#my thought exercise always ends at ITS NOT A GOOD IDEA NO MATTER WHAT.

[bardic-inspo]

Dhampir Dreams

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Generic/Unnamed)

Part 1 of 2

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Key Tags: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, body worship, light dom/sub, light bondage, light praise kink, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dacryphilia, cunnilingus, PIV, Astarion’s past trauma, smut with so many feelings but nearly no plot, character introspection

Summary:

Tav saw beauty in Astarion he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like. Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her. Or: an angsty-turned-horny character study about the pale elf and his thoughts on creating new (un)life.

A/N: This is my first stab at writing a more generic Tav. Tav in this piece is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns. Most other identifying features are left out.

Click here to read on AO3 instead

Astarion’s never thought much about making another vampire.

In the rare moments the notion occurred to him, he shoved it to the far back shelf of his mind so as not to waste himself on an exercise in futility. What did it matter, after all, while Cazador still lorded over him?

More than anything, Astarion yearned to see Cazador’s blood spill. In his mind’s eye, he’d watch it pool across the floor, not unlike the way he'd seen so much clothing puddled at so many heels. The lake he’d make of his master would be wide enough to swallow the garments of all who’d stripped bare before Astarion. Every sweat-soaked night he found himself bound to another moldering mattress beneath someone else’s weight, rocking through the motions that left his stomach sour, he’d fill his mind with such sweet dreams as Cazador’s death.

Whether Cazador would allow Astarion to drink his blood before being relieved of it varied with the fantasy. The dream changed as often as the hands on Astarion’s hips. It mattered little to him whether Cazador’s end came with true vampirism or not. As long as he ended. 

As long as the vile river of shit that comprised Astarion’s life ended, one way or another. For better. Or for good.

Of course, he flirted with the fantasy of his own spawn, sent out like skittering spiders to dispense his will. Foul little monsters they would be. Fine tools to have in his arsenal; Astarion would only want such wretches of his own the way one might want a hammer to pound a nail. And what he wanted didn’t hold any weight while bound in Cazador’s chains.

So the idea recoiled into the dusty recesses of his mind, collecting cobwebs kitty-corner to such out of reach trophies as freedom from his servitude to Cazador and the sun itself. Both still gleamed, despite the tarnish of time and hope rusted over. Despite Astarion’s prayers, no heroes came to save him. No gods or slayers or saviors spared him from his servitude. 

Until the illithids did.

Despite everything -- the centuries of torment, the hollow where his heart should be, its silence in his ribcage, the scars on his back, the thousands of other lashes that Cazador let fade from his porcelain skin -- Astarion did the one thing Cazador could never.

He stood in the sun. And on the sands of that same beach, another miracle washed ashore. A contradiction. His counterweight to everything else he’d ever known.

Tav.

Astarion’s hands roam the supple shape of her nestled against his bare chest. Her breath crests and falls soft and rhythmic, like the gentle slap of waves against the cliffs where they first found each other. His darling is always so serene in her sleep. Astarion dips his head down, nosing her splayed hair on the pillow, drinking in the lovely scent of lavender that always lingers with his lover.

Often, he wakes before her, as he does now in the dim blue light of dusk. Not yet dark enough for him to step outside, but for the moment, there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. Not even in the raw, rippling light of day.

The smell of her has his eyelids heavy again, the steady patter of her heartbeat hypnotic in his head. His hands curve over the flare of her hips before slipping beneath the hem of her tunic. He stifles the satisfied hum that bubbles in the back of his throat as his palm smooths down the lithe stretch of her stomach. He resettles with his nose in the crook of her neck, eyelashes grazing the twin puncture scars that mark her as his.

He’d thought, once, that he’d ascend and have her at his side for an eternity. He was scared. Frantic. Grasping. He thought he had to grasp at something, fashion some sort of tether, to have her. Thought he had to have power, and enough of it, to keep her. Now he holds her every morning in the bed they share, until day becomes night again. It’s as effortless as blinking.

Now, the thought of turning Tav into a vampire turns his stomach.

His lips brush, tender, to the flutter of her pulse in her neck. He loves those marks he gave her. He loves the way her fingertips tap against them when she’s lost in thought. He loves the way she arches into his arms as he feeds, the way her body gives and gives to him alone. That sleepy, slap-happy smile she has when he’s lapped his last for the evening. The way her eyes roll back, and she gasps, breathless, as he kisses a trail from her neck to a nipple and sucks fervently.

He loves that he’s marked her, but that it didn’t change her. He can still curl into the heat of her skin at night. Still watch her preen in a mirror. Still stare at those gorgeous eyes and know the shade of them is hers. Her cheeks still turn the shade of sunrise when he leans in with a lustful whisper, or grazes her waist with a feather-light touch.

Absently, his fingers follow the path of an old scar on her stomach. At its end, he finds the start of softness. Astarion loves that, too. She didn’t used to be soft there, when they were just surviving. They’re not just surviving anymore.

Perhaps he’s changed her after all. It’s not so scary anymore to admit she’s turned him, too. Not to the light, or anything so nauseatingly righteous. But rather, so Astarion could see himself in it. Even if his days of standing in the sun are done.

I’ll be your mirror, she vowed, what feels like another lifetime ago. She smiled in that fond way of hers that, at the time, hurt to look at too long. He scoffed at her poetic ruminations on his hair curling near his ears. The creases when he laughs. 

Tav saw beauty in him he couldn’t have seen himself, even if he had a reflection to gawk at. She made love with a man who never thought he could have anything near it. Made all his red dreams come true, and then said: go on, make new ones, in whatever color you like.

Astarion never thought about being a father. Not before her.

He’s thought of Tav as a mother before. It flitted through his mind when Astarion watched her ease Arabella’s pounding heart with the gentleness of her own. That feeling lingered when Yenna joined their camp, and Astarion caught Tav teaching her cards. Combing the snarls from the girl’s hair. Coaching her in the basics of swordplay.

She’d be a wonderful mother. Astarion has no doubts in that regard. And he, well…

He doesn’t have an example to look back on, or one to look up to. But he has his compass. Tav’s heart beats, sure and steady, in his ear. That sound’s guided him through so much else. How could he lose his way for long, if there were two pitter-patters to listen to? 

His palm paints cool over that blooming softness in her stomach. An ache burns in his own. The sort of hunger her blood won’t sate. Would she taste even sweeter, he wonders, with her body rounded and swollen? 

Of course she would. So hard to improve something so perfect already. But she’d be radiant, if she were ripe with their child.

And after, when their babe is born, and her body is new all over again, he'd love every line, every fold, every mark that came from their coupling. He’d worship every part of her that was remade by the two of them to make the three of them. Marvel at the way the same body that first truly fed him would feed their child, too. 

He’d help her find her way back to pleasure in her own way, in her own time. Just as she did for him. His Tav gives, and gives, and he’d give her anything, everything, for the rest of his days, if a wretch like him would be so stupidly blessed to be the father of her child.

Astarion pulls a breath between his teeth, his nose flooding with her floral scent again. That would change, too. She’d carry new notes in her sweat, in her slick, in her blood, while carrying their babe. Astarion wants to taste them all, to learn what songs she can sing while he does.

Instinctually, he presses to the plump of her ass to soothe the building stiffness in his cock. He plants a muted hum in the fabric of the pillow. His groin throbs to the thump-thump of his compass, beating oblivious beneath her ribs.

He pictures pouring into her, night after night, his spend spilling in little translucent rivers down her slicked thighs, overflowing from her cunt. Too much for her to hold in, but she’d take him as long as it takes until life sparks inside of her. Tav’s determined in all her undertakings. Resilient. 

And in his dreams, she’s pliant. Pleading. 

“Star, please.”

She’s trembling in that slinky, translucent nightgown she wears to bed sometimes. The one that hardly hides her skin, but cloaks it in a delectable, silvery sheen. He likes it too much to ruin it. Or at least, he has every other night. 

Oh, he’d like to ruin it, now.

Tav’s pupils are blown black with want. Sweat shimmers on her skin, spurring his tongue to swipe his own lips. Her shoulder peeks bare from her nightgown, and Astarion can see her pebbled nipples, dark beneath the sheer silk that separates them. Hardened with hardly a touch. A feeling he’s intimately familiar with. His cock twitches as he strokes the back of his hand over the soft swell of her breast. 

“Aren’t you sore, sweet thing?” He tries for tender, but it comes out coarse. Rough like the way he wants to grip her hips.

“So be gentle,” she says with a sultry smile, lips peeled apart and glistening just enough that Astarion can’t peel his eyes away. “I know you’ll take good care of me.”

Astarion slinks forward, crowding her against the edge of the bed. Careful, like cradling glass, his palm reaches out to cup the side of her cheek. She sighs into the touch, the curve of her smile reaching the heel of his hand.

“Always,” he says reverently, before his voice sinks to a growl. “You’re always so, so eager…for me.”

Her lashes flutter low over hungry eyes. All it takes is one little wordless bob of her head for Astarion’s own hunger to have the best of him. With a lazy roll of his wrists, he shoves her back with kind but firm force. The mattress bends with her impact, her breathless laughter nearly lost beneath the whine of the wooden frame. Astarion crawls after her, hands fisting in her nightgown, and pulling her free of it.

And then, she’s bare beneath him. Writhing from his tongue and teeth. Gasping out the best words he’s ever heard. Astarion downs them like a man starved, kissing her with the kind of fervor he thought reserved for bloodlust. But her lips, the promises they pour, are sustenance all on their own.

“I’m yours,” she whispers, “all yours. Always. All of me.”

Astarion can’t stifle the whine that drags from some hollow in his chest he never knew about before.

The bed creaks as he hitches one of Tav’s limber legs up over his shoulder and nips a path of sharp kisses from her ankle to the crux of her thigh. He pauses, sweeping a feverish gaze over the spread of her: legs parted in his grip, that perfect slit, already wet with want, the rest of her sprawled naked across the bed, at his mercy, at his desire, at her own. 

He leans down, tongue dipping leisurely through her cunt. Always, she swore. So there’s no hurry in how he takes apart the woman he loves so dearly, in one of her favorite ways to be unmade. No matter how many times she claws the sheets and hisses, “Please, Star. F-fuck, I need you inside of me.”

It turns something in the depths of him to hear his own name said as a prayer. It makes him want with a force and harshness stronger than any thirst he’s felt for blood. He wants to turn her. Change her. Forever, for good. For the life they could make from their bodies, bound as close as souls could be. He wants to see her swell with the love they make, with all the love he’ll leave inside her.

She’s so close, her legs quaking violently when her hand tangles his hair and yanks his head upright. She’s beautiful, flushed ruby red, taking her air in shallow doses. Her eyes burn with equal measures adoration and reproach.

Astarion smirks, unrepentant, lips smeared with devotion. “My love, any work of art takes time. And that’s what we’re making, you know. When others look upon our progeny, they will weep in the sight of such beauty.”

“If all it takes is time, dearest,” she says, with a smile just as filthy, “then I don’t want to waste one second of it lying here empty.”

“Mmm,” Astarion sighs, nosing down against her throbbing clit, eyes flashing back to hers as he dares another lick. Her fist tightens in his hair. Astarion only chuckles. 

“You’re right, of course,” he croons. “That won’t do, at all. I do recall promising to-- how did you put it the other night? ‘Fuck you full and senseless’? I’m more partial to what you begged me for a tenday ago, when I had you face-down and waiting for me as soon as the sun was set. Remind me again, my love, what you said when you weren't gasping my name?"

Astarion presses the tip of his tongue to her clit again and tastes her rapid, ravenous pulse in the heat of it. Tav’s hips jerk in response, but he holds her fast.

“I-I said I want-- that I want--”

“You want me to ‘breed you like a damn animal’," he finishes for her. "Oh, don’t be shy now, my sweet. We’re far past that. And we want the same things, after all. But," he sighs, letting his lips drag through her flushed folds, "I've another promise to keep, first.”

Astarion flicks his wrist, muttering magic beneath his breath. Tav’s sharp little yelp of surprise shoots heat straight to his groin. His cock throbs as she settles again, arms bound above her head by his mage hand, tits bouncing from the slightest struggle against her restraints. She smirks up at him, eyes aflame with fresh desire. Escape is the farthest thing from what she wants.

“You lie back now, dear,” Astarion drawls. “You’ll take me soon enough. You’ll be so good for me, like you always are, and take everything I give you. And I’ll take very, very good care of the woman I intend to make a mother.”

Astarion watches her keenly, tracing his forefinger down through her slick. He unfurls it, circling her cunt daintily, and watching her writhe for even the faintest promise of friction. He’s not sure if it’s his mercy or his selfishness that readily discards the thought of keeping her here, just like this, for the rest of the day. She’s mesmerizing, with the way her back arches from the blankets, and how her body strains towards any touch he’ll spare her. 

All mine, he thinks, with a smile that makes him feel weightless. He grounds his hardened cock against the edge of the bed, groaning. All yours, darling. Just for you.

Pride rumbles low in his chest as he sets his mouth back to work again and knows she can’t cover her own. There’s no muffling his name pouring from her lips. No hiding how she cries for him. Her whole body winds taut, shuddering with every stroke of his tongue. 

Finally, finally, he lets his finger slip inside her. Astarion sighs into a satisfied purr, letting the tremble of it soak into her sex. Her cunt’s a vice around his knuckle. Every pump of his finger feeds the building burn inside him, fanning the ache to be sheathed in that tightness. He only aches more, feeling her squeeze around his finger, and knowing she longs for him just the same.

He slips in a second finger to join the first, feeling her spread and then clench anew. Astarion ruts aimlessly into the mattress, in time with the thrust of his wrist. The head of his cock weeps anticipation with the rogue tear trailing down the side of her cheek. It’s only pleasure that makes her cry.

There’s only love in her heavy-lidded gaze as she pants, “Please.”

Mercy, then, Astarion resolves. For both of them.

Her thighs quiver against his ears like leaves in a breeze. Astarion swirls his tongue against the bud of her clit and sucks tightly. Tav stiffens abruptly. His arms hook firm around her legs as a shattered sound breaks from her throat,and a hard tremor courses through her hips. 

He holds her through it, pinning her to the bed until just the faintest brush of his lips has her shuddering. The start of her plaintive whimper has him easing back. A murmured word sets her wrists free of her restraints. Her heart still hammers, sumptuous, in his head, as he peppers her legs in kisses soft as velvet.

“Beautiful,” he whispers with each one, slinking up her body while she comes back down. “So, so beautiful.”

He thinks of new life, as his knee bends between her thighs and drags her open all over again. He thinks of the graveyard, where he had her freely beneath the stars, in the dirt where he woke centuries ago. He thinks he’d be happy to die again, this way, as he slides forward and buries himself inside her waiting heat.

Astarion grates out a long, low moan as he basks in the wrap of her arms and her cunt. Dimly, he feels her fingertips threading gently through his curls. He thinks of sunlight on his skin again as he sinks in fully, bracing his arms on either side of her head, letting his forehead tilt against hers. He can feel her pulse thrumming through her body, through his cock, through his fogged-over thoughts. His hips roll to the sound, as if it beckoned him to motion. Tav’s head drops back into the pillows. She lets out a long, contented hum, while her body rocks in time with his.

“Is this what you needed, darling?” He huffs a laugh, catching her lips in chaste kiss. It’s enough for her to taste her own sweetness. And one squeeze from her cunt is enough to cut his breath away all over again. 

“I think you needed me, too,” she purrs.

“Y-yes,” he stammers through bared teeth, his throat tied taut as she wrings him for all he’s worth. “Yes.”

She knows exactly what he needs, what he yearns for. He needs her, needs this, needs to see his seed seeping from her fucked-out hole, pink and puffy and leaking. He’ll know the rest of it was spent so deep inside her, her fertile womb is flooded. That’s his, too, with the rest of her. 

Hips high for me, beautiful, he’ll say, when his last thrust is done. And he’ll hold her legs up against his shoulders, kiss her heels, and slip the pillow beneath her pelvis. Just to be sure it takes. 

It’ll be another couple months before they’ll start to see the fruit of their efforts. Until Tav starts to bloom with it. And then, he’ll be hard pressed not to have his hands on her every hour. Cupping the fresh heft of her breasts as they grow with the passing days, heavy from him, for the babe growing in her belly. He’ll soothe her weepy eyes and tits alike, with a skilled tongue and sweet whisper. Rub her shoulders to ease the new weight her bones carry. Draw his nose down her neck and smell not just her, but himself, and the consequences of what they did, right here in this bed.

Feel her change beneath his hands and feel so fucking proud to be the reason.

Pleasure winds, binding, around his cock, and he feels that hunger snap its jaws around him all over again. His hips snap with it, jerking frantically. I need you, all of you, he thinks, and if he weren’t already fucking her, he’d be on his knees, begging for all he’s worth. Her cunt quivers, and he’s lost to the grip of her. Astarion shoves his own knuckles in his mouth to stifle a strangled cry. 

“Star?”

Astarion rips awake in a sweat. He sees familiar wooden beams above his head, above his bed. Sunlight streaks the floorboards, leaking from behind the curtains. Turning his cheek, he finds his lover peering at him from over her shoulder, concern wrinkling her face. Tav still lays on her side, and Astarion still presses against her back. But his hand clamps tight to her thigh, bare where he hiked up her tunic. And his cock twitches fitfully against her ass, unspent and painfully hard. 

Just a dream, then. For now, at least. 

He lets out a long, weary sigh, slumping back into the sheets. Tav tilts her head, the worry in her gaze gradually dissolving into a mischievous gleam.

“I thought you might--” she starts, snickering, “but you were having sweet dreams, weren’t you?”

“The best I’ve ever had,” Astarion mutters mournfully as he buries his face in his pillow. “You were there, of course.” 

Astarion rarely sleeps anymore. It’s not normal, not natural for an elf. But it was a trick he taught to dodge Cazador’s torment at least for a few hours a day. Reverie used to mean putting the horrors on repeat. He’d slowly eased from the habit, now that he has new memories worth seeing a second, third, or hundredth time. 

Still, occasionally, he drifts to sleep without meaning to. Sometimes, he wanders off into novel nightmares. Or, if he’s lucky, he dreams of making love to his wife and making her pregnant. Of making their own little dhampir.

His hips shift, and he hisses. Pre-cum seeps from the head of his cock, slickening the shaft. It’s not enough. Not after such a succulent fantasy. But one touch from his darling might have him sated, if not entirely satisfied. Pleasure stabs, sharp, through his groin as she shifts and brushes him with her motion. He grimaces. 

Just one touch alone could do it.

“I’m here now,” she smirks, twisting to face him. Her hand slips down between them. Mercy, he thinks, as her fingers wrap his length. He thrusts into her palm with a pleading whimper. “Tell me all about these dreams of yours.”

A/N: If you're yelling "Let him breed!!" at the screen just know I'm right there with you holding a megaphone about it 💜

If there's interest (from others & myself) perhaps there might be a part two where Tav takes matters into her own hands. Makes him say exactly what he wants, if he wants to have it so bad 👀

EDIT: This is now officially a part one of two 😉

If you'd like me to add you to a tag list for future one-shots, or all of my future BG3 fic (including multi-chapters), leave me a comment and let me know which you'd like!

& HUGE thank you to some lovely Discord and Tumblr friends/moots who cheered me on as I worked on this one! 💜

Tag List: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[thequietkid-moonie]

Happiest last days

[ ONE-SHOT ] [ Class 1-A ]

[ My hero academia / Boku no hero academia ]

⚠️ Hidden depression, implied suicide

This was dificult to write between the depresive episode and the write block... but is here! I thought of doing it with class 3E instead but I didn't at the end, maybe other time? Anyways hope you enjoy it!

Also I thought on mention as much characters I could but I the end I didn't do it much, sorry

Become a hero is almost every child's wish! In a world with superpowers the idea of becoming a hero is like a dream come true! And now that you are in the hero course you can't feel happier. Everything about the course seems like a dream, from your classmates to the teachers, the facilities, the dorms, the classes, it all show how close you truly are to become a hero

Everyday in Class 1A is like a new little adventure, with the training and all those exercises that simulate real situations as a profesional hero every day is quite exciting, learning new things and improving your own habilities gives you a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction like anything before, slowly boosting your self confidence

And not forget about you classmates, no matter how shy you have being at the start everyone is so welcoming and cheerful, everyone is kind in their own way that is so heartwarming

You have spend your days having little adventures with your friends, from playing video games non stop with Denki, Sero and Kirishima to not only learning to dance but do it randomly on the common room with Mina, having some time to just relax and talk with your new friends, enjoying some of the tea Momo kindly make for everyone and even the pastries Sato kindly have share with you

Ever when it comes to school, Momo is more than willing to take you in her little study group (and help you not fail on your grades) or training with your friends to learn new things, everyone is a good option to ask for help but Deku is the more analyltical and he is more than ready to give you some advices about what he can see on your quirk (as long as you don't mind the ranting, he just can't control it)

Even whenever you feel down they are always there to offer some help, like Aoyama who is more aware than he seems and would share you some comforting words in his own way and cheese or Kirishima who is always there to tell you how manly you have being!

Clearly, being in Class 1A, studying for in the future become a profesional hero is like a true dream! Or, well, thats what you constantly tell yourself

Everyday you wake up and remind yourself how amazing are the people around you, trying your best to put a smile before getting out of you room, sometimes a sincere one, other time one not so sincere and yet they always manage to sincerely make you smile

Its true that you have being feeling genuinely happy, having so much fun with your friends and even if school is quite hard sometimes it have made you truly happy, looking back you can easily say that this is the happiest you have being since a long time, or maybe in your entire life

And yet, is not enough to take away the sorrow of your heart, to take out those unspoke feelings that live inside of you, those that torture you in the darkness of your room, those feeling that make you feel like trash, that reminds you that not all in life is fun and you wont be good enough when the time comes to confront the real world, that feeling that makes you just want to finish everything

Even when this has being the happiest days of you life you have already made up your mind, you went through your days like always, having fun with your friends, smiling and laughing at their side, doing your best o what you are doing until the end of the week, without them noticing you prepare everything to put an end to your life, even writing a goodbye note to your dearest friends, hopefuly they won't get mad at you for nor saying it in person

When the day finally came you went through the day like always, enjoying your time with them at its fullest until the moment it came, saying a last bye with a smile and going back to your room, taking some small deep breaths to get ready, smiling to yourself for finally achiving what you wanted the most, ready to finally close your eyes and don't open them ever again, quietly thanking life for letting you met such amazing people before letting the heaviness and sorrow that torments your heart win and finally put an end to your life

[hellsbeenbettersincehesplit]

Cross-posting This Gilded Weight! (The og post was being weird when i tried to edit it so this gets its own post lol) It's my drabble collection exploring snapshots of Vaggie's pre-canon development from her fall to the show pilot. This is the last of my already-posted works that I'm cross-posting over here, the rest will be new stuff. Hope y'all enjoy!

This Gilded Weight

This had to be a nightmare.

Nightmares don’t exist in Heaven, so this was a first, but this had to be one. Vaggie is (was?) an exterminator. Exterminators don’t have weaknesses and don’t show sympathy to dangerous, evil sinners.

At least it was unrealistic- she would never really fall. Her? Over a child’s soul? The idea was laughable. So Vaggie wasn’t stranded wingless on a random street in Hell, and she’d just wait this out. That’s how nightmares work, right?

She wiped tears and golden blood from her face.

No need to worry. She’s be fine once she woke up.

Vaggie drifted in and out of sleep. She couldn’t tell which was real and which was a dream.

In one world, she couldn’t stand and her eye wouldn’t work. But a beautiful woman was feeding her soup and saying soothing words. It… wasn’t awful.

In another world, the extermination was ongoing and she had to kill someone she cared for again and again. It’d always end with harsh words and horrible pain.

She didn’t know which half she should hope was real. In the one she was spending more and more time in, at least she hadn’t killed a child.

Vaggie felt the loss of her wings with every step.

Her back muscles were made to accommodate large wings which held a considerable amount of her body mass. Her steps were too light. On her lower back, the remaining muscle complained from lack of use. Even breathing was different on the ground.

Vaggie kept losing her balance. She’d nearly fall and try to flap wings that weren’t there. She hoped Charlie found it endearingly clumsy, not suspicious. And the phantom pain was horrible.

Hell wasn’t as bad as she’d thought, but she wished she’d been able to keep her wings.

It hadn’t occurred to Vaggie that Charlie didn’t instantly know she was an exorcist- she looked like one and was found near her armor, it wasn’t hard to tell. But by now… it was far too late.

Part of it was safety. Charlie was the princess of hell. Demons couldn’t hurt angels, but Vaggie was vulnerable enough that one could find a way. And if Lucifer found out his daughter befriended an exorcist?

She wasn’t ready to die yet.

More importantly… Charlie saw something good in Vaggie. She couldn’t let that disappear.

What Charlie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

“Don’t worry,” Charlie kept saying at the next extermination. “They can’t go after us.“

A dark cloud of angels descended upon Hell. Ice filled Vaggie’s veins.

Longing pooled in her chest. She wanted to be with them. More accurately- she wanted things to be like before.

It didn’t matter. They’d never take her back.

She couldn’t look away.

Charlie’s arm settled across her shoulder. Soft hands ran through her hair.

“It’s ok to be scared.”

Vaggie rested her head on Charlie’s shoulder. Tarlike guilt filled her chest. Charlie would disappear if she knew the truth. She accepted the comfort anyway.

“… and we’ll have lessons and team exercises and-”

“Charlie,” Vaggie interrupted. “Sinners can’t be redeemed.”

“I have to do something! It’s not fair to just let them die.”

“It’s not,” Vaggie agreed. “But… everyone is here for a reason. People don’t change here.” 

“They might try if there was hope! Don’t you wish you went to heaven?”

“Heaven wouldn’t take me. Not after what I’ve done.” Not a lie, just… misleading.

“But-“

She squeezed Charlie’s hand. “Besides, I’d have to leave you.” Vaggie already regretted her next words. “But… if anyone could do this, it’s you. I’ve got your back. ”

In her time in hell, she’d only met one other fallen angel. She’d gotten a message on sinstagram asking to meet with her. They’d agreed to meet in an alley for privacy.

The other looked… different. Orange hair, scarlet feathers instead of grey.

She still had her wings.

“It’s so hard to find us,” the other had mentioned. “What type?”

“Exterminator.”

“Same.” Vaggie looked her up and down with suspicion, a familiar ache on her shoulders. “Hell changes you.”

“You got to keep your wings?”

“They took yours?“

Vaggie didn’t reach out again. Why remind herself of all she’d lost?

She missed heaven.

Of course she did. It was the best place in the universe. But on a more personal level… she missed heaven home.

She’d had a dove stuffed animal when she was a baby, named Mary. She kept it for years and lost it when she needed it most.

Where she first scraped her knee, the arena she used to spar in, where she’d met her first crush… just gone.

When she was bedridden, Vaggie had begun teaching herself how to draw. One day, her mental image of Heaven wouldn’t be so clear. She’d need something besides memories.

Friendships are a strange thing in Hell. Trust is scarce. Once you have it, the friendship stays.

“I hear the radio demon’s back,” a friend mentioned over coffee. “After seven years!”

Vaggie looked over her shoulder just in case. “Heard where?”

“Just rumors right now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

There was a shift in the atmosphere. The look on their face was deadly serious as they forewarned, “If you ever meet him, don’t trust him, don’t give him an inch, and never make a deal.”

In hell, you listen to warnings the first time.

”I won’t,” Vaggie promised.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Angel Dust held up the pig. “Fat nuggets stays, or I go.”

Charlie looking at Vaggie the way that made her resolve disappear. “Look at that little face!”

“We can’t keep a pig in our hotel.”

“He’s well-behaved?”

“Alright, he can stay!” Charlie decided.

This was unsustainable. Vaggie knew how important this was to Charlie, but where was the line? Couldn’t this effort go towards finding residents who would try?

But… Charlie looked so proud as Angel Dust entered his room. This wouldn’t work, but if it made Charlie happy, she’d put everything into it anyway.

[haggishlyhagging]

The history of drawing on feminist language and theory to sell products has been driven by the idea that female consumers are empowered by their personal consumer choices—indeed, that choice, rather than being a means to an end, is the end itself. The idea that it matters less what you choose than that you have the right to choose is the crux of "choice feminism," whose rise coincided with the rapid, near-overwhelming expansion of consumer choice that began in the 1980s. Consumption, always associated with status, became elevated as a measure of liberation and swelled with the self-obsession of the privileged but insecure. Tom Wolfe identified this dynamic in his coinage of the term "Me Decade," and later satirized it in his 1987 novel The Bonfire of the Vanities. Historian Christopher Lasch, author of the 1979 bestseller The Culture of Narcissism: American Life in an Age of Diminishing Expectations, laid the enshrinement of a cycle of consumption and neediness at the doorstep of the advertising and marketing industries, but also excoriated left-wing movements, feminism included, as enablers. (The temperamentally antifeminist Lasch would later target burgeoning marketplace feminism in his posthumously published collection Women and the Common Life, writing that "the feminist movement, far from civilizing corporate capitalism, has been corrupted by it. It has adopted mercantile habits of thought as its own.")

The feminist cultural historian and media critic Susan J. Douglas has noted, for instance, that the success of advertising to women in the 1980s hinged on its effective pairing of status and power with liberation. As neoliberal, greed-is-good, if-I-have-an-umbrella-it-must-not-be-raining rhetoric became the common tongue of the overclass, luxury beauty products, designer labels, and exercise regimens (Buns of Steel, anyone?) became liberatory achievements, rather than mere consumer goods. "For women in the age of Reagan," wrote Douglas, "elitism and narcissism merged in a perfect appeal to forget the political already, and get back to the personal, which you might be able to do something about.” The representations of choice in a time of tacit postfeminism translated neatly into what could be called "empowertising"—an advertising tactic of lightly invoking feminism in acts of exclusively independent consuming.

Take the infamous 1994 billboards for Wonderbra that featured model Eva Herzigova looking down in delight at her suddenly pneumatic breasts swelling out of a scalloped black bra, alongside the words "Hello Boys." The Wonderbra had been sold in the UK since the mid-1960s, but sales rocketed up thanks to the billboards. The ads worked so well in part because they were tongue-in-check (others in the series read "Look me in the eyes and tell me you love me" and "... Or are you just happy to see me?"), but also because they assumed a level of what feminist theorist Angela McRobbie calls "feminism taken into account"—a belief that the movement's success has rendered it irrelevant as something to be considered in shaping culture. You can almost hear the rationale proffered in the Wonderbra billboard concept review: "This would seem sexist if we didn't know better, but we do know better, and because women know we know better, this is, in fact, empowering." If Herzigova, Kate Moss, and the millions of other women who sent Wonderbras flying out of department stores were making the choice to wear this underpinning, and they’re exhibiting sexual agency in doing so, such logic went, what's more feminist than that?

There are no concrete numbers on how many consumers indulged that postmodern reading of the ads, but based on Herzigova's own reflections twenty years later, probably not a ton. Recalling the billboards (which, in 2011, were voted the most iconic ever by Britain's Outdoor Media Centre), she initially told the UK's Mail Online, "My Wonderbra campaign empowered women.... It didn't degrade them like some said." But in the same article, Herzigova complained that when she tried to shift from modeling to acting, Hollywood executives wanted to check out her underthings first: "I met people who said, Yes, we can talk about the movie over dinner. I was, like, What dinner? I can just read the script here." The fact that the supposedly empowering ad did nothing to chip away at the routine sexualization of women—that it might have further galvanized it, even—didn't seem to register.

-Andi Zeisler, We Were Feminists Once

[mxnxdrama]

Behind the Mask: Character, Past, Memories, Idea

Oh boy, this is a big one. We already know that 'Sparkle' is not her real name, but with how much its used predominantly that it might as well be her real name at this point. But this also poses the question. Which 'Sparkle' is real? As her Myriad Celestia trailer states in the end, "Who's the real Sparkle?"

The answer might either be 'Every Sparkle is real', or 'Every Sparkle is not real'.

Confusing, yes. But it actually has weight to it.

To Sparkle, the name and character of 'Sparkle' is an idea. And ideas are unkillable. Ideas are eternal. The one acting the character may die one day, but the idea of the character will transcend and far outlive them, thus becoming a legacy.

Though of course, Sparkle isn't doing this to please the crowd, or to gain clout. She simply does so for the sake of enjoying oneself. Fame? Money? Power? Success? It doesn't matter if she'd have them, or she'd end up having only less. What matters most is the entertainment and joy she derives from doing so. Sure, she wouldn't admit that she does yearn to noticed by others, but that's just something inherent on every actor after all.

Her Character Story Part IV has a good insight on this idea, on what the character Sparkle means to her, and the purpose of her acting and weaving stories, in general. On how important narrative is to her.

But how does this connect to Past and Memories?

Simple.

The mind can be trained. It can be trained in surprisingly bizarre ways that one can find haunting, and self-destructive to some.

You can train the mind into a pavlovian response. You can train the mind with hypnotic triggers. You can train the mind in simple memorization. The mind is constantly exposed to external stimuli that it learns and can be trained in the most random of ways.

Again, how does this correlate?

As stated on a previous Headcanon post, "In a narrative sense and her penchant of impersonation and the countless, different iterations of her origin, Sparkle effectively embodied this narrative. The concept of story telling of a “Hero’s journey”, narrating multiple starting points, middle points and endpoints of various outcomes she had thought for herself, to the point that every story she claims to be her origin story becomes a red herring meant not only to misdirect, but to also be open to multiple interpretations and suspension of one’s disbelief in order to acclimate themselves to what story they should believe in."

Funnily enough, this is supported by what she says on her Character Story IV:

"Liking and believing are two different things, but people are more likely to believe in their favorite stories."

"Lies? Come on, I'm not trying to tell a grand story or fabricate an eye-catching experience… I'm wholeheartedly exercising my imagination for my own sake. I imagine various lives, seek excitement, and then recreate them as best I can, and pump the brakes on my imaginative balloon just a second before it bursts."

"Seriously, having a script is far from enough. First and foremost, I must wholeheartedly believe that the character I'm portraying truly exists. Then, I need to imagine the other stories where the character would appear. I always need extra information to make their motivation logical and emotional."

Sure, one can have derive a reading from this that Sparkle is simply sharing how her creative process works, and that's completely valid. Creative process and narratives always come hand in hand, after all. However, I would like to add an additional reading to this.

By wholeheartedly believing the the character she's portraying truly exists, this also means that she would have to believe that said character's experiences and memories would be inherently real.

Thus, this alone also connects to the 'Past' and 'Memories' bit I have suggested onto the title of this headcanon post.

I think Sparkle's expertise in narrative is more than enough to fool even a Memokeeper.

By wholeheartedly believing the characters she portray in her 'origin stories' truly exist, as well as recreating those various lives as best she can, she is able to create memories that are so pristine and real, that it can completely fool anyone, or almost anyone, save for the people who truly know her in a personal level.

How is this possible, you say?

Simple.

As stated above, and to requote it, "The mind can be trained. It can be trained in surprisingly bizarre ways that one can find haunting, and self-destructive to some. You can train the mind into a pavlovian response. You can train the mind with hypnotic triggers. You can train the mind in simple memorization. The mind is constantly exposed to external stimuli, be it from others, or from oneself that it learns and can be trained in the most random of ways, be it a net positive or a negative."

Along with that is Sparkle's penchant for method acting.

In fact, this always seem to be Sparkle's go to in regards to acting.

Again, to quote her Character Story IV, "I must wholeheartedly believe that the character I'm portraying truly exists. Then, I need to imagine the other stories where the character would appear. I always need extra information to make their motivation logical and emotional."

But Eris, how can you be so sure that she's indeed a practitioner of method acting?

Its right there.

The need to wholeheartedly believe that the character she's portraying truly exists without a shadow of a doubt, as well as recreating the lives of said character to the best of her ability.

Not to mention, she also says this:

"-what I'm trying to convey is that in such an environment, who but myself can guarantee that I won't stray from my intended path and become a character in someone else's story? Nobody! That's why I have to tirelessly imagine and immerse myself in the act."

"No, I'm not denying it… It's truly addictive to me. The more I imagine, the more I get absorbed in those characters, the wonderful and tragic situations I create for them, and the emotions they experience in those circumstances…"

Not to mention the full, wholehearted willful immersion of oneself in portraying these different Sparkles from her different origin stories.

This is also why she impersonates. In fact, she can impersonate anyone so well, down to the personal level, that only thing limiting her into perfectly passing off as someone else would be foreknowledge and memories. If she is given enough time to fully understand and study another person, then her impersonations would be indiscernible to a haunting degree.

But of course, simple immersion just won't cut it, right?

Here is where self-hypnosis lies as a factor.

I believe that through her Elation powers, Sparkle is able to frequently use some form of hypnotherapy onto herself to either alter, omit, create, or outright suppress memories as if they never even existed. This way, she can train her own mind to truly believe that not only her 'origin stories' are real, but also the experiences and memories from them as well.

But Eris, wouldn't that veer off to a Memokeeper ability already? Sure, Memokeepers already inherently do that on the daily on other people, but the stark difference here is that Sparkle can only do it on herself.

But Eris, shouldn't Memokeepers be able to easily sniff that out?

Sure, they can possibly do that. But Emanators aren't ordinary Pathstriders, are they? Much like how diving too deep in a certain implied Self-Annihilator's memories would take the turn for the absolute worst, trying to pry too deep into Sparkle's mind and memories would only result to psychedelic madness. A massive jigsaw puzzle where every piece don't seem to fit right. A grand house of mirrors, wherein everything is both real and not real at once. A maze that constantly shifts. A liminal space that just goes on and on in sheer maddening randomness.

Again, the mind can be trained. And once it is trained well enough, even fantasy becomes reality. Even fiction becomes fact. Even stories become true events.

The mind can be trained not only to fool others, but also to fool oneself.

This also runs back to another previous Headcanon regarding to the Self. This is the product of the unionizing between Sparkle's conscious and unconscious. This is the Masked Fool's personalized 'perfection'.

An individual who embodies the idea of the Thousand Faces. An individual who doesn't really care about status, wealth or power, but of one's own personal joys and elation.

Hence with such mentality, Sparkle is unbound. Unbound from any limitations, unbound from any constraint. She will go where she pleases, and will do what she sees fit, for the gratification of the self.

"If you want to perform, is there a stage more captivating than your own life?"

Thus, this is the idea of the character Sparkle. The refraction of light on a prism that shines in so many different colors, with each color just as real as the the main light source that had refracted from the prism itself.

Or maybe said refractions are just the trick of the light, and none of them are real?

It all lies on the eye of the beholder.

[reversedumbrella]

hello and happy birthday!! I wanted to thank you for your art, your comics always make me smile anytime I see them and I really love how expressive the faces you draw are! Your demon OC's are also very cool looking... would you like to tell something about them? do you make these for some story or just for fun? 👀

Hope you have a good day.. or night!

thank you!!

my demon oc's are just for fun! they belong to a series of stories "demonicismos" which i don't plan on ever writting. sometimes i don't even remember their stories! i always find myself revising these characters and changing stuff about them and how their world works. i haven't got the opportunity to infodump about these uys in years (actually counting for how long some of them have been around is making me sick)

im going to talk a lot about them. like. A LOT

checking the demonicismos tag on my blog led me to discover i have never really posted much about them, despite the fact that i made charater charts in 2020 or something (unavailable to me atm. most drawings of these characters are away from me rn)

nowadays i don't really care much about them. i've thought about doing a digital card game with them like south park: phone destroyer (yes i used to be into south park. im not ashamed of it. im using this example bc i really liked how a kid could only ever be in the battle field one side at the time. if your opponent played character A and you also had that one, you had to wait until they opponent's died. i also thought about playing around with character dinamics. if a character saw someone they hated join their team, they'd join the enemy team and vice-versa. i got distracted so i never started programming it)

currently im mostly trying to redesign the characters as an exercise for myself. these were the original concepts for egil (pink), marcel (orange/red) and antonio (yellow), versus more recently (i am unhappy in regards to marcel and antonio)

Design Rules

my ideas have changed over time and with them how characters should look. first there weren't any rules, i just drew whatever. then i choose that every demon should have horns and a tail even in human form - it would be a reminder of what they lost. they'd never be human again. then i went back and forth on how much demons could change their shape. it ended with all demons having a human form and a demon form, with some having specific shapeshifting habilities but always with horns and a tail (egil can stretch his limbs but mostly does so in order to be the tallest guy in the room) my last rule, added for this exercise, is that all demons always have their human face. the idea came from that undertale quote - "despite everything its still you" no matter what you do its still you. the good. the bad. you. demons can blame their behaviour on the "corruptive nature of hell" but its them

Basic Lore

i debated myself over wheter or not i'd talk indept about worldbuilding lore, which would triple this post's size. let's go through the basics. people die and become demons in hell. hell is divided into numbered layers and where someone goes after they die is judged according to the motto "nobody deserves to suffer". people that actively stopped others from suffering go to layer 1 and people that found joy in other's suffering go to 9. a demon belongs to a layer but can go to the ones below it, but not above (demons from 5 can go to 6,7,8,9 but not 4,3,2,1). demons are souls, and their physical bodies are made of mud transformed by that soul. i was inspired by some papers i read on witchcraft. demons couldn't manifets physical bodies so they'd trick people with smoke, gases and dust in the air a demon can only have one body at a time. if their arm is cut off 1) they reattach it or 2) a new one grows at the same pace the other turns back into mud. if the entire body is destroyed they reform from the mud in ground demons dont need to eat or sleep but feel hunger and sleepyness. hell is a punishement for their behaviour so layer 1 is ok, layer 9 is... not. money is also a thing. because this is hell

demons have powers based on personality and character flaws

a demon's size is based on their strength - how big their soul is - but their human form is the size of their human alive self. there are 3 ways for a soul to grow. 1) feel strong emotions, then rest and absorve those emotions. its important to rest. 2) cannibalism. eating other demons body part will give that part's strength 3) deals. a demon can share their power. deals are fast but demand consent. cannibalism is slow but nobody can stop it

Finally talking about the Characters

i don't remember very well the first story i made. it was about a boy that had another boy living in his head. and the boy in his head was really angry because he couldn't do anything and when he got extra angry things started to burn and melt around them

miguel (or michael or any other version of this name)... actually i just remembered i wanted to do this guy's story

Egil. his original design was based off angel dust from the hazbin hotel pilot and i don't think he has changed that much.

those blue branches on his head are the guy who killed him. there are ways to permanetly end a demon and after egil did that, the dude fused into his head. the pink arms and legs are rubber gloves/boots. he's a biologist, specialized in genetics. his house/layer is full of vats filled with unnatural stuff growing in there. he doesn't have friends, he's prone to anger and always has to be the smartest person in a room - this goes with his tendency to always be the tallest person in a room. his shapeshifting powers come from his unhappines with himself and inferiority complex. he used to love biology but now tries to gain knowledge just so he can know more than the people around him. he gets angry easily so he's an unpleasant person to be around so he doesn't have any friends so he convinces himself he doesn't need anyone and i hope im making sense here

antonio and marcel. father and son. marcel my baby. you deserve a redesign more than anything

back when the stories where set in an alternative earth with history similar to ours, antonio was an italian american. now i don't know. he went around killing fascists and made immortality magic so strong one of those "get rid of you permanetly" things just sent him to hell and is now lodge in his heart. he can remove the sword and use it as a weapon but his beating human heart is there and removing it will kill him permanently (unless you put the sword through another heart) in hell he had time to think and understood that he was only killing fascists to saciate his bloodthirst on people he deemed deserving of death. the true way of ending fascism is with good infrastructure and school system. killing fascists became an hobby

marcel... my sweet son marcel that deserves better colors. rules don't apply to him he can do whatever he wants and i'd let him. technically a cannibal

quick sketch of the sisters. i don't rememeber their names. i dont even remember if they had names. based on a bird and on a pupper/spider. cannibal vs deals

they're both very manipulative. the bird one, the older sister, always got the upper hand at home so the spider one let out her frustrations by manipulating and controlling people. the bird one can turn people to birds and control them if they hear her play her harp. this counts as cannibalism (slow and no consent needed). the spider one manipulates weaker demons into bellonging to her by deals. in their story they end up fighting each other as they scream their frustrations, coming to the conclusion that everything is their mother's fault (wrong)

barbara and barbara, one is based off a carnivorous plant and the other a bear

i had never thought of them as friends until i started the redesigns but now i kinda like the idea. they're both cannibals with my favourite being the plant one. in this drawing she's missing teeth on those big green jaws. she closes them with some guy inside and digests him

i have so many more characters but i've also been writting this the whole afternoon

[sapphire-weapon]

i’m not sure if you’ve talked about this before so my bad if you have, but i thought this tweet as interesting and feels like yet another nail hammered into aeon’s coffin by the game itself: https://x.com/JENITOP1A/status/1722002324431008122?s=20

If this interpretation holds up, I'm even happier that I got that design tattooed on me LMAO

But yeah this is very THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW. THE CHARACTERS ARE DIFFERENT.

The moth symbolism sounds a lot like the Death card in tarot. This is a good description I've found:

The Death card symbolizes the end of a major phase or aspect of your life that you realize is no longer serving you, opening up the possibility of something far more valuable and essential. You must close one door to open another. You need to put the past behind you and part ways, ready to embrace new opportunities and possibilities. It may be difficult to let go of the past, but you will soon see its importance and the promise of renewal and transformation. If you resist these necessary endings, you may experience pain, both emotionally and physically, but if you exercise your imagination and visualize a new possibility, you allow more constructive patterns to emerge.

Similarly, Death shows a time of significant transformation, change, and transition. You need to transform yourself and clear away the old to bring in the new. Any change should be welcomed as a positive, cleansing, transformational force in your life. The death and clearing away of limiting factors can open the door to a broader, more satisfying experience of life.

[...]

Finally, Death is a sign that you need to learn to let go of unhealthy attachments in your life to pave the way to a fuller, more fulfilled life of deeper meaning and significance. Death teaches you to let go of outworn and outgrown ways of life and to move forward from them. This is a perfect card to break a bad habit or pattern of behavior. See this as a time to cut out excess and let go of what is unnecessary for your life. Purge the old belongings, memories and baggage that are getting in your way.

This is different from Ada's symbolism, which is probably best explained with the Star card:

As The Star follows The Tower card in Tarot, it comes as a welcome reprieve after a period of destruction and turmoil. You have endured many challenges and stripped yourself bare of any limiting beliefs that have previously held you back. You are realizing your core essence, who you are beneath all the layers. No matter what life throws your way, you know that you are always connected to the Divine and pure loving energy. You hold a new sense of self, a new appreciation for the core of your Being.

[...]

You may also want to find or rediscover a sense of meaning, inspiration, or purpose in your life. You are making some significant changes in your life, transforming yourself from the old you to the new you and, in doing so, you are bringing about a fresh perspective: “Out with the old and in with the new!” You are choosing the highest version of yourself. This is a profound spiritual journey that will bring greater meaning and purpose into your life and will renew your inner energy. Strip back any limiting beliefs, facades, or deceptions, and live in your authentic nature. Be open to new ideas and growth, and listen to the still voice within.

It really follows what we've been saying for a long time here, in that they hold each other back. Ada made Leon's life miserable, and he has to let go of what she's done to him to move forward. And if Ada sheds her connection to him, she'll become a better version of herself.

[zeravmeta]

being thoughtful about media and analyzing it as much as possble is very important and fun but a cornerstone to understanding and performing your own meta analysis on things is that you really do just need to accept that 90% of the times the writer did not think as deeply into the subject as you did and that doesnt devalue any of the weight you are putting into your analysis

writing meta on media and characters and themes and narratives are essentially exercises in connecting information based on what you personally took from it. people can share common ideas on what a piece of work is saying but ultimately they will have different interpretations based on what they have previously consumed and how they developed their critical thinking skills when it comes to understanding stories.

this sideblog is all about writing meta and the way i do it is by just considering what the overall thematic idea of a character is and what that contributes to the story, and i can definitely point to tons of examples from many different franchises on here, and ill also see analyses from people where they do an entire masterfully done literature review style paper essay with sources connecting back to mythology or contemporary works and its all incredibly well done. it's all just exercises in critical thinking and connecting information!

and ive definitely seen it in series that arent truly that deep. in series i personally think suck or do not consider that deep. hell, IVE done the same in applying far more thought and weight into my analysis of series that arent truly that deep, series i would readily admit arent that complex or 'deserving' of the thought put into them, but all of that is simply part of the fun in watching new things. this also applies to series' that i DO think are more nuanced and complex, because to someone else they may not be, and its not always solely because 'they didnt get it.' sometimes stories dont resonate with people thematically, and that in itself can color just how 'good' a series is to someone.

and when it comes to the authors of works, you as a reader can end up putting far more thought into what their story was trying to say then what the author intended, and thats the fucking point!!! sometimes it is that deep sometimes its not. what did the story tell you? did it align with what the author was trying to say? are you asking questions for the sake of understanding or for the sake of asking questions itself? what was the point? all of that matters! you need to eat words in order to acquire a taste for the words and when you get that taste only then can you truly appreciate or even hate it!!

no real point to this post but just remember that you have a shovel and digging in deeper into things you like is always an exercise in passion never stop growing never stop thinking never stop analyzing never stop trying new things to repeat steps 1-3 with

[da3drat]

20 questions for writers

tysm @wispstalk for tagging me! :D tagging back @ghoulingcooper as always but I thinkkkk everyone else has been tagged already. Questions under the cut~

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Three

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3,413

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just elder scrolls so far, though I do have ideas for a palia fic floating around.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

lol. my top one is In the End, the World Still Turns. Which doesn't surprise me bc it's my only Oblivion fic.

5. Do you respond to comments?

YES sometimes it takes me a while to get around to it though because I have the memory of a goldfish

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Not Dead (Yet) will definitely have the angstiest ending when we finally get there. We love tragedy in this house.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uhhhh none? lets go with none of them.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope ! <3 I love you elder scrolls fandom

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nah. frankly I don't think I would be any good at it so I prefer to just allude to sex and leave off right before or pick up right after. also to be real with you I'm still getting over my just came out of the closet lesbian repression. so maybe we'll get there eventually.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

My one Palia fic would be an Oblivion crossover! But idk if it will ever actually get written. The plot and lore in Palia interest me and I really think the effect they and the setting have on Celeste is interesting but I have so much Elder Scrolls fic I want to write that I just don't know if it'll ever be at the top of my to write list. Not to mention my personal project.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No and tbh I don't have the readership numbers to be worried about that lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also no!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

noooo but I have co planned a LOT of them with Cat even if they haven't been written. s2g they will someday.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I mean I think we all know its Ayem/Nerevarine lol. I think it shines a really interesting light on Almalexia and gives you the opportunity to dig into her character. It also implies an interesting Nerevarine (imo not to toot my own horn here lol) because it requires them to understand the danger of meeting someone who quite literally murdered you in a previous life and then still show them vulnerability and compassion. Idk shipping is sort of an exercise in character analysis to me, and I like what the Nerevarine can draw out of Almalexia and vice versa. With Meri and Almalexia specifically they're two chronic liars who meet someone that knows their tells and that's the closest to honesty they can get. And that breeds an interesting form of codependency. Having one person in the entire world who can see you for who you are no matter how hard you try to hide it, and then accepts and even loves that person even though they objectively kind of suck lol.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Don't have any atm! My only wip is Not Dead (Yet) and I'm so fucking determined to finish this even if it takes me years.

16. What are your writing strengths?

fuck if I know. I haven't been doing this long enough to have any real idea about it I'm just kind of throwing shit at the page and hoping for the best. I like to believe it's my character work.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

THIS one I could give u a list a mile long lmao but I will say I think I show my hand too early and I tend to lack subtlety. Working on that quite deliberately rn.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I mostly throw in bits and pieces for emotional effect. Terms of endearment and the like. I know basically nothing about linguistics or being bilingual so I feel like I would want to a lot of serious research before I tried anything more serious than tossing a few dunmeri cuss words or velothi nicknames into a fic lol.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

um. supernatural.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

NOT DEAD YET. NOT DEAD YETTTTTTT. it's the first multi-chapter project I've ever attempted and also I care so much about this story and these characters that it's really motivating me to try to improve my work every single time I sit down to write.<3

[daedrabait]

So I wrote a little drabble from my idea of Mercer's POV describing how he feels about my dragonborn. Its supposed to be a sort of prequel to the fics I have posted on ao3 about the two of them. I'm not sure really where to share it, but maybe some of you would appreciate it. It's under the cut.

Contains: brief mentions of violence/murder & strong feelings of longing, loneliness, frustration and desire for contact (not sexual, just in general)

If you find yourself interested or curious about the two of them together, you can read the actual series on my ao3 which is linked in my bio.

Mercer knew he was being watched.

This recruit wasn't like any other in the Guild. He had lots of ambition - like every thief - but he was quicker, and had the skill to back it up. A step ahead and a cut above the rest of them. Most of all, Mercer could sense he was out for himself. Not just for gold, but for power. He had succeeded where other guild members had failed time and time again. Mercer had been watching him, too.

Faelon reminded Mercer of himself.

This wasn't necessarily a good thing. Mercer knew that such a man would figure out things faster and easier than the rest of the guild - who blindly placed trust and faith on Mercer's capable shoulders and were content to let him lead, oblivious to his schemes. No, Faelon was already well on his way to figuring Mercer out. This would end in blood, to be sure. But Mercer liked blood. It was perhaps his next favorite thing, right up there with jewels and riches.

By all respects, to a more sane and less depraved man, this should have been much more alarming than it was. Mercer had his worries, yes. Even a man such as he had his fears about this situation; some small, reserved part of him was indeed sounding off alarms. But he could not deny the thrill he felt within himself. He always loved a good game and this was no different. Rationality came second in his whirlwind of a life. A life built upon theft, lies, deception, and betrayal. A completely rational man would not have accomplished all that he had accomplished.

It had been so long since someone played a game with him. So long since someone had garnered an interest in his wiles, and metaphorically chased the pirouettes he weaved through the air. It wasn't necessarily sexual, but it didn't need to be to give him that thrill.

How lonely was he? The bile of disgust rose up within himself. He wanted for many things, both practical or ambitious - and yet the company or attention of another, he had long been denied either by himself or others since his infatuation with Karliah went up in smoke. He thought himself above such base needs. But, how he longed for it regardless.

Karliah. How he hated the Dunmer who had once infected his mind. Never again.

Faelon was surely no agent of Karliah's. He was out for himself and only himself here. What was the harm in letting him watch, in leading him around in circles? Mercer hadn't felt this desired in a long time. Was it wrong to indulge himself a little? He was still doing his work, and he would not let this escalate regardless. Besides, maybe it would take the edge off. He had been adept at exercising self-control where it had mattered in the past.

He would allow the new and capable recruit chase after him, whether it was a stupid idea or not. It had been a long time since someone got his blood rushing the way it had lately around this strange Bosmer. What was the harm? Mercer was capable of defending himself when things inevitably went awry.

The Dragonborn was his rival. A man who was undoubtedly a large cut above the others. Someone that could finally perhaps rise to his level.

What would come of this? Would one of them, or both of them, end up dead? Mercer had plans to complete before he died. But it was undeniable - and almost completely out of his power, to resist this temptation. His life had remained static and dispassionate for too long after the triumph of retrieving the Key, killing Gallus, and getting away with it all in the process. He was getting older, and his spark was flickering. Rejection after rejection had weakened his resolve, and his distrust of others had made any hope of any sort of relationship with another person almost nonexistent. Stealing from the Guild had become mundane and arbitrary, and he found himself drafting heist plans with barely any will to pursue them.

Everyone around him skittered across his nerves - the Cistern was becoming his own personal hell. The Flagon was even worse. He was tired of these people and he was tired of all the ceaseless pretending he was forced to do before people who didn't even deserve to be a part of the Guild. He was angry and frustrated with - with all of it. They made it too easy to steal from them. He felt not a single drop of remorse, and he felt no threat of ever being exposed from these 'thieves' who sat on their hands. 

He was tired of the monotony. Faelon was different. Mercer wanted - needed - this. Thrill was the lifeblood of men like him.

Watch me, he thought as he held the Key in his hand, its power thrumming through him in time with his heartbeat and filling him with adrenaline. Watch and learn, little thief. Come and get me if you dare.

[shraqsmuses]

Would Sarah ever get fat for the money?

"Realistically? Nah. Hypothetically? I could! I'm sure that, regardless of how much weight my client would want me to gain, I could easily burn all of it away with my usual exercises! Jogging a few miles across sidewalks, hopping over fences, running up and across walls and swinging on any branches if they happen to be nearby... I think Bibi would have to actively grab onto my shoulders and push me down if she wants to get any of the money I'm working toward. With how much weight I would gain, I bet she would have more to grab and wouldn't need to push me down as much! She would have more parts of my body she could grab onto as well. Heeheeheheheh~ I would have to wear something that'll always fit me no matter how far my body ends up sticking out! As for what exactly I would wear... Hey, Bibi! If I were to become fat enough to outgrow all of my clothes, what kind of clothes would you imagine me in when I'm struggling to tuck my breasts into my bra and my stomach keeps pooling out of my panties?"

"Hmm? Weren't you worried about gaining weight earlier? I know how particular you can be with clothes that aren't disguises. There's your daily exercises too."

"I was! It was mostly because I was worried I wouldn't ever fit into my old clothes again but I think I would be able to exercise enough to wear them again, even if they'll be damper than they previously wore. I might end up missing wearing my new clothes too... If I knew what exactly they were. Can you tell me what they might be?"

"Oh. I see. Hmm. I believe you would end up wearing... A button-up dress shirt without a vest whose buttons are constantly straining against their slots and a pair of slacks that, despite being oversized at first, would somehow manage to perfectly hug against your huge, flabby thighs, clearly exposing their flabby, rotund forms."

"So you think I would wear the same clothes I'm wearing right now but larger?"

"Would you want to wear anything else?"

"Well... I was thinking of wearing a plain white shirt with short sleeves that would drape over my thighs and a pair of blue... No, black sweatpants. Maybe I would wear pantyhose underneath them if you manage to think of a way to make me exclusively gain weight around my thighs~"

"... Pantyhose underneath sweatpants?"

"Torn apart with small holes that are all separated with patches of saliva~"

"Stick with white panties."

"And miss out on the adorable face you'll make when you see my pantyhose patterned with verticals stripes that have all been stretched into vastly spacious pillars~? Maybe they should have hearts between them so you can see how wide they'll become too."

"... You should at least wear lace panties if you're planning to wear something that intricate."

"What color would catch your attention the most then?"

"I'll leave that to you. From the way you talked about it, you seem to have a pretty good idea of what you want to wear if you were ever to gain weight for financial reasons."

"I do? Hmm... I guess I do, don't I? I'll have to see which one of our ideas would make blush harder."

"Is there a reason you're concerned about making me blush with what you want to wear when you gain weight?"

"I just think it would be cute if I could make you blush by wearing a different set of clothes than you're used to, especially with the way you answered my question earlier."

"I... See. Mmm. If that's the case, you shouldn't be that concerned about what you want to wear regardless of whether or not you're... Becoming..."

"Becoming what? Prettier? Cuddlier~? Don't tell me you think I would become uglier if I were to--"

"NEVER say you'll become uglier if you gain weight ever again."

"Ahahahaha, geez, alright, alright~ I'm glad you were there to stop there to ward off that terrible thought that would've desecrated my innate beauty if it were to slash its crooked, miasmic talons across it."

"I just hope we won't ever have to see it again."

"We won't! Given how I was the one who summoned it in the first place, I think I might need to apologize to you."

"It's fine, Sarah. I just want to make sure you still love yourself regardless of how much you might change."

"Mhmhmhm. You shouldn't worry about that as much as you don't want me to worry about what I should wear after I outgrow my old clothes~"

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW for possible emotional abuse and gaslighting. discussion of PTSD symptoms. guilt(?)

I’m looking for support and validation if that’s ok! I don’t really want to use a nickname for paranoia reasons as well.

I think last year I was in a bad relationship. I can’t really remember anything (and I mean that literally, it’s like a huge gap in my memory with little disconnected pieces of memories here and there). I have really intense C-PTSD that makes it incredibly hard to function. I don’t really feel comfortable talking about my symptoms in detail but they feel very extreme and even the smallest trigger can cause me to mentally shut down for weeks. I feel like I’m living in a constant fear, like my body is always on survival mode and I can’t turn it off.

but the thing is I can’t seem to accept the idea that I’ve been abused. It scares me to even say it. I’m deathly afraid it’ll make its way back to my ex and they’ll try to hurt me (though again I can’t remember why I would think that). I’m scared that I won’t be taken seriously. And I just… can’t imagine accepting it. I feel like I’d be betraying my ex in a way, because they were generally a nice, well-liked person and throughout the whole relationship I felt like the bad abusive person. And they told me so themselves, too, several times. I do remember trying really hard to change myself for them, trying to be docile and quiet to avoid upsetting them and it was never enough. Nothing I could do was ever right, no matter what I ended up making them really upset and that alone made/makes me feel horrible. I often feel like I can’t trust myself or my own thoughts. I went through a phase where I wanted to be put on mood stabilizers because I felt like I could never be in a good relationship without being completely passive somehow.

Everything I have been told by friends and therapists, everything I’ve seen online is telling me that I’ve probably been gaslit and manipulated and in my logical mind I know this, but no matter how hard I work on myself I cannot shake the idea that I’m a horrible abusive person. I feel like I don’t deserve sympathy. I feel like a monster, I feel worthless, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with everyone because they’ll see me as a mean person if I assert myself(?). I do everything in my power to please others so they don’t think I’m bad. I’ve ended up in a lot of unhealthy relationships since then because of this.

So I don’t know, I guess I just need to hear an outside take on this. I feel like I’m stuck and I want to get un-stuck. I want to be able to move on and be a better person, but I don’t know how or if it’s even possible. Sorry if this is too long! If it is or breaks any rules feel free to delete it!

Hi anon,

It is absolutely okay that you are here looking for support and validation because that’s exactly what we hope to offer, and I can appreciate wanting to be careful about your privacy - because everyone gets to decide for themselves what their boundaries are about the information they share with strangers.  And before diving into the history and trauma, I wanted to jump ahead to the last part of your ask as well to help assure: this wasn’t too long, nor broke any rules <3

Alright with all that being said, I want to validate each part of this ask:

I want to say that I’m so sorry for your symptoms, as someone with c-ptsd I can deeply empathize with these feelings of survival mode, because unfortunately our minds might be consciously aware of reality, but our body doesn’t trust this reality that implies safety.  The mind and body must be in alignment and how, and the process that takes, the coping skills you might need to develop to have that happen can vary for each one of us but let me link a few options: safety affirmations (written by fellow survivors and including printables), grounding techniques, breathing exercises (GIFS that you can follow along), as well as potentially looking into a therapist who might help develop a treatment plan for these flare ups, including but not limited to, compartmentalization techniques.  

Unfortunately because of your past trauma - and I agree between what you’ve shared, and what others have tried to assure you with as well - that you have experienced abuse and to me it makes sense why you would have these fears about experiencing emotions, much less speaking up, because sadly in your past the response to it was more abuse.  Again, this might be an issue to process in the safe spaces of a therapy room, so you can discern what coping skills you’d like to develop around it.

Finally, the last part, where you shared that you’ve developed a people pleasing survival skill and that’s how you’ve “ended up in a lot of unhealthy relationships” - I’d like to offer a counter I’ve stumbled on in my own healing journey: “it’s not that you’re attracting toxic people.  Toxic people aren’t picky, they go to everyone.  You letting them stay is the issue that needs to be worked on.”  Which is a far different narrative than the “you’re broken, which is why you’re attracting broken people.”  People abusing you says everything about them, and nothing about you.

And I hope as you continue on your healing journey, you will one day find your self worth again, and know, truly, deeply, to your core, that you never deserved such treatment in the first place.

- Mod Kat 

[m58]

new work from David Wolf

Yielder 

Yardage forgotten, solstitial fade, as I reimagine that old severing song leading me to polka right out of ballroom dance class. Ginsberg offered a spontaneous revision to one of my haiku. Sure. 

Got a postcard from the Sandhills. Turned it into a found poem: “Everything’s fine and dandy. / Bought myself a mobile home. / Two bedrooms, living room, the works. / All worn out from digging a ditch / 5 feet by 25. / Fell into it last night in the dark. / Shit. / Write soon. / B.” To be clear, America is not my favorite summer movie (things passing in and out of the mind, mind passing in and out of things). Unfair work— that is, the empire—stretched right on through evensong. 

With my in-laws, looking for their ancestors in an English graveyard, watching a young family load into their car, I thought of an idea for a short story. The title: “Writing is a Form of Discovery.” A man discovers he is not the moon, possessing, as he always has, a bad sense of chronology, a scratchy faith in kismet, an indifference to Keats’s “Bright Star,” and, like most, a pedestrian sense of oneness.  

Again a general cry: the past eight hours! Thanksgivings (oh please!)! And lately? Just hanging at Cap d’Ail. Year’s end, more Googlism, mileage, meaning, lonely, lonely. Hey! The sublime’s fogging to blue, a distillation of roses, knowledge in review, grand allusions filling the French triptych smeared with tankas in drippy translation. 

To wit, t’ tweet, to whom it may concern. Sing it. Bah, oui. Creative nonfiction followed me from Savannah to Charleston. Welcome (better late than . . .). On the cab ride to the Camelback Inn Resort and Spa, I spun for the cabbie my now forgotten Killarney Trilogy. 

Words listing, I tried to remain upright, riffing another intro, a morning in May exercising fragments, good interpretations, a memoir of one autumn and its remembrance of faux horse sense. Please pass the cookies. Marvelous. And the vin ordinaire. 

Echovox stew: meaning matters, before and after and back at you doling out Benjamins like comparisons trumping loosey-goosey, still projecting memories of the latest shooting in sonnet form, cutting across the OK panhandle in the paisley seashore rain, proverbs glowing red and gold in spring’s promising air. Must be the beans. Or Dad’s favorite golf balls bouncing around the interior of the old noodle. Pick up the pen and call it a poem, not an institutional rubric, filler like success, a testamental ambience, a selfie earnest as any treasury of emptiness, variation in the wind yapping. Zurpreeze! 

A gathering erasure of firsts strewn along Hackney Pass. How to know precisely how the memo’s useless distraction fouls the pin’s fall into the bin. Tuppence for your thoughts? Well, just the sorry boom of ye olde avant-garde, a shouldering of pesky trite tropes. 

Yarner 

Turn out the artifacts of your imagination. Tea? illspreoogud. ; ; ature. Hark! Back to some steaming order? Crawling from my solarium to my data turret, I went in search of the nightmare’s measurable outcomes. train whistle blowing in thick fog, echoing up the river valley a third-tone higher, muted I read the critical introduction explaining what is going on in the work. I annotated the sunrise slipping across the page. I may be addressing you soon, fair thoughts for the fair, procedural sludge for the decimators. Feeling mixed, a bit of alachrymosity as I count the embedded chimes springing through June foliage. Waiting for that singular narrative to emerge, endlessly revisable, worthy of memory’s revisitation, I framed the present. Gathered some lavender and white phlox . . . and now on my sox I’ve got burrs that clingle-tangle-stingle. Cool it. Going nowhere. Like the apple that rolled a promising distance from the pear tree. Like the toss that sent it further, into the chaparral. Why the tire swing doubt? I’ll trust the pattern in the rope, the weave, the braid, the tale. Nascence tells me something is still quaking in the lost meadow on the cutting room floor. Eternity, I apologize for all the cuckoo figuration. Hastening to find some peace of mind, I’m up. Understandably sweaty. Maybe I’ll return to the fading climate of wonder. I watch the haze hang. Dry winter endurance, forgotten scratch. Imitation’s theatrics yawn. tree-trunk shadow—drooling a squirrel

Fabler At The Lucky Duck gastropub we see no duck on the menu but of course that’s why they call it The Lucky Duck—cheers! A fly lands on the page I am typing up, less obtrusive than my remembered cat. It will only take a wave of my hand to send the fly on its way. The shoe that was on the other foot has now dropped—after some effort. Brushed a croissant flake from my trouser leg— before a butter stain could set in. The sparkling lights of Nice at night across the bay have given way to the sparkling morning sea— as Black Sabbath’s “Hole in the Sky” plays in my head. Idling, we encounter the road ahead: three signals: red, yellow, flashing yellow: two directions down to one lane: no green. And now a motorbike speeding past that sounds like a weed whacker. through the canicular haze: snow-streaked Alps Got a jolly reprimand—got a real cheerful. Sapped of light and patience for the itch to resolve, we caught the coast lining through the haze and stupefying heat. The level sea, pine, palm, tourterelle, gull’s bark, diesel, rampart ruin— the tableau of morning offers a fine napkin to wipe away the dirt of ardor. “How are you today?” “Fine, can’t complain, no use complaining anyway, I mean, no one’s listening.” “Did you say something?” “I said—.” “Yes, I heard you. Just a little joke.” “Yes, a little one.” “Have a nice day.” “Another joke. ‘Nice day.’ You’re a funny one.” 

Teller Love made me want to cry like a ladle dripping acid fog. Cold as . . . mice. Dead, test-rattled mice. Cat-rattled? No. Keep it human. Though once true at heart, the youthful enthusiasms felt now like distant fictions, delusions. Any gleam off the fossil, artificial. I begged the lily to shadow me through the highlands. The narrows of attachment proved easily cast. Harrowed to the last. I stand supplanted in the clearing, in the heraldry of sun and stone, a shiftless relic eked from aught. Guessing as always, I follow the lost eclogue balancing before nebulous ease. Rail, yaw, as we must. As the monuments rot in the pale rushes, the drafts of indolence dim the turn to inward solace. Supple revelry. Supplicatory. Applicable. Billable neglect. Needlework. The air bluffs composure, fleet as honey. The jewel found in the knapsack shines its naysayer’s music. Open, peony bud, we cannot help thinking. Quarried. Time upstages a whiff of Xanadu. What a wind. What a zeal-zoned moment. Late summer afternoon—an owl hooting— on the lookout for an early bird special? All leeward these leanings, roughing up the dimming afterglow, shed, deciduous as sanity. Levity enrages. Almost dawn. Time scuffs the overwrought you in youth. Apropos, out to pasture, no pie dish in the sky pooling rain either. Care insinuates an aperture, a tithing of effortless chirping. Comfort, oscillating most frivolously, outraged rhetoric’s tambourine. Zoning optics neutralized effervescence. What to expect. A dry field, mole mounds, stone cross stretched in pale grass, keep your eyes on your path, your way across, look out for dog shit. Do a little quickstep, quirkstep, quiet as the stardust in the blade, as sunlight on skin. It’s not a lack of this but of that that’s causing it. A lack of that but this. While this. You are busier than you think, which is why you forgot to finish reading that must-read. Must be it, must be the reason, you tell yourself as if you were two. In the flow of it. Dreams free of recent hauntings. Ghosts in the old family home just up the hill. Why did you buy a place so close? You weren’t thinking? Live for the swim beneath the cliffs, the trees. Live for many reasons. Now you are thinking.  

We still have plenty of cereal for breakfast. No need to thaw the muffins just yet. If the manual says to hold the button for three seconds, that means three seconds, not a quick count of three. Evasive answers return in several layers of erasure. Unintended meaning of something you said occurring. Power just went out. It’s back. What was I saying? Hardy mums. The word. Took a chance, showered during the thunderstorm, had to. Made it quick. As fern thorns snagged an opening drape. 

Closer Open up, said the season. In exchange for the word, I was sent on maneuvers with a love letter from Michigan in my pocket. After the great quarrel, abiding, wincing at the figure “damaged goods,” I penned a poem, an aubade of sorts. What could be done against it all?

Sunday overslept. Meanwhile legend after legend frayed like all the great love poems do, mid-August every year as we put off unpacking, thunderheads thirty miles east. Poems fizzled, frizzled then fizzled. Random gales delivered more origins to the sodden brain. “Indian Summer”?  

Golly, hear that report? That’s not dialogue. You and your bear claw were such a sight. So much a live poem, and who needs to write it down, just take it in. Sure I get bored. What’s up tonight? We could start earlier to avoid the question. “Vinny, Vinny, Vinny,” I said, “no solution will redevelop lost spring trees in early leaf or my old Olivetti.” It’s like a hometown layover, a snapshot too brief to consider going home, coming back. A holiday beckoned, the glint of momentum missing from my morning inventory. Poems, some aphorisms, Venice—the lists can be endless. If you regard tourists as fantasizing emperor moths, you may gain some insight into the landfill of “civilization.” Lakeshore love song, glacial teardrop, help move us along to rest down by the river of sapience. Again we were foiled, which prompted me to say, losing all patience, “I ask you, is that your banana on the counter or is it the intersection of Hope and Wisdom, a lost zone demanding lidless ignorance?” 

David Wolf is the author of six collections of poetry, Open Season, The Moment Forever, Sablier I, Sablier II, Visions (with artist David Richmond), and Weir (a micro-chapbook from Origami Poems Project). His work has appeared in numerous literary magazines and journals, including BlazeVOX, Cleaver Magazine, dadakuku, decomp, E·ratio, Indefinite Space, Lotus-eater Magazine, New York Quarterly, Otoliths, and River Styx Magazine. He is a professor emeritus of English at Simpson College and serves as the literary editor for Janus Head: Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature, Continental Philosophy, Phenomenological Psychology, and the Arts. 

[soda-boots]

Moths surround me, thought they'd drown me

This is a slightly concerning and definitely incomplete recount of yesterday (the 20th).

So post Passages, I have breakfast yada yada yada. Meet this girl named Antonia (we have breakfast and then dinner together actually with her friends Jessie and Islay). I go on the stand for xpression for a few hours and then go on the cinema crawl with the other committee. Meet some interesting people on there actually (most notably Lachlan). However before that I go to Rituals to see where Mo works and end up buying a 37 quid umbrella. Its a gorgeous umbrella and it better hold up. I rush back to my flat for my meeting with Jason and I think it goes quite well. I have dinner after and come back to my flat. I finally have the fantastic idea to go to the club... alone. I've never done it before and it's something I've always wanted to give a go. It's not like Jack and Haleemah are turning up at the club anytime soon and no one has ever invited me to join their group before (as far as I recall). I do try my best to be adventurous and this just me exercising that. I promenade to the shop to buy 2 bottles of cider and a can of pimm's. Downing one bottle and the can, while listening to Songs for You, I'm trying to hype myself up for this event.

I try inviting Lachlan to the club, but he can't make it (fair enough). Good even, this is a private event for me. The night starts to blur a little from here (but I can still remember pretty much all of it). I speak to Ellis about coffee or something and how coffee/alcohol makes me sleepy. An hour and a half before vaults opens to help the timeline. This is 7:27pm now.I talk about violet from Charlie and the chocolate factory I think at around 8

Going through messages to recount events is so funny lol. I listen to 'dem boy paigon' to hype myself up' and I believe I leave my flat say 8:40 pm -ish. I'm baskily power walking through these streets, no headphones on (I considered not even bringing my phone to stay fully immersed but I disregarded that whole ideology).

I walk by a bunch of people also going to town. These group of friends all walking and laughing together. At the time, I was so unphased by the juxtaposition of me alone and them in a bevy. It didn't matter, I was determined to have fun. {here begins ramblings from my notes app about how I'm feeling, what I'm hearing and seeing and comments from me}

‘We’re walking at gay speed “

This was so funny and initiated the whole idea

I wonder if it’s actually this cold or the alcohol has warmed up my body in some way 

It didn't feel as cold at first, but then again I was definitely tipsy, if not flat out drunk at this point. I felt quite warm in my chest actually

Speed feels a bit weird. I’m kind of dizzy, like in an odd state of vertigo . I should have worn my glasses because I why is verything a little bit more blurry 

I actually forgot that I felt like this. Time seemed to be moving very quickly at first. Like I was just racing through the streets. Everything had a slight blur filter on it and I was a bit dizzy. It was a strange feeling to be concurrently aware and so distinctly detached in this way.

I walk down the street towards the vaults and why do I start to sing 'mystery of love in my head'

Bounded by the time I cried ! I built your walls around me . White noise what an awful sound. Fluttering by rouge rivers. Feel my feet upon your the ground . Shall I find no other. oh woe is me 

For context, I'm struggling to type accurately (I know I'm sobering up when I can do it better again later in the night)

The walk felt like nothing 

It did feel strangely quick.

It’s closed (the vaults) . That’s so sad (one that it is closed and two that I got here while it was closed ) 

Of course in my eagerness, I get to the club while it's closed and now what do I do ? Go to another club (I'm determined !!!)

I just met Edward and his mum from film soc. I wonder how the interaction was from their end.

I stumbled back when I stop to speak to them. Edward is so nice and his mum seemed lovely. As I mentioned I wonder how that interaction was from their end. His mum had a strange but friendly expression on her face (she goes back to Belgium today).

Moving on, I see Rhys at some point (and I think it was around here. I also see Mo at some time while I’m on the cobbled streets near vaults but that’s earlier than this I think ). I trudge to Zinc and it's closed for a social !

I went to zinc and they were having a Taylor Swift Soc event. They’re playing all to well (10 minute version) that’s so cute . I think it’s Taylor Swift society . I don’t think it’s Taylor society because they started playing paint the town red by Doja cat 

I'm out of it at this point. The see-sawing between whether it is Taylor swift society or not. I was a bit upset that I couldn't go to Zinc (but I just walked towards fever) because they were playing music I liked. I love how looking back I kept asking the bouncers, how I could buy a ticket and they so nicely and attentively answered me. I must have so clearly looked clueless. I couldn't get into fever too till about 10 and I just left .

Timeline update - 9:27

I tell Ellis I might go home. He suggests I go to a pub, and so I do

Don’t dwell on your feelings too much if not you will cry !

I'm quite emotional it seems.

Have you ever had a krispy kreme? Was it crispy (context - I saw a Krispy Kreme van ) 

I'm walking back to vaults here and I can't find it again, but notice bar named Pixy's. I read the board and walk by some guy who acknowledges me and I walk past. I get a bit lost and then walk back to Pixy's. I go in and the guy from earlier kind of jogs and he's the bartender. How hipster of him lol. I have no idea what I want and say that to him. He asks what I don't like, I say lemon because I don't really know (in actuality, I do enjoy lemon flavoured things). He makes this drink with watermelon and thyme vodka, lime cordial and apple Frobisher, and it tastes so good ! He says if I don't like it I don't have to pay for it (ok sales man). I did pay for it. I probably would have lied and said I liked it regardless of how I actually felt. He put in all that effort to try and impress me (ehhh did he?)

I went to a bar called Pixy’s and I got this thing made with watermelon and thyme vodka and then like cordial and a apple and something Frobisher 

I sit and have my drink and every move I make has so much more weight to it.

Every movement feels exaggerated . Like with each sway, the strength grows more and more 

I’m definitely less coherent than I think I am 

Oh I’ve tried vodka now ( kind of)

There's a group of ladies having a great time in front of me. Once again the juxtaposition of them in their gaggle (but oddly I don't think about that at the time). I actually look back now thinking oh I actually had a fun time. I leave Pixy's and pass a bar called 'The Mermaid'. Just like with Pixy's I circle back to it very soon after and go in. I hoped I didn't fall down the stairs down into it. I go in and the art is very 'art nouveau' and the decor so heavily influenced by Art Deco. It was a shame there wasn't any have music playing. The walls were dark green. There were some geometric features within it.

I go to the bar and the man hands me their menu. Scanning it I notice a negroni and other things I recognise some other drinks. However, I loved the names of their mock tails more so I order one.

I went to a bar called the mermaid and ordered the rejuvenation. It has tomato and pineapple juice . Such a weird tasting drink. So tangy. The taste of tomato is highly present. Very acidic 

While he makes my drink, drink I have a chat with the bartenders. They ask why I'm out and I'm like I've never been to a club and none of my friends have really been interested so I'm doing it myself. The lady bartender seemed quite proud of me. the guy making the drink mentions it's a weird one unless you like tomato juice. I get my drink and sit in the corner and sip on my strange drink. It tasted nice as far as I can recall. I sit down and I'm texting people, Max (I see his new haircut) and Ellis (who is baking a bread). I might have texted Haleemah too. I hear a cuckoo clock ...

The cuckoo clockification of my mind 

There’s a really large plant here at the mermaid. I’m texting haleemah, max and Ellis. I texted Louise earlier 

The bartender compliments my jumper when I leave. The irony of me going to a bars named pixy and mermaid when I do a fantasy creature show isn't lost on me. I finally get into the vaults and of course I am one of two people there. Addendum: I text Louise before I leave my flat, while I'm pre-ing and when I first get to the vaults and it's closed

Help why did the dj at vaults start playing started at the bottom at vaults . The dj started playing burna boy 

Did I really offer the money back to the vaults workers after they forgot lol. The other guy in here (Andy) introduced himself 

I’m trying so hard to manufacture this fun night and I’m failing a bit miserably. The workers are in beanies and that’s really cute. I feel very uncomfortable when Andy comes around me 

They weren't wearing beanies, it was bucket hats. Andy is rather odd. He is quite tall and imposing and dwarves me, it doesn't help how close he keeps coming towards me. He seems to be having a lovely time on his own though. In a way maybe I should be more like him and let go. He's also here alone (like I am) but I would hope I don't come off that odd (now I have the implicit fear that I do). I leave and go off to the cathedral.

I’m at Exeter cathedral now. Why do I rely on religion so luck for some form of wholeness ?

It's that catholic school and religious family conditioning. I listen to 'goldwing' by Billie Eilish and walk around the cathedral; Examining the sculptures on the facade. I recite the Lord's Prayer and a Hail Mary (which I had to look up because I never formally learned it). I read the quotes/etchings on the floor around the cathedral and in a weird way they bring me comfort.

"Oh God give me of thy fullness

Thy surrounding and

thy peace"

It's attributed to traditional Celtic. I also view the monuments around and try to open some doors. It's 11 now. I know this because the church bells ring ( I never knew we had a church bells and it rang !)

I never knew Exeter had a church bell. That’s adorable and quite gothic.

Oh wow not Francis not noticing me . Uhh my god 

Francis is my old flatmate for context. I basically had to chase him to talk to him. I also noticed Jack B from the radio

Why does everyone wear such dark clothing at night. 

Contrasting my bright yellow jumper

Such a long queue at fever. It’s actually a bit cute how long it is 

I think it’s quite cute how long it is, it might be time to call it a night. I’m so over this whole thing 

I love how u still hold the vindication against America. In actually I did try and I did not enjoy. I did not like the whole night thing: I’m not saying I won’t reattempt but for a while. The club may just not be for me .

Of course I heard an American accent and got war flashbacks.

I leave fever and go back to vaults (for clarification this is the second time I will be inside ) and got to go right in since I got branded (stamped) with a pass.

Oh there are more people at the vaults now. 

Andy just keeps saying the most random things to me. “ I ain’t fucking racist “ the bartender even asked if I was ok . Andy if you need to start your sentence that way you’ve already missed it  He seems a bit nice.  I might be  sobering up because  I’m sobering up and feel more coherent (also I’m typing a lot better)  .

Why do I struggle so hard to villainise people? The bartender gestures towards me asking if I'm alright (nice of him I guess). I leave Vaults again. I leave vaults to join the queue at fever under the thought process that the line there will be more lively than this dead club.

People are so nice and caring here. Someone asked me if I was alright .

This occurs on the street for clarification.

I join the queue for fever and eventually end up talking to the people infront of me. They tell me I look 19/20. I literally turned 18 3 months ago. Can I just go a night without being ferociously humbled ??? Can I ? They were lovely however. Even offering to pay for my entry since I had no cash. I left soon after that

In a weird way it was contemplative. I’ve reached the point where I’m detaching my feelings and externalising them. I truly abhor  drunken patter.

I want to listen to seether by veruca salt .

Can’t fight the seether. I can see her till I’m foaming at the mouth.

For the final time I am back at vaults and it's finally lively.

I left fever and now I’m back the vaults . There a lot more people here and I still feel a bit more out of place: maybe it’s the music . The heart palpitation induced by this bass is simultaneously awful and glorious . They literally recognised me at the door. A guy literally said I was the second customer . I’m a bit sick from that lol . This haze / smoke smells so odd 

I know every song this dj is playing. He’s so cheesy . 

There was a weird amount of older people there and it was a bit odd. Not be ageist or anything (my ageism is showing). I tell a guy happy birthday because he's wearing a party hat and dance a little with this group of first years

And I actually began to enjoy myself it felt nice and fun . I kept locking eyes with people which was slightly disconcerting by oh well. The haze started to pick on and the lights flashed more aggressively and with party in the USA blaring in the back I finally left for home at 1:30-sh my first time clubbing was not bad at all. While I wish it was smoother. beggars can’t choose.

BBQ SOCIETY !!!

I hear someone scream that from firehouse while I walk back home. I love how it is still lively.

I think u try so hard to be interesting and fun and worthy of affection. A lot of the time I don’t notice but I think I might just be too insecure to truly be my own person in a way that I’m happy with. Sure I get glimpses of that every now and again but ok the whole I don’t think I'm that confident enough to to truly exude it . To actually go out and be

The come down lol. I think I'm saying here that I try to do all these things to make myself feel interesting and fun so I can come across that way to other people. I have the fear that I'm just so uninteresting.

Met Chris , Connor and will at the bottom of block d. They were so nice and fun. I'm going to go off to bed

We had a little conversation and my night ended like that.Chris, Connor and Will (and one more other person actually but he went of earlier ) are guys that live in the first floor of my building that I met when I got home. They seemed like fun, nice guys. Chris had a rather sad speech about him justifying racism he had received when he was younger (he’s from Singapore). I don’t think racism should ever be rationalised. For context, it was a child being racist to him (so he definitely picked that up around) which is so disheartening. Even thinking about it now (about 12 hours later makes me feel ill) .

I will fix any grammar errors later but that's it really

[ivy72376]

NEW BEGINNINGS, JULY 1-31, 2023

Truth is timeless, and no amount of relativism can change it... It is as immutable as the laws of nature, the laws of creation, and the laws of the Creator... While many argue that the Word should not be taken 100% literally, and some would be remiss trying to appropriate all its ordinances especially the ones specifically meant for the Jewish people and not all of humanity in the modern times, one would also err not to take the ten commandments seriously for they are universal: murder, lying, adultery, stealing are all crimes against another, causing untold suffering and pain... As we go about our daily lives, may we hold on to the Word as a compass--of morality, reflection, and guidepost in our struggles and relationships... It is a mine of ideas and principles, and wisdom can guide us to discover the pearls hidden in it, those that may give us grace, knowledge, and strength, and enable us to continue our journey in hope and faith...

#HappyJuly312023

No mean bone... A recent article stated what sociologists and behavioral scientists observe these days: that people have generally become meaner, ruder, more selfish and abusive, greedier, and more prone to defraud or at the very least, take advantage of other people's goodness, understanding and generosity... And they have identified the cause to the general existential crises brought about by the pandemic, climate armageddon, wars, political and economic upheavals that compound upon humanity these past and current years... But in God's family, we are called to respect, take care, and encourage one another (the true, 'not-giving-up-on-the-meeting' essence)... Sadly though, it is often the church body where people experience first hand and most painfully, intolerance and abuse, greed and oppression, scam and lies, pretense and flattery... Yet, the Word reminds us how to live and thrive until the end: love and respect one another, especially those whom we feel are weaker, slower, less capacitated and abled, and whom we perceive lower in socio-economic status... Because all God's children are beautiful and precious in His sight, no matter the age, size, gender, personality and preferences... All are equipped to heal, to nurture, to care, to pour out His grace and love; and all are gifted to serve Him whom we do not see by giving to and serving our fellowmen whom we can see but especially feel are far from life's good graces and favors... May we truly fulfill our commission of being His children and heirs, His disciples and disciplers, in everything we do, everyday, every moment that we can...

#HappyJuly302023

In quietness is strength... Is one shining example we should emulate from our Savior... It is not the claps, the stars, the empty flattery and acknowledgements, the vain praise and recognition that measures how far and successful we have come in life... But the one who truly succeeds has learned the balance: between meaningful work, and down times spent in prayer and communion with Him, with our thoughts, and with His natural creation... Yes, we can make our paid hours count with productive labor; yes, we can build connections through fellowships with friends and brethren; but those ties, those mental and emotional exercises lie only in this lifetime, while our sanity and consciousness last... The one connection that we can keep forever though, beyond awareness, beyond consciousness, beyond our physical existence, is the time we spent with Him in personal prayer and meditation, that grounds us, but vertically aligns us, and holds our souls and spirits firm and strong for all time...

#HappyJuly292023

The long view... My elders oftentimes measure people by how far they see or how long their vision in life maybe... Which I observe is always one key question in the many job interviews I've had over the course of my career... It seems not just in the secular world but spiritually too, we need to have a far vision of the future, even stretching to eternity, though we may not always be certain about it... And so we consider each other by the same crucible that determines faith and endurance--even in marriage and building a family, in work and career: we look beyond to what we see in the moment, we weigh the degree of commitment in our relations and connections by how each of us see the future and what we want to do with it... May we likewise do so in all aspects of our lives...

#HappyJuly282023

When the 'Miss Minchins' attack, do a 'Princess Sara'... Only Gen X and Millennials could understand; but we take this to mean that when we encounter people who are hard to deal with, we maintain the poise and grace that befits a true princess--in our case, a daughter or child of God, and still keep our sanity, wisdom and peace; until the truth comes out, we are set free from misunderstanding and oppression, and will then be free to be ourselves, to do the best we can in helping make life better for one and all... We need all that grace, and a heaping of hope and confidence too, with much humility and wisdom; to make others see the light in us, that they too may learn to trust and hope, not get envious, insecure, vindictive or abusive... May we tap into our eternal source of goodness and love, our Heavenly Father, and fulfill the mission He charged us with, all the rest of our days...

#HappyJuly272023

There's always grace, if we can find courage and hope within ourselves... Whether we be beset by troubles and problems, whether rejected or abandoned, as long as we do not lose hope and stay confident and content in the promises that our God has given us; and as long as we do not forget that as He had been so good to us in the past, so will He continue to do good to us in the future, then we can go on and thrive... For our journey will always be full of challenges peppered with moments of joy; but hope and love, , faith and trust in the One who called us will keep us safe, sane, at peace, and on the path of what is good and right...

#HappyJuly262023

Room for sadness and pain... We all have days when we are down, when we feel life and people seem to seemingly beat us black and blue and push us down, not always physically, but especially mentally and emotionally; so that we feel despair at every turn... Yet, our loving Father and Savior has never left us without light and hope... As He promised, a more glorious, happy and pain-free future awaits those of us who endure our journey in hope and faith... Yes, we will ultimately all go home; and we can bring nothing beyond but our faith, our connection with Him who promised to welcome us there at the entrance... And so, may every grief and sadness, resentment and sorrow be laid down today, measured to their proper size, and even moments of gladness and joy, wealth and winnings be taken in the light of His provision, in gratitude that they help us along in our journey, as we come closer and closer to our ultimate home...

#HappyJuly252023

Hope springs eternal... Might be an old, tired cliché, but still rings true in our time today... Yes, many of us can drown our sorrows and worries through the momentary distractions of social and entertainment media; but without hope in a better future, we would still have to face bouts of depression and loneliness... Yet our Savior has given us hope through His promises of never leaving us, and of always caring for and providing for us... May we hold on to that, and spend our days more confidently, humbly, and in wisdom, generosity and grace...

#HappyJuly242023

Praying for live souls... There is a tradition among many religions around the world, of praying to and for dead ancestors and relatives... Maybe the main purpose is not really always for the salvation of their souls from whatever after-death torment we believe they may be in, because salvation is a personal, individual working out while alive; but rather it works more toward the one who prayed, for peace of mind, to allay our own fears of being haunted, and to continue a tradition that we hope will also be done to us when it's our time to go... But no matter the reason, it seems prayer finds its purpose in helping us keep our sanity by settling our minds... Often, we don't get the answers right away, or know when our prayer have come true and borne fruit; but when we pray, for ourselves and others, we acknowledge our weakness and helplessness, and our ultimate dependence on the One Who gave us life... And that connection He promised will never be severed even through time, age and distance... May we pray always, everyday, each moment that we can, for whomever, for whatever, whenever...

#HappyJuly232023

Salt and light... Salt flavors and cleanses; light illuminates, and separates from the unclear to the transparent... And so it seems with one truly filled by the Spirit of God... Without even anyone looking--either the secular world, physically or online, in the absence of people we want to impress; if we can bring hope and love to a world awash in fear and hate, anxiety and misunderstanding; if we can bring clarity to the confused, truth, not our own opinions and imaginations but the realities of the times we profess to obey, and the realities of our time... Then we know His Holy Spirit has borne fruit in us, and we can confidently proclaim we have been baptized and immersed in it...

#HappyJuly222023

Verbal diarrhea... Apologies to the sensitive, but this just means to me a person who can't stop talking, who must have a say in everything, even if they don't know much about it, and something I tease some people with, like friends and students... Because indeed, like the physical incontinence, there are some who believe they know everything, and must express their opinions in every situation, believing that it matters, which often it does not... For what truly matters is communication--with God, with each other, with nature and life... And true communication is two-way: we can speak our truth, but we must keep silent and listen to the revelation, to the response, to what the other party thinks... And that is why we need to keep silent sometimes... This is probably why some psychologists say this is an introvert superpower: by keeping silent more often, we hear things that others who don't take the time can't, and we gain more wisdom... And on an eternal plane, our God is praised by lightning and thunder, but just as He talked to Elijah in a gentle whisper, so do His truths in our life come to us in our moments of keeping still and silent...

#HappyJuly212023

Humility stays down but stands out... As so often happens in life, any group, religious or secular, where the human figurehead must be adored and venerated, is actually a cult, a kingdom of abused and brainwashed slaves groveling over much hard-earned favor of the delusional at the expense of sanity and self-respect... Because our Savior showed us what true leadership is--being one of and among the team, relating to every need, giving support and understanding, generosity with time and talent, and love... And that should be our mirror today... May we spend our days being followers of truth and wisdom, and leaders of love, understanding, grace and peace...

#HappyJuly202023

Insidious... Should be how wisdom and good character develop in us, not of vice and harmful habits... Because the destruction of our minds and bodies, ruin of relationships, and the death of our souls come not from sudden changes in activity, but a seemingly unknowing but often small series of mundane steps to cover over inefficiencies, to compromise, to hide the truth and sacrifice it at the altar of convenience, fear and protection of image and status... May everyday we choose to do what is right and good, speak only out of a heart of love and not envy, and keep our minds in tune with what is pure, lovely and honest for one and all...

#HappyJuly192023

Working out our salvation is an everyday thing... Because we cannot buy our souls off by endless, sometimes repetitive prayers, by regular church attendance, by purchasing indulgences or giving of huge offerings; but by everyday doing what our Creator meant for us to do here, by loving Him and caring for our fellowman as ourselves... We are called upon to treat each other fairly and with respect, not abusing or oppressing or taking advantage of each other; and as much as we honor and respect God, to feed His people and those whom He constantly calls each day, with His love, His grace and goodness... And if we do falter and fail, we know we can call on Him for forgiveness, repent what we did wrong, and still move on and continue doing our mission... May we find strength, hope and peace, the rest of our journey...

#HappyJuly182023

The passed down faith... Is the truest legacy... A science article some time before said that the way we think is actually written in our DNA, hence, hereditary... And they include creativity and crafts, talents and intellect, mindset and perspective, and more metaphysically than most--faith... As in minister Timothy's life, who was molded by the faith of his mother and grandmother, so also are we... We may belong to different religions, we may claim superiority over others, but basically we can never be better than the quality of our parents and elders... And that is the point of challenge too: if our parents and elders were unschooled, ignorant of the ways of the modern world, uncultured if we may say so, can we learn much and help them learn in return... Because each of us are made in the image of our God; and regardless of age, gender, status, generation, obligated to know and learn, responsible to gain wisdom and understanding; that we may share such to others, in an avenue of love and concern...

#HappyJuly172023

The prayerful is truly powerful... Because prayer connects us to our Heavenly Father, the true source of light, wisdom and strength, whose Spirit gives us life and drives our everyday motivations... And by our words, by our priorities, by our causes, by our deeds, we manifest our prayerfulness... We can never claim to be spiritual soldiers of Him if we do not come to the forefront of prayer in our daily lives, and in the secrets of our closets; instead of just in the forefronts of our little congregations where only praise of people becomes our aim, even at the expense of sincerity and real transformation; and we can never claim to be life soldiers for His Word and kingdom if all we have is talk, but we do not offer our lives for the safety, for the health, for the prosperity and wisdom of our fellowman, but rather stay on the sidelines and make all kinds of excuses of our own illusions of privilege and uniqueness... Life transformation indeed comes to those who take the risk, who stick their necks out, who give life and limb, time and energy, talents and resources, to share and pour out His love and understanding to all, at whatever cost, and consistently throughout the rest of the journey...

#HappyJuly162023

The bond of perfection is generosity and understanding... Titles are forgotten, statuses are dropped, when you show disrespect to others, putting them down, backbiting or criticizing them because you think they are beneath you, less capable and less cultured... Because faith and character rests on what the Word says; "would you have embraced the same humility, understanding, generosity, fairness acceptance and love exhibited by our Saviour as written in the Word?"... Or would you rather say, "because we are human, we cannot"; which actually means that because we live in the modern times, we know better and would not emulate the One whom we nominally worship but whose example from 2,000 years ago we ignore... May we choose what is right and good, do good to others and show them respect; for each of us have our own issues, we are each gifted in our unique ways to deal with life's challenges; but as all His children, obligated to help and deserve support from one another...

#HappyJuly152023

What matters is what's in the heart... Because out of it are the issues of life, and what's in it drive our everyday word and action... A proud heart insists on its rightness and self-righteousness, to a feeling of superiority over others, but actually wallows in ignorance; while the humble and wise heart recognizes and accepts the potential in others, understands their needs and issues, and is always willing to lend a hand or to support... And the one whose life truly succeeds is the one who leaves a good influence and impact on others, not on leading them on in envy, but spreading and sharing the love and wisdom of God, and helping make the world a better place for one and all...

#HappyJuly142023

Ignorance is no excuse... A recent article says that the environment started degrading really fast since around the 1950s, leading to the drastic conditions we experience these days caused by the climate... It seems that whoever was born and in existence during these past seventy years must have had huge and collective contributions to what we now call climate apocalypse... Yet, sadly, too few can really do much significant impact, since whatever little effort one person or group does to alleviate our plight, gets drowned by the massive apathy, ignorance, neglect and abuse the greater mass of humanity heaps upon nature... And so is it with the consequences of wrongdoing as what the Word says today--it is no excuse that we know little, or aren't aware, or aren't taught so in school, because acquiring knowledge is our responsibility, and gaining wisdom our life goal, not of our parents, teachers or elders... May we truly live out our calling, start as one human race to accept the consequences of our actions and do our part to correct our ways, to do our best to thrive and help the weak, and to give our lives to our ultimate mission still of being good stewards of creation...

#HappyJuly132023

Hypocrisy doesn't pay... Because we are all inadequate creatures, we all stumble and fail sometimes... And like King David, we have to learn to face up to the consequences of our actions, be humble and do better... And though we are forgiven once, but knowing our mistakes and doing them over and over again does not anymore merit us mercy but a loss of grace and falling away... May we not put out the Spirit's fire in us, and truly live with goodness and grace consistently, transparently, in all honesty, justice, fairness and peace...

#HappyJuly122023

Bullying and body shaming has no place in the family of God... Yet, it seems many of us today who claim to belong to His church can't stop our carnal, base and ignorant ways and still focus only on outward appearances, on what glitters rather than what is inside, on what the world calls desirable rather than what is good and godly; to the point that we are not aware that our words have wounded our brethren, and dimmed the light of our Heavenly Father that should have shone from us to a darkened world... May we realize that we are called upon not to glory on our efforts and our so-called status and achievements; but with our words and actions, with our motivations and emotions, to show appreciation to everything our Maker has done, in the lives of others and our own... Because He who designed all things is loving and wise, and no respecter of persons--race, age, gender, body size and shape, skin color, status or whatnot... And we show our love and worship of Him if we reflect the same love and understanding to others too...

#HappyJuly112023

Salvation is free, and let's keep it at that... Because we believe our Savior died in His human form to make it so... Therefore, may those of us who cash in on it with rhetoric, with schemes, with misinformation taking advantage of people's ignorance and trauma repent from our evil deeds... May we truly believe, and disciple others to believe in the same promise; and may we let our days and that of others, be filled with the same hope and confidence... That we have a Savior who gave His physical life 2,000 years ago to lead us to a life of hope and glory beyond the grave, and we need not pay for it in installments now, especially through empty deeds and words we think secures us to that passage, but lives lived in love and generosity, in wisdom and discernment, understanding and humility... For the truly saved is humbled, the disciple and truly discipled is as He was--driven by His love and mercy, His grace and light, and His brand of pure, unadulterated goodness...

#HappyJuly102023

A day in seven, but not on our own terms... For the Sabbath is a day of rest, even from each other's overwhelming and profuse but empty attention and validation; and a day dedicated to an intimate time with our Maker, and His natural creation... Therefore we forfeit it if we fill it up with our own programs that seek only to highlight our talents and capabilities; we impoverish our souls if we do not step back, keep still and stay down from who we are; and surrender our time, effort and will to Him, and His glory revealed in our surroundings... Finally, it is recognizing that the best we can do for Him whom we cannot see, is to do good, be generous and just, humble, fair, sincere and honest with those around us whom we can see, whose needs we can perceive and help meet, whose pain and sorrow we can alleviate... Because worshipping God on His Day is not from our agenda, nor from canons passed down to us by so-called messengers; but according to His revealed will in key parts of the written word, according to what His Spirit reveals to us each day...

#HappyJune092023

Standing up for God, truth and right takes time to get proven and bear fruit; but all worth it... There are really no instant miracles in life, but blessings too long unrealized while in the making, and only recognized for a fleeting moment when they come, yet, changes lives forever... And so there are no accidents, no one better than others in living a life that truly matters and makes an impact... For each one of us is given grace each day to uphold what's good and godly, and to do our work in the open, in broad daylight, the truth in us in full view of the sun and the great cloud of our life's witnesses... May we take up that challenge and live sincerely, honestly, and always with good intentions...

#HappyJuly082023

The right motivation for having more than enough... Is to be a vessel and share such with others... Because our God is a magnanimously generous one; so that if we trust Him and believe on His promises, and continue to do good, to share with others without condition or malice, we find that at whatever point of our lives, He meets our needs, and we are blessed without burden, we are provided for in all aspects--physically, materially, mentally, emotionally, and with peace... May we hold on to that and learn patience, perseverance, honesty and fairness, good character...

#HappyJuly072023

Our temper makes or breaks us... And may we not forget that, and all the examples we see in people around us; that no good comes from acting out in anger, that success does not come from unbridled passions, that peace do not happen when we rage against people and life... Because if we claim to be our God's children, then we inherit His peace also--His mind, His vocation and advocacy of it, and we spread that out to others too...

#HappyJuly062023

Called out, stand out... In our world today where many people just want to bring attention to themselves, who expect everyone to afford them privileges and favors at the expense of the weak and silent, the humility and meekness exemplified by our Savior is a rare gem... Yet, that is often where wisdom and love reside... For our faith is not manifested as a scream, but a silent yet clear book where others may see the radiance of a life filled with His Spirit and presence... For our God is the same through time: while the rest of the world are amazed by thunder- and lightning- like professions of faith, convictions and ideas, He reveals Himself as a gentle breeze, a silent whisper, a still small voice... And though we act with decency and decorum, we are still called upon to speak our truth quietly and clearly, not competing with the screams driven by selfish motivations of the people around us who try desperately to gain much-desired attention; instead we are commissioned to stand out from the rest of the pack through lives lived in truth and love, in generosity and faith...

#HappyJuly052023

Doers of the Word... The apostle couldn't have said things more clearly and universally: that we are only true to our professions and convictions of faith when we do the deed that matches it... That because we serve the Heavenly Father of light, our actions and motivations should be clear and pure; that because we believe and follow the God of mercy and compassion, likewise we give time to care and support the weakest and least among us; that because we serve a powerful God, we feel confident, at peace, and not doubt that in all of our struggles, He will strengthen us and see us through... May we truly be doers of the Word, live the good news and promise He left as our legacy, and not mere hearers and spectators of it...

#HappyJuly042023

This never grows old: that the surest manifestation of our faith is being a good neighbor... As in, when our Savior said that the greatest commandment is to love God, that is a profession of our faith; and to love our neighbor as ourselves, the second greatest one, the proof and the natural reaction and fruit of having true faith... And so, as our weekend insight, it bears repeating too: that we must not delay in doing good to others, and to enjoy and uphold what is good, true and sincere, pure and honest and fair in life; for if we hesitate and pass up, we deprive ourselves of much needed break to our physical bodies, and a necessary respite to our soul; but we also deprive others of the blessings of our presence, generosity, grace, wisdom and love...

#HappyJuly032023

Through all of life's changes, our God is our ultimate sanctuary... So we need not fear what tomorrow may bring, whether we have enough, whether we are equipped or qualified, and whether we will succeed, break through and experience better days, because He is already there; He has laid out our path, and we can trust that He will empower us through... And that will be the test of our faith: to trust that our sincere and true efforts will bear fruit, to have confidence and peace that He is always at hand, and we need not use many words and loud voices, even magnified actions and entitlements to get His attention; because He already pays us much attention; and He knows us, where we are, what we need, and where we need to be...

#HappyJuly022023

The proof is in the testing... Because many of us are predisposed to accept things that validate our own biases and prejudices; we take opinions as fact, hearsays as canons, misinterpretations as enlightenment, fake and fraud as truth- - hook, line and sinker, without caring to dig deeper, understand more, and be a little more discerning... But the proof is in the pudding, they say; and we can prove words with actions, convictions on reactions, professions of faith in how "The others" are treated by the so-called Believer... And so it is with those who claim to have been baptized in and filled with the Holy Spirit: it is not words, whether uttered from booklets, or unintelligible syllables not belonging to any of the world's current and past thousands of languages and dialects that manifest its realness, but by words of wisdom and understanding, actions of love, generosity and unconditional hospitality... And because the power of our God cannot be faked, may we tap into it always, meditate on it daily, and let it grow and bear fruit in our lives the rest of our physical existence, into the fruits it clearly was exemplified by the physical life of our Savior, and magnified in the teachings of His direct apostles... Here's praying His Spirit be poured out on us all everyday, that as His earthen vessels and jars of clay, we might pour such on others too...

#HappyJuly012023

[hamwithcollarbones]

(TW?) (Kinda vent ?)

Hi, I dont know how to start this, It'd been a bad week, a bad month, a bad year, I have absolutely no idea about what I should do

When I entered my new school, I thought I was going to make some friends, be part of a group or smth like that, but, Im not, I met someone who's nice, but I keep getting this urge to run away, It's not them, it's me, it has always been me, Im the reason they leave, I'm not good enough, I run away, I isolate myself, I don't know what to do, bcs whenever I'm with this person, it's good, I have a good time, mostly, but, when I think abt it, I feel bad, guilty, and I dont even know why, but it's a sensation that's killing me, I feel like I should run away, I don't know what to do

I used to have a friend, very important 4 me, we don't talk anymore, I fucked up things like I always do, it hurts, I miss him, I miss all of my friends so much, but I know I can't get them back, why do I keep up messing up things?, hate myself

I hate myself so goddam much, the way I look its just..., disgusting, it's repulsive, I hate it, I hate having to look into the mirror and seeing this,It's painful,I hate my thighs, I hate my arms, I hate my stomach, I hate my chest, I hate my face, I hate every single part of me, Iwanna rip off my skin, I wanna cut the fat in my body, I wanna take some scissors and cut my entire self, I wanna destroy myself, bacause I don't like the way I look, I don't like who I am, it disgusts me

I been trying to exercise a bit, but it's difficult, I have no motivation, because, I know that even if I lose weight, I'll never look the way I want, and that painful, it hurts me that doesn't matter how much effort I do, I'll never be pretty, I'll never be enough, I'll never look skinny, I'll never be the way I want, I just want to die, I just wanna dissappear, I just wanna be someone else

Also, I been trying to control what I eat, I'm trying to eat less, it's difficult, bcs, even if I know that food is not worth it and that it will make me feel sick, I Still stuff my mouth, I Still eat a lot, I Still do it, it's terrible, cause every time smth bad happens, it triggers me and then I'm binging, I really fucking truly hate myself

I been thinking abt kms recently, I should admit that I already had a plan and that I wasn't supposed to be alive rn, I'm just thinking, planning, It's not an if but a when, just wanna end up with everything, wanna be someone else, wanna be dead