. I pretended I was someone else, somewhere else. The only language I truly understood was the abyss where feelings went to die. Writing was my coping mechanism.

Every word I ever put together was born from trauma. It was one of my - that is, the real me's - first acts to absolutely salt the earth with it. Burned to a crisp, shredded the ashes, and cast to the wind.

I thought it was better that way. I didn't want to be burdened with scars even if they were beautiful. I decided there wasn't poetry in my pain.

But what I'm coming to realize is disassociation only gets you so far.

And if you lose touch with who you were, you can never truly be who you want to be.

I'm sorry, in other words, that I abandoned it all. That I abandoned who I was because people had left so many dents in it that I didn't want it anymore.

Because I'm here at the wreckage now, and I see it clearly for the first time. I see the remains of who I left behind. Someone who only wanted to care, to feel love, to make art and bring joy. Someone who was sincere, and decent, and never became anything like those who'd hurt them.

And I'm ashamed, truthfully, I'm fucking ashamed that it's taken me this long. Their last act of kindness was to get me to safety and the way I've repaid it is to forget everything about them and pretend we were strangers.

I thought ignoring old hurt would make it go away, but it just makes you vile and trigger happy. Accepting that I'm still the same person I ever was doesn't mean they won. It doesn't make me a product of how they treated me, or what I went through.

I'm through hating the remains. I'm done loathing reminders. I want to accept myself, in total, and try to move on from the things that turned me so staunchly away from the image I had of myself.

I'm so much stronger than I ever was before, and the greatest shame is that I can't go back and protect anyone. Every single day I think about how I'd give anything to just have five seconds in the past to say that it's going to be okay, and you're not the monster they're trying to turn you into.

But most of all I want to tell myself to keep writing. Not for anyone else's sake. Write on your good days. Write on your bad days. Write because you love, not because you hate.

You spent so long believing that you'd just burn up and leave beautiful remains like a star going supernova, but the truth is more mundane than that. You're going to live a second life, and when you get there you're going to wish that you packed more before you left.

I'm here to pick up every last scrap I left, and that includes my talent. I might be a cheesy writer - the bullshit floral language of this open letter should speak to that - but I'm a damn good cheesy writer. I love that about who I was. I love that about who I am now.

I am a beautiful, capable woman, and I want to be a writer again. If they couldn't break me, it means that I am fucking unbreakable.

None of them deserved what they took from me.

I am taking it back.

I hope you're alone and miserable, Heidi. I am more than what you did to me. I've always been more.