#because i don't function before noon

[harmonysanreads]

hello <3

wishing you freedom and happiness from academic hell before diving in. you opened requests so 👉👈

forgive me if this counts as idea stealing since you posted about it but yan! neuvillette with a darling who wants to file for divorce would be such a messy situation. court proceedings go to him now that the oratrice is no longer functioning. how do you expect to win against the law of the land?

filing divorce in a different land also isn't an option, because it is written in your marriage contract that you cannot leave fontaine without your husband and he sure as hell isn't going to come with you for something like this

oh well.

Jeux de Vagues

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Neuvillette x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Warnings: Yandere, Implications of forced marriage, Captivity, Slight dehumanization, Coercion, Fontaine archon quest act one spoilers, Old married couple bickering (literally)

「 words : 3k 」 「 Trivia for Jeux de Vagues 」 「 read on ao3 」

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hiii Zuri!! I have been brainrotting this fic since version 4.0 so thank you so much for just giving me the opportunity to unleash it lol. For plot reasons this takes place between act 1 and 2. I dedicate this fic to all the anons who brain-rotted with me and kept me motivated to think about neuvillette with their creative asks<3

“Husband, I wish for a divorce.”

In Spring, the snow of the bygone winter thaws and raises the tides. They twirl to the edges of the shores ; push and pull, back and forth, mesmerizing the nation of Hydro with their temptatious dance.

You wonder what it'd take to entice the waves to your direction, to have the power to make them rage and placate. When one desires to control something great, they see its reflection upon mundane things — just as you envision yourself dictating the tides upon cups of dainty porcelain, noon to evening and midnight to dawn — your spoon conducts its rhythm.

In Summer, the waters boil and vaporize upon the touch of sunlight to reach the heavens and complete the cycle. Just as wisps of steaming tea tantalize their way upwards from cups and tea pots. Beyond that translucent veil stares back a pair of watchful eyes, undecipherable are their emotions and primordial their age.

“The tides of time heed no one's orders or pleas. Very well, mon trésor, let us begin this trial.”

You're quick to catch the hint and slow to react, deliberate and relaxed as you bring the rim of the cup to your lips. The tea scathes your lips and paints your tongue bitter, bitter, bitter — a smile stretches across your tingling lips, deeming the liquid's taste adequate to your present temperament.

You are bitter, not because of the contents of this ‘trial’ but, due to the delay of it. You've been crossing days after days from heaps of calendars, preparing all your accusations and aligning evidence to back up your claims for this chance only comes once every fin de siècle.

“I heard your justice machine broke?” a ‘clang’ accompanies the tea cup meeting the saucer. You focus on the chirping of birds and the noises of crystal flies buzzing past instead of the possible damage done by your words.

You hear it, the swell of rising waves before they pacify with a purposeful cough. You don't let the event’s lamentable duration plunder your motivation, more precisely, you take it as a good start.

“Calling it broken is quite the stretch. You and I both know that the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale—”

You swat a hand and the waves placate completely, sans any questions or any other brewing feelings. “I'm quite aware of what it's called, husband.” ‘I just could not care less’ goes unsaid.

You point your finger towards the Iudex of Fontaine, “You,” then return it back to yourself, “and I, both know the purpose of me bringing that incident up in our private trial.”

No amount of sensory loss would render someone ignorant of the mockery of your words. You bite the inside of your cheek in a lazy attempt to suppress a smirk, times like this really make you regret not having the privilege to face off against Neuvillette in the Court of this land ; you're quite sure your most recent stunt would earn you many bewildered gasps. If only the gates of your husband's manor crashed down, perhaps incapacitating him in the process for good measure.

“...Yes, we do. Your intention is to insinuate the impending prophecy and learn how we plan to prevent or battle it.”

Neuvillette's words resemble velvet in the manner they roll off his tongue, you catch his gaze drifting towards the chalice to his left, from where his reflection returns his stare. There are many tales passed among melusines of the equanimity practiced by your husband in even the most dire situations. But you have seen the depths of the ocean, where its secrets are forever concealed by an ever stretching darkness.

“Correct,” you affirm.

“Unfortunately, mon trésor, our investigations have not yet reached a decisive conclusion. While I can guarantee you that we'll do our utmost in the face of the prophecy, I cannot yet give you the specific details. Besides, this information is quite... arbitrary to our ‘trial’.”

The ocean returns your scrutiny, threatening to yank your breath away to that unknown darkness. You watch the ripples along its surface, wondering and devising plots to uproot the ocean's schemes from your safe space.

You want to tear through that ataraxia and illuminate those depths for all to see its hideous secrets — so that your claims will no longer be deemed senseless.

“Well, you could try acting the part of the Iudex first.” you exhibit great interest in your nails.

“Apologies, mon trésor. The trial is now in session.”

The most preposterous trial there ever was, in fact ; spectated by cups of tea and plates of desserts, overlooked by the jury of birds and bees under the naked skies and one stubborn ‘judge’ to lay down the final verdict — who was also the accused in question.

It'd be more fitting to call this some courtroom version of playing house and you wonder if Neuvillette sees it as exactly this ; since the notion of normal matrimonial life flies past his head.

You swallow your profound irritation at his nonchalance and that prickling soft gaze, the calm of the ocean surface is just a facade, you remind yourself.

“O honorable Chief Justice of Fontaine, riddle me of what I must do with my husband. He sees fit to cage me down while preaching justice simultaneously and allows me not to indulge in ‘rudimentary interactions’ with any other life forms. Do you not think that such hypocrisy is utterly ridiculous?”

Your hand cradles your heart, fully embracing the spirit of a mistreated spouse. Neuvillette regards it with an almost comical graveness, nodding as though he understands. Had it not been for the situation, you would've marveled at how willingly he's playing along with this fiasco.

A gloved hand stretches out to you in suggestion, “Perhaps it's because your husband just worries too much for your well-being?”

Your right eye twitches, “I’ve made it acutely obvious to him that I'm far from a toddler in need of constant supervision.”

The Iudex smiles succinctly, “I’m sure that he's not ignorant of that fact. But if, as you say, your husband guards you with such determination that you're not allowed to interact with any other forms of living organisms besides himself, it means that you hold great value to him.”

You cross your arms petulantly, it's not that you're forbidden from talking with everyone, many of Neuvillette's most trusted melusines do come to add flickers of color to your otherwise bleak existence sporadically.

You're grateful for their kindness and brief companionship but, this small leeway does not outweigh the rest of your husband's misdeeds. Your eyes flicker to the patient eyes of the man separated by one small oak table, barely suppressing a scowl at his serene composure.

You despise it when he acts like the raw image of propriety, of an ideal husband ; so withdrawn from the covetous creature that he actually is — because it poses you as a lunatic, a lunatic who demands separation from what the rest of society perceives as perfection and debilitates all of your claims.

The more you think about it, the more frustrated you get — you don't want to let frustration consume you, you don't want to lose this one opportunity for freedom. Your nails dig into the sleeves of your apparel as your mind scrambles to search for more accusations.

Why did you want a divorce again?

You control your erratic breaths forcefully, “Well, I don't feel safe in Fontaine anymore. A deadly prophecy is at our door and with no solution in sight. I'd much prefer to relocate to someplace with less volatile weather, like Liyue or Mondstadt.”

Neuvillette tilts his head, “Ah, you want to go on a vacation, am I correct? To be honest, I've been entertaining the thought of traveling to the other nations with you by my side for quite a while. Though, things being the way as they're now, that is not possible. I can promise you that after everything has been settled, we will go on a journey together, mon trésor.”

This time you don't bother to conceal your disbelief, of course he focuses on the part that most serves him and twists the narrative to further enrich his fantasies! You bite your tongue back from yelling that you don't want a vacation, you want freedom from these suffocating high walls of marble. You don't just want freedom from Neuvillette, you want freedom from this cursed nation and it's solely Neuvillette's fault you were unable to do so with your kin five hundred years ago.

“Fontaine will face diplomatic and political consequences soon. Because you threw that Harbinger of Sumeru—”

“Sneznaya, mon trésor.”

“—I know that. My point is that we might face backlash from the Fatui in our vulnerable state and who knows? Fontaine might just collapse as a nation! I don't want to stay in a city like this.”

You freeze at the sigh that escapes Neuvillette's lips, you've been probing and digging for a normal human reaction from this man for a while, but at the instance that he actually gives it, you cannot help but find it jarring.

“Fontaine will not collapse from something as trivial as diplomatic pressure from the Fatui. Even though the prophecy looms above our heads, there are many factions that are actively working towards prevention. And even if Fontaine were to be drowned tomorrow, I have faith that not all of the citizens will be dissolved and you would always be my first priority. As for that Sneznayan Harbinger… we've merely followed the Court's protocols. If we did indeed convict him of crimes he did not commit, we'll most certainly compensate him to the fullest extent allowed by the law.”

For a transient eternity, all that echoed throughout the garden of the Chief Justice were the chirping of birds. Your mind carefully assesses the words from moments ago, searching for even a modicum of dishonesty.

You watch the Iudex's unfettered gaze, at last giving a glimpse of the tumults raging beneath the pretentious still surface. You can hear the swelling of waves again, albeit not for the purpose to engulf but, with the determination to protect.

You'd recognize that look on Neuvillette's face even in your (unlikely) deathbed, the causation of your bafflement though is that, this is the first time you've seen it appear in correlation to something other than yourself.

Your right hand idly smoothes your garbs and your left grips the wooden handle of your seat, you find both of your palms drenched in sweat upon contact.

“You’ve gone soft, ______”

You blankly admit in your semi-dazed state and it's Neuvillette's turn to take a deep breath. It's been a while since you've spoken that name aloud, the one that is only permitted to be uttered by you in private ambiances such as this and which serves as the origin for this clandestine marriage.

For some reason you cannot quite comprehend — especially since your husband does not seem to suffer from it — your memory enjoys having a love-hate relationship with you. From what you recall at this instance, the last time you called the Iudex by his true name was when he gifted you this garden. Its utterance is so rare that even the bearer is rendered speechless each time.

Neuvillette copies your previous antics and pastes it onto the current situation with a prolonged look-over of your person, “Your apparel today suits you most exquisitely, mon trésor.”

You answer with a gracious eye-roll, “Don’t change the subject.”

The Chief Justice of Fontaine straightens his posture with a somewhat bashful chuckle, the afternoon sun's soft hues make the ivory strands of his hair sparkle. “Apologies, I've been meaning to compliment your appearance, not that it is ever short of radiant — I just could not find a suitable opening.”

You submit to the urge to slouch ever so slightly with a sigh, “You don't have to apologize for every little thing, you know?”

“Apologi—” Neuvillette corrects himself with a cough concealed by his fist, you watch with intrigue as soft coral dusts his pale cheeks.

“As for your ‘question’, I will admit that throughout my coexistence with humans as Fontaine's Iudex, I've come to appreciate their ideals, characteristics and interpersonal relationships. In a way, I've understood myself to a great extent through observing them. Just as you wished I would.”

You furrow your brows in genuine confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your husband seems to steel himself for something, hands intertwined atop the oak table and eyes drained from his earlier playful light all too quickly. “You’ve always wished to become human. To view this world through the eyes of a mortal, to be able to have a taste of their myriad and complex relationships and... to die alongside someone you truly love.”

Somewhere in the crevices of your archaic mind, there's a vacuum hidden beneath the symphony of sea waves. Unchanging, uncharted and unperturbed by your attempts to identify what used to occupy that space.

Neuvillette's cryptic admission creates a crack on what you assumed to be an empty spot occupied by white noise, the cleft dents your memories and spreads, a raucous scream threatens to rupture your eardrums.

“Are you, perhaps,” your fingers clasp onto the silk of your garb, “insinuating that you've granted me my ‘wish’?”

If you had gathered the strength to look up, you would've been blessed with the sight of the Iudex thrown off-guard. But the lapse in composure is short lived, “Of course.”

Something about his easy confirmation annihilates your decorum and replaces it with a rage of unknown origin, “So you think imprisoning me has made me happy? That it's made me feel human? That your kindness and preachings of justice have bewitched me so much that I've considered you as a lover for even a second? No, no and no! I have never and will never stop hating you, ______!”

But why do you hate him? Your thoughts echo back to you ; he's ensured you never have to ask for a meal, he's clothed you, he's provided a solid roof above your head and he's given you his heart — or at least that's what he says.

For not once does a memory that he's mistreated you arise in your head but, what does bubble in your heart is an inexplicable hatred. A hatred so grave that it motivates you to not surrender to this unfair trial, contemptuous waves swell, rise to heights unseen, crash down—

“Do not forget that abandoned property belongs to whoever finds it first.”

And drag everything to the ocean's dark depths.

A jolt shakes your whole body, your eyes rise to meet the tempest in disbelief and suddenly, the dam shatters. Now you can see the serpent leering behind the charming flower, an unrestricted view of what the fair and ideal Iudex is inside those glimmering garbs of honor — a dragon with manicured claws and perfumed scales, seated to a chair of judgement yet, forever guilty of a sin he refuses to purge.

Only you remember that Neuvillette wasn't always like this ; in days not noted down in history he'd been an enigma, unsure of the significance of his existence, burning with contempt for the so-called Usurpers and sometimes cruel. But at least, he wasn't a hypocrite.

He'd dug his talons deep into your heart and skin and engraved his name within your soul, he'd defiled the waters that construct your being with hatred and malice but at least, he hadn't refused to acknowledge that it was him who shackled you to this godforsaken nation, separated from the rest of your kin.

Neuvillette takes a deep breath upon noticing your erratic trembling, the tsunami recedes. “It always ends like this,”

It does. This excuse of a trial with your freedom as the wager, born of your husband's ironic belief of justice, that you should still be given a chance to speak up against iniquity. He'll take great note of any other issues that might cause you distress, but the actual concern will never be addressed — that's how it's been for five centuries.

It is the kind of judge that Neuvillette has become in matters that concern you, finding loopholes to keep you attached to his name yet hidden from prying eyes ; all because of his principle that having a public personal relationship will bring the impartiality of the judiciary system to question.

“However, it must be done to ensure your safety.” you tense as he rises from his seat, gloved fingers trace the silk table cloth.

The grass crunches beneath his heel, “For who knows what the public's reaction would be if it was to be leaked, that the Iudex Neuvillette's spouse was the progenitor of the prophecy?”

You feel the familiar texture of Neuvillette's glove supporting your face, wiping the cascading tears that escaped without your notice. “Do you not remember, mon trésor, that you need me?”

Your vision blurs and all you see is blue, his blue or yours, your mind refuses to confirm. But what it does corroborate are Neuvillette's words, that you would not survive without his care, that you are the first who had wished to become human and that you are the first sinner.

You feel his touch more firmly this time, it's not warm like all the other times ; but soothing and sedating. As though, a cavity within your soul was given meaning and a portion of your memories hidden away. Your eyes are defeated against the temptation of slumber, but before the darkness engulfs you, you vividly hear the rumbling of an ensuing storm, the first of many tears of the sky hitting your skin.

“I suppose this must be my punishment. But, I would rather prefer being the recipient of your scorn and contempt than to not have you at all.”

But why go through such lengths? Neuvillette's conscience asks as he takes your limp body in his arms, the sound of heavy rain follows his footsteps back towards your shared ‘home’.

To this, he consoles himself : the words unspoken are the flower.

[dixons-sunshine]

A/n: I haven't been able to write anything. I want to, and I felt up to it earlier, but someone in my life that I love and trusted made a comment about me that just had me spiraling and I can't really function properly right now. I've started on a young!Daryl fic that I'll continue on tomorrow, but I don't know when it'll be up. In the meantime, though, I've actually enjoyed writing these little imagines. Let me know if I should do more of these.

Imagine having a family day with Daryl and your kid.

Daryl, Rick and Aaron had come together to build a park of some sorts for their own kids; Rick for Judith, Aaron for Gracie, and Daryl for your kid. After months of building slides, swing sets, monkey bars, etc., the park was done and safe for the kids to play on. And one day, you decided to take your little one and Daryl out to test out the playset.

What originally was only supposed to be a morning out turned into a day of fun. You were all smiles that day, and surprisingly, so was your partner. You couldn't figure out who was having more fun; you, Daryl, or your little one. The day was spent playing tag, hide and seek, soccer at one point, you name it, and you couldn't remember when was the last time you had seen Daryl so carefree, so happy.

Both your child and Daryl were extremely muddy and dirty before it was noon, but just that once, you didn't mind. You'd allow them to be smeared with mud if it meant prolonging those looks of pure, unadulterated happiness. And if you happened to get covered with mud along the way because of hugs from your little one? It didn't matter. You've been covered in worse than mud before.

Unknowingly, while making his child's day one of giggles, smiles and fun, he was healing his inner child. He was doing things he never did when he was a kid himself, and by doing so, he was finding out what he liked and what he didn't. (He wasn't particularly fond of the slide. His kid asked him to go down with them and he hated the heat radiating from the metal that practically made his flesh sizzle.) During one particular activity, Daryl had your child on his shoulders. Your little one leaned down and whispered four words into his ear, four words that had his heart swelling and a lump form in his throat:

“I love you, daddy.”

That night, after your kid was all tuckered out and snug in bed, asleep, you were cradling Daryl to your chest. You were running your fingers through his hair, lulling the man you loved into a deep slumber. However, before he went to sleep, he looked up at you sleepily.

“Thank ya.”

“For what?”

“Fer ya. Fer Peanut. Fer this life. Fer givin' me people to love. Fer showin' me tha' m'not tha' unlovable. Jus'... Thank ya so much.”

That made you smile. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, looking down at him fondly.

“I love you, Daryl.”

“Love ya more, sunshine.”

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Any tips on writing for people with ADHD and a short attention span?

Hello! As someone who was recently diagnosed/had to go through the process of jumping through hoops to get meds, I've been trying to put together some new writing routines to get back on track. It has... been a process. Here are some things I've learned (from my personal experience, your mileage may vary):

Writing everyday doesn't work. I think this really common advice has been debunked overall, but let me tell you, there are days when the energy bar starts on empty and stays there. I can function, but the creative juices aren't there. Trying to stay creative by other means, either by reading or working on another hobby, can be a way for you to keep your day productive instead.

Hard schedules don't work. To reflect the above, I can get up at 5am every damn day, but only some of these days will get work done before work. That isn't to say you shouldn't try to make a schedule and stick to it - you'll definitely get more done that way. But it isn't always going to work, and you shouldn't beat yourself up if you can't keep to it every day.

Being 'plugged-in' definitely doesn't work. The 'oh I need to look up how to spell this oh no I'm twelve pages into a Google hole' is definitely still a trap. To keep focused, keep that instant internet away from you. Need to look up something, slap a note on it and come back when you know you don't need to write another 1000 words.

Medication/caffeine/whatever you use to function can only do so much. I can drink a cup of coffee and immediately slam myself into bed. My meds exist to get me through the work day, which is what I need them to do, but won't always be able to keep me through the extra work day. Trying to stay awake and focused when my brain is fucking done for the day just doesn't work. Instead, I have to focus on what does - writing in the morning or at noon, making time when I know I can still function rather than trying to take it on at the end of the day when I know I'll be spent.

What has been working and I've been trying to incorporate more has been:

Drafting on paper. This has always worked for me, and it continues to work for me. Physically writing the words down and editing as I type them does slow down the work, but it makes much more sense to my brain.

Using color codes/other visual tools. Color-coding characters, using different colored pens for types of notes, and flashcards help me flesh out plots. It makes plotting more like an art project, but that in itself can help me be more creative. If you like working on a computer and not by hand, you can spice up Excel sheets and Google docs with different fonts, templates, and adding notes.

Lists, lists, and more lists. I have a planner for work, I have a planner for my personal life, and I have a notepad where I write down all my daily goals, however small. Using a combination of the three has been working great for keeping me on track. For me, physically crossing things out and checking things off is a great motivator.

Alarms and writing sprints. Slap a timer to a screen and write to it. Use an online writing sprint, hop into a work-focused Twitch stream, or use a timed YouTube video to put yourself in a focused environment with a goal in mind.

Relocate. There are certain areas of my apartment that I've dubbed 'The Ooze Zone' where all I can do when I'm there is get nothing done. Unfortunately, because my apartment is quite small, the Ooze Zone takes up most of it. So if you can't set up an office space or a designated area where your brain knows to get work done, consider checking out your local library, a relatively peaceful park, a friend's house, or a cheap coffee shop. I know somewhere who would just drive somewhere and do 80% of his writing in his car. If you can't do your work from home because your brain won't let you, look into alternatives.

If you have meds, take them. Getting medicated and on the right dose is hard, believe me. I've been trying to get back the swing of things after a. being checked out from not being medicated and b. being checked out from not having the right dosage/type of meds. It is a process, but if you have the ability to seek a diagnoses and treatment, it is worth pursuing. If you have meds, take them on a regular schedule and how your doctor recommends. Add an alarm on your phone to remind yourself. Make it part of your routine. Doing it haphazardly is only doing yourself a disfavor.

And lastly, Get More Sleep. The number one thing that may be fucking you over is not sleeping enough. Having ADHD is directly tied with having more sleeping problems in both children and adults. If you have this problem, it is affecting you way more than you know.

Here's the thing - I thought I had a great sleeping schedule for the longest time, and could not figure out why I was so exhausted half the time. But I recently got a fitness tracker, which informed me that actually, my sleeping patterns were complete dogshit. I may have been in bed for eight hours, but I spent three of them tossing and turning.

Make a sleep schedule and stick to it. Go to bed at the same time of night. Consider getting a sleep tracker to see where your sleep patterns are messed up and what you can change to fix it. This sucks, believe me, but going to bed at 9pm to account for that time you'll spent tossing about before you get up at 6am may be the only way to recover those missing sleep hours. Even if it feels like it's taking away from your free time, you will function better overall.

[lilacella]

Was supposed to work on a horror story, but I slipped and wrote this prongsfoot microfic instead.

James is drunk and Sirius is subjected to it. What could possibly go wrong!

Prongsfoot, 937 words

(ao3)

Kiss me, I'm drunk

Sirius pulled a face and lifted his Advanced Curses book, as a drunken James dropped into his bed, right onto his chest.

Sirius had retreated from the party in the common room a while ago. Too many people talking over each other. He couldn't stand it. It reminded him too much of the fancy dinner functions his parents used to drag him to, before he finally fucked off, over a year ago.

He hadn't thought James would notice his absence too much. Lily Evans had been there as well, after all. But after last summer, James seemed to have lost interest in her for whatever reason. Sirius couldn't see why. He had just started to like her...

But apparently James had noticed his absence. And now he was up here, in his bed, pouting at him ridiculously.

"You left me!"

"I didn't think you needed supervision."

James snorted and shuffled up to the pillow, looking up at him accusingly.

"I don't need supervision, I need company!"

"Not enough company at the party, huh?," Sirius asked, mildly amused, but secretly flattered that James seemed to prefer him to everyone else.

He glanced at the tipsy boy next to him. Touseled hair and glasses askew, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He couldn't supress a fond smile.

James shook his head.

"They are all bad influence, Padfoot. Made me do shots! You would never do that," he slurred.

Sirius chuckled. "I would never make you do shots? Why, because I'm so mature and responsible?"

James groaned and swatted at him. "Noo, I meant...You wouldn't let anyone make me do things! You'd have my back!"

"Did you not want to do the shots?"

James pulled a face. "Well...It seemed like a good idea at the time...But now everything is spinning."

He was so drunk.

"I'm so drunk," James complained.

"Barely noticed."

Sirius was about to pick his book back up, when an uncoordinated hand landed on his cheek.

"You are so pretty, Padfoot."

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes. James was being silly. Eventhough his chest felt weirdly tight and warm at his words.

"Thank you," he replied blankly.

James propped himself up on his arms and pushed the book aside once more.

"No, seriously! Noone should be allowed to be this good-looking! You are a guy!"

Sirius frowned. "What's that got to do with it?"

James swayed and involuntarily leaned closer. His hazel eyes unfocused behind his glasses.

"Because I always have to look at your face! Because it looks so good."

He sounded almost accusingly.

"I can't stop looking at you, Pads. And you're a guy! I shouldn't be looking at guys like that..."

Like what?, Sirius wanted to ask, but he didn't. His mouth felt dry. James' face was a little too close for his comfort. Although...It didn't feel too bad, actually. He cleared his throat.

"You are drunk."

"Yes, we've established that," James murmured. "Drunk is bad. Makes me want to do stupid things."

James' hot breath grazed over Sirius' lips. He was suddenly acutely aware of every spot where his friend's body was pressed against his.

"As if we need alcohol for that." Sirius tried to make his voice sound lighthearted and nonchalant, but he could hear the nervousness in it. His heart was inexplicably racing.

James' eyes flickered to his lips.

"You shouldn't look this good."

Sirius didn't get to reply.

He would lie, if he'd said that he'd never thought about how James' lips felt. But he had buried these thoughts deep down, in the drawer of things that he didn't want to deal with. It had become rather crowded in there.

And now it plopped right open, spilling its contents onto the metaphorical floor of his subconscious.

James' lips slotted in between his, and Sirius thought about how his heart always skipped a beat, whenever James put his head on his shoulder.

James' tounge licked clumsily over his mouth, trying to find a way in, and Sirius thought about how the only thing that had kept him going over the summer back at home had been the thought of James, waiting for him on the train on September 1st.

James' upper-lip stubble scraped against his cheek and nose as his tounge ventured further, batteling with Sirius' for access, and Sirius thought about how his heart had plummeted when James had started fancying Lily.

James' body dropped heavily ontop of him, unable to support himself any longer, leaving them pressed together, and Sirius thought about how his skin would always tingle for minutes after James had touched him, even after the thousandth time.

James' kisses started to slow, to trail sloppily over his cheek down to his neck, and Sirius thought about all the times his mind had wandered to his best friend, while getting himself off. About the shame he had felt each time. Because surely, James would be disgusted if he knew.

James' face buried into the crook of his neck, hot breath against his skin, and Sirius wondered if maybe he should stop him, before they did anything they'd regret in the morning. That James may regret in the morning.

James' breath started to even out, softly starting to snore, and Sirius sighed. The heavy weight of realization pressing on his chest.

Or maybe it was just James, laying on top of him.

Sirius absentmindedly threaded his fingers into the dark locks of his best friend, sleeping soundly. Blissfully unaware of the emotional avalanche he'd just kicked loose.

Oh, Sirius thought, trying to calm the painful fluttering in his chest, closing his eyes. I'm so fucked.

[heartfullofleeches]

new batshit idea. Wanna get a greenlight before I do it because it's a little stupid in my opinion... and might be more fucked than some things I've done. Basically - dystopia society where humans produced at mass with little hiccups in machine that leave many without being capable of creating functional thoughts on their own. A pre-written personality is slapped on them and they're shipped out to live "normal" lives as future works, but the rich and powerful have access to technology that allows them to step into these "empty vessels" and play with them as dolls. They're considered so useless by the world that killing them intentionally or not isn't seen as a crime

Reader is a "janitor". A supposedly mindless creature that feeds the carnage spread through the city streets. They don't need sleep, food, or water - until they smell blood. By mystery even to them, Reader is full conscious - and hates every second of it. They're one of the few who considers vessels as living beings of their own and cries when they do what they must to survive. They find one dying on the road one day and cradles them in their arms until that final breath, crying tears noone else would cry for them - unaware the connection with the host was still in tact as their teeth clamped around the dying bodys neck. Our Yan eventually discovers their secret and basically ends themself in front of reader in countless ways to feed their hunger and true nature while presenting as an innocent sweetheart in another body on a different day to get close.

If this sounds good I'll whip up a quick blurbo

[ninjastar107]

Decisions - a megaman AU oneshot Ft. Blues, Tempo, and Vesperwoman

"Talk about dated..." Vesperwoman whispered to her sister, who returned a frustrated sigh. The wasp bot cleared her throat and hovered over to Blues with a cheery smile, "So you're the boy bot she's so obsessed with~!"

Blues gave a shocked expression, "Obsessed?"

"Vesp, come on," Tempo rolled her eyes, "Sorry for her, Mom built her to purposefully get on my nerves."

"Teehee!" She buzzed around and landed, "So, you're one of Light's boys hm? I never knew he was into retrofitting! Hm, the aesthetic is a little too clunky looking for my tastes," She shrugged.

Blues straightened his lips. "I wasn't built recently."

Tempo went to stop her when she realized where the conversation was going, but it was too late, "Really? How come I've never heard of you before?"

"I was dead."

An uncomfortably long dead air hung between the three, only combated by a subtle ticking of Lalinde's living room wall clock.

Vesp made a nail picking action despite not having any, "uh huh?"

Blues folded his arms, "Seems like she was built to get on everyone's nerves."

Tempo shifted on her feet, "Don't take it too personally, Blues. She's helped me a lot through my emotional endeavors. Did you warp in just to hang out? I have a few hours to spare before my shift starts."

"You mean before our shift starts~! We're going to be looking at carpenter bees! You can join if you'd like~" Vesperwoman corrected with a finger waggle.

He decided to take a seat on arm arm of the sofa, pulling the tails of his scarf around to the front, "No thanks. I'm here to," Blues hesitated, "I want to run something by Lalinde before I run it by Thomas. It's about my memory. I figured that she would have experience in that..."

Tempo nodded, "I understand, but she's not in right now. Is it urgent?"

"Um..." Blues looked down, "I guess not."

"I have experience with that!" Vesper chirped, "Are you recalling things you didn't previously?"

"No," he chuckled dryly, "I'm losing them."

Tempo froze. "How fast? Do you know your name?"

"N-not like that," He tried to soften the metaphorical blow with a hand wave, "More like, I dunno. Even before I died I think I ran into this problem. I keep some memories but lose the details, days blend together, some lost completely, sometimes I forget how to talk..." Maybe that last one was a bit too severe, judging by the look both of them gave him. "At first I thought it was because my core was faulty, but now... I'm wondering if it's my memory banks being full. When.. when I ran away, it was because Thomas wanted to switch out my 'core components'. He worried that I would 'run out of space' eventually, but he also worried that doing so would 'reset' me. I didn't want that."

"I see..." Tempo played with her hair, "She'll be back by tomorrow, she had a conference. Would you be okay until then?"

"Wait, he actually died? I thought he was just being dramatic!... what was that like?" Vesper asked.

"Vesp!" Tempo snapped, "You think someone wearing a scarf and sunglasses means that they're dramatic??"

"Duh! It's badboy 101." She playfully poked Tempo's flared nose.

Blues couldn't help but chuckle, thinking of his own sibling banter he's sat in on. He decided to play into her reading, leaning in and flipping the scarf back around, "You really want to know?"

"Yes! I've heard that it's no different than sleeping, at least from Woodman's account!" She sat down next to him, enthralled.

Tempo on the other hand held her elbows uncomfortably, caught between manners and curiosity, "You don't have to if you don't want to..."

"Ive thought about it a lot these past few weeks, and came to better terms with it." Blues assured with a nod before beginning. He looked to the far wall, recalling the time in the process.

"It was fall when it began to affect me in the daytime. There was a period of time where I could no longer function until the sun rose, usually around noon on a cloudy day I would 'wake up'." There was a pause, the words rolling in his head. His speakers emitted a slight hum before starting again, less enthusiastically, "The fault in the core effected the latency of motor functions, as well as software functions. About a few steps were made between leaning for balance against whatever object was around. Time becomes distorted- fast, too fast. At the very end, There was little response from the motor functions.... I.. watched many days pass while being unable to move. Eventually even those days became a repeating sunset. I saw snow, and that was it."

Vesperwoman tried to put herself in the situation, being unable to move or unable to function properly. She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered, "Sounds bad..."

"Did it hurt?" Tempo had kneeled beside him on the floor, staring at the same wall.

"no." Blues put plainly.

"You want your memory units updated." Vesper concluded.

"I don't know yet." Blues was quick to correct, "I don't know if I'm ready. I think I am, but...I want a second opinion. I want to know my options. I don't want to lose any more than I have already..." Though it seemed highly likely. Transferring data from one chip of the same make is one thing, but transferring data from an old set of failing banks to a new one was another. Who knows how much defragging and restoring was truly needed, and the dwelling thought of it all laid heavy in his chest.

Tempo wanted to promise him it would be fine, but she too wasn't certain. Not even all of her old memories were restored, just the majority of them- which happened to be the best and one of the most unlikely outcomes of the restoration.

"There's nothing to worry about!" Vesper stood up, cutting through the dread-filled air. She spun around to face Blues directly with a big grin to boot, "Even if you lose everything, you'll still have us to help you learn!"

"Y-yeah!" Tempo followed suit, "When you were around before my memory was put back in, it helped me a lot with relearning the world. I would do the same for you any day!"

"heh," He straightened up, "Thanks, but lets hope it won't come to that."

[makingspiritualityreal]

Lessons from my Anime Phase

Many years ago, before I matured into my spiritual journey, this used to be an anime blog. I don't regret this phase of my life, even though I completely outgrew it, because I believe it taught me something important.

The content of a creation is more important than the form. There is anime (sadly not as many as you would think) that is a good piece of art. There are regular movies that suck. These years taught me to look deep beyond the surface form and into the meaning of any creation. I'm still waiting for a movie as good at depicting the power of wishful thinking and self repression as Perfect Blue.

Supressing one's emotions leads to serious repercussions. One of the reasons some people find anime so weird is because it is literally an outlet for the collective mentality and emotionality of Japanese societal pressure. It feels exaggerated, but it is a reaction to the external forced numbness and politeness the Japanese society is plagued with. If you don't deal with how you feel regularly and don't express it and process it, if you don't make friends with your demons, you keep bubbling like a cauldron. It leads to having a very edgy, very draining life, not being present with yourself. It leads to not being able to function and ultimately making simple things feel like the end of the world.

Getting older is awesome. I would never come back to my past. Every morning felt like torture. Sometimes, even if life is never perfect, it moves you on in simpler ways that allow for balance. Establishment of healthy routines does wonders for mental peace. The Universe putting you in an environment where you can do that, after years of having that taken away from you, feels blissful. With time comes perspective and you can see your life shaping up and taking you somewhere. That allows you to approach the rest of your life with the same philosophy. I can read this post another 10 years into the future, and think wow, my life got even better. But at least now I am relaxed about it and don't overthink how every tiny little thing can go and I don't try to control or micromanage the future.

Youth is overrated. Hottness is overrated. Very few people really get to enjoy being young and hot, and those that do, are probably on Youtube's most watched list now. Being young and hot only pays off if you happen to be an artist, you're in a good film, or you're lucky enough to be in a music video. With those things, you build a legacy you will have forever. But most young women spend their youth and beauty on dating guys they wish they could forget in their 30s. At least I can say I spent it on spiritual growth, which I am really proud of. I was younger and "hotter" once, but paradoxically I feel like I'm becoming more beautiful. I had absolutely no benefits from being young and hot. I had no good relationships and everyone irl always criticized me for breathing. I never felt attractive. My highlights were compliments from my online friends, because noone around me actually thought well of me in my physical life. I'm married now, but this is my first serious adult relationship. I didn't have any good relationships that really appreciated my looks back then. So whatever has passed, hasn't really been used anyway. I was very insecure because I lived surrounded by unfair criticism from many people, who should have been supporting me but betrayed me. Maybe some people have fun in their youth, I honestly didn't. Moving away from all the people that made my youth something I'm glad to put behind me was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Being different growing up is hell for everybody, no matter what form it takes. Being an outcast is probably the number one debilitating thing that makes youth difficult. You have no role models, you have no support, you endure extra pressure. But over time, even those that are different end up finding their place, and they realise they were just different to people around them in their early environment, but they're not that different from the rest of the world.

[nhasablogg]

I dont wanna monopolize all your prompts but maybe a short one where Spencer won't/cant go to sleep/is drinking too much coffee to stay awake so someone tickles him to tire him out? Or just to convince him to get some actual rest?

-M

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Hotch, Reid

A/N: This is probably ooc, but I don't CARE I wanted to write about Hotch and Reid. Also tweaked the prompt a little, hope that's okay!

Words: 1.3k

Hotch didn’t make it a habit to profile his profilers. It didn’t seem ethical, especially not if it didn’t affect their abilities to work. Which was exactly why it took him slightly too long to realize that Reid was sleep deprived.

“How many hours of sleep per night does a person need to function normally?” he asked him that afternoon.

Reid looked up from his paperwork, one hand gripping his fifth cup of coffee. “Between seven and eight depending on age.”

“I see. And how many do you get on a nightly basis?”

Reid straightened, his lips pursing. “I sense I made a mistake.”

“How many, Reid?”

“Mmm.”

“Reid.”

“Maybe two?”

“Two?”

“Not every single night of my life!” Reid scrambled to add. “But. Recently.”

Hotch rubbed at his temples. “Jesus. For how long?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“Reid. You need to lay off the coffee.”

“It’s not because of that,” Reid said, holding up his hands. “It’s the only way I can focus during the day. It doesn’t matter how tired I am at night. I just can’t seem to sleep.”

“Nightmares?” Hotch remembered when Morgan had approached him about it a few years ago, when Reid’s nightmares had started.

Reid shrugged. “Partly. I’ve been able to handle them before, though.”

“We experience new things all the time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you find it harder now.”

“I’m not ashamed.” But he wouldn’t meet Hotch’s eyes now, turning back to his pile of papers.

Hotch huffed, wondering how to approach this. It wasn’t as if he could physically make sure Reid was sleeping.

Unless…

“I want you to take a nap right now.”

Reid turned back to him. “Sorry?”

“We have a couch and a quiet room for a reason. This job’s demanding. I order you to go to sleep.”

Reid held up his cup. “But I’m five coffees down,” he said weakly.

“Then starting tomorrow you’re not allowed to have any more coffee past noon and will take a nap after lunch.”

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“No arguing.”

Reid’s mouth snapped shut, but Hotch caught him mumbling something along the lines of “Morgan will tease me to death” as he left him.

And Morgan did, stopping only when Hotch shot him a look the next day. “I think I should enforce this rule on everyone if I’m being honest. I doubt you’re taking care of yourselves as you should.” Everyone squirmed, refusing to look at him. “Hm. Reid, come on, the room is ready for you.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. You look exhausted as it is.”

“I’m fine, Hotch, I promise.”

“Didn’t I say no arguing?”

Reid sighed, following Hotch into the room. It was nothing special really, but it had a couch by the wall, a table and a chair for when you needed complete privacy while working or eating, and a small window with the blinds closed, just in case you needed daylight. Hotch rarely was in here, and he had no doubts his agents barely knew of its existence.

“There’s blankets and extra pillows,” he said, pointing to a basket. “You get an hour.”

“What if I can’t fall asleep?” Reid asked quietly, arms crossed. Holding himself rather than displaying defiance, Hotch noted.

“Just resting is also good for you.” Hotch softened, taking in the young agent. How much he’d seen much too young. “Please try, Reid. Please.”

Hotch left him before he could reply.

*

Reid found him 27 minutes later, hair somewhat unruly and his eyes containing something that nearly scared Hotch a bit. “I can’t. Hotch, I can’t.”

“Reid, Reid, calm down. What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Reid-”

“I just can’t, I-” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

He saw the frustration in the kid now. How he probably spent weeks trying and failing to get the rest he needed. How that was slowly etching itself into his bones and spilling over.

Hotch sighed, wondering if he was crossing a line. “Come with me.”

They went back to the room and Hotch had him sit down next to him on the couch.

“Relax,” he told him. “It’s okay. I want to try something.”

“Okay.”

“I do this to Jack when he can’t sleep. I know you’re not a child,” he added when Reid opened his mouth. “But I think this could help as long as you’re not uncomfortable with me touching you.”

“Uh.”

“Or we can get someone else to do it. Maybe Morgan.”

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Jack relaxes when I stroke his back,” he explained, finding himself smiling softly. “I figured sometimes you just need to know that someone is there. It also helps you relax.”

Reid exhaled. “Is that- something you want to do for me?”

“Of course.” Hotch said it with no hesitation, although still wondering if it was appropriate. But their job literally involved them sleeping and eating and crying around each other. He saw no reason why this would be different. “If you want me to.”

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Reid mumbled, suddenly blushing and turning away from him. “I, uh, should I lie down?”

Hotch hadn’t thought of the details. “Yes, I’ll- I’ll sit on the chair.”

“Okay.”

It was awkward, as they shuffled to get in position. Hotch wheeled the chair over, realizing it was probably much too high for him to comfortably touch Reid, but it would have to do. Reid was facing the back of the couch, visibly tense and waiting for Hotch to approach.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Are you gonna keep doing it until I fall asleep? Because that will probably take hours.”

Hotch really hadn’t thought this through. “I’ll do it for a bit just to help you relax, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?”

“Okay.”

It was strange, to be petting your co-worker, but to be fair it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d done for this job. Reid lay completely still as Hotch let his fingertips run over his back, over his spine and shoulder blades and the nape of his neck. He shivered slightly, which made Hotch smile. Despite everything Reid hadn’t lost his humanity.

“How’s that?”

“Feels good,” Reid mumbled. Hotch could imagine him blushing, eyes closing and mouth slightly agape.

“And a little weird?”

Reid breathed out a laugh. “And a little weird,” he agreed.

Hotch laughed too, running his fingers down Reid’s spine toward his lower back. “Well, hopefully you’ll relax anyway- oh.”

Reid had twitched away from him with a yelp, glancing back at him briefly enough for Hotch to catch his panicked expression. “Uh.”

“Did I cross a line?” Hotch asked, equally as panicked.

“No, no, I just- Ugh.” He turned back around, pressing his face to the couch. “I think I’m good now, sir, thank you, you can leave now.”

“Reid, what-”

“I’ll fall asleep in no time.”

“Reid.” Hotch grabbed his arm. “What happened?”

Reid sighed. “It’s stupid.”

“If I overstepped-”

“You did nothing wrong, it just tickled.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“How could you have known?”

“I’ll be more careful. Is it just your lower back?”

Reid didn’t reply instantly. “My sides. Back ribs. Shoulder blades if you’re being very gentle.”

“I see.”

“Neck too.”

“So I have about one fourth of your back that’s safe to touch,” he joked and Reid groaned, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ll be careful. Although it would have been fun to hear you giggle.”

“I don’t giggle.”

“I’m sure that’s a lie.” In a moment of rare playfulness, Hotch gave Reid’s side a poke, earning something akin to a shriek. “Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I think I know what to do now next time you refuse to sleep.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Now be still and let me continue. I promise not to tickle you.”

Reid did. Hotch deserved a medal for keeping his word.

[actuallyadhd]

Hi, I wonder if you have any recommendations on sleeping schedules, I always fall asleep way too late (4am) so I end up waking up past noon, it’s a mess for holding a job and being a “functional adult” in general.

I’ve had this issue my whole life, even as a young kid I would struggle with mornings, but now I have to pay rent so I’m running out of options.

Also, any tip about getting to places on time would be super appreciated.

Thanks for all the info <3

Sent September 28, 2023

Sleep can be really hard. I don't usually go to bed until the wee hours myself, but I blame that on menopause more than anything else, since it wasn't a thing before.

When I had trouble with sleep as a young adult, it was usually because I'd gotten hyperfocused on something and forgot that sleep is good.

What I've found is that having a really basic bedtime routine can help a lot, and I try to follow the same sequence of events regardless of what time I finally start heading to bed. This helps remind my brain and my body that sleep is good, and makes it more likely to happen.

You might have to play around a bit to find what works best for you, but mine is as follows:

Realize I'm sleepy

Feed my guinea pigs

Use the bathroom

Change into pyjamas

Do some puzzles (e.g., Sudoku) until I'm falling asleep while trying to solve them

Some people read until they're falling asleep, but I can't read before bed because I hyperfocus on words and will stay up all night reading.

If you really can't figure out a way to get yourself to bed earlier, look for work that will fit into your sleep schedule. Things like night security, convenience store staff, etc. could work really well for you.

Being on time for things is hard, and different strategies work for different people.

When I was struggling most with being on time, I tried all the things everyone says to do: I had a designated spot to keep things like my keys and my wallet, I set alarms, etc. But I was still late.

Eventually, I figured out that it doesn't matter how ready I am, when I need to leave I will putter around for a while before actually walking out the door. There's always "just one more thing" that I "need" to do before I go. I timed myself, and I was puttering for an hour every time.

So I figured out what time I needed to leave in order to arrive on time (I was living in Calgary, Alberta, at the time, and it took about half an hour to drive anywhere I needed to be), and then I added an hour on to that and adjusted my alarms. I had one go off an hour before I needed to be on my way, and another go off when I needed to be in the car.

Another thing that really helped was having someone message me or call me when I should be on my way, particularly if I was giving them a ride.

These days, most of my things are with friends. I message or text them when I'm leaving, since that tells them when to expect me (I live in the country and am half an hour from the city). This helps deal with frustration and lets them know that I do, in fact, value their time. I'm not late because I don't care, I'm late because time isn't real.

Followers, do you have any thoughts on these issues? How do you deal with matters of sleep and timeliness?

-J

[im-fckn-threaded]

Hey, I know this blog is about knitting and the people following me would like to see knitting stuff, or so I guess. But I'm also a transportation engineer and urban planner by day and there is a lot of cool stuff out there that I thought some of you might want to see.

Therefore, HIGH LOOP be upon ye (image is clickable and takes you to the project website):

This is the Puji Road Bridge in Shanghai, that is supposed to be transformed into an elevated park "offering a unique urban journey". It connects the districts of Zhabei and Jing’an. From an architectural point of view, this walkway is fun, creative and has a unique and interesting aesthetic. The different colors are supposed to indicate different functionalities. Yellow indicates social activities like sitting and chatting or gastronomy. Magenta areas are supposed to invite the pedestrians to meander and enjoy the view of the river and cityscape. Green is a fast lane for scooters and bikes. And blue is just the background color and space for pop-up stores or event space. Cool cool....

I had to do a bit of digging around on google maps, but this is what it currently looks like and on the other side what it is supposed look like one day:

Except, from a transportation engineering perpective this thing is a nightmare!!! You wanna know why? Safety and order! Three things are just going to cause lots of issues and that are the colors, the road markings and the assigned spaces for the different groups of road users and the way they mingle.

The following is not supposed to be bashing cool new concepts for the fun of it, but is based on serious knowledge and experience from a professional and practical point of view.

We know from experience and recent research, how pedestrians decide where to walk. For example by sending them through a virtual reality environment or using eye tracking technology in the real world. Generally they are the ones most sensitive to detours, because they are the slowest group of road users. So, red is for pedestrians? Imagine being the wheelchair user or their companion in the lower right corner of the picture, having to walk the red line:

First of all, noone in their right mind is going to do that, not even when taking a walk and taking in the scenery. That's going to take forever.

Secondly, we know that pedestrians as well as any other participant in traffic need some kind of visual aid to know, what their designated space to use is, where does other participants' space begin and end etc. Even on streets dedicated to cars only, we need a division in lanes, as soon as a certain width is reached. That creates a feeling of safety and also gives people a general sense of order (which is what the brain wants in almost all kinds of situations in life). Usually in urban and transportation planning we try to work with axes. This bridge, I don't even know where to place this in terms of axes. There is not a single axis. You have to change direction all the time or you bump into something. Everything is all over the place. Look how many times the different paths cross. And then they want to let city scooters drive there? And what is that green line in the middle of the road? The murder lane? Dissecting the entire space into three parts, so you have to cross even more times, from left to right, from the yellow sun loungers on the right to the yellow sitting area on the left (which is probably catering or a pop-up store or whatever), from one view point to the sitting area? There are these flower pots (seemingly random), sometimes round, sometimes oblong. And people walking on the blue parts???? Which are dedicated to what exactly?? Just think of how annoying it is to walk somewhere and having to bypass even the smallest obstacle, inconveniently placed.

Lastly, no road marking on the entire thing looks like established standards. Most people don't even know the meaning of road markings, they don't see very often. Let alone something they have never seen before. What is the difference between the red and the white dashed line? Why is the white one left and then right on the fast lane? Why does it stop and start again in the middle of nowhere? Does it make a difference for me and my scooter, where the white stripes are? Where do the bikes go, whre the scooters? What if you are faster and have to overtake? And why do the stripes suddenly stop and the regular doted line divides the lanes?

I dream of this design at night and wake up crying. But it's fun to look at.

[bomberqueen17]

ok lol

after all that i didn't actually tell myself the story of what i have to do today

you see the hubris. i was like "i have described the problem huzzah" check a thing off the list move on.

part of the thing i was describing was how lists don't work for me. so like. in the text of that post was me explaining that i had to do a thing in order to function. and then. then! i didn't do that thing.

ok so today what do i have to do! a lot of it i have already done on sheer momentum but now i have been stymied by something and have to regroup.

i have to load and run the dishwasher, check!

i have to put in a load of laundry, check!

i have to go over to my own house, bringing a number of items which i had for traveling but which should not wind up at dude's mom's house, check!

I am going to bemusedly greet the electrical inspector for the town, who was supposed to be rescheduled and not come today, and give him a little tour of the things the electrician said weren't ready to be inspected, and he's going to say oh yes, I see what he was going for, he's done a lot of stuff already, isn't this nice, well I'll be back, have him call me when he's done those two things he didn't get to, everything else looks really good. This will derail me a bit, but I will persevere.

whilst at the house, i am going to cut out fabric to make my own not-quite-floorcloth to go under the microwave, since i want to put something there before i do anything else, and i hate the paltry shelf-liner offerings actually in stock anywhere in town, and i am too decision-paralysised to actually buy anything online rn. check! (finished measurements will be 26.5x23". I found enough white canvas for this, and have soaked and ironed it in accordance with the tutorial, but i am going to paint it and then sew it to an unpainted backing, which I hope will protect the shelf surface, as I don't need this shelf to be grippy since it's just to protect the painted surface from the microwave and whatever winds up next to it. So the backing is an old mostly-polyester sheet, somewhat pilled with wear, because i know that won't be slippery but also won't scratch the surface.)

I was going to then prime this canvas, but I don't... have any primer? This is false, I know I do, but damned if I know where it would be. I have to stop by a hardware store for paint chips and polyurethane anyway, so now I guess I'll get some primer. I don't think I need art store primer for this at all.

i have terrible acrylic craft paints but i am not trying to do anything wildly sophisticated. in fact i'm not sure what i'm trying to do. actually i could get little sample pots of a couple of the colors i'm considering at the hardware store, paint smallish swatches on the wall, and then paint this cloth with the leftovers, LOL. That might actually be the thing to do???

Dude might be annoyed if I'm swatching without even having consulted with him but 1) i know what he likes and 2) he's so busy rn he won't even put his plate in the dishwasher or talk to me about what groceries to buy so like, he doesn't have the energy to care, and anyway you can just paint right back over swatches and in fact I will do so, so whatever. Possibly the swatches will just give him something to disagree with but when you are as fatigued-in-general as he is, often that is the best way to get a decision made!

(heck what if i painted the whole shelf liner cloth a gradient between two of the adjacent swatch colors and then stenciled a doily over it in metallic gold that'd be a pretty sick shelf liner pattern)

ANYWAY the story of what else i have to do today is that i also have to go to the grocery store. so if i manage both the grocery store and the hardware store before noon i'm gonna be the fucking champion of the fucking world i tell you what. but that is my goal. i should do the hardware store first so the groceries don't have to sit in the car and get warm but that feels contrary because the grocery store is more urgent. but no, i'm going to do the hardware store first because i am a little bitch and can do what i want. and i won't forget the groceries after that. (famous last words, stay tuned to see if i do)

[marscia]

i just finished watching fruits basket (2019) this morning and i feel so empty idk what to do. i feel like i'm spiraling 😭 it's a little past noon now and i haven't done anything productive for the day because i just feel. so. so. empty and i can't function i don't understand why. i've never felt this emotional over an anime before, i have really puffy eyes rn because i've been bawling my eyes out since last night after starting season 3. and it sucks because none of my friends has seen this show so i have no one to talk to about this i want to. scream

[kiaroscuro]

Title: as the world caves in

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

Warning:

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They wander into the city at the beginning of noon, scouring the shrine grounds first thing in the morning before setting off. The shallow groans of the mutated can be heard even before Ren and Arsene step past the stone arch designating the path towards the temple, and he's got his handgun out in a flash while they carefully slink past the infected humans. The snow crunches softly underfoot, and Ren wonders if there's any survivors in the city -- finds himself disinclined to inspect it. Their priorities right now are to scour a safe base for what might just be the remainder of the winter months: it is early December now, so they were looking at about two months, possibly three before they can continue towards Tokyo.  

Nagatsugawa seems to be a very traditional city, at least in the parts they traverse, and none of the homes that are somewhat intact (not broken apart or full of visible gore, that is) seem like they would survive long against any mutated that would try to seriously hurt their little party, especially if it is infected shadows. Arsene frowns as they pass yet another disturbed zen garden. Something more western would probably be better, he comments kind of delicately, as if Ren would chose to be offended now of all times about the disregard for traditional buildings and architecture.

I agree, he sends instead, shifting around. Their short stay in the shrine might've done him good, but he was still stiff from the cold and his shoulder. They have a close encounter with a horde of humans who noticed them, but mutated humans are much less horrifying than shadows, and together they quickly thin the rounds until they can escape -- into a much more modern district, the wooden houses giving way to concrete builds. Ren takes a moment to recuperate, eying the snow in front of them. ...do we want to look for apartments again? Or something like a shopping mall, or hospital? What's the most secure?

Arsene is silent next to Ren, the soft snowfall melting on his mask and skin but sticking to his clothes and wings, making him look like a vengeful snow angel before he answers, head tilted. It depends, really. Considering the length of our stay -- maybe a hotel? Elevated rooms for defense, amenities that might still function -- do thou know anything about this city?

...a horror manga artist lives here, Ren answers, because that's his only bit of trivia. So a hotel, then: with a personal generator in the hopes that we might get some electricity? Unless you suddenly got zio skills I don't know anything about, Ren jokes, and Arsene huffs before they continue. The upside of hotel rooms is also the fact that they have the possibility of finding previously-unoccupied rooms, so that they don't have to invade someone's private home again, which still makes Ren's skin crawl with guilt. They pass a public library, making note of it absentmindedly because it also seems like a good last-minute fortification with its distinctly heavy doors and small, barred windows, before they start their search in earnest.

They dismiss the Hanasarasa and the Windsor as soon as they step into the lobbies and are met with the stench of the decayed and dead, and three more afterwards because Arsene doesn't think they're high enough floorplan-wise. The next is a traditional-styled Onsen Inn hotel that's, again, not very secure but which has a natural hot spring amongst its three choices. Ren stares at it, kind of awed that there'd be one, and they test the water to find it warm against all odds. "...at least we know where to come to take a bath," he murmurs, transfixed. It's been so long since he's had warm running water...

Ren shakes his head before continuing onwards, pressed to find a hotel nearby so that they could use this golden opportunity often. They check out two, finding passable floor-plans and little in the way of dead or mutated people -- one had electronic sliding doors that were broken in, making the lobby a possible hazard, so in the end the hotel they settled on the Enakyo Grand Hotel with its ornate wooden entrance door and rather traditional style. The best of both, Ren joked, glancing around the lobby and noting the little kiosk and restaurant area. Arsene has already walked over to the reception area, leafing through a pamphlet before whistling (somehow. Ren stopped questioning how the persona made over half of his noises with his mask). I agree; there's family suites that are decked out with kitchens -- and gas stoves.

Ren stares. "Really?"

Arsene smiles, wings fluffing up. "Oui. Not all of the rooms, but there's a few in the west part of the building. Not as high as I would've liked, but gas is-- good." He finishes. His voice still was kind of croaky, but nowhere near as bad as in the past, so Ren let it slide that Arsene was talking out loud, sidling up next to him.

"No words on any sort of generators or anything like that, but we can check that out later -- between the gas stove and the hot spring nearby, I think this is a good choice." Ren comments, turning towards the wall of keys and ignoring the flecks of blood in the reception. They'll have to clean out the lobby, Ren thinks, because he can't in good conscience leave it like this if they planned on living here for a while. Arsene consults the pamphlets before choosing their room keys -- five, so that they could decide between living spaces -- and Ren blinks abruptly, hand smoothing over Mona's collar.

"Oh." He says, and Arsene turns around in confusion. "Sorry, it's just -- this is all strangely... domestic, considering we're in the middle of a- zombie apocalypse."

They're both silent for a moment. "...we're out of mortal danger -- sure, we've not made it to Tokyo, and I don't know when we'll make it there, but we're as safe as we can be for only being a team of two, and we've found a place to sleep, have access to warm water and to gas for cooking, and there's a kiosk here and a seven-eleven three streets past, and we can always go hunting because we're near the edge of the city. So we're also pretty good on that front... it's just strange, isn't it?"

"I think," Arsene starts, delicately, "I think we deserve some down-time. Ever since the cataclysm has happened, we've been relentless in our goals to reach Tokyo, and we've not really had time to really grieve... or do anything but compartmentalize. I know that thou're worried about the others, but I think thou also-- need this. We need this," he amends, and Ren stares at him, before lowering his lashes and breathing softly.

"You're probably right. Okay. Let's choose a room and then clean up the lobby, yeah?"

Mh.

--

They ended up choosing one of the traditional-style rooms on the second-highest floor, with a view of the city and the nearby river and forest from their balcony; the room was on the corner, so the balcony wound around in an L shape, a surprisingly big thing. If they secured wires around it, they might even use it. There was a rectangular living room with low seats and a kotatsu and some storage space, a small tv in the corner. A sliding screen door was separating it from the humble kitchenette. Another sliding door lead to the small bedroom, two futons on raised frames and a drawer, and the only western door connected to the bathroom, consisting of a shower, sink and toilet. Ren knew from past experiences that the shower would be unusable, but the toilet could be used as long as they kept refilling the water tank after each time. He stares at it. Note to self: we need buckets of water. A lot of buckets. I think that should be our first priority, right after we clean everything out.

Also more gas tanks -- but I can ransack the first few from the other rooms. Arsene adds, amused. We'll need water in the kitchen, too. Maybe use the balcony to store it? And we have to explore the hotel before starting any renovating, I don't trust it to not have surprises in store.

Yeah, that too.

(Two days later, Ren glances around their new home, taking in the citrus scent of the air fresheners Arsene had hung up everywhere. They'd cleaned their room of dust and the lobby of blood, methodically went through each of the rooms and locked the ones with the dead while marking the ones that were empty. They checked out the working spaces as well, locked any doors to dangerous-looking equipment. A stack of candles has been squirrelled away, as well as any spare batteries and flashlights they could find -- a few baby lamps, too, until their room had sufficient light even in the dark and with the curtains drawn tight to not attract any attention. Any pots and pans have been taken for water storage as well. A trip to the supermarket had them stock up on basic necessities like shampoo and toilet paper and medicine for the little cabinet, and Ren found a handwashing machine and water tank and took that with them as well. Arsene acquired chicken wire and a toolbox, and the second evening in the hotel was spent hammering down the wire onto their balcony to protect them at least somewhat from flying mutated. Their things were stored in the drawers and cupboards, and Ren had pushed the beds together the first night, was now standing in the living room in sweats and pink fuzzy slippers the hotel provided. He had put Morgana's yellow collar on top of the drawer with two candles.

It felt like the first time since Mona's death that Ren could take a deep breath and really hope for the future.)

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[thegempage]

alone, hunt, fear, and monster for both watchful eyes and hammerfall plsssss

oh Fuck yeah absolutely!!

context for the unfamiliar: they're both pf2e characters; watchful eyes (she/her) is my gnoll barbarian and hammerfall at high noon (or hammerfall) (any but mainly they/he) is a leshy gunslinger (as well as some fire bullshit)!

(from this ask meme)

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

watchful eyes: uhhh badly! like really badly! in fact, being abandoned and alone is her deepest fear!! jfdklsajfdskfdls she was definitely completely isolated after she was separated from her original family until she found the orcs who ended up taking her in and she never wants to go through that again. but when she's alone at home, she ends up just being... quiet. meditative, almost. tends to talk to her mentor's skull to fill the silence when it goes on a little too long.

tbh i feel like she won't sleep alone if she can help it. part of why she loves going on missions is having a convenient excuse to sleep wrapped around her friends

hammerfall: hammerfall actually.... tbh i don't think he'd mind being alone. they've spent a lot of their time either actually or functionally alone, sometimes for working reasons and sometimes for traveling reasons. there was definitely a period where he was traveling through the mana wastes all on his own and he doesn't think much of it! they act pretty similarly alone to with people -- perhaps a little more willing to divulge their gunsmithing secrets bcus no one's around to hear them and they want to talk themselves through a project, or to the project.

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

watchful eyes: watchful eyes feels like she is constantly outrunning a moment of failure, a moment where she will no longer be strong enough to protect the people she loves. if she trains hard enough, she feels like she can out pace it for longer, even if she doesn't do so with that thought consciously in mind. she's often on alert when on missions, but at home at the lodge she will turn into a big, cuddly puddle for a while.

hammerfall: hmm... i feel like, even if he doesn't realize it, hammerfall is running from what happened to Pops. they're consciously chasing new gun techniques and new skills, but some part of them knows that going home means facing the changes Pops has gone through, and continues to go through now that they've left. he doesn't know what to do about it, or if he can, but that thought's for another day, as far as he's concerned.

also, 100% always has a hand near their gun. even when among friends. there's a reason his clothes are leather but his holsters are made of his body.

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

watchful eyes: see above jfkdlasfjds being abandoned and alone is her deepest fear, and she tries very, very hard not to let that happen. she starts to buckle whenever it comes up, though as much as possible she pushes off that melting until she's safe again. i really don't think she'd talk about it, though, not to others, because she doesn't want them to worry unnecessarily about her! she's supposed to be a tank, after all.

hammerfall: so canonically? the answer is that they... don't have one. hammerfall grew up in a terrifying environment and is an immortal soul temporarily bound to a physical body. fire is just a thing that Lives In Him. they have no reason to fear god nor creature, because at the end of the day, this is one lifetime of many, and they're the best shot they know. i feel like this shows, tbh, esp when the people around him are experiencing Horrors™

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

answered watchful eyes here!

hammerfall: so here's like. the thing. i honestly?? honestly?? think hammerfall is fucking unsettling to look at. like, even if they look like any other sagebrush leshy, the smoke constantly rising from their body and the way they hold themself, plus the gun and the fact that they stand like they're always ready to shoot clearly makes them an outlier. i don't think he's necessarily monstrous, but unless someone is used to dealing with magic bullshit, i think you'd struggle to be around him for very long. and that's before they open their mouth to start talking about guns or the mana wastes or their life before the current mission and make vague references to doing crime and eating meat and their six-armed Pops.

thank you so much for the ask : D!!!

[luftgames]

Want to take a breif moment to consider something we've all seen before, in designing and even just playing RPGs: The Three Pillars.

We've all heard of them before - "gameplay can be split into three pillars; Combat, Exploration, and Roleplay." Combat is where you beat up whoever is getting in the way, Roleplay is when there's noone to beat up, and Exploration is getting from one Combat or Roleplay encounter to the next. Sometimes the edges of these blend a bit, but this is the general understanding of the pillars.

We use these pillars and how prominent they are to judge wether or not a game is for us, or even a good game in the first place. If the Combat's too simplified, why bother getting in fights - if the Roleplay's weak, wouldn't it be better as a boardgame - if the Exploration's not well explained, how do we decide what we're doing? If your three-legged stool is missing a leg, not only is it actually a ladder, but it can't stand up on its own either.

But while these are important things to consider, I believe we've been ignoring a potential fourth leg to the stool: The Metagame. Roleplay, Combat, and Exploration are all events that happen within the game world itsself, but Meta is what goes on outside of the game world. The game itsself, and how you interact with it.

If I may make an over-long example, take baseball.

Considered by many to be a boring game, on the surface, Baseball is simple. Hit the ball, run, score. Do this more than the opponent and win. Let's apply the three pillars, and say the pitch is our Roleplay, hitting is our point of Combat, and then running the bases makes up our Exploration - just like that, we've made a functional game.

...but there's a lot more field out there than just the batter's box and pitcher's mound. And out in that field is where the game comes to life - with the Meta.

In Baseball, a pitch is not just throwing a ball at a target - it's a mind game. What's the pitcher's ability? What kinds of throw can they manage? Who's the hitter? Do they hit better with high balls or low? Where do they hit to on average? Are there people on base? Will that change the tactics, with a bunt or a sacrifice play? And once the ball is in the air, a whole new load of considerations are in play - how fast are the runners? Is is better to make a long throw to stop a point, or make a shorter one for an easy out? And on the recieving end, is the person ready and able to catch the throw, and what will they do with it?

People who enjoy baseball don't just watch it - they study it. They keep statistics in real-time. They know averages by heart. They study lineups, and follow seasonal drafts like paparazzi. All this because baseball has a very rich Meta surrounding the simple premise of 'hit ball, run fast.'

So going back into RPGs, Meta is everything around the specific actions of the Three Pillars. It's the brain-tickling "crunch" that many players tout in their favorite games. It's player expression, not through talking or beating up baddies, but through studying and beating the game itsself.

So, to build the Meta pillar of a game, there needs to be rules that satisfy that creative and puzzle-solving side of the players - often, character creation being the first and foremost example.

Imperium Maledictum (just one table of which is above,) has a number of levels to character creation - home planet, faction, traits, and Role all affecting the character you play with - but it also has another layer - all of these things can be randomized... For XP. The interplay between choice of stats and an initial stat boost make for an interesting system to play with.

Savage Worlds has a system of traits - you start the game with a number of trait points, and can pick character benefits with them. But there's a wrinkle: You can choose negetive traits to give yourself additional trait points. This allows the choice to be selectively weak in order to be stronger at something else, right from the start - and works wonders for Roleplay as the game goes on.

I would dare to say one of the largest games in the industry owes its entire existence to the pillar of Meta. Pathfinder is, are its core, a riff on Dungeons and Dragons. It holds the same focus on combat, Roleplay encounters are largely handled by skills, and hex-crawl Exploration is nothing new. But where it stands out is options. The very races you play as are diverse, and replete with options. Classes can be built a multitude of ways, and even the combat system allows more actions, creating a vast web of potential that players can delve into for ages before even rolling a single die.

And the enjoyment of Meta doesn't end with character creation - having tools and tables for exploration, item generation, and world building are all great tools to engage players and occupy GMs for months at a time.

In direct contrast stands Powered by the Apocalypse: A simple, stripped-down version of the RPG, that features pre-set characters, with pre-set moves. Construction is minimal, and details are vague - Gamma World has charts for weapon damage, classification, and how much fatigue sets in from using it. Apocalypse World simply asks how much harm is dealt when you "exchange harm."

While this is clearly enjoyed by a great many due to the flood of PBtA titles in the past decade, this simplicity is also a horrifying anathema those who love the crunch of old-school RPGs. One is not superior to another, but just as with the classic pillars, a focus (or lack thereof) on Meta changes the balance of a game, and who the intended audience will be.

So, at length; Consider the Meta when building a game. What systems exist that will allow for the game to be enjoyed, even when not at the table? How can the mechanics themselves be used as a tool of self-expression and engagement? Are the rules themselves simply what defines the gameplay, or are they to be played with?

And most importantly, as with any game design, consider: Who is the game for? If your answer is to engage the hyper-fixated nerds among us, then perhaps Meta should be the strongest leg of the four-legged stool.

Anyways, it's a thought.

[localorphanage]

TW /// VENT -----------------------------

I'm sorry, i just wanted to let this out, i have noone to talk to and just wanna rant.

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My sister has austism, adhd, and anxiety, she is very high functioning though. I have adhd and schizoaffective bipolar disorder. My parents, spend tons of money on her to help her function better, but not much on me. She starts school late every day, and comes home not even 2 hours later, my parents both work full time and have to leave to collect her, deducting from their PTO (paid time off) and they aren't mad about it. My parents spend money on useless gadgets, which often range 70$aud to 570$aud from drop shippers claiming their product helps her disorders (mainly fidgets which is stupid cause she already has 50+ and they clearly don't work). Whenever I need something cheap, they always say no, even when it's under $10aud and tell me I'm spoilt. Money isn't an issue, our household income is over 200kaud a year, meaning we have alot of disposable income, and apparently something cheap is an issue (yes i have a job but it's minimum wage and i enjoy it)? Whenever I need to be picked up because I'm unsuitable to drive due to a bpd episode, they get super pissed and won't pick me up and tell me I'm a manipulative b*tch (they started calling me this from 9 years old before I was diagnosed with schizoaffective bipolar disorder). All the attention goes on my sister every second, day, week, month and year. My dad stuck around, but he's never present. My biggest supporter is some stupid guy I met on tumblr. I hate being the glass child. I hate how's there is noone to blame, not my sister for being this way, not my parents for needing to help her, and not me for being me.

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Sorry you have stumbled upon this and thanks if you read this far. If you're lonely and need a friend, hit up my dms!

- Lots of love, Evie 💙💙